Biting the Moon (36 page)

After hesitating for a moment, she stepped through the trees onto the road, turned, and looked down it. It was then that she heard the ratchet of a bolt on a gun being thrown. She whirled.

“Fuck you come from?” asked the beefy man looking down the length of the rifle barrel.

Clyde Quick. At least, she thought it must be, judging from the big silver QQ on his belt buckle. He was sweating heavily, and Mary didn't know whether his face was brick red from exertion or rage. “We . . . I . . . got lost.”

“Lost from
where,
I do wonder,” he said with a snarl. He motioned abruptly with the gun barrel. “I guess we're going back to the house.”

Oh, no!
thought Mary. They were bound to run into Harry Wine. Where was Andi?

“Come on,” said Clyde Quick. The rifle barrel made a wider sweep.

“I—”

“Move it!”

“Mary!”

It was Andi's voice; she was running up the road toward them. Clyde Quick had his back to her, so Andi didn't see the gun right away. When he whirled and she did, her hands flew to her face. Mary saw the face was dirt-streaked. All of her was dirt-streaked. It looked as if she'd gone skidding down a muddy bank, or else rubbed her hands in dirt and then over herself. Which was what she'd done, Mary guessed.

“ 'Nother one sneakin' around?” said Quick. “Hell
you
doin' here, girl?”

Andi said, impatiently, “Sneaking around? No, we weren't; we were looking for our cat, which jumped out of the car when we had to stop and look at a map. Her name's Taffy.” Ignoring the rifle, she turned to Mary. “I found her! I put her in the car and made sure the windows were rolled up.” Her tone became indignant. “Why've you got that gun pointed at her?” The barrel moved. “Us?”

“You're trespassing, girl, don't you know that?” The gun was lowered from nearly direct contact with Andi's face, though. “Can't you read?”

“Yes, but my cat can't.”

Mary winced and then nearly leapt in surprise as she saw the figure coming out of the woods not ten feet behind Clyde Quick.

Andi must have seen him too, but she didn't even look away from Quick. She nudged Mary's foot and went on talking: “So the cat's the real trespasser, not us. I'll go right now and get her and you can shoot her too.” She actually turned and started off.

He couldn't think of an answer. He couldn't think of any stance to take, of any way to be, and all he could do was stand there with the rifle, his weight shifting from foot to foot, as if he were gathering parts
of himself together so that he could take a stand and face them down. “Pretty damned smart for an asshole girl, you are.”

“Ain't half as smart as she's goin' to be—”

Mary held her breath as she heard the
snick
of Reuel's handgun, held an inch from the back of Clyde Quick's head.

“—'less you put that gun down.”

Clyde Quick was wide-eyed, his face pasty as he dropped the rifle on the road. “What's going on?” His voice was a squeak. He started to turn, and the gun closed the inch between scalp and barrel.

“Now leave that gun in the road and let's see you hightail it home.”

Clyde Quick started walking, trying to get some insolence into it until a shot tore up dust over to his side. Then he ran.

How had he found them? Lord, nothing easier. He knew the Double Q from one end to the other; he'd been all over it. He knew which part they'd be heading for; he drew the map for them, didn't he? He'd staked himself near the big enclosure and then followed them back through the woods.

But they got themselves separated there toward the end, and he didn't know that. Following Andi's bright hair, he assumed he was following them both. Here, Reuel had apologized to Mary, as it was Mary the gun had been aimed at. As it turned out, they hadn't needed him for protection.

Mary was sure Andi agreed fully with this, but what she said was, it was really nice of Reuel to go to all that trouble, wanting to protect them.

They had returned, Reuel tailgating Mary's car nearly the whole way because he wanted to make sure they didn't get “lost” along the way or take “a wrong turning.” Meaning (Mary supposed), take off on their own into Lord knows what other kind of trouble.

They were now sitting in the trailer park under a moon that spilled its ivory light across Reuel's Airstream, a light almost bright enough to read by. Mary was content to sit in her plastic molded chair, staring up at it. Across the way, Ethbert and Ruth, in their matching T-shirts and Reeboks, were having their predinner martinis and watching the coals in their little barbecue turn ash gray. The couple waved.

