Foodchain (19 page)

Theo rolled the cursor over to the number and clicked on it. This opened up several other windows. He went through them, tapping out passwords. The last window had a ten-digit number, nothing else. It was a phone number. “Somebody call that number,” Sturm said.

Pine was the only one with a cell phone. He dialed. The phone on Sturm’s desk rang. He picked it up and said, “Hell of a picture, ain’t it?”

“It sure as hell is,” Pine said.

“Shit, you’d think that was taken right here in America. Must be one of them faked photos you see on the net you see from time to time. Can’t be true. But hell,” Sturm loaded his bottom lip with tobacco. “Wouldn’t that be something. To stalk and kill an animal that exotic, that magnificent, on the streets and backyards of Small Town, USA.”

“It sure as hell would.”

“Chance to be thirteen years old again. Yessir. Can you imagine something like that, hunting and fucking just like you could when you were that age? But for real this time. Goddamn. This ain’t no pussy canned hunt. No sir. This ain’t for goddamn pansies who can’t handle stalking and killing an animal. And it sure as shit ain’t for those cocksuckers that don’t have a problem shooting an animal tied to a stake. They try that around here, I’m liable to tie
them
to a fucking stake and start shooting. No sir. This is the real goddamn deal, hunting a genuine jungle predator. Hell I believe I’d pay just about anything for a shot at something like that. I tell you a figure I wouldn’t blink at, I wouldn’t think anything of paying ten grand for something like this. If the opportunity presented itself. Not for something that much fun.”

Pine swallowed. “No. I wouldn’t blink at all at a figure like that.”

Sturm said, “Then I would suggest arranging for a trip say, around late August, somewhere around August 21
st
.” Sturm hung up.

He leaned forward. “This photo has been sent to a very exclusive group of gentlemen. Men who do not blink at spending ten thousand dollars or more to hunt anything they want.” Sturm rapped the desk. “That ten grand? That’s just to get here. The gentlemen are then free to gamble among themselves.” Sturm opened his large palms. “And naturally, in a situation such as this, it’s only reasonable that the house deserves thirty percent of every transaction.”

Everybody tried to quickly calculate the amount. Frank said, “We got six lionesses left. That cheetah.” The amount got bigger.

“The monkeys,” Chuck suggested.

“The dogs,” Jack said.

“The rhino,” Theo said.

Sturm nodded. “We got ourselves a chance to make some real money. But it ain’t gonna just fall out of the sky. We have some work to do. First up. Walkie-talkies. I ain’t got time to driving over half creation to find you.” Theo handed the walktie-talkies out. Everyone got one, except for Frank. Sturm explained, “You stay at the vet’s, so I know where to find you if I need you. The rest of you, you keep these charged and close. I expect you to answer quick if I call. Jack, you and Chuck head down to Redding. We’re gonna need three, four big tents. I mean big. Big as you can get. And as much goddamn liquor as you can carry. You come talk to me soon as you get back.

“Pine, you go get as much ammo as possible. You need to leave immediately, so you can head back and unload at least a couple of times before our guests arrive. Hit Redding, then head over to Reno. Stop at every gun store, bait shop, and especially goddamn Wal-Mart you pass. Go down I-5 and clean that valley out. We need every .12 gauge and rifle shell they got.”

“You bet.”

“And you, Frank.” Sturm rolled his fingers across the top of the desk in a staccato burst. “Without them animals, this whole enterprise is nothing but a bunch of hicks with their thumb up their ass, trying to peddle a few silhouette targets. The Roman army had a special rank for getting their on exotic animals for the Colosseum games. Called ’em
venator immunis
. That’s you. So you’re gonna be my right hand man in this. Them cats, they’re an investment. A
serious
investment. We put their health first. ’Til the hunt, of course. But we will deliver what we promise. A chance to hunt one of the world’s biggest and lethal predators through the streets of a small town. I want them cats healthy as if God himself blessed them with his grace. And you’re gonna do that for me. For us.” Sturm stood up. “Gentlemen. We have thirteen days to whip this town into shape. There’s a whole shitload of work to do, so I suggest we all get to it.”

