Takedown, page 5
“Then let’s get the old Johnson place next door.”
“You’ve been talking to Chris.”
“My father said he’d help us with it.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need help. And we don’t need a decorator.”
“The Johnson house has a nice pool.”
“And so does the gym.”
“This one’s closer. Or… we could just get a decorator.”
Gavin gave her a long look, then peered about the room they were in. What was wrong with the house? Masculine? He didn’t understand what was so overwhelmingly masculine. He had two pictures on the wall he was facing—a Bob Ross mountain scene he’d found a few years ago at a mall while Christmas shopping for his usual short list, and an island beach sunset scene with a sailboat in the background. Okay, so there were no flowers, but they were real paintings, not posters. The floor was carpeted in multiple earth tones so dirt wouldn’t show. Smart, that’s all. No gender there. What else? The ship-hatch coffee table? Okay, that was maybe a little on the rustic side and therefore a little masculine, but a flowered curtain design could counterbalance that.
“Decorators are for people who don’t know how to decorate,” he said.
“Well, you obviously don’t know how, and you’re not letting me.”
Another long look. “Well, whatever,” he said, taking one of her bare feet into his hands, kneading it gently. “Anything to keep you off these feet. Just promise me you won’t let Lenny swing the pendulum too far in the other direction.”
“Larry.”
“That’s what I said.”
“You said— Never mind. Anyway, now that that’s settled, tell me more about Buck.”
“I thought Asians were supposed to have small feet.”
“I’m half Jewish and my feet are just fine. Besides, you’re thinking of the Chinese, and that was a long time ago. They made little girls’ feet small and, I might add, deformed, by binding them with cloth so they could fit into painfully tiny shoes.”
“Ouch.”
“They thought it was feminine.”
“Feminine?”
“Stop! You keep changing the subject. All you’ve told me about Buck is that he didn’t look good and that Samantha was going to stay with some neighbor.”
No scary demon stuff, remember. “Well, that’s most of it.”
“I want all of it. Details. I didn’t send you all the way up there for just that.”
Thinking, thinking. Gavin’s massaging hands slowed; he exhaled. He didn’t want to lie, but there was no need to make Amy any more anxious than she already was with this stuff. “He’s really concerned for Samantha. He’s asking everyone he trusts to keep her in prayer should something happen to him.”
He kept his eyes on her feet as he reminded himself that Buck’s fanatical belief in demons and spiritual warfare was based on a highly active imagination and desire for the spirit world to be more than it really was. Gavin remembered that documentary on HBO. Amy hadn’t watched it. She’d insisted they had some kind of axe to grind. He’d watched anyway and was glad he had. A very thorough, and scientific, inside look at faith. How it calms and excites. How people like Buck go off the deep end and see things that aren’t there. Impressive. Scary for some, he figured, but a relief for him. Pretty much explained the whole thing psychologically. And to think Buck had him convinced two years ago of all that craziness. Gavin still believed in God, but… thank God for HBO.
“He didn’t mention anything about the tortoise?” Amy finally asked, incredulous.
“Only in passing.”
“In passing? Well, then, what did he say, in passing?”
“Almost nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“He’s really mellowed on his position. You probably won’t even believe me.”
“Try me.”
“He said we shouldn’t worry about the tortoise. He’s convinced after all this time that it’s safe, and if something should happen to Buck, he’s set up the proper steps to keep the animal safe.”
“Ha… Yeah, right!”
“I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“He didn’t say anything about us praying? I mean, wasn’t that what Samantha called about?”
“He wanted us to personally know he had everything under control. He didn’t want to die and have us all freaked. Again, his main concern was for his granddaughter.”
Pause. “Liar.”
“Liar? That’s not a very nice thing to call your husband.”
“Liar, liar, liar.”
Gavin shook his head. “I don’t fight with pregnant people.”
Amy stared at him, and he looked away, again finding her feet a convenient place to focus. Rubbing, rubbing. After a short while he glanced back at her. Still staring.
