Endangered Species (26 page)

“How'd they move?”

Jeff gave me a boy-are-you-dumb look. “U-Haul. The usual way. I figure the animals will be better off out there. Littlebaum said he was going to build a big cage for the monkeys with bars to swing on and everything.”

I nodded while I thought about Matilda. She'd probably like it out there, too. Then I thought about the tortoise Littlebaum had taken with him. I wondered if that had anything to do with his decision to leave at this particular time.

“You're not going to try and stop them are you?” Jeff asked anxiously, jingling his key chain. I knew he was thinking about Myra.

“No. I'm not. And anyway, I don't think I could even if I wanted to.” His sister wasn't my problem, and since I knew where Littlebaum was going, I could always get the tortoise back.

“Good. Because he said not to tell anyone.”

“Aside from your parents, I don't think many people are going to care.”

Jeff moved into the kitchen. The place looked as if a cyclone had hit it. All the cabinet doors were open. Drawers were ajar. Paper bags littered the floor.

“Good,” said Jeff, looking toward the far counter.

I followed his glance.

“Myra's Pink Floyd tapes,” Jeff explained, going over and stuffing the tapes in his pocket. “She wants me to keep them till she gets back. Listen. I gotta go.”

I stayed for a few minutes more. I went upstairs and poked around. I didn't find anything of interest, but then, I hadn't really expected to.

Littlebaum had left all his furniture behind, not that there was that much of it to begin with.

But, still.

He'd just taken what was important to him: his animals. As I closed the door to his house, I wondered if he saw himself as a modern-day Noah bopping down the Interstate, heading for the safety of the desert before the rains came.

I hoped he and Matilda made it.

I
could hear the music from the radio blasting outside the cab. Manuel turned it down as I got in.

“You're going to go deaf,” I told him.

“That's what my mom says.”

I wondered if “you're going to go deaf” had replaced “you're going to lose an eye” in the annals of maternal advice as I held out my hand. “Could I have the phone, please.”

Manuel gave it to me reluctantly. “Why can't you get your own?”

“I will.”

“When?”

“When I have a chance.” And I called Steve in Arizona.

“You're calling long distance?” Manuel yelped. “Do you know how much that costs?”

“I'm charging it to my calling card, so be quiet,” I snapped as the operator came on.

But I could have saved myself the bother. Steve wasn't home. I left a message on his voice mail.

“Now what?” Manuel said as I cleared the number off.

“Now I'm dialing my house and seeing if I have any messages.”

I'd expected one on there from Chapman and I wasn't disappointed. I took a deep breath, dialed his beeper number, and left Manuel's number for him. I had an idea that things were about to heat up.

Chapman called back almost immediately. “I heard you had fun last night,” he began, never one to let an opportunity to get a dig in pass.

“I missed you. I expected to see you there.”

“Nah. I figured you didn't need me to remind you of what you have to do. How's our project coming?”

“Well.”

“That's good. I was beginning to worry you were getting other ideas.”

“Why would I do that?”

“A misplaced sense of chivalry.”

Chivalry. The word sounded odd coming out of Chapman's mouth. I was surprised he knew it. I wondered if Chapman was going to allude to what he'd hidden in my store, or was he going to get me to give him the tortoises and have me arrested anyway? If I had to bet, I'd say the latter.

“Good. Let's meet in an hour,” I said.

“An hour?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Suspicion made his voice bristle.

“No. Not at all. I want to get this over with and go back to things the way they were.”

“At Eli's.”

“No. In a public place.”

He laughed unpleasantly. “Why? What do you think I'm going to do?”

“I don't know and I don't want to find out.”

“If I'd wanted to do anything, I would have done it already.”

I didn't say he had.

“At Lefty's then,” Chapman said after a moment's silence.

“Works for me. And we'll be quits?” I couldn't help adding.

“Absolutely.”

The scary part was, he really sounded as if he meant it.

I hung up and phoned George. “I'm meeting Chapman down at Lefty's in an hour.”

“Don't worry,” he said. “I'll have everything packed and waiting.”

 

 

It had stopped raining by the time I got to Lefty's and the temperature had moved up a couple of degrees. According to the weather forecaster on the radio, it was supposed to be in the forties tomorrow, five degrees warmer than usual for this time of year. He was almost done with a spiel tying the weather we'd experienced this winter into the trend towards global warming as I pulled into a parking spot across from the bar. I wondered if that meant I'd own beachfront property right here in Central New York in twenty years as I clicked off the radio and checked my watch.