As they were leaving, the phone on Sturm’s desk began to ring.

* * * * *

Frank got back with enough time to feed the animals and take another shower. Standing in the cramped bathroom, he eyeballed his reflection critically, said to hell with it, went out and found the clippers and shaved his head. He wondered if he should wear his suit. In the end he decided against it, and went with jeans and a clean gray cowboy shirt. He wasn’t sure where they would head for dinner, fairly certain that Whitewood didn’t have any kind of restaurant or diner or café or anything like that, just a sliver of a cinderblock bar over by the railroad. That meant they’d have to drive to another town, and he wanted to look like just another field hand.

The dead tree was empty. Frank still parked where he’d watched the cop car park, protected by the satellite dish. The gas station across the street was closed and dark. The sun was setting and a persistent wind came down from the north. He felt almost cool as he stepped out of the car.

Smoke rose from the house as he came up the wide trail of baked bare earth that marked the path to the front door. Other than the smoke, the place was lifeless. Frank had been doing pretty good, wasn’t too nervous up until then. He’d seen Annie take care of her brothers on at least two occasions, and he knew she could handle them without worries. But up until now, Frank hadn’t thought of the mothers. He wasn’t sure how this little date would go over at all, wasn’t sure how they would react to a man taking their daughter out. He hadn’t seen them since the night of the BBQ and carnival. He wanted to just say hi, get Annie out of the house, and take off.

The front door was in his face, daring him to either knock or get back in the car. He knocked. It opened immediately. Two brothers, twins, both around seven or eight, waited stiffly inside. They wore identical clothing, deeply bleached white shirts ironed into sharp angles, black bow ties that matched the black pants and plastic wing tips, a white bathroom hand towel over their right forearm. Their hair was neat and slicked back. One of them had a Band-Aid on his chin.

“Please come in, sir,” Band-Aid said. Both were deeply respectful, deferential even, and kept their eyes downcast.

“Thank you,” Frank said and walked inside. A giant, flat slab of oak dominated the center of the large room. Five chairs and place settings had been laid out. They looked lonely at the large table. The walls were the color of merlot, bisected by a wooden chair rail. A large wood cabinet with glass fronts sat in the middle of each wall. Various ceramic figurines were carefully arranged inside. Orange shag carpet covered the floor.

More brothers rushed around, each dressed identically. Only the black eyes, split lips, and scabbed knuckles separated them. A few were hastily dragging an old vacuum out of the room. A door waited off to the right; the floor gave way to tile, and it smelled delicious, mostly tomatoes and garlic. Two other doorways led to the rest of the house, in the corners of the far wall.

“Please, sir, have a seat.” Band-Aid dragged out the chair that faced the kitchen across the large table. His twin brother positioned himself on the other side of the chair. “Um, my sis—Miss Annie will be down in a minute. May I offer you a drink?” Frank sat down and before he could scoot it forward, the brothers shoved the chair at the table like they were football lineman driving a heavy training sled, almost pitching Frank out of the chair.

“May I offer you a drink?” Band-Aid repeated, nearly demanded.

Frank wanted alcohol desperately, but thought it might be impolite to ask. So he said, “Maybe a glass of water, thank you.”

“Of course.”

The brothers headed for the kitchen, always together, like they were Siamese twins, joined at the shoulder. Edie, the mother with the crazy eyeball, came out of the kitchen in their wake. She was wearing her usual limp dishrag of a housedress, but this time she had a white apron over it. It looked more like it had come from a hospital than a kitchen, but it was clean. She walked with long, determined strides, crossing the room like that tiger had bounded across the street.

Edie held out her hand and shook Frank’s hand harder than Sturm, grinning so fiercely it looked like the crazy eye was squinting in rage. “So happy to see you again. I’m glad you have decided to take care of the animals in this town. We are all very pleased to have Petunia back with us.”

“Thank you, that’s—that’s all right. Glad I could help her.”

