Takedown (5 page)

L
ester Davis was trying to work as quickly and quietly as he possibly could. Hands sweating, eyes darting, he hastily slid
the dolly under the three-foot-cubed wooden crate, then pushed the crate up two planks onto a golf-cart-sized electric pickup
used in cleaning cages. It could transport just about anything where the exhaust of a gas engine could prove unhealthy.

Suddenly… Davis gasped and spun around to see who was there… who was right there, leaning over him, breathing. He could
hear the breathing… feel the breathing. No one was there… at least no one he could see. He sighed and continued his task.

With the crate on board, he dropped the planks where they were and hopped into the driver’s seat. He couldn’t remember the
last time he’d driven one of these things.
Turn the key to the on position, push the black lever to either forward or reverse, step on the pedal, and go. Easy. Be yourself,
act normal.
Impossible. He was leaving the zoo with a young giant Galapagos Island tortoise with zero intent on returning it—
ever
—and no explanation to keep him from being fired and probably thrown in jail for whatever the technical term was for stealing
an extremely valuable animal just off the endangered list. But did any of that matter compared to the danger of Krogan getting
out of the tortoise? Buck would know what to do. He had to get the tortoise to Buck. Had to see Buck.

“What?” he gasped, again startled by the sound of breathing. He could feel the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. “I
rebuke you in the name of Jesus,” he whispered through gritted teeth. The breathing stopped. Silence… eerie silence… but
only for a moment. Then it was back… not the breathing, but a snickering, as if his rebuke was amusing. He wondered if the
laughter was coming from the tortoise in the crate or from a memory loop in his own frightened, frazzled mind. If it was from
the tortoise, why didn’t his rebuke stop it flat? Maybe he was going insane. He found more comfort in that thought. Whatever
the case, he had no time to stop and think about it.

Davis nervously mounted the pickup and motored silently into the service area behind the Reptile House and the zoo store.
He didn’t know whether to wave to everyone or to no one. The electric pickup driving through the service area with a box in
the back was a regular event. “This looks normal,” he said aloud, trying to convince himself. The sun was hot. That was why
he was sweating so, he reasoned. He held his breath as he came out of the service area, onto the main road, and past the zoo
center. Many of the employees were leaving for the day. He drove slowly to blend in with the crowd, wanting really to stomp
on the pedal.

He wondered for a moment how odd it was that the tortoise had complied so easily with entering the tight crate. No snapping,
hissing, thrashing, excreting. Did it think it was leaving for Hawaii already?

He drove under the Skyfari gondola ride that traversed the park but didn’t look up at it, sensing everyone looking down at
him. He continued slowly, naturally, ready to smile if someone waved to him. Just ahead was the left turn he would make to
the parking lot. Almost there. As he approached, he saw the zoo shuttle coming on its way to Asia. He thought about cutting
in front of it. He could make it. No. That could draw attention. Act calm, natural. He
stopped. Waited. He had never seen the shuttle move so slowly and look so long.

“Hi, Lester,” said a familiar voice.

Davis turned. Or rather, he snapped his head.
Too fast, not natural
, he thought. “Oh! Hi, Frank,” he said to the elderly Reptile House security attendant, who apparently, like Davis, was waiting
for the train to pass so he could leave for the day.

“Easy, easy. A bit jumpy today?”

“Just lost in thought, Frank. You snatched me out of a daydream,” he said, trying to sound relaxed while the laughter inside
his head intensified.

Frank nodded. “I’m dreaming of a cold beer at the Yankees-Mets game tonight. Should be a good one this time.”

Lester nodded, unable to allow even a sliver of a thought for either a beer or a baseball game.

“So where you going with this thing?” Frank laughed. “Home?”

Lester realized he had no answer. He had planned to tell anyone who stopped him that he was going to the Children’s Zoo, but
that was before the zoo shuttle showed up. The only thing left in the direction he was now facing was the parking lot. “I,
uh, need to make a small… delivery.”

Frank glanced at the crate and frowned. “Delivery? What are you deliverin’?”

Davis laughed nervously. “A very precious load. Something I wouldn’t entrust to another. I gathered some of the reptile crap
for my garden. By next week I should have tomatoes the size of melons.”

