Baton Rouge Bingo (4 page)

“Thanks, Annetra. As always, the veterinary students and university police evacuated Mike the Tiger before the full evacuation of students, faculty, and university employees began. The plan was for Mike to be moved to a secure facility just outside of town, which the university built for just these kinds of emergencies. But things didn’t go according to the careful plans made for just such an occurrence.”

Brandon Hardy started walking along the road, the camera following him. “When the truck towing Mike in his trailer reached this point in the road, they were cut off by a white panel van. Once the truck stopped, masked armed men jumped out of the van, tied up the veterinary students and campus security, and knocked them unconscious. They apparently unhooked the coupling and took Mike and his trailer. When the students and security regained consciousness, the trailer and the van were gone. One of them was able to call for help on his cell phone. The state police have put out an APB on the van and are asking anyone who may have seen the van—or Mike’s trailer—to call.” Brandon Hardy stopped walking and looked back at the camera. “Apparently, there have been some threats made about Mike in the past few weeks.”

The camera cut to a young woman’s face. There was a bandage on her forehead, and she looked distraught. A caption appeared under her face, reading H
OPE
P
ORTERIE
, LSU V
ETERINARY
S
CIENCE
M
AJOR
. Mom gasped as Hope started speaking.

“We’ve been getting some threatening letters and calls,” Hope Porterie was saying to Brandon Hardy. “But we get that sort of thing from time to time, you know, cranks and pranks—drunk frat boys from Ole Miss or Arkansas or Alabama, saying they’re going to kidnap Mike, but you know, who’s going to kidnap a Bengal tiger?” She shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears.

“We’ve also been getting some threats from an animal rights group, saying it was inhumane to keep a tiger on a college campus and drag him out for football games, but you know, we get that kind of stuff all the time and it never means anything, you know, it’s just people trying to make a point.” Her voice broke. “Mike is very well cared for, and we keep him healthy and fed and happy. Who would do such a thing? Why? I hope the people who did this are aware of how dangerous he is. He’s used to people, but he is still a wild animal and can do a lot of damage.” She wiped at her eyes. “Please, whoever did this, if you’re watching,
please
let us bring Mike back home.”

The camera zoomed in on Brandon Hardy’s face as he solemnly said, “Who would kidnap a tiger? That’s the question on everyone’s lips tonight, Annetra. Back to you in the studio, Aaron.”

“Do the police think that maybe the bomb threat was a decoy, to get Mike moved off campus so he could be taken?” the news anchor asked, a concerned look on his face.

“The state police are looking at every possibility, Aaron.”

“Thanks, Brandon.” The camera went back to Aaron in the studio, and he smiled at the camera. “After the break, a ruckus at the state capitol today brought legislative business to a standstill.”

We all just stared at the television as a Subway sandwich commercial started. Storm picked up the remote and muted the sound. He whistled. “I can’t believe someone kidnapped a two-thousand-pound tiger in broad daylight and
got away with the tiger
!”

“This is just terrible, absolutely terrible.” Mom moaned, rubbing her eyes. She looked at me and then Storm. “Poor Hope. Storm, you have to do something.”

“You know her, Mom?” I asked, starting to get that wretched feeling in my stomach.
Of course Mom knows her.

Mom nodded. “She’s Veronica Porterie’s daughter.”

“Oh, good God.” Storm buried his face in his hands, and the knot in my stomach tightened.

“Veronica Porterie?” Frank looked confused. “The woman who runs that crazy animal rights group?”

“AFAR,” I replied, taking a deep breath. “She was Mom’s best friend in high school.”

AFAR stood for “Army For Animal Rights.” It had started as a group trying to keep cats and dogs in California shelters from being euthanized. But as Veronica Porterie raised more and more money, AFAR’s vision expanded and its members became more and more aggressive and belligerent. They became known for breaking into laboratories and setting test animals free. They protested against zoos and hunting. They called wearing fur murder, and as more and more time passed, Veronica Porterie seemed less connected with reality.