“What?” he finally said.
“I can’t believe you won’t tell me, your wife, the truth. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“First you call me names and now you’re trying the guilt-trip method. Very becoming,” Gavin said, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. “How do you know I’m not telling you the truth?”
Amy rolled her eyes. “Well, for one, I know Buck, two, I know you, and three, my foot is about to catch on fire. So you’re lying.”
Gavin eased up, sighed. “Did you ever think he might have other trusted believers who know a little more about this stuff than we do, and that he has entrusted them with the task of praying?”
Amy said nothing, which meant she was at least considering what he said.
“And, oh yeah, I also told him we were married now and expecting a baby. He was pleased. Very pleased.”
Amy paused for what appeared to be a pleasant moment. “What exactly did he say?”
“He said we made the right decision and that God would bless our marriage.”
“Really?” Amy said, her smile bright, wide. “What else?”
“Nothing else. Like I said, he was very weak. And the nurse was standing right there. We really couldn’t have had a private conversation if we’d wanted to.”
Amy stared at the ceiling for a long time. She seemed to look more like the picture of a person at rest. Maybe she was finally relaxing from the foot massage and the mellow classical violin music in the background.
“I think I’ll give Buck a call tomorrow,” Amy said, her lips pursed, her gaze settling into that confident “I can get to the bottom of this myself” look. She was playing with him, and he was fine with that, as long as that dangerously stressful fear was gone from her eyes. He had read how bad a mother’s stress could be for the baby.
“That’s a good idea,” Gavin agreed, knowing full well Buck would not be allowed any calls in the CCU.
“Or maybe I’ll just take a ride up there.”
“Sure. I suppose you’ll want to borrow my badge, too?”
Amy frowned and went back to the ceiling to think. He didn’t like it when she spent too much time thinking.
7
Lester Davis was trying to work as quickly and quietly as he possibly could. Hands sweating, eyes darting, he hastily slid the dolly under the three-foot-cubed wooden crate, then pushed the crate up two planks onto a golf-cart-sized electric pickup used in cleaning cages. It could transport just about anything where the exhaust of a gas engine could prove unhealthy.
Suddenly… Davis gasped and spun around to see who was there… who was right there, leaning over him, breathing. He could hear the breathing… feel the breathing. No one was there… at least no one he could see. He sighed and continued his task.
With the crate on board, he dropped the planks where they were and hopped into the driver’s seat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d driven one of these things. Turn the key to the on position, push the black lever to either forward or reverse, step on the pedal, and go. Easy. Be yourself, act normal. Impossible. He was leaving the zoo with a young giant Galapagos Island tortoise with zero intent on returning it—ever—and no explanation to keep him from being fired and probably thrown in jail for whatever the technical term was for stealing an extremely valuable animal just off the endangered list. But did any of that matter compared to the danger of Krogan getting out of the tortoise? Buck would know what to do. He had to get the tortoise to Buck. Had to see Buck.
“What?” he gasped, again startled by the sound of breathing. He could feel the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. “I rebuke you in the name of Jesus,” he whispered through gritted teeth. The breathing stopped. Silence… eerie silence… but only for a moment. Then it was back… not the breathing, but a snickering, as if his rebuke was amusing. He wondered if the laughter was coming from the tortoise in the crate or from a memory loop in his own frightened, frazzled mind. If it was from the tortoise, why didn’t his rebuke stop it flat? Maybe he was going insane. He found more comfort in that thought. Whatever the case, he had no time to stop and think about it.
Davis nervously mounted the pickup and motored silently into the service area behind the Reptile House and the zoo store. He didn’t know whether to wave to everyone or to no one. The electric pickup driving through the service area with a box in the back was a regular event. “This looks normal,” he said aloud, trying to convince himself. The sun was hot. That was why he was sweating so, he reasoned. He held his breath as he came out of the service area, onto the main road, and past the zoo center. Many of the employees were leaving for the day. He drove slowly to blend in with the crowd, wanting really to stomp on the pedal.