Reuel was cooking another pot of beans and had made corn bread. He was in the trailer getting his beer and their Diet Pepsi. Beneath the awninged table, Sinclair slept, letting out an occasional warm
woof.

Mary looked at the moon and the crowded constellations against the black matte of the sky. She felt bone-sorrowful, the way it had first struck her that Reuel felt, only here was a place you could feel it and it wouldn't give you up. She wondered if that's what “home” was. She didn't know.

“These canned hunts,” Reuel began as he set down their drinks and then himself, “they used to be kept a dark secret, kind of like the Masons, tight as blood ties.”

Mary said, “It was like they were tamed, the tiger and the panther.”

“That's because those cats practically are. People get these big cats when they're cubs, raise 'em up, living in the same house. A lot of them are declawed that go to these so-called game ranches. This is big business we're talking about. There's over a thousand of these places in Texas alone. Some's illegal and some isn't. What's ‘legal' or what's ‘endangered species'—that's not something these people take too much to heart. Jack Kite pretty much has his hands full trying to get evidence Wine and the Quicks are taking animals across state lines. When I was with the government I could just go out and kick in his door and come up with some excuse to do it. But no more. I did not catch one of them smart-ass brothers that works for him transporting a mountain lion, but in Idaho cougars aren't on the endangered list. It's not illegal to shoot one of them or drive around with one. Ain't nothing Jack Kite could do about it. You said Harry was there?”

Andi nodded. “Acting like he owned everything, of course.”

Reuel grunted. “Probably does own a lot of it.” Reuel struck a match with his thumbnail, took several pulls on his cigar to get it going. “He's
just too plausible, you know what I mean? Despite what's been said about him—well . . .” Reuel stopped.

“You mean what Jack Kite said?” asked Andi, never failing to fasten on the subject the other person was sorry he mentioned and wanted to slide over.

Reuel popped another can of beer. “Couple of times he's been up on sex offenses. Let's just leave it at that.”

“Let's not,” said Andi.

Reuel sighed. “There's talk Harry likes little kids.”

“He likes big kids too,” said Andi, seemingly unsurprised by the “talk.” Which was what she said. “Nothing he does surprises me.”

Reuel acted as if he hadn't heard her reference to big kids. “It was Bonnie brought the charge the one time. Claimed Harry'd been fooling around with one of the kids, I think it was Happy. That was a few years ago when Happy was Brill's age. They don't live far from Wine's Outfitters—well, you seen where they live—and those kids are all over the place; there's hardly any way to keep them in or keep track of them. I feel for Bonnie, I really do. Anyway, she brought the charge but it never did get as far as getting him indicted.”

“Don't people know what happened to his wife?”

“Maybe, but then maybe not. Beth never got out much, like I said.” He was silent for a moment, thinking. Then he drank off his beer and rose. “I'm goin' in to see to that pot of beans.”

While he was gone, both of them sat with their heads back, looking up at the night sky. Such a crowd of stars—Mary wouldn't have been surprised if some of them just cleared out and fell all over Idaho, dropping on the table, on Sinclair, on them. A shower of stars. Then she said, “I'm surprised you didn't go on about Sergei.”

Andi was moving her tongue inside her cheek as if feeling for a tooth that pained her. She said nothing.

Then Mary heard a rustling and looked around. It was Sergei, coming the same way through the trees as he had before. He said hello to them, sat down on the bench, and pulled out one of his cigars, bigger this time, fussed with it for a moment, nicking off the tip, then lighting it. Andi watched him.

Her silence surprised Mary. It also seemed to make Sergei a little uncomfortable. Mary thought that sometimes Andi's mere presence was an accusation. Sergei looked from one to the other and scraped his straight black hair back from his forehead. Mary looked sadly upon his ruined face, which gave away nothing.

“Serge!” Reuel came out of the trailer. “I'm cookin' beans and some bratwurst. You can have supper with us if you want to.”

