I was squinting up into the branches of a giant oak tree. A breeze kicked up. My nostrils started burning from the rank ammonia smell of a cat box sorely in need of emptying. Lion Habitat at the Atlanta zoo, what a stench-fest. Litter boxes are one of the reasons why I hate cats. I moved my hand from over my eyes, for shade, to over my nose for survival. The sun was directly overhead, making it hard to see, but a figure in coveralls was high in the branches. The figure was taking pictures of something wedged into forked limbs, flash going off like a strobe light in a nightclub. “I don’t know. The zookeeper’s ass?” Homicide detective John Longyard stood beside me. He was dressed like he always dressed, expensive dark suit with matching tie and polished shoes, not caring that he was wading through Savannah grass and dirt. Sweat beaded at the edge of his fifty-dollar haircut, threatening to make a break for it and run down his face. Tiny droplets glistened in his light brown mustache, making a wet spot on the cigarette underneath it.
What do You think about That Thing At The Zoo - 01?
