That Thing at the Zoo
Written by James R. Tuck - Narrated by Jim Beaver

3

 

Jimmy the zookeeper and I bounced along in an all-terrain electric golf cart. Apparently all of the zoo’s natural habitats had fenced access roads the public could not see. This way the zookeepers could move in and out, cleaning up messes and fixing things without being seen. They were like roadies at a rock concert. Always there smoothing things out for the band, but never seen.

He had taken me to where the other two animals had been found. Both scenes were open patches of grass or dirt that had soaked up any clues days ago. I was still stuck with a pterodactyl as my main guess.

“How long have you been a zookeeper, Jimmy?”

He turned a corner too fast, the electric motor humming loudly in protest. “’Bout six years now. Was a maintenance man here before that. Been with the zoo in one form or another since I was nineteen.”

“In all those years, you ever have to clean up an animal carcass?”

“Once or twice.”

“Beauregard get his panties in a wad over them like he has these?”

The golf cart pulled to a stop back in front of the administration building for the zoo. Its solid rubber tires chirped like baby birds. He turned, looking at me with one squinted eye. “Mr. Beauregard’s alright. He’s gotta keep the place makin’ money in a crappy economy. So far he’s done that without laying anybody off, but if he’s gotta replace a lion, a zebra, and a gorilla…. Well, that could be somebody’s salary.”

I nodded because I had no response to that. I hadn’t seen much of Beauregard, but what I had seen had not impressed me. Standing up out of the small cart, I stretched my back. My hand closed on the camera Jimmy the zookeeper had used to take pictures of the kill scene. Lifting it from the cart’s seat I held it up. “There wouldn’t happen to be pictures of the zebra and gorilla on here, would there?”

“S’matter of fact I think there are.”

I smiled. “Good.” I started walking towards the administration building in search of a computer. “You done good, Jimmy.”

“Where you goin’?”

I turned. “To send these to my people and see if they can identify what we are dealing with.”

“I thought you was the weird-shit expert.”

“My people figure out what it is; I make it go away. That’s my expertise.”

“What if it is a pterodactyl?”

I started walking again, throwing back my best Roy Scheider impression.

“Then we’re gonna need a bigger gun.”