Night Kill (7 page)

“And that’s why you went home sick.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “You didn’t report the accident immediately. That’s grounds for disciplinary action.”

“I’m reporting it now. I think someone might have opened the cat door. I think I heard it while I was in the yard.” Wrong, wrong. I shouldn’t have said “might have.”

“Or else you forgot to check and went out there with the door still open.”

Honesty was a lousy policy.

The thick pads of his fingers tapped on the desk. “Look, you got special circumstances, with Rick and all. I never should of let you go back to cats, so maybe this was my fault too. I’ll forget about the warning in your file—this time. You let me know anything at all happens, any kind of accident at all, hear?”

I heard.

He picked a piece of paper off his desk and studied it. “You work Primates today and tomorrow. Linda does cats. You get Saturday and Sunday off, then you move to Birds under Calvin Lorenz mostly and Primates under Kip Harrison when they need extra help.”

I opened my mouth to argue. Or beg.

“Get to work,” he ordered. “And be damn glad you’re still alive.”

Defeated, I walked out and slunk toward Primates.

Chapter Six

A day scrubbing walls inside monkey exhibits added aching muscles to my sore spirit. Kip Harrison, the senior primate keeper, was delighted not to have to do it herself. It was mindless, wearying toil, about all I was good for.

Somehow word was out about my encounter with Rajah, judging by the glances and silences. No one came forward, embarrassed and apologetic, to confess they had let Raj out. Instead people treated me with uneasy thoughtfulness, as though a harsh word might send me into a psychotic episode where I’d hang myself with a hose. I could hardly wait for the weekend.

That evening, Marcie called as I sat huddled on the sofa in my robe and soon extracted the whole story about Raj evicting me and the consequences. She eventually collected herself enough to say, “Iris, I appreciate that you add spice to my dull little life, but this is excessive. I’d really prefer you stay alive.” I pictured her hand flying up in alarm, the other white-knuckled on the phone.

She decided that dragging me to a big dog show at the Portland Expo Center on Saturday was essential to my mental health. That morning, she picked me up at the house in her Saturn and was determinedly chipper on the drive. I heard all about her job at the furniture store, which she hated, and the malnourished kitten she had recently adopted and was introducing to her other two cats. She talked with one hand on the steering wheel, the other illustrating important points.

I wasn’t much help keeping the conversation going. During a pause, a huge red semi swept past us. A snarling tiger was painted on the side ten feet high, part of an ad for Olde English 800 malt liquor. “Beer can with tiger attacking. My personal eighteen-wheeler from hell,” I sighed.

“Yes. We need to talk about that. You don’t look so good.”

“Just tired.”

She gave me a look.

“Watch the road. I’ve lost Felines—how would you expect me to look? Telling Wallace what happened with Raj was the most adult thing I’ve ever done. I’ll never do anything that mature again as long as I live. Way too painful.”

Marcie put both hands on the wheel and stared straight ahead. “Your way of dealing with grief is not exactly the mature one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Pretending Rick didn’t happen isn’t working.”

“I’m not pretending. I’m rebuilding my life. What do you want me to do—wail and snarl and feel sorry for myself?”

“Take it easy. Keep in mind that I’m actually on your side.”

If Marcie’s goal was a relaxed outing, this was not going according to plan. We rode in silence for a few minutes, with me regretting angry words.

Marcie found her positive energy before I did. “You might actually like Birds, if you give it a chance. More rounded experience, good career move, all that.”

“No cats. Calvin. Second banana.”

She gave up on cheerful. “What’s wrong with Calvin? I thought you liked him.”

“Calvin’s fine, as long as we’re eating lunch together. My gut feeling is that he’s an old-fashioned guy who remembers when being a keeper was a male thing. Arnie was his relief keeper for years and I don’t think he got to vote on swapping Arnie for me.” I stared morosely at the green struts of the Interstate 5 Bridge. “Now Calvin’s my boss. I liked not having a boss at Felines.”

“You had Wallace.”

“True, but I mostly ran Felines the way I wanted. I wasn’t a senior keeper, but I got to make decisions like one. Calvin is a senior keeper for Birds, and I’ll try to do as I’m told. It’s that or leave the zoo.”

“You learned Felines from one of the old guys. You got along fine with him.”

