Scavenger hunt

Chapter 36

An emerald tree boa and a brown-and-red-striped Burmese reticulated python placidly watched Jimmy as he walked into Santa Monica Exotics. The snakes were piled in the front windows, draped across fake tree limbs, ten and twelve and fourteen footers, their wide flat heads draped across their coiled bulk. Two black-clad goth kids stood outside, holding hands as they stared at the snakes. The girl, draped in silver ankhs and crucifixes, eyes blackened like a raccoon, flicked her tongue stud at the python.

A two-toned colobus monkey screeched, its black and white fur looking like formal attire, but Jimmy ignored it, looking for Samantha Packard. A caged red-green macaw followed his progress as he passed the gekkos and iguanas. A West African dwarf crocodile, an ugly beast no larger than a dachshund, opened wide its mouth as Jimmy walked past, its teeth like sharpened dice. A small boy pressed his face against a glass front, and the tarantulas inside waved back. A nearby cluster of black Mexican scorpions clicked their claws against the glass. The sound gave Jimmy the creeps.

Samantha Packard had called him at the office this morning, sounding out of breath, her voice little more than a whisper. "Santa Monica Exotics-do you know it? Three o'clock."

The store was a collection of nooks and crannies, narrow aisles leading into large open areas like clearings in the jungle. A sales-woman in black leather pants was showing a gold chinchilla to a middle-aged couple, brushing out its fur before handing it over to the wife, who cuddled it like a child. The chinchilla had tiny black eyes, a silky yellow pelt, and the face of a sewer rat.

Jimmy turned the corner and saw Samantha Packard at the end of the aisle, staring into one of the cages, her shoulders slumped. She was wearing a lively orchid-colored dress and her hair was coifed, but her posture gave her an air of fatigue and defeat. He came up behind her, moving so quietly that she jumped when he spoke her name.

Samantha pressed her back against the glass wall of the cage, terrified. In the dim recesses a ring-tailed lemur dangled from a tree limb, sleeping.

"It's okay," said Jimmy.

"You're-you're a little early."

Jimmy could see a small bruise on the side of her jaw, barely covered by makeup. "I'm glad you called me. Does he know?"

Samantha blinked. "Know what?"

"About the letter?"

Samantha glanced away, then back. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't you, it was me. Walsh tried to tell, but I didn't believe him."

Samantha acted like she hadn't heard him, turning back to the cage, watching the lemur snooze, a silvery marsupial with bony humanoid hands. "They sleep sixteen hours a day, eighteen hours sometimes, dreaming their life away. They're very intelligent. They're so much smarter than us-" She jerked as Jimmy touched her shoulder, flinging off his hand, still watching the lemur, her dull eyes reflected in the glass.

Jimmy heard something behind him.

Mick Packard acted startled that he had been caught, his surprise turning to anger. "I told you to stop bothering my wife." He was a lousy actor.

Jimmy glanced at Samantha, who maintained her vigil on the lemur cage.

Packard advanced, looking tough in black turtleneck and black pants, hands poised in martial arts readiness. "You picked the wrong woman to harass."

"I think there's been a mistake."

"I'm not the one who made a mistake."

"You gave me the idea when we met at Garrett Walsh's funeral. I'm doing a profile on action stars and their wives. I wanted to interview Mrs. Packard first-"

Packard did one of his signature spin-turns, and Jimmy dodged, the kick just grazing his head. Packard looked surprised again. He had slowed down since he was a top box-office draw, but even the near miss almost tore Jimmy's ear off.

Jimmy backed away, fists cocked, watching Packard's eyes as the man closed in.

"Running away?" Packard was talking too loudly.

Jimmy glanced around and saw a video cameraman shooting from the far end of the aisle. The sight distracted him for a moment, long enough for Packard to attack again, his roundhouse kick slamming into the wall next to his head. Jimmy grabbed his outstretched foot and twisted, sending him to the ground bellowing.

Packard got quickly to his feet, limping slightly. "You've had training."

"I told you, this is a mistake." Jimmy backed up, looking for an exit.

"Hey, don't you want to play?" The question had been the oft-repeated tagline of Packard's last box-office hit.

Jimmy edged into the main corridor. Halfway down the middle-aged wife nuzzled the golden chinchilla. The cameraman stepped into the aisle from behind her, still filming. Jimmy feinted, then threw a punch at Packard, a hard left hook.

Packard swatted the blow aside, hit Jimmy twice on the side of the head, and knocked him down. Packard mugged for the camera, beckoning Jimmy to rise to his feet.

Samantha Packard faced the lemur cage, her hands clenched at her sides.

Jimmy got up, his ears ringing as he rocked on the balls of his feet. He never saw the blow coming.

Packard moved in, low-kicked, then drove the heel of his left hand into Jimmy's chest and sent him stumbling back against a wall of glass cages.

Jimmy heard the scorpions scuttling behind him but kept his eyes on Packard. It hurt to breathe. He was scared.

Packard bounced forward, dodging and weaving, a smug little smile on his face. He was right where he wanted to be: in a big-screen moment.

Jimmy kept trying to box him, but Packard slipped past his punches, smacked him and retreated, then smacked him again. Jimmy was fast, faster than Packard, but Packard's timing was perfect.

Packard hit Jimmy again and again, hit him in the exact same place each time, smiling broader now as Jimmy got angrier and more desperate. Packard stuck his head forward, daring Jimmy to take a shot.

Jimmy lashed out, and his fist grazed Packard's chin before he got nailed again. The side of his head was numb now, and blood trickled from his ear. He backed up, gasping for breath. The middle-aged wife was right behind him now, asking her husband if they were filming a movie, her voice echoing, sounding like she was speaking from inside a seashell.

Packard grinned at him, easing forward.

Jimmy grabbed the golden chinchilla from the wife and tossed it to Packard.

Packard deftly caught the squealing chinchilla, then, confused, looked at the camera.

Jimmy punched him in the face, catching him good. The chinchilla clawed its way free and scampered down his leg. Jimmy hit him again, just below the nose this time, a pressure point where all the facial nerves gathered-right where Jane had taught him. Packard grunted, and Jimmy tripped him, drove him to the ground.

Packard got halfway up, cursing.

Jimmy kicked him, sending him sprawling. Packard tried to stand, but Jimmy didn't give him a chance. No marquess of Queensbury bullshit, no time-outs, no Geneva Convention, no director calling "CUT!" Jimmy kicked Packard's knee out from under him, kicked him when he struggled up, and punched him in the throat when he tried to explain. When Packard stopped trying to get up, Jimmy stopped hitting him.

The cameraman caught every moment of it.

Samantha Packard hadn't moved. She was still slumped against the glass, watching the sleeping lemur.

"Samantha?" Jimmy's voice was raspy.

Samantha pressed her hands against the thick glass, moaning, but the lemur didn't move, lost in some solitary rain-forest reverie where the light was cool and deep and green and the trees were heavy with fruit. If the lemur heard Samantha's soft cries in his dream, he didn't respond.

"Turn around, buddy."

Jimmy ignored the cameraman.

"You a stuntman or something, buddy?"

Jimmy shook his head. "Samantha, you have to get away from him."

Samantha Packard didn't move. "I'm sorry."

"This was for real then?" The cameraman zoomed in. "So could you please tell us why you're stalking Mick Packard's wife?"

Packard coughed and curled up on the floor. The macaw screamed at them, fluttering its bright wings.

Jimmy stared at Samantha Packard. He felt sick. "You're not the good wife, are you?"

Samantha Packard hung her head. "I've tried-I've tried to be."