Page 13 of Creeping Beautiful

“Twenty-seven?” I ask. “That’s how many are for sale tonight?”

“Yes. Twenty-seven perfect Company specimens. All of them have been bred for the cages.” I’m looking at him when he says this. It’s dark out here. Very fuckin’ dark out here. But there’s enough light from the dashboard up front to see him frown.

“What?”

“Twenty-six, actually. The last one… well. She’s…” He shakes his head.

“She’s what?”

“Very young, for one. And very wild. But her house mother is done. She wants her sold now. Or killed. Or probably both.” Gerald chuckles. “But don’t worry. I will not waste your time with her.” He points up ahead. “Here we go. This is number one. Fifteen years old, blonde hair, blue eyes, very nice-looking girl, if this old man can say such things. She’s been trained in music and art. A beautiful specimen for breeding. Her bloodlines are impeccable. Her father… well, as you know, the genetics are well-guarded secrets. So I can’t divulge specifics. But believe me when I tell you, she is the best of the best tonight.”

Up ahead there is a spotlight shining down on a large steel cage. We pull up to it, stop, and the driver turns off the Land Cruiser. A tiger is on top of the cage, precariously prowling the length of the flat bars that make up the roof, tail swishing as it turns, stops, and then a low, throaty growl fills the nighttime silence. Makes the air even heavier with heat and danger. When he inhales it sounds a little like wheezing. Almost… soothing. But the exhale is something altogether different.

A threat.

“This is Anastasia.” Gerald makes a twirling hand motion in the air between us like he’s adding a flourish to the end of her pretentious name.

Anastasia is crying. Hard. Sobbing, really. There are metal cuffs around her wrists and her arms have been hoisted up above her head by a chain that attaches to the roof of the cage.

She’s wearing a thin, white, cotton dress that hangs down the length of her torso and barely covers her white panties. It’s a shapeless dress. We’re not meant to see their curves tonight. We’re meant to use our imaginations. Indulge in the fantasy.

Blood is dripping down her bare arms and staining the shoulder straps of her dress. A moment later I see why. The tiger drops to the roof and slips his huge, meaty paw between two bars, snagging the top of her hand with a three-inch claw.

Anastasia screams, twisting in place, desperate to get away from that claw.

She’s not successful and the tiger snags her again.

“She’s loud right now.” Gerald shouts this over the roar of the tiger. But he’s still calm. “Trust me, though. She’s very well behaved under normal circumstances. She would make an excellent concubine.”

“I’m not looking for a concubine.”

“Right.” Gerald sighs, but wisely decides to keep his disapproval for why I’m here tonight to himself.

“Can she fight?”

Gerald gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Onward, Philip. Not this one.”

Anastasia begs us not to leave but her wails are drowned out by the roar of the tiger and the starting of the Land Cruiser’s engine.

We do leave her there, our vehicle slowly meandering down the gravel road that twists and turns through the jungle until we get to a massive double gate. Thick beams of vertical steel wall one enclosure off from another. We have to drive up, press a code in the security system, then drive through. Stop, as the gate behind us closed, then wait as security cameras scan the lock for animals, and then drive through the second gate once some unknown signal indicates we are clear to move forward.

Think Jurassic Park. That’s what that gate looks like.

The next girl is pretty much the same. Blonde and blue-eyed. White dress. Screaming. Maybe a little louder than the last one. But she is surrounded by gorillas. One has a hold of her long, yellow hair and is yanking her head towards the bars of the cage.

“Jesus Christ, Gerald. When did you get gorillas?”

“These old things?” I can just barely make out his chuckling words over the screaming girl. “Some shipping intercept late last year.” He is practically yelling over the ruckus. “Smugglers. They’re only temporary. We have seven internationally famous zoos coming for a bidding war next week. But while they’re here, might as well make the most of them.”

“Hmm.” I say this just as the girl breaks free of the gorilla’s grip—losing a handful of hair in the process.

“Her name is Dalia.” Gerald is still raising his voice to be heard. “Any interest?”

“Does she fight?”

“Onward, Philip. Mr. Boucher will be putting us through our paces tonight.”

Philip didn’t even bother turning the engine off for this one so he just starts rolling forward. But in that same instant a gorilla attacks us, flinging his massive four-hundred-pound body against the bars surrounding the back of the truck. We rock to the side and for a moment I hold my breath and wonder if we will be tipped over.