Aurendel - Strays

Jack slept late the next morning after the previous night’s futile excursion. When he finally got up, the wolf was already in the kitchen, reading the newspaper.

“‘Mornin’,” said Jack.

Without looking up, the wolf replied, “Coffee’s keeping warm. Saved you some bacon.”

“Mmm.” Jack helped himself to a cup of coffee, then got the bread out for toast. Not only had the wolf cooked, it’d cleaned up after itself. Now, that was Jack’s kind of guest. When he sat down with his bacon sandwich, the wolf set the newspaper down with a sigh.

“There’s no notice of our break-in last night in the paper. I guess no one saw or heard a thing.”

“That’s damn lucky,” Jack acknowledged, “considering we ransacked the place. Suppose Downey’ll notice things bein’ rearranged?”

“How could he? The place was a mess to start with.”

Jack had just finished his third cup of coffee, along with the newspaper, when the doorbell rang. The wolf asked, “Expecting anyone, Jack?”

“No.” Wondering who would be pestering him, Jack went to the door, the wolf close behind him. When he opened the door, Sheriff Taylor and a stranger in a gamewarden's uniform were standing on his porch.

“Mornin’, Mr. Randolph,” said the sheriff. “May we come in?”

Jack let the pair in and offered them coffee, which they accepted.

“Now, sheriff, who’s this gentleman and what can I do for you?” Jack asked. He hoped this visit had nothing to do with the last night.

“Mr. Randolph, I’d like you to meet Sonny Fisher, from Florida Fish and Game,” said the sheriff. The wolf suddenly got attentive, and Jack remembered his manners.

“This is Harold Wolf. He’s visiting a few days. Harold, Vin Taylor, Levy County Sheriff.” There was a great deal of hand shaking before the four settled back down. Jack was reassured. When you're arresting a man, you don't generally shake hands with him.

“What brings you out this way, warden?” Jack asked.

“Well, sir, I’m told you know Commissioner Warner,” said Fisher.

“Ol’ Roy? Down in Polk County? Sure. You know him?”

“I just moved up to Ocala from Bartow recently. Worked for him before transferring north. He spoke highly of you.”

“Well, I’m flattered, but I still don’t see . . .”

“It’s about that wolf,” interrupted the sheriff.

“What about it?” asked the wolf.

“Well, Mr. Randolph here has a lot of experience with trapping animals,” explained the gamewarden. “I’d like his help,” he added, eyeing Jack hopefully.

Frowning, the wolf asked, “Why trap it? It’s not bothering anyone, is it?”

“No, of course not,” replied Fisher.

“It broke that window at Tom's, and charged at those two fellas across the street,” argued the sheriff.

“That reminds me,” said Jack. “What ever became of the evidence you picked up there? You need to be sure this isn’t just a tall tale spun by a couple of drunken rednecks.”

The sheriff nodded. “No, it’s genuine all right. The lab results from Ocala conclusively showed the fur was from a wolf.”

“And the blood?” Jack asked, curiously.

“The sample got contaminated somehow,” said the sheriff. “Or switched. The lab technicians’ report didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but the impression I got is that some doctor at the hospital probably got quite a shock when he saw the results from a patient’s blood test.”

Jack’s moustache twitched in amusement. He could just imagine it. “Still, gentlemen, you haven’t explained how I fit in.”

“Well, Mr. Randolph, the situation is this,” explained the warden, “Somebody has offered a reward for the wolf being brought in, and unfortunately the terms weren’t too particular. My concern is that if I don’t get to it first, and soon, either somebody’s going to kill it, or a few avoidable hunting accidents will occur in the mad dash for the reward.”

“Mr. Fisher, here, and I both agree,” added the sheriff, “that the rich idiot whose idea this was oughta be jailed for reckless endangerment or any other charge, but unfortunately I couldn’t think of anything that would stick.”

“So go catch it,” said Jack, “if you can.”

“That’s just it, Mr. Randolph.” The warden leaned toward him. “You’ve got quite a reputation as a hunter and tracker.” He glanced up at the trophy heads on the wall. “And you know this area better than I do. Best of all, you’re not trigger happy.”