I hadn’t seen her in years, and I’d never known she had a child; she always seemed to be too busy saving animals from humans to be bothered with marriage, family, or kids. She was tried for murder in California a while back—they’d broken into a testing facility to release animals and a security guard had wound up dead. There had been a hung jury—afterward, the jurors who’d voted against acquitting her felt the prosecutor hadn’t proved she was the actual killer or had even been there, which she denied. After the trial, AFAR kept a low profile for a few years, but they’d been getting more active again lately.

“Wait a minute,” I said slowly. “One of the vet students who takes care of Mike just happens to be the daughter of a militant animal rights activist? That can’t be a coincidence.”

“She’s going to be their top suspect once they figure it out.” Mom buried her face in her hands. “It won’t matter to them one bit that Hope hasn’t seen her mother since she was a little girl.”

“Why not?” Frank asked.

“After Veronica was tried for killing that security guard, her parents sued for custody of Hope and won,” Storm explained. “They also managed to get a restraining order against Veronica so she couldn’t even see the child.”

“That seems a bit extreme.” Frank frowned.

“That poor child—Storm, she’s going to need a damned good lawyer, and I know you’ll do the right thing and represent her.” She stood up and walked over to the window. “This is really bad. Hope wouldn’t be involved, I just know she wouldn’t.”

I was about to ask why when the phone buzzed. “That’s our pizza,” I said, heading for the door. “No one says a word until I get back.”

When I got back upstairs with the hot pizza, the news was back on and there was a picture of Mom on the screen. “Mrs. Bradley has been arrested before, mainly for disturbing the peace or resisting arrest, but this is her first arrest for assault,” the news anchor was saying as I kicked the door shut with my foot. “Attorney General Dufresne’s office has not returned any of our calls asking for a statement.”

“Terrible picture,” Mom said as Storm turned off the television. “I’ve never taken a good mug shot.”

“There’s something to aspire to,” Storm replied sourly. “I’m sure if you get arrested enough times, you’re bound to take a good one sooner or later.”

Mom gave him a dirty look. “You’re not too old for me to spank, you know.”

Frank interrupted before Storm could say anything. “Mom, you said you went to high school with Veronica Porterie?”

“McGehee.” Mom nodded, making a face as she said the word. Mom hated that she went to McGehee, which to her symbolized privilege, power and snobbery—everything she believed was wrong with our country and society. When it was time for college, she refused to go to Vanderbilt—the traditional school for the Diderot family—and went to the University of New Orleans instead. She’d started dating Dad in high school. Since the Bradleys were an LSU family, Dad went to LSU for a year before transferring down to UNO. He and Mom have been together ever since. “Veronica and I were in the same class, we started kindergarten together. I don’t remember how we first met or how we became friends—all I know is we were inseparable until we graduated.” She smiled, her eyes a million miles away, lost in memory. “She always liked animals. She always wanted to be a vet or something, you know, work with animals. She always liked animals better than people. She went to Berkeley, and she really changed there—I don’t know what it was. I mean, she was in Greenpeace for a while”—she inhaled—“and I joined because of her, you know. But Greenpeace isn’t the same as AFAR. But AFAR wasn’t originally what it is now, either. Your father and I were two of the original members of AFAR, and we donated a lot of money over the years. But as much as I believe animals should be treated ethically, I don’t believe you have the right to destroy personal property. Or harm people to prove your point. That pizza smells good.”

I flipped open the box. “Help yourself. But it’s not vegetarian.”

“I’m so hungry I don’t care,” Mom said, grabbing a slice and taking a healthy bite, strings of mozzarella stretching from the slice to her mouth. “Storm, I wish you’d give Hope a call. She’s really going to need some help. You know the police are just going to turn on her once they find out who her mother is.”

“After I eat, Mom.” Storm took a slice.

“How come I’ve never met Hope?” I asked. “Or ever heard of her before today?”

