That Thing At the Zoo - 01 (2 page)

Dr. Critter was the program director at the zoo as well as a certified zoologist specializing in exotic animals. He was also a local sensation on the children’s educational television circuit. Standing in his office I could tell why. He was almost as tall as I am, topping around six foot two inches and had a head of golden hair to match his golden tan. Pale sea-green eyes moved as quick as his camera-worthy grin. He was the original Smilin’ Jack and all around good-time guy. Children across the country looked up to him like he could wrestle alligators and tame lions.

Which he could, and had, on their TVs every morning.

My son used to watch him on public broadcast TV. We would sit side-by-side in the mornings eating breakfast and watching
Critter’s Corner
on public broadcast TV. My wife and daughter would join us sometimes, but usually it was just him and me.

That was before.

Before he was taken.

Before he was killed senselessly …

STOP
!

I clenched my hand to stop it from trembling, breath rushing in and out, heart pounding. I derailed that memory before it got ugly. Before it took over. Before it pushed me over the edge into a dark, nasty place.

Opening my eyes, I found Dr. Critter watching me. He had been talking a moment ago, before my head went ugly inside. I had lost a minute or two. It happens more than I would like. That’s the way the pain of losing your whole world works. You go along, doing fine, minding your own business, and it crashes into you sideways like a drunk driver on a Sunday afternoon. It’s a sharp shock to your soft side and it knocks you for a loop.

I turned away to focus my eyes. To focus my mind. My hands unclenched slowly, the thumb on my left one moving to rub across the underside of the wedding band I still wore. I was facing one of the shelves that lined the office, the wood dark and polished. Books crammed each level, split apart by small displays of animal skulls and bones. I assumed they were real. They were something to focus on as I pulled my shit together. As my breathing evened out I turned back to face Dr. Critter.

On TV he dressed like he was Indiana Jones on a safari, complete with a fedora and a bullwhip, but in his office he was wearing a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt just like I was. Of course, the outfit made him look like a movie star; on me, it looked like I was the bodyguard. Maybe it was the guns.

He cleared his throat. Most people ask if I am okay when I go out like that. He didn’t. “As I was saying, the lion is the third animal killed in four nights.” Good, we were back to the conversation.

“What else was killed?”

“A zebra and one of the smaller gorillas. The zebra was dead on Monday when we arrived, the gorilla on Tuesday.”

“And today is Thursday. So no dead animal on Wednesday.” I turned to him to confirm my statement. He shook his head. A lock of golden hair fell over his eyes and he blew it back. “Did you do a headcount to make sure all the other animals were accounted for?” He gave me a look usually reserved for idiots. I pointed a finger at him. “Hey, you’d be surprised at what people forget to do when things go weird.”

His expression hardened. “I can assure you, Mr. Chalk, that we are fully capable of handling this event.”

I came around and sat in one of the leather chairs opposite his desk. I didn’t put my feet up, but I wanted to. Instead I stretched out, sliding down until my legs were a long line in front of me and my hands were clasped behind my head. I looked him in the eye. “Did you clean up the scenes from the first two kills? Sweep it up and make it look like nothing happened?”

He faltered. Sat back in his chair. Made distance between us. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he actually came out with words. “We have patrons to think about. It would be irresponsible to allow public access to something so gruesome.”

“So you destroyed the evidence at the scene.” I didn’t wait for him to answer, just kept on going. “Do you still have the bodies of the zebra or the gorilla so I can examine them?”

That same lock of hair fell as Dr. Critter shook his head side to side.

“Then it sounds to me like all you’re capable of is screwing me over and making my job harder than it has to be.”

Anger flashed over Dr. Critter’s face, crawling from one side, under those ice-blue eyes and across those sculpted cheekbones. It was a good angry face, one that would play well on camera and truly drive home that this was a man
not
to be trifled with.

I was under-impressed. I know about anger. I’ve got anger to last for days.

His face washed clean of expression as he looked up over my head. The air pressure in the office changed and I felt someone stalk in behind me. My palm itched to go for my gun so I wiped it against my thigh. It was a human behind me. A plain, off-the-rack, run-of-the-mill human. Dr. Critter looked like he knew him, my sense of the supernatural was dead silent, and I could smell jalapenos, beans, and
cerveza
.