Sergei held up his hand. “Thank you, but I have to meet a friend later.”

“Okay, then I'll get you a beer.” Reuel went back into the trailer.

Andi still was quiet, so Mary said to him, “You work at the Double Q, don't you?” When he nodded, she said, “They have those canned hunts there.” She couldn't keep the accusation out of her tone.

“Yes. You don't think much of them, is that right?”

Mary frowned. She felt she couldn't understand him. How could the man who'd talked about that wildlife reserve in Siberia and the Siberian tigers take a part in what the Quicks were doing? Maybe he could explain it. And also explain what possible thrill there could be for anyone who thought himself a hunter shooting a caged animal? She asked him this first.

Sergei considered, then said, “These people are not hunters; most of them have never been on a proper hunt in their lives. None of them have ever been on safari.”

Just then Reuel came out with the beer, set one before Sergei, and sat down in one of the white chairs. He looked at Andi but did not interrupt.

“For them I think it's almost a joke, no, not a joke, a film. They're not looking for thrills, for what you call an adrenaline rush. What they pay for and what they get is a trophy. That's what they want. To mount and hang up on the wall. To show their friends.” He returned his cigar to his mouth, exhaled blue smoke, looked at Mary through it.

“But they don't have anything to brag on, they can't say they've been in the jungle and killed animals there.”

“But that's not necessary. The trophy is it. The trophy is all. Of course, there are other, perhaps lesser reasons: a hatred of the wild, I think, the untamed. They fear it. They must control what goes on around them. Other than that”—Sergei shrugged—“God knows.”

Reuel asked, “How come you're so quiet, girl?”

Andi, her face blank as the moon, didn't answer. She might have been hypnotized, the way she stared at Sergei. Reuel just shrugged and tipped his beer back.

Mary leaned toward Sergei, said, “But I just don't see how you can do it, can take part in these so-called hunts after what you told us about working at that wildlife reserve, Laslo—?”

“Lazovski.”

“Lazovski. Going there to paint the animals, Siberian tigers and all.” Mary shook her head. “I don't see how you can work for the Quicks.”

Sergei looked thoughtfully at the glowing end of his cigar, as if it might offer up some answer. Then he said, “Perhaps I think I can make the end of their lives less terrifying. You see, they do not want to leave their cages at the end. And the handlers try to frighten them out by beating on the cage with sticks, metal pipes, clubs. But I can get the animals out without doing that. I hate that awful racket. I would be terrified myself. If I'm there perhaps it is better.”

Mary sat back, shocked, more mystified than ever. What a strange attempt to justify himself. “Well, it might be a little better for that panther if you are there, but it would be a whole lot better for him if the panther
weren't
.”

He blinked slowly. “There was a panther today, yes. How did you know?”

Mary was so disappointed in him that whether he knew they were at the ranch made no difference. “I saw it. It's not important.”

Sergei watched her for a while, then said, “You think I should inform the Fish and Game people—like Jack Kite—about the Quicks' operation? But it's legal. Jack Kite could do nothing.”

“But it isn't legal if they're taking animals across state lines. And you know that's what they do. Harry Wine and his people—you've probably seen them do it.”

Sergei shook his head. “Actually, no. I haven't seen that; I didn't know this.”

Mary turned away in disgust. What difference did it make if he was telling the truth or not?

But Andi decided to take him literally. In a voice cold enough to raise gooseflesh, she said, “Now you know.”

•   •   •

When it started to rain, they'd left the trailer park and gone back to the motel.

Andi was sitting by the steamed-over window, tracing through the moisture with her finger. Mary was lying on top of her bed, arms under her head. Mary assumed (probably wrongly) they had come back to sleep. She thought: If someone had told her a month ago that she'd see a man walk into a tiger's cage and shoot it point-blank, she would have thought the other person mad or dreaming or dreaming-mad. She looked across at Andi, wondering what she was thinking. “Are you going to stay? Like Reuel suggested?”

Andi looked at her in surprise. “No. Of course not.”

Relieved, Mary shrugged in seeming indifference. “I thought maybe.”