Mom sighed. “Veronica has never married, you know. She’s never, as long as I’ve known her, had a long-term relationship with a man. It’s like she always thought all they were good for was sex.” She laughed. “And some aren’t even good for that. I was really surprised when she told me she was pregnant. AFAR had already started liberating animals from testing labs by then, and your father and I were distancing ourselves from the organization. She wasn’t married, and she didn’t tell me who the father was.” She took another bite of the pizza. “The baby was about three when that security guard got killed. Her parents sued for custody and won, like I said, and got that restraining order against Veronica so she couldn’t see her own daughter. Her father died shortly after—your grandfather believes knowing his daughter was a murderer is what killed Albert Porterie—and his wife moved away from New Orleans. I think she wanted to get away from where everyone knew they were related to Veronica. I can’t say as I blame them.” She tossed the crust back into the box. “Funny that she wound up a veterinary student, don’t you think? Just goes to show, you can’t escape your genes.”

“So, you do know her, Mom?” Frank took another slice of pizza and wiped grease from his chin.

Mom nodded. “I made a point of inviting her down to New Orleans when I found out she was coming back to school here.” She glanced at me. “I stayed in touch with Veronica’s mother, even after she…after that security guard was killed. She was my friend, I wanted to make sure, you know, that her daughter was okay. Veronica never tried to get in touch, in all of those years…” She glanced over at the television. “Taking the tiger—it is the kind of thing they’d do.” She sighed. “But how do you kidnap a tiger in bright daylight? Surely someone had to
notice
them driving that tiger around; it’s not like his cage isn’t garish.”

“All you’d need is an eighteen-wheeler.” I shrugged as I took a drink of my soda. “With a hydraulic lift, I guess, you could haul the trailer into the back, and once you pull the door down, voilà. No one can see the tiger, and you’re just another truck driving down the road. The question is, where can you keep a tiger that people wouldn’t notice?”

“A barn somewhere,” Frank pointed out. “If you’re out in the country and you have a barn on the property, you can just leave the tiger in the cage and, you know, throw meat in to it. And if the barn is far enough away from the road…no one would hear it roaring.”

“Yes, that makes some sense,” Storm mused, muffling a burp with his hand. “But AFAR couldn’t be responsible. Their thing is to return animals to their natural state. So they wouldn’t keep a tiger captive in a cage somewhere. They’d want to return it to Africa or India or wherever the tiger is indigenous.”

“But Mike wasn’t a wild tiger,” I replied. “He was raised as a cub in captivity. He wouldn’t know how to survive in the wild.”

Mom’s lips compressed into a tight line. “AFAR doesn’t care about that sort of thing.” Her face looked severe, like she was trying to hold on to her temper. “Veronica always claimed that animals were instinctive, that a tiger or any animal raised in captivity will instinctually know how to survive if returned to the wild, like how a housecat will go feral if it escapes, or a dog will go wild.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s true or not, but…it just seemed wrong to me. So many things they believe…are wrong. That’s why your father and I finally had to just walk away from AFAR. It really broke my heart, you know. Veronica was my best friend. But people change.”

I closed the now-empty pizza box and folded it up for the recycling bin. “So, Storm, are you going to call her?”

“Well, I don’t think it would hurt her to have some legal advice.” He yawned, stretching his arms overhead.

“I’ll call her.” Mom got up, digging for her cell phone in her purse before going out onto the balcony.

Storm gave Frank and me a strange look. “Somehow, I have the feeling this isn’t going to be the last we’ve heard of this. Things never seem to go easily for us.”

He had a point.

Although I’m the one who has some psychic ability, Mom’s prediction about Hope needing a lawyer came true the very next morning.

Storm was on his way out the door when I staggered out of the room Frank and I were sharing in desperate need of coffee. “There’s coffee made in the kitchen,” he said as he went out the front door. “I’m running late for the session. See you tonight at the match if not before.” The door closed behind him.