Someone had spicy Mexican for lunch.

“Why is the lion display closed?” The voice was deep and fluid, sounding like it came from behind a closed door. It was the voice of a man who would tell you anything you wanted to hear to get his way. A snake oil huckster, a used-car salesman, a tent revival evangelist with a methamphetamine addiction. The man who came around me to stand by Dr. Critter’s desk was not a disappointment to my expectations.

He was portly. A short, rotund man whose belt split him in the middle. The seersucker material of his suit bunched at the bends, dividing him into rounded sections of arm and leg like sausages. His shirt collar was damp from sweat despite the hardworking air conditioning. Overall, he had the rumpled appearance of a note someone had wadded up, thrown away, then dug from the trash to smooth out and read again.

Dr. Critter smoothed his hair back with a push of his hand. He looked up at the man by his desk and then over at me. “Mr. Beauregard, this is Mr. Chalk. He is working with the police to investigate the animal deaths.”

I watched Beauregard. He froze, just for a second, not moving other than to sweat. Slowly he turned, pasting a smile across his jowly face. He wasn’t a ugly man, but the hard, conniving look in his eyes made him appear mean. He stuck his hand out; it was damp as I shook it. “Mr. Chalk”—he gave a slight nod—“you don’t look like a police officer.”

I pulled my hand away, wiping it on my jeans. “Deacon. And I’m not.”

“Not?”

“Not a cop.”

“Well, then what are you?”

“Trying to have a conversation with Dr. Critter before you interrupted.” I crossed my hands over my stomach and raised my eyebrow at him. “Now who are you?”

Dr. Critter leaned forward. “Mr. Beauregard is the director here.”

Beauregard’s pudgy hands came up and pulled on the lapel of his suit. His back straightened as he gave what I was sure was supposed to be an authoritative glare. “Yes, I
am
the director. Now where is an actual policeman? I have a lion exhibit to make available to the public and I want an answer as to who has been killing our animals.”

“What,” I said.

My statement stopped him. He blinked at me. “Excuse me?”

“You mean
what
has been killing your animals.” I stood up and took a step towards him. The top of his head came only to my shoulder so his neck had to craned back to look up, but he didn’t take a step back. A lot of men would have. “No human could have done what was done to that lion. We are looking for a what, not a who, and in this part of the country I am the man to handle that. That is why the cops have come and gone, leaving me in charge.”

My fingers ran under the straps holding my shoulder holster to my belt, adjusting them for comfort and drawing attention to the fact that I had a big-ass gun under my arm. I stepped over to the door.

“I am going to go call my people and poke around. When I come up with a plan, I’ll let you know. Until then, stay out of my way.”

I walked out of the office without a second glance.

Jimmy the zookeeper and I bounced along in an all-terrain electric golf cart. Apparently all of the zoo’s natural habitats had fenced access roads the public could not see. This way the zookeepers could move in and out, cleaning up messes and fixing things without being seen. They were like roadies at a rock concert. Always there smoothing things out for the band, but never seen.

He had taken me to where the other two animals had been found. Both scenes were open patches of grass or dirt that had soaked up any clues days ago. I was still stuck with a pterodactyl as my main guess.

“How long have you been a zookeeper, Jimmy?”

He turned a corner too fast, the electric motor humming loudly in protest. “’Bout six years now. Was a maintenance man here before that. Been with the zoo in one form or another since I was nineteen.”

“In all those years, you ever have to clean up an animal carcass?”

“Once or twice.”

“Beauregard get his panties in a wad over them like he has these?”

The golf cart pulled to a stop back in front of the administration building for the zoo. Its solid rubber tires chirped like baby birds. He turned, looking at me with one squinted eye. “Mr. Beauregard’s alright. He’s gotta keep the place makin’ money in a crappy economy. So far he’s done that without laying anybody off, but if he’s gotta replace a lion, a zebra, and a gorilla…. Well, that could be somebody’s salary.”