“I’m also not interested in wolf hunting.”

The men were silent for a moment. Jack looked at the wolf. Its eyes darted from one man to the next rapidly. Jack hoped it wasn’t trying to decide which one to bite first.

“Mr. Randolph,” the warden said, slowly, “Commissioner Warner told me about the incident with the panther.”

“Roy has a big mouth,” Jack growled.

“He told me you were against it being put down,” Fisher added.

The wolf perked up, looking intently at Jack.

“Of course I was,” Jack snapped. “It reacted instinctively. Can’t blame an animal for actin’ in accord with its nature.”

Turning to the gamewarden, the wolf abruptly asked him, “Mr. Fisher, what was the incident with the panther?”

Jack gritted his teeth. Any mention of irresponsible idiots visiting the consequences of their folly on innocents irritated bloody hell out of him. “I’ll tell it,” he said. “A few years back, I was working with the circus animals down in Gibsonton. A fella out in Polk County had a panther he kept for a pet, if you can believe it, and findin’ he couldn’t handle it, decided to sell it to the circus. I went out there to get it.” He sighed. The wolf nodded at him to continue. “I had a cage for it in the back of my truck. The fella brought it to me on a heavy chain- type leash, and I was tryin’ to coax it into the truck when a child from next door ran around my truck, smack into the panther. The kid couldn’t have been more than four years old, just a little thing. Naturally, the panther grabbed it when it smacked into him. Mauled the kid pretty badly before I shot the cat full of tranquilizers.” Jack paused.

“Tell him what happened next,” urged Fisher.

“‘Course, the boy’s parents knew their neighbor had a panther. Should never have let a little one run around without keepin’ an eye on him. But they raised a stink, and I was forced to put the animal down.” Jack glowered at the memory. “Hell. Panthers are an endangered species. Trailer trash like those folks comes a dime a dozen. I’d sooner have put down those fool parents.”

“We all know you like animals better than people, Mr. Randolph,” said the sheriff. “That’s why Mr. Fisher and I came here.”

“What will you do with the wolf if you catch it?” asked the wolf.

The warden looked at him. “There aren’t any wild wolves in Florida. Obviously, the animal must’ve been brought here by someone. A zoo or circus would’ve reported the loss. Someone must have been illegally keeping it for a pet, and it got away. There’s an effort underway to reintroduce wolves to their former territories up north. I’d say that’d be the best alternative here. Wolves are social animals--it’d be happier living with a pack, rather than being stuck here alone.”

“Why not let it find its own way home?” the wolf asked.

“Even if it could,” replied the warden, “it’d be safer being transported by us. Less likely anything might happen to it. The sheep and cattle ranchers are opposed to the wildlife conservationists’ efforts, understandably.”

“Understandably,” the wolf repeated, its voice heavy with irony.

“Gentlemen,” Jack interrupted, “this is all fine and dandy. But as you can see, I’ve got a guest, who’s not quite up to goin’ huntin’. I really must--”

“But, Jack, you don’t have to worry about me,” the wolf interjected. “I’ll be just fine while you help these gentlemen.” Jack didn’t trust the glint in the wolf’s eyes. What was it up to?

“Good, it’s settled, then,” exclaimed the sheriff. “You’ve still got that trank gun of yours, don’t you, Mr. Randolph?”

Somewhat dazed, Jack nodded absently.

“Great. We’ll come get you tomorrow evening,” said the warden. “Thanks for the coffee.” The two rose to leave while Jack tried to figure out when exactly he had agreed to this nonsense.

After he shut the door, he turned to the wolf and demanded an explanation. “Why the devil do you want me to go hunting for you, of all the damnfool ideas?”

“Because, Jack, if you do, you can easily lead them astray, perhaps even get them to forget all about me. I’d do it myself, but . . .” he shrugged, glancing at his crutches propped against the sofa.

“This isn’t going to be a wolf hunt,” growled Jack. “It’s going to be a wild goose chase.”

“Exactly,” said the smiling wolf.