Frank followed Theo into a modest foyer. Carhart jackets hung from an oak coat rack. Cowboy boots lined the walnut paneled walls. Theo glanced at Frank’s feet. “Take off your boots. Dad don’t like outside boots inside.”

Frank didn’t want to, but he pulled off the snakeskin cowboy boots, settling his bare feet on the smooth, warm wood floor.

Theo watched Frank a moment. “You got something against socks?”

“Yeah.”

Theo shrugged, then led Frank through a gigantic kitchen. The house was silent, save for the slow, deep ticking of a grandfather clock. They went down a long hall that ended abruptly in a closed door. Theo knocked quietly, then opened the door.

The first thing that hit Frank was the books. Thousands of them, lining the walls, stretching from the wood floor to the wood paneled ceiling. Sounds seemed to sink into the pages and vanish. Dozens, possibly hundreds of small picture frames surrounded the window. Frank couldn’t see what was inside the frames because brutal sunlight sizzled into the room, slicing through the dancing dust motes and falling full upon Frank’s sweating face. He blinked several times.

“Something I can do for you, mister?” Sturm’s voice sounded tired, raw.

Frank made his way over to two antique chairs. They faced an oak desk large enough to bury four people comfortably. Sturm waited behind the desk, his back to the window, fingers loosely clasped on the bare wood. His skull reminded Frank of a bare bulb in the sunlight.

Frank wasn’t sure if he should sit or remain standing. He chose to stand. “My name is Frank Winter.” He took a step forward, extending his hand. Sturm didn’t rise, but grasped Frank’s hand in a quick, perfunctory shake. Frank marveled at the size of the man’s hands; they seemed disproportionately large, as if Sturm’s hands and head belonged to another, bigger, body.

“I am here under…unusual circumstances.”

Sturm’s face remained in silhouette, except his eyes, as if they were lit from inside by a cold fire. Frank’s prepared speech crumbled and fell to pieces around his naked toes. He would have rather tried to talk to the Glouck’s mutant pit bull, Petunia. “And uh, with that in mind, I, uh, would like to offer you a business proposition.”

Sturm leaned back. “Is that so. Well, then. Guess it would depend on these special circumstances.”

Frank nodded, pinned like a dead moth under the weight of Sturm’s hairless stare. Either he told the truth, confessed his sins, or he thanked Sturm for his time, climbed back into the long black car, and kept running. “Mind if I sit down?”

“I’m a busy man, Mr. Winter. ‘Case you haven’t heard, I don’t have much time left.”

“I have heard, and I appreciate your, uh, situation.” Frank sat. “In fact, that’s why I am here today. I may be able to help you.”

“I have cancer, Mr. Winter. Unless you got a cure for one fat brain tumor, I’m afraid you can’t help shit.”

“No sir. I don’t claim to have the cure for cancer.” Frank met Sturm’s glacier eyes. “But I might just have a way to make the days you have left around here,” Frank made sure Sturm understood he was talking about the town, “a bit more enjoyable. Maybe even more…worthwhile. Respectable even.” Frank knew he was pushing it.

“Spit it out, son.”

Frank sat. “I am, well, used to be anyway, a vet. Horses, mostly. I worked on a few racetracks for, well, let’s call ’em businessmen. Businessmen that didn’t like to lose. They didn’t see much sport in racing thoroughbreds. They just saw…opportunities. And, well,” Frank shrugged, “I don’t get around so well anymore since I got kicked in the head. It didn’t help my finances. So I helped these gentlemen take advantage of these opportunities.”

Sturm clasped his thick, stubby fingers in front of his chest and waited patiently.

“Anyways, one of these opportunities didn’t work out.” Frank looked down at his bare feet on the wood floor. “It didn’t work out at all.” He looked back up, met Sturm’s eyes again. “In a place not too far from here. A place with a lot of animals. Exotic animals. Lions. Tigers. Monkeys. Even goddamn alligators.