I nodded because I had no response to that. I hadn’t seen much of Beauregard, but what I had seen had not impressed me. Standing up out of the small cart, I stretched my back. My hand closed on the camera Jimmy the zookeeper had used to take pictures of the kill scene. Lifting it from the cart’s seat I held it up. “There wouldn’t happen to be pictures of the zebra and gorilla on here, would there?”

“S’matter of fact I think there are.”

I smiled. “Good.” I started walking towards the administration building in search of a computer. “You done good, Jimmy.”

“Where you goin’?”

I turned. “To send these to my people and see if they can identify what we are dealing with.”

“I thought you was the weird-shit expert.”

“My people figure out what it is; I make it go away. That’s my expertise.”

“What if it is a pterodactyl?”

I started walking again, throwing back my best Roy Scheider impression.

“Then we’re gonna need a bigger gun.”

The computer in front of me hummed slightly. It was fairly new, but a cheap model. It had been updated with new software, though, and I only had a few moments wait as the teleconferencing program loaded up and connected. I leaned back in the chair, reaching out to adjust the tiny webcam so it broadcast my face and not my chest. It felt delicate in my hand, like an eggshell or a spun-sugar ornament.

I looked around the office while I waited. I didn’t know whom it belonged to, but everything in the room was there for a purpose. Desk, chair, filing cabinet, bookshelf full of binders with white labels on the spines. It wasn’t exactly cold, but there was no individuality to be found.

Even before my life exploded five years ago I wasn’t made for office work. I can see the appeal of it. You go in, you do three hours of real work, four hours of looking like you work, with one hour of breaks and lunch, and you go home. Work is done the moment you leave your office. I get it; it just isn’t me. Before I became an Occult Bounty Hunter I split my time between tattooing at the shop I owned and bouncing at a club two nights a week.

The screen blipped to life as the connection was made, monitor filling with a pretty face. Thick, bone-straight blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail to reveal a nice smooth jawline, full lips under a straight nose, and a pair of topaz-green eyes glinting with seriousness.

Kat is manager of Polecats, the strip club I own to finance my war on monsters, and the one who keeps me organized and together. She’s the reason I even have the ability to teleconference. Left to my own devices I would be passing notes in crayon written on leftover construction paper. I’m not technophobic. I can work a search engine and most basic computer programs, but Kat is downright damn savant with it.

A few years back, I rescued her from a sick vampire bastard named Darius, who had enslaved her for months. She survived things that would have destroyed a lesser woman. With my help she killed his ass real good. Now she worked with me, fighting the good fight. Leaning in toward her camera made her face grow past the edges of the screen.

“Can you hear me?” Her voice through the speakers attached to the computer was slightly tinny.

“Yep.”

She sat back. “Have you looked at the pictures you sent over yet?”

Jimmy the zookeeper was a good photographer. His pictures were clear. The wounds were in high-definition, the shots composed with an artistic flair. It was almost as good as being there. The zebra had been flayed just like the lion. Most of its hide was gone. Only tatters of black-and-white-striped skin hung in shreds around hooves, like a cheap zebra costume. The meat of it was clean, shining pinkish gray in the pictures, free of blood. Gashes that looked big enough to stick my hand inside were scattered over the carcass, particularly around the front shoulders and throat area. The same gashes that the lion had.

There were none of the small piranha bites.

The gorilla had been left in a similar state from the pictures. The main difference was the condition of the body. The zebra was fairly whole, but the gorilla was mangled like the lion. It looked as if someone had broken every joint and major bone in the monkey before skinning it and tearing it apart.

The lack of blood bothered me but wasn’t much of a clue, since almost every monster in the world loves the stuff. Yes, I had looked at the photos.

“I did. What do you think I am dealing with?”

“Don’t know. It’s something nocturnal. All the animals were killed at night. It may or may not be a flesh eater; I can’t tell from the pictures if the bodies are just mutilated or if there is actual meat missing. I also can’t tell if the wounds were made by tooth or claw. It probably has some limited flight ability or magickal ability. Nothing else explains how there were no tracks and how a five-hundred-pound body got thirty feet up a tree.” She leaned back. I assumed she was looking at another screen with the pictures on it. Knowing Kat she also had other screens running, cross referencing information and data, using her research skills to compile information like magic.

“It has a thing for blood too. There is none at the scene or on the dead lion.”

