Sturm looked pained, as if each word was a tooth being pulled out slowly with a pair of pliers. “So what you’re saying is, if I’m understanding this right, from an outsider’s point of view, it looked as if that little Glouk pissant was tougher than my boy.”

              “I don’t know about tougher. It looked like he’d been in more fights, yeah.”

Sturm looked like he might throw up. “Jesus humping Christ.”

Frank kept twisting the fencepost, sinking it deeper and deeper into the fire, ignoring the heat that seared his face. The fire burned hotter and the silence grew, stretched thin. But neither said anything else.

* * * * *

Sturm walked with Frank to empty the last bucket. When the meat was gone, they stopped for a while, watching two lionesses gulp it down. Sturm took off his hat and held it at his side as he crept slowly up to the cage. He breathed out long and slow, letting the cat smell his breath. Her ears flicked. “Whoooeeeee,” he said, a low, awed voice. “Look at her. Just look at her. You know the thing about lions? The females? They’re the ones that hunt. Males don’t do shit. They just sleep and fuck. The females, they’re the tough ones. They’re the ones that deserve respect, the ones to watch out for.” Sturm reached out, put his hand flat against the bars. The lioness snarled, suddenly vicious, ears flattened, head low.

Sturm laughed delightedly. “Goddamn. Goddamn! Look at them teeth. That’s something.” He cocked his head. “Those canines, oh boy, they’re bigger’n your thumbs. That’s something all right.” He glanced back at Frank. “Did you see them teeth back in my office?”

Frank thought of all the picture frames that surrounded the large window and shook his head.

“When we get back, I’ll have to show you ’em. Just got a whole set of Moray eel teeth. Goddamn needles. Vicious. Mean, you know? Not like these.” He nodded at the lioness. “These are…I don’t know. Honorable. Proud.” He stepped back and replaced his hat. “You can tell everything about an animal by its teeth. How it lives. What it eats. Anything.” Sturm was excited. “They tell us everything about evolution. God’s plan. Those with the biggest teeth dominate. See, you being a vet and all, you oughta understand this.”

“Her teeth are bigger than mine. Yet she’s in a cage and I’m out here.”

“Don’t mean shit. Her being in a cage. That’s missing the point. Physically, she has bigger teeth, yes. But I’m talking about the bigger picture here. Your opposable thumbs there, those’re nothing but longer, sharper teeth.” Sturm nodded again, then shrugged. “We’re nothing but predators. That’s all there is to it. We’re nothing special. We’re just like them. Oh sure, we’re at the top. But it’s a tenuous hold, make no mistake. Long as we got our thumbs using tools, we’re set, but take those tools away, and we ain’t shit. Makes me sick sometimes, the arrogance I see. People thinking that humans are some kinda’ higher life form. That we’re meant for some kind of enlightenment. Bullshit. We’re just efficient eaters. That’s all. And we’re just gonna keep eating and killing every goddamn thing until something else comes along and takes our place at the top.”

Frank wondered just how big that tumor in Sturm’s head had gotten.

The cell phone rang. It was the clowns, and they were on their way.

DAY FOUR

“That’s one big pussy,” Chuck said when he saw the tiger.

Sturm was giving everyone the grand tour. The three clowns and two other drivers, quiet Mexicans that worked at the auction yard as well, had brought damn near every truck in Whitewood. Frank counted three semis with livestock trailers, plus Chuck’s pickup. Frank was kind of surprised it had managed to make the entire trip. They even brought the tow-truck, just in case. The only large vehicle that Frank could think of that wasn’t here was the ancient fire engine that rested in the park in the center of town.

While the two Mexican men smoked cigarettes and kept an eye on all the trucks that were parked along the narrow, twisted road that ran through the center of the zoo, Sturm introduced the clowns to all of the animals, providing a running commentary on the strengths, predatory instincts, and pretty much anything else that popped into his mind. Frank was impressed with the depth of Sturm’s knowledge. Those books back in the office hadn’t been just for looks.

Sturm had even found places in the zoo that Frank hadn’t seen. Frank was surprised and sickened to find out that two chimps also lived at the zoo, locked away in a cinderblock storage shed. The door was a length of chain-link fence, stretched sideways. Black shit coated the walls. The two chimps huddled together in the far corner and watched the men through heavy-lidded eyes. Much of their hair was worn down to white skin pockmarked with seeping, open sores, like infected blisters that had finally popped.

“Shit, Chuck. So this is where you been hiding them sisters you keep telling us that you fucked last year,” Pine said.

“That’s fuckin’ funny. Absofuckin’ hilarious, cuntwipe.” Chuck leaned over, peering at Pine’s piss poor excuse for a mustache. Unlike his chin, Pine’s mustache was sparse, sprouting in embarrassed fits and starts. Chuck kept going. “Considering whatever the hell that is on your lip there. Fuck is that? Pubic hair? Looks like you’re the one’s been smoking monkey dick.”

“Ape dick,” Sturm corrected, and nobody was sure if they should laugh or not. “Those in there are apes, not monkeys. Monkeys got tails, see?”

* * * * *

In addition to being educational, Sturm had also been thinking ahead. He instructed the clowns to bring raw hamburger and bananas. During the ride, Pine had injected Ace into the bananas and soaked the hamburger in the drug. And as they’d wandered through the zoo, they’d doled out the hamburger to the cats and bananas to the monkeys. When they walked back, they found the monkeys dropping out of trees. The clowns went around picking them up by the long, sinewy tails and dropping them into gunnysacks.

The whole loading process didn’t take nearly as long as Frank had expected; once the tour was over, he was impressed with how serious the clowns acted. There was no horsing around, no calling each other names, no laughing, and no drinking. The animals were sluggish after their extra meal, and the tranquilizers didn’t hurt. The cats got most of the drugs. They tied the sleeping cats’ front and back paws together with duct tape, and wrapped it around the cats muzzles for good measure. Then two of them would hoist a cat onto their backs and walking stiffly, legs moving in unison, they carried the cats out to the cattle trailers and laid the unconscious animals gently in the thick straw. It took four of them to carry the tiger.

As the sun rose, Frank got the rhino into the first truck by himself; he held a flake of hay and loaded the majestic, sad creature into the trailer. The head, bigger than an engine block, swung towards Frank and she heaved and puffed for a while, before taking a step forward. It took the old girl a while to make it up the ramp. Sturm said, “Son, you take all the time you need with that animal. It’ll be something special, to put this one down.”

Before they left, Frank set the zookeeper’s house trailer on fire.

* * * * *

He rode in the truck that carried the rhino. Jack was driving. They were second in line, just behind Sturm’s pickup. The other three trucks followed, with Chuck and the tow truck bringing up the rear. Although it was now early morning, the sun was already hot and hellish.

Sturm reached the front gate, got out and opened it. As he drove on through, the CB crackled with his voice. “Chuck, close that gate behind you. No point in advertising nobody’s home.”