I walked into the kitchen with a sigh. I dumped the coffee and made a fresh pot—Storm made coffee so awful that there aren’t proper words to describe it. I’d hoped Mom was already up—no one made coffee good enough to match hers. It wasn’t quite eight yet. I yawned again while the coffee brewed. I hadn’t slept very well, tossing and turning all night while trying not to wake Frank up. He needed his sleep—he needed to be totally on his game tonight, and I wasn’t going to be responsible for him not being on his A game. When there was enough coffee in the pot for a cup, I went ahead and poured myself one. I walked over to the window and looked out at the muddy river.

We hadn’t stayed up too late—even Mom, who usually doesn’t go to bed until the sun is rising, was yawning and wandered off to her bed around eleven. I was feeling pretty worn out myself. It had been a rather long day, and Frank didn’t need to be convinced when I said it was time for us to go to bed as well. Frank, like always, was sound asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow.

But not me—the best I managed all night was that awful half-sleep where your mind is still very much aware it’s awake but your body thinks it’s sleeping. I couldn’t seem to get comfortable in the bed—it was a little too soft for my liking—and every time I seemed to be about to fall into a deep restful sleep, Frank would turn over onto his back and start snoring.

Of course, when he does that at home I just put my hand underneath him and lift a bit—he always rolls right over onto his side and it stops.

But I was afraid I’d wake him—and then what if he couldn’t get back to sleep? Then he’d show up for his big match all tired and worn out and unable to focus. And when a professional wrestler is tired and unfocused, that’s when injuries and disasters in the ring are more likely to occur, and I wasn’t about to be responsible for that.

An overactive imagination can truly be a bit of a curse sometimes.

I finished my cup of coffee and had just poured another when Frank came wandering into the kitchen in just his black Calvin Klein briefs. He smiled at me sleepily before getting a cup down from the cupboard and pouring himself some coffee. “I don’t suppose there’s anything to eat around here?” He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of the coffee.

“Not likely. Storm doesn’t cook. That’s why he has all those delivery menus.”

Frank walked over to the window, giving me a lovely backside view of the muscle development in his back, his narrow waist, and his perfectly shaped ass. “You don’t suppose there’s a diner somewhere nearby?” He absentmindedly scratched his leg. “I really am starving.”

“I guess we can find out.”

Mom was still asleep when we finished washing up and getting dressed, so we went foraging for breakfast on our own. We found a nice little greasy-spoon diner a few blocks away from the condo. Frank had an egg-white mushroom omelet, while I indulged with blueberry waffles. “You nervous about tonight?” I asked when he finished and pushed his plate away.

He shook his head and beamed at me. “No, it’s going to be great. You’re going to be amazed.” He winked at me and sighed. “No, I’m worried about my nephew.” He rubbed his hands over his head. “I was thinking I should e-mail my sister and have him come down right away, don’t you think?”

“It’s fine with me,” I replied. It wasn’t completely a lie—I hated the thought of him being stuck up there in Homophobia County, and said so. “The sooner he gets out of there, the better. I still have some reservations, but they aren’t about
him
,
they’re about
me
,
if that makes sense?”

Frank grinned at me. “We’ve been together how long? Of course it makes sense.” He put his hands down on top of mine. “Thanks, Scotty, I appreciate this.”

I got some toast and jelly to go for Mom, and we walked back to the Riverview Tower. We kissed in the elevator on the way up, and I was thinking it might not be such a bad idea for him to have sex the day of a match when the elevator opened on Storm’s floor.

But as we walked down the hall to Storm’s door I imagined all kinds of awful things happening to Frank in the ring because I’d worn him out.

Stupid overactive imagination.

Mom was sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee watching the television when we walked in. “Hey, guys,” she said, not looking away from the television screen.

“We got you some toast,” I said, handing her the bag and sitting down next to her as she started spreading jelly on her toast.

