The Tank Read online

  “Yeah. What if we had a bunch of smaller sharks? Like half a dozen reef sharks, each one only three or four feet long, all in the tank at once?”

  Kane threw his head back and laughed. “Damn. That would be crazy. Will José help us out with that?”

  “He’s always fishing out on the reef, so I’ll give him a call in the morning.”

  Kane nodded as they passed an Everglades Park sign indicating a boat launch, meaning water was not far away. The ramp was closed after sunset, but they didn’t intend to launch a boat. “Now let’s get rid of this mako.”

  #

  Heather Winters stifled a yawn as she made her way through the dark Flamingo neighborhoods toward home. It had been a long day at work, most of it on patrol, and then with some office time to boot in order to catch up on paperwork. It seemed like forever ago she’d had lunch in the Mexican place. She was ready to sit out on her porch for a little while and listen to the soothing sounds of nature and then turn in for some shuteye.

  But as she approached the quiet lane to turn off into her own neck of the woods, she happened to look left and there she saw a set of brake lights on a vehicle stopped at the boat launch ramp. The ramp was closed after sundown, with signs posted. Sure, sometimes people got a little lost, and they would use the dead end of the ramp as a place to turn around. But whoever this was had stopped. She slowed down and watched as the interior light came on while the vehicle doors opened.

  What’s going on down there? Maybe they need some help? She had a bad sense about the scene, though, and continued to watch while dousing her vehicle’s lights. She pulled a pair of field binoculars from her glove box and held them to her eyes. They were of limited use at night, but there was a single streetlight over the launch ramp that she thought would provide sufficient illumination. One of the men walked to the back of the truck and dropped the tailgate, his back to her. The other one, meanwhile, walked right down to the ramp and looked down into the water. Normally, she would say he was inspecting the ramp to gauge the incline and general condition of it prior to launching his vessel, but these people had no vessel, not even a trailer, so they couldn’t be picking one up, either.

  So what were they doing? As she continued to watch through the binoculars, the two men—she assumed they were men from their height and build and the way they moved, although she hadn’t yet gotten a look at their faces—pulled something from the back of the truck. They slid it onto the ground and she could hear one of the men grunt with the effort. Then they began to drag the bundle toward the water’s edge.

  Deciding she better nip this less-than-legal activity in the bud before it got out of hand, Heather turned and rolled slowly down the street toward the ramp, in what she thought of as “blackout mode,” all lights off. Halfway to them she stopped, wanting to see what it was they were doing at water’s edge before they noticed her. Were they dumping a body? She wanted to get a look at whatever it was before it slipped beneath the waves. She raised the binoculars to her eyes again and focused on the bundle they fussed over on the ramp.

  Motion.

  Pale white flesh, writhing in the moonlight. She didn’t let herself jump to conclusions, though, but forced herself to continue watching, to discern enough detail to be sure of what she was seeing. And she was glad she took that extra time, because after a few more seconds, she breathed a deep sigh of relief after realizing that the men were handling an animal, and not a human being. Looked like a shark, and a pretty big one at that, but she couldn’t be sure, so she dropped the binoculars and resumed her dark and slow drive toward the ramp.

  Whatever it was, the men were releasing it, and as a game warden, she knew she needed to catch them with an identified species in order to have a case. So she sped up, leaving the lights off, but knowing they would likely hear the engine noise. When they did, they turned around to look at her truck. She turned the headlights and flashers on, adding a siren blip as an extra attention-getter.

  She spoke through the loudspeaker mounted on the outside of her vehicle. “Fish and Game, stop what you’re doing.”

  They did anything but.

  One of the men bolted for the driver’s side of the pickup, while the other gave the fish one last shove and then ran for the passenger side.

  She floored it for a second to eat up the remaining distance, but the driver of the truck accelerated past her, swerving right toward her. She veered off to the right side of the road, plowing through a stand of tall weeds before coming to a stop against a tree, the hiss of steam escaping from her radiator reaching her ears along with the revving of the escaping vehicle’s engine.

  She wasn’t hurt. The impact wasn’t even hard enough to deploy the airbags, but her ego was bruised, she was sure of that. She thought the vehicle might still run, but didn’t want to chance a pursuit with it in this condition, so she got out and watched the truck drive down the road, to make sure they left. That’s when it hit her. She’d seen that vehicle before. It had no rear license plate…maroon body…

  The panther stop!

  She mentally replayed the Highway 41 traffic stop, trying to get her mind’s eye to linger on the pickup truck in that stop. Also maroon, yes, but there was something different about it…it had a logo on the side! The gator logo…This one didn’t have that, but I’m pretty sure it had a rear plate before and now it doesn’t. She had called in the vehicle then, though, and so she made a mental note to follow up with dispatch about the status of that search.