“No kidding,” Frank said, then laughed. “Does it really work?”

“Would I be bringing it home if it didn’t?”

“I guess not,” Frank said, still eyeing the crate. “Say, whatever did you all decide to do with that crazy tortoise?”

“They’re sending it to Hawaii. Best zoo in the world for tortoises,
especially these guys,” Davis said, motioning toward the crate, then instantly realized what he had done.

Frank frowned again, but the shuttle had passed.

“Later, Frank. Enjoy the game,” Davis said, then hit the pedal, leaving Frank standing still. He crossed the shuttle path
and sped downward to the South Boulevard parking lot, where his minivan was parked. Any chance of the tortoise’s disappearance
not being connected to him was now lost. The thought brought tears to his eyes. He loved the zoo. The laughter continued,
louder than ever. What was he doing?

“Hi, Lester,” someone called as he maneuvered full speed through the remaining cars. He didn’t look to see who it was. It
didn’t matter anymore who it was. He skidded to a stop, hopped out to open the rear door of his minivan, then climbed back
into the electric pickup. He threw the black lever into reverse and backed up to his van until the two banged together, much
harder than he wanted. He climbed up next to the crate, hands shaking uncontrollably as he struggled to get the heavy container
into the van. The two vehicles didn’t line up, his van being higher. He tried lifting one corner of the crate and pivoting
it on another. That worked until a third corner hit the pickup’s sidewall.

“Can I help?” said a male voice suddenly at Davis’s side.

Davis turned. He didn’t know the man. He was completely bald, wearing casual slacks and a button-down tropical shirt.
Hawaiian shirt,
he thought. Was this a joke? Had the laughing demon arranged this? He could see Frank, the security guard, coming. “Thanks,
but you’ll get yourself all—”

“Nonsense,” the stranger interrupted, then climbed onto the truck bed before Davis could say another word. The pickup sank
under the man’s additional weight, bringing the distance between the two vehicles even farther apart.

The two men struggled, at times against each other. “This freakin’ thing is heavy,” the man said. “What’s in here?”

“Reptile crap. Isn’t that right, Lester?”

Davis stopped moving, said nothing. He turned to see Frank staring at him in the eye. Caught. He thought about punching Frank
in the throat and pushing the other man off the bed, but then what? Even if by some miracle he
could
get away on the electric pickup, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt either of them. A friend and a kind stranger. It wasn’t
in him.

“Reptile crap?” the stranger said incredulously, then laughed. “Is that what we’re bustin’ our butts over?”

“Might be the best fertilizer on the planet. Isn’t that right, Lester?”

Davis stared down at the bed of the truck, silent.

Frank walked over and climbed into the driver’s seat of the pickup, put it in forward, and moved the truck a couple feet away
from the van, then locked the brake and went back to Davis. “Maybe with all three of us, we can get under this thing and slide
it in. What do you think, Lester?”

Davis looked up at Frank. The old man knew, but there was grace in his eyes. The three men got their arms under as Frank had
suggested and slowly slid and lifted and slid some more, until the crate was in the van. Davis thanked the stranger, then
turned to Frank and said, “Thank you. I can’t explain, but the safety of this crate is more important to me than anyone could
possibly understand.”

“I know, Lester. I’ve watched you for years. You know what’s best for your kids and you do what’s best for them. There’s no
explanation needed. I’ll take the pickup back for you.”

Davis nodded and shook Frank’s hand. “Enjoy the game.”

“I’ll do that. And you bring me back one of those big tomatoes,” he said with a wink, then left.

Davis paused to look at the crate. In all his panic, he hadn’t realized the laughter had stopped. He closed the rear door,
got into his minivan, and drove away. Once out of the park, he worked his way to the Cross Bronx Expressway and then west
toward the New York State Thruway.

Westbound traffic on the Cross Bronx was typically heavy at this time of day but not nearly as bad as the eastbound, which
was virtually at a standstill. He chose the middle lane, hoping that none of the seventeen zillion other cars on his side
of the divider would have trouble. A simple flat tire would bring the delicate flow of traffic to a grinding halt. There was
no shoulder to speak of, and even if there were, no one in their right mind would get out of their car. The real estate on
either side of the road consisted mainly of burnt-out brick apartment buildings. But so far, so good.