“I need to jump in the shower and head down to the arena,” Frank said, kissing the top of her head.

I considered joining him, but decided not to. It would be weird with Mom in the living room, for one thing, and there was that whole “day of the match” thing.

Tonight, though, was going to be a different story.

“What are you watching?” I asked after the bedroom door closed.

“I keep hoping there’s going to be some more news about Mike,” she replied between bites. “They’re calling it a tiger-napping.” She rolled her eyes at me and gestured to the coffee table where the morning paper sat. “I suppose that’s what everyone is going to call it now,” Mom said with a sigh. “Tiger-napping. Seriously. Why must they always invent words?”

“I don’t know. I guess
kidnapping
didn’t seem dramatic enough.” I picked up the paper. The headline on the front page of the
Baton Rouge Advocate
screamed M
IKE
K
IDNAPPED
!!! Right below that was a photo of him in his habitat, yawning and looking totally bored. “Besides, it’s not every day a tiger is kidnapped. Did it make the national news?”

“Shh.” She turned up the volume just as the video of a frightened-looking young girl being walked up the steps of the police station by two uniformed cops played on the screen. Across the bottom of the picture was the caption V
ETERINARY
S
TUDENT IN
C
HARGE OF
M
IKE
H
AS
T
IES TO
A
NIMAL
R
IGHTS
A
CTIVISTS
.

“Hope Porterie is the daughter of the notorious Veronica Porterie, who founded the AFAR group back in the 1980s.” The newscaster’s voice was breathless, her tone screaming
Can you believe this?
A really horrible photo of Veronica Porterie—her mug shot from her arrest for the security guard’s murder—popped up on the screen. “When AFAR broke into the animal-testing facility for Flax Cosmetics, they released all the animals, but a security guard was killed. Veronica Porterie was tried for his murder, but the result was a hung jury. The district attorney chose not to try her again.” Now her voice was disapproving:
Can you believe he didn’t throw the book at this lunatic?
“And we here at WBRZ News have recently learned that AFAR has been threatening to ‘free Mike’ for more than a year. And the group founder’s daughter somehow managed to insinuate herself into caring for Mike—and was with him when AFAR kidnapped him. Things are not looking good this morning for Hope Porterie. Back to you, Jim.”

“That’s really bad,” I said as Mom muted the television. “But I suppose it was just a matter of time before the connection turned up.”

“Guilty until proven innocent,” she said, picking up her cell phone. “I’m going to text Storm.”

“You don’t think there’s a connection?” I replied, a little dubiously. “I mean, come on, Mom. Her mother runs AFAR.”

“Nobody knows for a fact that AFAR took Mike, Scotty. What kind of private eye are you, anyway? Automatically assuming guilt based on circumstantial evidence?” Mom replied. “Besides, don’t you think the FBI has had Hope’s phone tapped for years now?” She fumbled with her phone for a moment before giving up and dialing.

I was glad Frank was in the shower. Frank adores her, but as a retired FBI special agent, Mom’s paranoia about the Bureau sometimes got a bit under his skin. He never said anything when Mom went on one of her tears, but his face would always flush a bit and that vein in his forehead would start throbbing. Both Dad and I had talked to Mom about it—to at least ease up on the feds or just bite her tongue in front of Frank—and she
had
gotten a lot better. But once she’s wound up there is no turning back the tide.

“Storm, it’s your mother. The cops have taken Hope in—we just saw it on the news. You need to get down there!” She paused, listening, and started talking again. I got up, tuning her out, and walked over to the bedroom. I didn’t hear the shower running, so I went inside. Frank was shaving, naked, in the bathroom with the door open. He turned his head and smiled.

“I called my sister,” he said, going back to shaving. “I told her to send Taylor down as soon as possible. She’s going to put him on a flight from Birmingham to New Orleans.” He smiled back at the mirror. “I called Rain, she’s going to pick him up tonight for us and take him home with her. She’ll bring him over once we get back home tomorrow.”