“Well.” She wiped her hands on the apron. “Dinner will be served shortly. I must apologize for the tardiness of my daughter and wife. They wanted to look their best.” She smiled fondly at the far door. It was closed. “I’m afraid I must get back into the kitchen.” The thin, wicked grin was back. “My supervision is needed.” She left the room as fast as she had entered and suddenly Frank was alone.

Frank could see that the place was banged up, but clean. The deep carpet was fluffy, and still faintly damp from last night’s shampoo. The walls had been scrubbed and the table felt oily from the wood polish. Band-Aid came out of the kitchen with a tall glass of ice water. “If you need anything else, my name is Ezekiel.” He stepped back and stood at the wall.

Another brother, this one maybe ten or eleven, with more scabs, Band-Aids, and scrapes than any of the brothers that Frank had seen, came out and lit the candles, four tall, twisted metal candle holders in the middle of the table. When he came around the table, Frank could see that this brother even had stitches, holding most of his left nostril onto the rest of his nose. This was Gunther, but everyone just called him Gun. He didn’t look at Frank, but Frank felt trouble coming off the kid like a dandelion in an earthquake.

Annie bounced into the room, and Frank didn’t even see the kid leave. All Frank saw was Annie’s smile. He didn’t even notice that she was wearing some kind of short dress until later, after dinner. Just that smile.

She kissed him lightly on the cheek and said, “Like your haircut,” as he tried to push the chair back from the table in the heavy carpet. Before he could rise, she was past him and on her way down to the other end of the table. Two brothers materialized out of the kitchen, pulled her chair back for their sister, and shoved her toward the table.

“Thank you for having dinner with me,” she said. “Would you like a drink?”

“Got some water, thanks.”

“You sure you don’t want something stronger?”

“No thanks. I’m good.”

“Well,” she said, “you change your mind, you be sure to let Zeke there know. He’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sure he will. He seems very capable.”

Annie laughed. “Yes he’s that—capable. Last week Mom caught him with three rattlesnakes in his backpack. One, hell, it wouldn’t surprise me around here. But three?”

Frank looked back at Zeke. “How’d you catch ’em?”

Zeke’s eyes watched Annie. She nodded, said, “Go ahead and answer. It’s okay this time.”

“They like the paved roads out in the foothills, around dusk,” he shot a look at his sister, making it clear he wished he was out there now. “They’ll come out on the pavement, soak up the heat. Gets cold sometimes at night. They like the heat.”

“How’d you get them in the backpack?”

Zeke looked at Frank like he was one of the biggest dumbshits he’d ever seen. “Grabbed them. They didn’t crawl in by themselves.”

The other Glouck mother, Alice, came out of the same doorway as Annie, in a long, black prom dress from the early eighties. It would have been tight on most women, but Alice was built like the Eiffel tower, wide feet, thick ankles, narrow hips, smaller shoulders, and a tiny head. She moved in short, shuffling steps, chafed by the dress around her calves. Black lace gloves ended her skeletal arms, like two wooden matches, broken in half. Tonight, her hair was pinned up, and when she got close, Frank was startled to see that she was wearing a hint of makeup. “How lovely to see you again, Frank.” She shook his hand, clasping it in both hands and petting it. “Our little Annie is pleased to see you—you do know that, don’t you?”

Annie said awful quick, “Why don’t we all have a seats. Maybe a drink?”

There was a knock at the front door.

“That must be our other guest,” Alice said, but didn’t let go of Frank’s hand. One of the brothers ran to the door and yanked it open.

He wore jeans and a dark green cowboy shirt with the shoulders embroidered with scrolling, thick black thread. He’d gone to the trouble of wearing a shark tooth bolo tie.

“Please come in,” Zeke said.

“Thank you,” Sturm said and came inside. He moved a little stiff, but otherwise just fine.

“How lovely to see you again, Mr. Sturm.” Alice finally let go of Frank’s hand and worked her way over to Sturm. It took a while in that dress. “Flowers, how lovely.” Her words came out in halting, stiff sounds, like they tasted unfamiliar. She took the flowers and said, “Let me get a vase. Please, please, have a seat.”