I was exactly on time. As I crossed the street, I scanned it for Chapman's car. It didn't take me long to spot it. It was parked a few feet down from the bar, away from the bar's window. I glanced back quickly. George was double-parked down the block, in front of the parking lot. I pretended not to notice and went inside. Chapman was waiting for me. In his white turtleneck, tan corduroy pants, and blue ski parka, he looked as if he belonged on the slopes of Aspen. He grinned when he saw me and patted the stool next to him.

“Drink?” he asked. “It's the least I can do.”

“Sure. Why not? Scotch, please.” I sat down and handed him the suitcase. “Here you go.”

“They're all here?”

“All of them,” I lied. “Count them if you don't believe me.”

“Oh, I do.”

I dug my cigarettes out of my backpack, tapped one out of the pack and lit it.

“You should quit,” Chapman observed. “It's an expensive, dirty habit.”

“That's what people tell me.” I took the smoke deep in my lungs and exhaled. “So, are you going home?” I asked.

“In a couple of days. I have some odds and ends to clean up.”

I felt like saying, “Is that what I am to you, an odd and end?” But didn't.

Chapman cocked his head and studied my face. “You seem remarkably unupset about this.”

“What do you mean?”

The bartender put my drink down. I picked it up and took a sip. It tasted as if it had been bottled in Passaic, New Jersey.

“I'd expected . . .”

“That I'd carry on?” I said.

“Something like that.”

“That I'd call you a scum-sucking worthless piece of shit? What would be the point? You already know it.”

Chapman knocked the rest of his drink back. “Believe me,” he told me. “I'm not doing anything that anyone else isn't.”

“You're saying that I'm quixotic?”

“I'm saying you're antediluvian.” And he slapped a ten down on the bar. “Have a couple more on me.” And he picked up the suitcase and left.

I pushed the glass away, took another puff of my cigarette, and waited. Three minutes later, I heard the crash. I smiled and walked out the door and down the block a few feet to get a better view.

George had rammed straight into Chapman's car. The door of Chapman's car was caved in. His bumper was hanging down. The street was covered with broken safety glass from Chapman's front window. One thing is for sure: they definitely don't make cars the way they used to. George hadn't even been going that fast. I hoped the tortoises and the eggs were all right. But then, I decided they probably were. There was a lot of insulation in the suitcase they were in. Both men were standing in the middle of the street. Chapman was screaming at George.

“You fuckin' son of a bitch!” he yelled. Chapman's mouth was distended. His teeth were bared. He didn't look so nice anymore.

“I said I was sorry,” George told him.

“Sorry. Sorry?” Chapman's voice rose in a crescendo of rage.

He was reaching back in his car when George's friend, Mike, drove up. He'd been waiting around the corner. He stepped out of his car, badged everyone and called it in. Chapman took out his badge and showed it around as if it were the Holy Grail. Mike shook his head. Chapman practically stuck the thing in Mike's face. Mike shook his head again and said something. I couldn't hear, so I moved a little closer. I saw George pointing to the backseat. Mike opened the door and pulled out a small suitcase and opened it up. I didn't have to move any closer to see what was in it. I already knew. Several bags of fertilizer and two blasting caps. People take explosives a lot more seriously than they take endangered species.

“I don't know how that got in here,” Chapman squawked.

Mike looked skeptical.

“He did it!” he yelled, pointing at George.

“Why would I do something like that?” George demanded.

Chapman came toward George. “Because you're a friend of hers.”

“Who is her?” George asked.

I heard sirens. More squad cars were on the way. This was going to take a while to sort out. I looked at my watch. George had already alerted Fish and Wildlife. I wouldn't be surprised if someone wasn't up here by tomorrow. In the meantime, the tortoises would most likely be passing their time at the zoo. I went back in the bar and ordered a beer. While I was waiting for it, I called Joan and told her I was coming out tomorrow to pick up Zsa Zsa. Sitting at the bar just wasn't the same without her.

“L
ook,” George said. He pointed to a flock of parrots sitting in a tree alongside the dirt path we were bouncing down.

“Sure beats the crows,” I said. We were three days into our vacation in Belize and had another seven to go. I wished we had a month or more. “Littlebaum would like it down here.”

George grunted and maneuvered the Land Rover he was driving around a ditch in the road.

Of course, Littlebaum liked it in Arizona, too. At least that's what he'd said when I'd flown down to pick up the tortoise.

“They leave you alone down here,” he'd told me as he'd fiddled with the water tank on his trailer.

Steve had sold him a large tract of land out in the desert. There was nothing there but cactus and dirt and a view of the mountains, which, as Littlebaum said, suited him fine. The land was flat and good for building. He'd already contracted to have a well drilled and had put up the cage for the monkeys, who, judging from the amount of chasing that was going on, seemed to be having a good time in their new home.