I sat down on the bed. “Wow.” That was quick.

He rinsed the lather off his face and walked over to me, kissing the top of my head. “It’ll be fine, Scotty.” He started getting dressed. “I haven’t seen Taylor since he was a little boy.” He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and laughed. “You should see your face—you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He finished getting dressed and walked back over to me.

“It’ll be fine,” he said, stroking my arm and kissing my head again. “We can’t just abandon him. Where else will he go?”

I nodded. I knew he was right, and really—how awful could an eighteen-year-old gay boy be?

But I still had a knot in my stomach.

I followed him out into the living room.

“Taylor’s coming down tonight on a Southwest flight,” he announced.

Mom grinned and bounded over to him, her braid bouncing. “That’s so wonderful!” She hugged him and looked at me with a strange look. She reached over and took my hand. “You really don’t need to worry so much about Taylor,” she said. “You and Frank—and Colin, when he’s here—are great role models for him, you know.”

“Yeah,” I replied, not convinced.

“I have to get going,” Frank said, kissing me on the cheek. “I’ll see you guys at the arena, okay?”

I smiled until the door shut behind him. I let out a sigh. “Mom, I’m terrified.”

“You’re being ridiculous, you know.” She shook her head. “You’re going to be fine. Really. He’s just a kid, and think about where he grew up. He has a lot to learn.”

“He spent the last few months in Paris. He could probably teach me a few things.” I walked over to the sliding glass door and put my forehead against the glass. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help myself. “I—I have nothing to show for my life, Mom.” I blew out my breath and looked back at the river. A barge was slowly passing, on its way to New Orleans. “Before I met Frank, what was I? A personal trainer and stripper who could barely pay his bills—and wasn’t even capable of having any kind of relationship with another guy. I was sexually active, I slept with total strangers who picked me up in bars, I used to dance on bars in a thong for dollar bills. I mean, yeah, that’s exactly the path Taylor should take, don’t you think?”

Mom patted my hand. “Are you ashamed of your past, Scotty?”

I thought about it for a moment—the one-night stands, the nights spent dancing on Ecstasy until the sun came up, and grinned. “Well, no, not really.”

“You were always a good person, Scotty, and isn’t that really the most important thing?” She gave me an odd look. “What’s this all about, anyway? Are you really that nervous about Taylor coming down here?” She smacked the side of my face lightly with her hand. “Think about this poor kid for a minute, Scotty. He’s grown up in some horribly repressed small town in northwest Alabama, where everyone goes to church and acts holier-than-thou while sinning in the worst possible ways behind closed doors. He’s probably hated himself for most of his life, having to hide who he really was because he was afraid of exactly what has happened—his family turning on him. I don’t know much about the University of Alabama other than they have a good football team, but I can’t imagine anywhere in Alabama being really gay-friendly, can you?”

I shook my head.

“So what Taylor really needs is acceptance and to see that gay people aren’t evil, aren’t going to hell, are decent human beings who live their lives without hurting anyone else. And I can’t think of anyone better to show him that than you and Frank.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I put my head back. “What did Storm say about Hope?”

“He’s on his way to the police station.” She scowled and sat up. “What time is Frank’s match?”

“The show starts at seven,” I replied, raising an eyebrow. I didn’t like the determined look on her face, or the tone of her voice. She was up to something. “Frank’s the headline match, of course, so he probably won’t be on until at least nine thirty. The whole broadcast is supposed to be over by ten. Why?”

“You mind taking a little drive with me?” Her face took on an air of affected innocence. “A little adventure with your old mom? Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Where to?” I raised my eyebrows. “What are you up to, Mom?”

“We’ll be back in plenty of time to have dinner and make it to Frank’s match,” she said in a wheedling tone, ignoring my question and glancing at her watch. “Come on, I just have a hunch I want to check out.” She patted my arm and gave me an enormous smile. “If it doesn’t play out, well, we’ll get to spend some quality time together.”