She pondered this information. “Well, your likely candidates are Quetzalcoatl, a gargoyle, a Nosferatu, Spring-heeled Jack, or a pterodactyl.” Kat didn’t smile. She wasn’t joking. Kat never joked.

“Spring-heeled Jack is still traveling the world with Cirque du Soleil.” I had gotten him that gig. It kept him off the streets and out of trouble. He was actually Spring-heeled Jack Junior and was nothing like the unholy terror his old man was.

Him, I’d had to kill.

I ticked off my remaining choices on one hand where she could see over the webcam. “So I am looking at an extinct Aztec winged serpent, a stone guardian of a cathedral, a German strain of vampire that hasn’t been seen since World War II, or a flying dinosaur. Those are my only options?”

“Or something completely new, but based on the information you have given me; yes.”

“Well that is extremely helpful.”

She shrugged. “Not my fault you have shit for information.”

“Mine either. These people should have called me in when the zebra bit it.” I thought for a minute. Kat waited patiently. I tried to think if there was anything I could tell her that I hadn’t already. Something, anything, that would give me a heads-up on what I was dealing with.

I came up with jack and shit and jack left town.

“Okay Kat, triangulate the kill zones and see if you can give me an area to start with and check the crime reports around the first killing.” Her fingers were already typing; I could hear the clicks of her nails on the keyboard. “Look for any sign that this thing was killing humans. It didn’t come from the zoo itself, so it must be an outsider.”

“No problem.” She was looking down in concentration instead of at the camera, thick blonde ponytail bobbing as she worked. “The zoo is in a sketchy area of town, so it may take me a few minutes.”

“That’s fine. Put the padre on.” Kat shifted off camera and Father Dominic Boru Mulcahy moved in, blunt face filling the screen. The padre is not a pretty man. His face is heavy and thick, Italian blood competing with Black Irish to give him a bear-trap of a jaw and permanent five o’clock shadow. His nose was crooked, broken more times than could be counted on two hands. A Kool-brand cigarette hung from his lip, curling menthol-laden smoke up and under heavy eyelids. He blew a stream of gray out of his nostrils and leaned into the camera.

“How is it going there, son? They treating you well?”

I shrugged. “As well as I expected.” Father Mulcahy was the only person who had been there for me since my family had been killed. He had pulled me from the edge of losing my mind and helped me now to maintain an even keel. I don’t know what his life was before becoming a Catholic priest, but he can shoot like a sniper and knife fight like a convict. He has my back anytime I need it, whether that means tending the bar at Polecats or two steps behind me, shotgun in hand.

The priest lifted scar tissue masquerading as an eyebrow while he lit another cancer stick. His Zippo clicked open with a metallic chime, flared a one-inch spout of orange flame, then clacked closed. He worked the smoke around in his mouth like a pipe-smoker, tasting it, enjoying the flavor. When he was done he looked directly at me through the webcam. “Do you think you packed enough ordinance to handle what ever is going on?”

“I didn’t know what kind of party this was going to be, so I brought a little bit of everything.” The Comet’s trunk was full of weapons and different things I might find useful in a hunt. My car was built in 1966, so the trunk is a four-body trunk. You can fit four bodies in there and still close the lid.

Not that I would ever need that. No, not me.

Alright, keep moving. The point is the trunk holds a lot of weapons and I had options.

Kat bumped Father Mulcahy to the side. A map of the zoo popped up in the left-hand corner of the screen, the habitats and the walking paths clearly labeled as they squiggled across the picture.

“Okay, if you look at the map, you will see
X
’s where the attacks took place.” Kat did something on her end and, sure enough, red silhouettes of the animals attacked appeared in their outlined areas. Their areas were pretty close to each other, which meant nothing because the map was not to scale. The zoo covered forty acres of real estate and the areas given to the main exhibits like the lions and the gorillas were huge. If this were a television show instead of real life I would marvel that the silhouettes formed a triangle.
Oooooh, a triangle. Very suspicious.

Put three things anywhere on a map and they form a triangle. It’s not that impressive.

What it did show me was that the monster was keeping to a fairly confined area. Somewhere in there was its daytime resting place. I didn’t know if it was harmed by the sun or just preferred the nighttime. I leaned into the camera.