“Now,” Frank leaned forward, “you seem like a man who can appreciate the finer things in life. I’m not talking about material things. No. I’m talking about things like skills. I’m talking about things like the relationship between a predator and its prey. I’m talking about instinct. I’m talking about hunting. I can provide you with an opportunity for the hunt of a lifetime. A hunt like this town has never seen. A goddamn safari in your own backyard. A chance to hunt—and eat—and mount—lions. Tigers. Monkeys. A rhinoceros. And all the gators you can shoot.”

Frank leaned back, crossed his legs. “But I don’t want any misunderstandings here. These animals aren’t for sale. We’d have to go in there…and take them.”

Sturm didn’t say anything for a while. “So…basically, you’re talking about a, a heist? Is that it?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“You’re asking me to break the law.”

“Technically, yeah. But, and this is the important thing, this, this heist, is unnaturally safe. There’s no law enforcement involved. None at all. There’s only one man. One man that feeds the animals. And I’ll take care of that element. Of him.” Frank realized he wasn’t talking in complete sentences anymore, but he didn’t care, he just wanted to spit it out, to get all the details on the table. “All you gotta do is go pick up these animals. And they’re yours.”

“And what’s in it for you?”

“Finder’s fee. A safari’d set you back ten grand, easy. I’m looking for ten percent.” Frank figured a grand would get him to Canada.

“So, you want one thousand dollars, just to point me in the direction of these animals.”

“And to make sure the keeper doesn’t bother you.”

Sturm watched Frank for a long time. Finally he lowered his steepled fingers. “Son, you’re either telling the truth or you’re so full of shit it’s about to start dripping from your ears.”

Frank didn’t say anything.

Sturm drummed his fingertips on the desk. “Will Rogers used to say he never met a man he didn’t like. I’d say he never got out much.” He barked out a harsh, quick laugh.

Frank stood. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time. Good day and good luck with the time you have left.”

“Now hold on just a minute, son. Didn’t mean any disrespect. No sir. None at all. Just a little short on patience since my boy fucked up the fights this year. But that don’t mean I got to take it out on everyone.” He stood as well, and looked up at Frank. “You say you’re a horse doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“Then come with me. Afterwards, maybe we’ll talk about this hunt of yours.”

* * * * *

Sturm led Frank through an elaborate garden. Frank couldn’t see any weeds, not even a tip poking through the rich black soil, as he passed through rows of tomatoes, squash, and corn. But the plants themselves were wilted and dying. The squash looked like used condoms and the tomatoes like raisins. They went through a white picket gate at the far end and walked up to a bright red barn.

Inside, a tired, still horse waited within a spacious stall filled with pine shavings. “This is Sarah.” Sturm fished in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a peppermint. He crackled the wrapper, catching the old horse’s attention. The horse was old. She was a deep red quarter horse, appearing startlingly thick and stocky to Frank, who was used to the lean, long-limbed thoroughbreds. Sturm gently stroked the horse’s neck as he popped the peppermint free from the wrapper. He expertly caught the clear plastic wrapper between his thumb and forefinger and rolled the striped candy into the center of his palm as he offered it to the horse. Sarah tenderly took the peppermint in her teeth, crunching it, then bouncing her head slightly in pleasure.

“This horse is going to take me to my family’s cabin where I am going to die.” Sturm spoke evenly, giving each word careful consideration, but without emotion. “It’s an eleven mile ride, due west, straight into the mountains,” he indicated with a nod of his bald head, “and I want to make sure she can make it back. See,” he turned his attention from the horse and focused his frozen eyes on Frank, “I plan on dying in that cabin. I know I don’t have much time. I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to die in some hospital. No. To hell with that. I’m going to die on the land of my forefathers, like a man. Not like a…a failed lab experiment. And what I want to know is, is she sound enough to make the trip back? She’s damn near twenty. It’s bad enough that one of us has to die on this trip. I don’t want to be responsible for her death as well.”