He wondered for a moment how odd it was that the tortoise had complied so easily with entering the tight crate. No snapping, hissing, thrashing, excreting. Did it think it was leaving for Hawaii already?
He drove under the Skyfari gondola ride that traversed the park but didn’t look up at it, sensing everyone looking down at him. He continued slowly, naturally, ready to smile if someone waved to him. Just ahead was the left turn he would make to the parking lot. Almost there. As he approached, he saw the zoo shuttle coming on its way to Asia. He thought about cutting in front of it. He could make it. No. That could draw attention. Act calm, natural. He stopped. Waited. He had never seen the shuttle move so slowly and look so long.
“Hi, Lester,” said a familiar voice.
Davis turned. Or rather, he snapped his head. Too fast, not natural, he thought. “Oh! Hi, Frank,” he said to the elderly Reptile House security attendant, who apparently, like Davis, was waiting for the train to pass so he could leave for the day.
“Easy, easy. A bit jumpy today?”
“Just lost in thought, Frank. You snatched me out of a daydream,” he said, trying to sound relaxed while the laughter inside his head intensified.
Frank nodded. “I’m dreaming of a cold beer at the Yankees-Mets game tonight. Should be a good one this time.”
Lester nodded, unable to allow even a sliver of a thought for either a beer or a baseball game.
“So where you going with this thing?” Frank laughed. “Home?”
Lester realized he had no answer. He had planned to tell anyone who stopped him that he was going to the Children’s Zoo, but that was before the zoo shuttle showed up. The only thing left in the direction he was now facing was the parking lot. “I, uh, need to make a small… delivery.”
Frank glanced at the crate and frowned. “Delivery? What are you deliverin’?”
Davis laughed nervously. “A very precious load. Something I wouldn’t entrust to another. I gathered some of the reptile crap for my garden. By next week I should have tomatoes the size of melons.”
“No kidding,” Frank said, then laughed. “Does it really work?”
“Would I be bringing it home if it didn’t?”
“I guess not,” Frank said, still eyeing the crate. “Say, whatever did you all decide to do with that crazy tortoise?”
“They’re sending it to Hawaii. Best zoo in the world for tortoises, especially these guys,” Davis said, motioning toward the crate, then instantly realized what he had done.
Frank frowned again, but the shuttle had passed.
“Later, Frank. Enjoy the game,” Davis said, then hit the pedal, leaving Frank standing still. He crossed the shuttle path and sped downward to the South Boulevard parking lot, where his minivan was parked. Any chance of the tortoise’s disappearance not being connected to him was now lost. The thought brought tears to his eyes. He loved the zoo. The laughter continued, louder than ever. What was he doing?
“Hi, Lester,” someone called as he maneuvered full speed through the remaining cars. He didn’t look to see who it was. It didn’t matter anymore who it was. He skidded to a stop, hopped out to open the rear door of his minivan, then climbed back into the electric pickup. He threw the black lever into reverse and backed up to his van until the two banged together, much harder than he wanted. He climbed up next to the crate, hands shaking uncontrollably as he struggled to get the heavy container into the van. The two vehicles didn’t line up, his van being higher. He tried lifting one corner of the crate and pivoting it on another. That worked until a third corner hit the pickup’s sidewall.
“Can I help?” said a male voice suddenly at Davis’s side.
Davis turned. He didn’t know the man. He was completely bald, wearing casual slacks and a button-down tropical shirt. Hawaiian shirt, he thought. Was this a joke? Had the laughing demon arranged this? He could see Frank, the security guard, coming. “Thanks, but you’ll get yourself all—”
“Nonsense,” the stranger interrupted, then climbed onto the truck bed before Davis could say another word. The pickup sank under the man’s additional weight, bringing the distance between the two vehicles even farther apart.