“How do the crime reports line up for the night before the attacks?”

Kat’s fingers clicked and clacked off-screen. “Fairly standard. Again, it’s a sketchy part of town. Low-income residents mixing with high-income speculators and a tourist attraction, high unemployment rate in that area mixed with high crime.” She squinted at the screen for a second. I bit my tongue. Kat gets mad when you tell her to put on her glasses. “Assault, assault, domestic disturbance, assault, rape, a two-victim hit-and-run, a list of assaults, three carjackings, two counts of breaking and entering, and four counts of vandalism.”

That sounded like a weekend night in Grant Park. One thing niggled in my mind, trying to get my attention. “Detail me on that hit-and-run.”

Clickety-clack and Kat had it. Her voice switched to a fast, monotone clip to read it off, looking away from the camera at another screen. “At approximately 1:30
A.M
. a Grant Park resident struck a man with his 1998 Honda Civic. The victim is described as a possible African American male over six feet tall and wearing a leather jacket. The victim was assaulting a young Georgia Tech student in the center of Cherokee Avenue when struck by the vehicle. The victim of the hit-and-run then fled the scene. The victim of the assault declined comment but did seek first aid at Grady Hospital for a laceration to her throat.” She shifted back towards me on the screen. “What do you get from that?”

“Not as much as I hoped.” Actually, I got nothing from that. A lot of times in my business hunches pay off. I deal with supernatural shit that skews any chance of coincidence or happenstance to the remotest possibility. Oftentimes, when there is a coincidence in my line of work it isn’t a coincidence at all, and when you get a hunch, it can mean the difference between life and death. So you play them, big or small, and pray for the best.

The door behind me opened up slowly, silent on oiled hinges. I saw it reflected on the computer screen, felt the change in the room’s air pressure. I turned, leaning back so that Kat and Father Mulcahy could watch on the webcam without me blocking their view. My fingertips rested lightly on the grip of the Desert Eagle under my arm.

Jimmy the zookeeper stepped into the room.

“We’re closed now and all the guests are off-premises. Me and the other zookeepers have corralled the animals into lockdown like you wanted.”

“Thank you, Jimmy. What staff is still here?”

“Just me, Dr. Critter, and Mr. Beauregard.”

I nodded. “Y’all get the hell gone and leave me the keys to the enclosures on the western side of the zoo. I’ll be here when you come in tomorrow.”

Jimmy the zookeeper took off his hat and folded it in his hands. His long hair was plastered to his skull despite the air conditioning. He shuffled side to side, watching his feet as he did. “I don’t think Dr. Critter or Mr. Beauregard are planning to leave you here alone, and I was wondering if you would let me help.”

I studied him. He was thin, wiry, and cut from good, old Georgia redneck stock. Rednecks are part of the South, and even when they don’t look like much, they usually turn out to be tough as leather and full of skills that save your ass. I love rednecks. Hell, to a certain extent, I am one.

I looked him over with a squinted eye. “You ever hunt, Jimmy?”

His face turned up and cracked into that Copenhagen grin. “O’course. Grew up huntin’ and fishin’, plus I know this zoo like the back of my hand.”

“Alright, sold.” I gave him my best serious-business stare. “On one condition. You do exactly what I say when I say it. If you can’t abide by that, then you need to go home now, ’cause you’ll just be in the way.”

“I have seen a lot in my time on this here earth, but I ain’t never seen anything like was done to those poor animals.” His eyes burned with sincerity. “I’ll listen; you don’t have to worry about me.”

I looked at him. This was probably a mistake, but I could see he was determined to help. If I sent him away, he’d just sneak back in and try to help anyways. Better to keep him close and keep an eye on him. I looked at my watch. It was less than an hour from sunset. “Alright. Go change into comfortable clothes and tell Critter and Beauregard to stay in this building.”

He grinned at me. “Better than that, I’ll lock them in.” With that he spun and slipped out the door. Turning back to the computer I found Father Mulcahy on screen.

“Do you need me to come down there?”

“Nahhh, I got Jimmy the zookeeper for backup. We can handle it.”

It was going to be a long night.