“I was brand new. I didn’t know any better than to do whatever Herman told me. He was a ‘clean it, feed it, go play cards ’til 4:00 PM’ keeper. I don’t know if Calvin is just putting in his time until retirement or not. And another thing. We’re finally starting to use training instead of drugs and physical restraint. I’m working with the cats so that we can do exams and medical procedures without getting them stirred up or knocking them out. Calvin isn’t doing anything like that with birds, and he’s not likely to let me start a bunch of new procedures.”

“Maybe a whole lot of dogs will help.”

We pulled off the freeway and began the circuitous route that winds to the Portland Metropolitan Exposition Center.

Inside the Expo Center, a maze of show rings and exhibits was strung out over three big buildings connected by enclosed corridors. People of all ages wandered around, many of them attached to dogs. Crowd noises were spiced with barks and yelps; the huge space smelled of popcorn and canine grooming products. We were swept into the slow stream of dog-loving citizenry.

I had issues with some practices in the pure-bred dog industry, such as mutilating the ears of Doberman pinschers and developing breeds that can’t give birth without caesareans, but I had to admit that the dogs looked to be having a great time. They got treats to keep their heads up, to let the handler set their feet right, to trot without frisking. They found wonderful opportunities to make new friends or new enemies, depending on personalities, and were socializing nonstop. My sorrows were supplanted for the moment by busy canines and their obsessed humans.

We meandered around dogs being brushed and fluffed on benches. I cheered up enough to flirt with a Bernese mountain dog on a grooming bench, who slobbered sweetly on my fingers, while Marcie cooed at a bright-eyed Lhasa Apso. This was fun after all.

“Marcie,” I said, “we are both already in relationships with companion animals. Don’t be promiscuous.”

“You should talk. You got as much drool on that dog as he got on you.”

“You still hanging with that Jake guy?” I’d met him once—quiet, low-key, some sort of doctor’s assistant.

“Jack. Not for a while.”

Smart, cute Marcie hadn’t had a relationship last for more than a month since college. “Deeply flawed?”

“More like stale-dated. A high school basketball game is still the high point of his life.”

“And I thought fear of commitment was a male trait,” I said.

“Look, sometimes I wish I could toss my heart over a cliff and dive after it, but I do things differently.”

“Scared to crash-land at the bottom like I did. You should be braver—there can’t be that many guys as bogus as Rick.”

“Let’s get tea,” Marcie said. “I want to sit at the ring with bleachers and watch the Finnish spitzes.”

“We need doughnuts with sprinkles on top. That should go well with spitzes.”

We got our treats and found space on a narrow bleacher bench. I’d never seen a Finnish spitz in my life. They looked like foxes, small and red-gold, with tails curled over their backs. One particularly lively female yipped firmly at her handler when the tidbits came too slow. As long as the action kept up, the ache in my chest lay dormant.

“Thanks for rooting me out of my cave,” I told Marcie. “I’m almost enjoying myself.” I had colorful sugar sprinkles all over me. They left a little stain on my jeans when I brushed them off.

“That was the idea,” she said, eating her doughnut with not a sprinkle out of place or the slightest mar on her khakis or pink sweater.

“Obedience trial,” I said, waving at the ring.

German shepherds, golden retrievers, and several other breeds heeled perfectly, heads up, close to their handlers. Their rears dropped promptly when the handlers stopped, except for a young Rhodesian Ridgeback, who wandered off to greet a poodle. Her handler caught her up and clipped on the leash.

“I’m the Ridgeback, but I have to act like a golden retriever.”

“Which means…?”

“Do what Calvin tells me to do instead of thinking for myself. That’s what’s required to survive in the rubble Rick left of my life. If only I’d never started going out with him…”

Marcie wiped her fingers on a napkin and wadded it into a tight little ball. “You’re acting more like an abused Doberman.”

“What?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right.

“This bitterness is corrosive. You aren’t eating, you aren’t sleeping, and you blame Rick for all your problems. Maybe you need to quit being so angry at him and try a little forgiving.” She unwadded the napkin and started tearing it to shreds.

“Get real. He lied to me and manipulated me and died drunk.” Acid roiled in my stomach, bitter in the back of my throat. I dug around for patience, wishing I’d found a gentler voice. Romantic Marcie, too wary of men for a serious relationship herself, trying to salvage the Rick ♥
Iris story.

“Denial has its uses, but this is not going to work. You’re trying to pretend you never loved him and he never loved you.” Marcie’s face was flushed, her jaw set stubbornly.

“I’m trying to move on with my life, but he’s cost me my job.”