Matilda seemed to be enjoying herself, too. She'd been lying on the ground, in a patch of shade the trailer was throwing off, having a peaceful snooze when I'd driven up. Myra had been sitting beside her in a folding chair, also dozing in the sun. At the sound of my wheels, both of them had awakened, stretched, and turned to face me.

“You have a tan,” I told Myra while I gave Matilda a pet. Her fur was warm and smelled of hay.

Myra grinned and drew a line in the dirt with the toe of her sneaker. “It's nice down here. All this sun.” She did a half pirouette. “Do you think I look too fat?”

“No. I think you look good.”

“That's what my uncle says, too. He wants me to stay with him. I don't know.” She wound a lock of hair around her finger. “Maybe I will. Listen,” she continued. “I want to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For hitting you over the head.”

“That was you?”

She fidgeted.

“I thought you'd come to get the stuff I took from Eli's apartment.” She gave a slight shrug. “I guess I got paranoid.”

“But I didn't see you.”

“I know. I was next door. I saw you snooping around through the window.” Myra drew a circle in the dirt with her toe. “I was angry.” Then she added, “I was angry a lot.”

“Look at that,” said George, interrupting my thoughts and bringing me back to the present.

I watched a large iguana run across the path and vanish into the undergrowth.

“This is amazing,” George remarked as we hit another bump.

“Isn't it, though.” I grabbed on to the seat and brushed a branch from a tree away from my face.

We'd gone to town to get supplies and the day's mail for George's cousin, Andre. Now we were returning. The path we were following, more of a track really, was just above the Macal River. When we got to the drop-off spot, we were supposed to use the CB radio mounted on the dashboard to contact Andre, at which point he'd come get us with the outboard and ferry us back across the river.

“So you still think what we did was wrong?” I asked as we went over another rut. I winced as my head hit the Land Rover's ceiling.

George kept his eyes firmly fixed ahead of him. “If I had thought it was wrong I wouldn't have done it.” He bit his lip as we went over another ditch. I remembered what Andre had said about this road sometimes being impassable during the rainy season. “However,” George continued, “I'm not proud of it. I don't think manufacturing evidence is the way to go. Even in this case. Even when we're right.”

“Even when the guy is a murderer?”

“Even then.”

I nibbled on my fingernail. Of course we hadn't known that Chapman had killed Nestor. No one had, especially not Sulfin, who'd already confessed to the shooting, or Adelina, who'd accused him. Then the ME had done an autopsy and found two different bullets in Nestor's chest, one of which matched Sulfin's gun and the other of which turned out to match the gun the police found in the nightstand in Chapman's bedroom.

Evidently Chapman had come along after Sulfin had shot Nestor and decided to take the opportunity to finish the job. Why? If you listened to Chapman, it had been an accident. According to the story in the local paper, Chapman maintained he'd just been trying to help Nestor. He'd been bending over when his gun had gone off accidentally, putting a hole through Nestor's heart.

Sulfin's charge was being downgraded to assault, while Chapman was being charged with manslaughter because the DA didn't think he'd be able to make a murder charge stick. He was probably right, I decided, brushing a mosquito away from my ear. But it didn't really matter, because what with the other charges being lodged against him, Chapman wasn't getting out anytime soon. Besides the manslaughter charge, he was up for violations of the Lacey Act, trafficking in endangered species, as well as possession of explosives without a license.

George gestured at the undergrowth. “I wonder if those tortoises could live here?”

“Probably.” Given what they'd been through, they seemed pretty tough.

Right now they were down in Miami awaiting shipment back to a preserve that was being set up for them in their home country. I couldn't say the same for the eggs, though. They weren't going anywhere. I guess we hadn't packed them as well as we thought we had. Not one of them made it.

“How does it feel to be the savior of a species?” I joked.

George grinned.

I glanced down at the river. We were about two feet above it. The black water was rippling over the rocks. I remembered Andre saying he'd already torn the bottom out of one boat on the shoals.

“Don't worry. We still have plenty of time to get across,” George said, reading my thoughts.

After sunset, travel on the river would be even more difficult. It was already six. It would be dark by six-thirty. Night came quickly in the tropics.

“I'm not worried.” I leaned back in my seat and smelled the flower-scented air and listened to the birdsong. “You know,” I said, “I could definitely live here for a while.”

“Doing what?”

“What Andre's doing.”

“Running a guest house? You don't even like to cook.”

“I used to do it rather well.”

“Andre and his wife both worked in the hotel business. You've never done anything like that.”

“I never ran a pet store, either.”

George grunted.

In the distance, somewhere ahead of us, a howler monkey roared in the jungle. I smiled as I watched the sky turning a brilliant crimson. Tomorrow, we were going to go visit the Mayan ruins of Xunantunich.

For now it was enough.