Davis looked in the rearview mirror. He could see the top of the wooden crate just behind him. He could also see beads of
sweat across his forehead. In the two and a half years since Buck had brought Jeremy back to the zoo, Davis had never felt
as eerie as he did right now, alone with it in his car. Dear God, it was going to feel good to get rid of it once and for
all at Buck’s. He adjusted the air conditioning colder. Put both hands on the steering wheel. Exhaled. Maybe the radio would
calm him. He turned it on. The first voice he heard was John Sterling’s, the sports announcer. He was interviewing Yankee
manager Joe Torre in the pregame show. This wasn’t relaxing. Maybe some music. Classical? He was about to change the station
when the pregame show took an unexpected turn.

“As I’m sure you know, Joe,” Sterling said in his perfect radio voice. “There
is
another Bronx Zoo in town other than Yankee Stadium.”

“Oh yes, and don’t I know it? I hear some of the animals there can get even wilder than our own fans.”

“Uh-huh. Well, we both know what a tough act the Yankee fans are to follow, but if there was one animal in particular you
would
consider even wilder, which one would come to mind, being the world champion manager you are, Joe?”

“Heh, heh, heh… I guess to both you and those listening out there, there’s no secret that Jeremy the tortoise would have
to be my pick as well as the crowd favorite.”

Davis stared at his radio and shook his head quickly as if to wake himself up. He couldn’t possibly have just heard what he
thought he heard. Were his ears playing tricks on him… or were his ears being played with? He looked in the mirror, at the
crate, and then back at the radio as the dialogue continued.

“Would you go so far, Joe, as to say that Jeremy might be considered the MVP in the game of whether or not Lester Davis gets
to live or not?”

“What? How is this possible?” Lester yelled, taking quick looks back at the crate.

“Oh, I don’t think there’s any question, John. Jeremy has put in the time and deserves a shot at the title. I mean, he’s owed
that and a lot more.”

“So then, let me ask you this, Joe. With all you’ve seen—the strategies both in interleague play and in the playoffs—do you
think Lester’s going to make it out of this trip alive?”

“
That,
of course, is the question, John. He thinks he will, but unfortunately for him, the answer is no. In fact, my bet is that
he only has a few more minutes to live.”

Sterling laughed. “Isn’t it funny how he thought this was
his
idea, stealing Jeremy from the zoo and all?”

“Totally, John. What he should now understand is that Jeremy’s friends are gathering just outside his car. He’s definitely
down to his last out.”

“I’d have to agree, Joe. And then it’s game over. Krogan wins! Kroooogan winnnns!” Sterling cheered, mimicking his usual game-winning
chant, then both he and Torre laughed.

Davis quickly turned the radio to a different station, but the laughter of the Sterling and Torre voices continued. He tried
to shut the radio off, but it wouldn’t shut off. “Stop!” he screamed. “Enough! In the name of Jesus… be silent!”

There was complete silence. Davis’s eyes grew wider with each passing second. He was shocked.
It worked,
he thought. Unbelievable. He smiled thinly, then broadly.
Faith the size of a mustard seed
, he thought.
Not bad.

He heard John Sterling clear his throat, as if to say,
excuse me
. “Did you hear something, Joe?”

“Not really. Maybe a little feather floating by on some hot air. Nothing with a punch.”

“He’ll definitely have to do better than that.”

“Definitely,” Torre replied, and they both laughed.

Davis smacked the radio with the palm of his hand and then harder, harder with his fist. Nothing. The taunting laughter continued.
He jerked his head around to all his mirrors. Beyond the crate he saw a red station wagon, so close it was practically touching
his. Two people in the car were waving… grinning.

“No!” he screamed.

He crushed the gas pedal and began weaving through the traffic. He looked in the mirror, half expecting the tortoise to be
out of the crate. The car that had been kissing his bumper was gone. Had he lost them? Had to go faster, faster. Had to get
away from Krogan’s “friends.” How did they know where he was,
who
he was? Was the demon somehow communicating to them? Could they do that?