“It’s his fault you have to move to Birds?” Marcie’s hands flew apart in amazement.

“Oh, yes. I’m supposedly demented by grief, so everyone thinks I left Rajah’s door open. People were quick to assume I screwed up. Nobody took me seriously about hearing someone open the cat door. They think I’m as incompetent as Rick.”

“Give them a break. They lost one friend and they’re worried about you. Besides, you always told me how competent Rick was.” Her face turned fierce. “You’ve erased everything good about him. You might try to remember he was more than a liar and a loser, a lot more.”

I bit back a sharp answer and waited for softer words to come. “Yeah, I still believe he was a decent animal keeper.” I stared at the ring, barely registering the chocolate poodle jumping over a little fence, considering the depth of Marcie’s loyalty to Rick. “Look, I know you liked Rick, everybody did, but he wasn’t who we thought he was. You have some accepting to do yourself.”

Marcie looked away, her face unreadable. “Let’s go look for dog toys.”

This was not going well.

We wandered around the commercial displays for another hour. People told us that we could pet the dogs after the show ring, but not before, to preserve extreme fluffiness; that the skin of whippets tears easily; that salukis are much less maintenance than Afghans. The air smelled of dog shampoo. The only mess I saw was a kicked-over can of cola.

When we’d seen it all, we stepped out of the noisy, warm exhibit hall to hunt for Marcie’s car in the huge lot. On our right, outside the grounds and beyond a cyclone fence, a lake gleamed dully in twilight. The gray sky above it was crowded with dark waterfowl, circling and settling on the water. Their cries sounded like puppies yelping.

Driving home, Marcie broke our silence. “You loved Rick. I saw it. And he loved you.”

I sagged back against the seat, weary to my bones. “I was drugged by pheromones and hormones and didn’t see what was really happening until too late. That’s all there was to it.”

“That’s not just stupid, it’s mean and unfair.” Marcie’s round face, pale in the headlights of oncoming cars, was constricted with anger. “You’re stupid to keep denying who Rick was, what you guys had. I know it went sour, but I saw the whole thing, remember? It was real. You two had big problems, but that wasn’t the whole story. You’ll never get over this if you keep pretending.”

“Baby and bathwater?”

“Yes, damn it.”

“What the hell good does it do me to remember what’s gone forever?”

“I don’t know. But lying to yourself isn’t working. I feel like I’m talking to a stranger every time Rick comes up.”

The Columbia River was slow-moving pewter in the gray light. Mt. Hood and Mt. Saint Helens were both invisible. Ahead lay a long, cold winter, an empty bed each night, endless regrets and questions, ugly dreams. Sorrows circled like ducks at the lake. Words to salve a bruised friendship failed to touch down.

We took the Vancouver exit for my house and rode through the outskirts of town in silence. I sought a scrap of common ground. “Marcie, you said one thing right. Rick was competent. He didn’t make bonehead mistakes, especially on the job.”

She nodded, unappeased.

“Even drunk, he didn’t stagger around,” I mused. “He got flushed and loud, that’s all. He said things that were a little dumb, but he never did anything reckless or stupid.” Unless disconnecting from me in favor of drinking could be called stupid.

She turned into my driveway and the dogs started barking from inside the house.

I sat in the warm car in the dark, gathering the will to get out. “Falling into the lion moat doesn’t make sense. I need to know why Rick died at the zoo.”

Marcie looked as exhausted as I felt. “Anything but staying like this. It’s not what I had in mind, but start facing reality any way you can.”

Chapter Seven

I swiped my time card a full half-hour early in the deserted Commissary and walked through the cold, quiet dawn to Felines without seeing another person. Peacocks and peahens were still abed; gibbons hadn’t tuned up yet. The air smelled of fall and frost and rain to come.

The cats were locked inside for the night. My key turned in the lock, as familiar as brushing my teeth. Inside was sharp-smelling warmth. Water dripped somewhere and a half-hearted sawing roar came from the direction of the common leopards. I walked down the hall, rubber boots soft on the concrete, paying my regards. The cats were calm, accustomed to me, confident breakfast would be served soon. Even the twitchy clouded leopards were relaxed. My steps echoed softly as I walked back past the kitchen to the lions. All three lurched to their feet and started pacing. I watched them and they watched me. Across the aisle, the leopards ignored me, black Bagheera and yellow Kali, too cool to notice me. I went on to Rajah. Damned if he didn’t say hello, a rough, short purr, like he always did.