The two men struggled, at times against each other. “This freakin’ thing is heavy,” the man said. “What’s in here?”
“Reptile crap. Isn’t that right, Lester?”
Davis stopped moving, said nothing. He turned to see Frank staring at him in the eye. Caught. He thought about punching Frank in the throat and pushing the other man off the bed, but then what? Even if by some miracle he could get away on the electric pickup, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt either of them. A friend and a kind stranger. It wasn’t in him.
“Reptile crap?” the stranger said incredulously, then laughed. “Is that what we’re bustin’ our butts over?”
“Might be the best fertilizer on the planet. Isn’t that right, Lester?”
Davis stared down at the bed of the truck, silent.
Frank walked over and climbed into the driver’s seat of the pickup, put it in forward, and moved the truck a couple feet away from the van, then locked the brake and went back to Davis. “Maybe with all three of us, we can get under this thing and slide it in. What do you think, Lester?”
Davis looked up at Frank. The old man knew, but there was grace in his eyes. The three men got their arms under as Frank had suggested and slowly slid and lifted and slid some more, until the crate was in the van. Davis thanked the stranger, then turned to Frank and said, “Thank you. I can’t explain, but the safety of this crate is more important to me than anyone could possibly understand.”
“I know, Lester. I’ve watched you for years. You know what’s best for your kids and you do what’s best for them. There’s no explanation needed. I’ll take the pickup back for you.”
Davis nodded and shook Frank’s hand. “Enjoy the game.”
“I’ll do that. And you bring me back one of those big tomatoes,” he said with a wink, then left.
Davis paused to look at the crate. In all his panic, he hadn’t realized the laughter had stopped. He closed the rear door, got into his minivan, and drove away. Once out of the park, he worked his way to the Cross Bronx Expressway and then west toward the New York State Thruway.
Westbound traffic on the Cross Bronx was typically heavy at this time of day but not nearly as bad as the eastbound, which was virtually at a standstill. He chose the middle lane, hoping that none of the seventeen zillion other cars on his side of the divider would have trouble. A simple flat tire would bring the delicate flow of traffic to a grinding halt. There was no shoulder to speak of, and even if there were, no one in their right mind would get out of their car. The real estate on either side of the road consisted mainly of burnt-out brick apartment buildings. But so far, so good.
Davis looked in the rearview mirror. He could see the top of the wooden crate just behind him. He could also see beads of sweat across his forehead. In the two and a half years since Buck had brought Jeremy back to the zoo, Davis had never felt as eerie as he did right now, alone with it in his car. Dear God, it was going to feel good to get rid of it once and for all at Buck’s. He adjusted the air conditioning colder. Put both hands on the steering wheel. Exhaled. Maybe the radio would calm him. He turned it on. The first voice he heard was John Sterling’s, the sports announcer. He was interviewing Yankee manager Joe Torre in the pregame show. This wasn’t relaxing. Maybe some music. Classical? He was about to change the station when the pregame show took an unexpected turn.
“As I’m sure you know, Joe,” Sterling said in his perfect radio voice. “There is another Bronx Zoo in town other than Yankee Stadium.”
“Oh yes, and don’t I know it? I hear some of the animals there can get even wilder than our own fans.”
“Uh-huh. Well, we both know what a tough act the Yankee fans are to follow, but if there was one animal in particular you would consider even wilder, which one would come to mind, being the world champion manager you are, Joe?”
“Heh, heh, heh… I guess to both you and those listening out there, there’s no secret that Jeremy the tortoise would have to be my pick as well as the crowd favorite.”
Davis stared at his radio and shook his head quickly as if to wake himself up. He couldn’t possibly have just heard what he thought he heard. Were his ears playing tricks on him… or were his ears being played with? He looked in the mirror, at the crate, and then back at the radio as the dialogue continued.
“Would you go so far, Joe, as to say that Jeremy might be considered the MVP in the game of whether or not Lester Davis gets to live or not?”