  And then there was the driver. If it was in fact the same man (she hadn’t gotten a good look at him either time, especially not tonight in the dark), he had an accomplice with him tonight. Funny, she mused, that he thought he could handle the Florida panther by himself, but knew he would need help with the shark. Could that be it? Panthers, sharks, what’s going on with these different animals?

  Then it hit her like a railroad car. She flashed on bits and pieces of her conversation with the old people in the Mexican place. …some kind of animal fighting ring…lots of noise complaints…alligator wranglers…

  She decided to check out the shark and see if it was still at the ramp. Perhaps it could offer a clue as to what the men were doing. But first, she reluctantly called in her accident report to dispatch, as well as recounting the fleeing vehicle.

  She found it odd that they were releasing a live shark but had driven here to do so—they didn’t seem to be fishing. Shark fishing was commonly done at night, since they were nocturnal feeders, but she had seen no fishing gear in the back of the pickup. Heather walked to the ramp and down its gentle grade to the water’s edge.

  The shark was still there.

  She could plainly see now that it was a shortfin mako, and a fairly large one at that. It was sluggish from the catch and release, she could see, but it looked like it would be fine. It lay on the bottom for now, its tail moving slowly. While she watched it she thought about why the men would go through such trouble to release it. They weren’t illegal to catch, and they did have a size limit, but this one was clearly long enough. But that only made things even stranger, since she knew makos were not found in the backcountry shallows. Some kind of cloth had been wrapped around the fish’s tail—she saw that through the binoculars—preventing it from swimming away from the ramp. She saw it now, or at least part of it, and fished it out of the water.

  A beach towel, faded and old, with a design reading Ventura, California, across a beach scene with a lifeguard tower and some surfboards stuck into the sand.

  She scratched her head while watching the shark, still wondering what is was these guys were doing with a live shortfin mako in the Everglades. Maybe they caught it oceanside and they were going to use it for food, but then caught some other fish and decided they didn’t need it anymore, so they’re releasing it? She supposed that could be a reason, but when taken with the gator truck, and the same vehicle… That’s not it and you know it…

  The mako swam off into the gloom, no doubt wondering where the reef was,
its home. Heather looked down to the wet towel that had been wrapped around the shark, and suddenly, it hit her. They were transporting it alive…like the other animals in their matches that were caught and kept alive…alligators, the panther, but a shark? It didn’t really fit.

  But one thing was clear as she made her way back to her damaged patrol truck. She was going to find one of these matches and see for herself what was going on.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The next morning, after Heather had filled out pages of reports detailing her “vehicular accident” as well as filing an “incident report” on the two men fleeing the scene after releasing the shark, she walked into the office of Director Stevens once again. He’d summoned her here this morning, telling her to “come on up” as soon as she had filed her reports. No doubt he’d have already accessed them on his computer before she even walked in. A part of her sensed he might think this was an “I told you so” move on her part, her twisted, passive-aggressive way of letting him know she wasn’t suited for land patrol, but she hoped not. She had done her best, and this had still happened.

  “Get the door, would you, Winters?” Stevens asked as she walked into the room. Uh-oh. Not good. Privacy meant he had something serious to say, probably to chew her out over the patrol car damage, culminating in some sort of disciplinary action. She closed the door and took one of the seats in front of his desk.

  “I’m reading over your reports now, Winters.” He indicated the computer monitor. “Tell me about this pickup truck, the maroon one.”

  She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t, so she went ahead. “You remember my panther stop on 41?”

  He nodded. “You called in the sheriffs, but they never found the vehicle. But this one you saw last night in Flamingo at the ramp—you think it’s the same one?”

  “I do. But the plate had been removed, so I can’t say for certain. Along with the company logo on the side,” she finished, sounding less sure of herself.

  Stevens frowned. “What about the driver of the truck—same guy?” He looked over at the report. “You said there were two men with the truck last night, but only one the first time. Was that the same guy?”

  She confessed that she wasn’t sure. She registered the look of disappointment on his face and instantly wished she had something more to offer. “But, sir,” she added hastily, acting on this impulse, “there is something I’d like to tell you, sort of a hunch I have.”

  “A hunch?” He leaned forward on his desk and shot her an irritated glance. “This isn’t Magnum PI, Winters. I can’t afford to spend my limited resources on hunches.”

  To back down now would make her look even more wishy-washy, so she went ahead with what she had, however tenuous. “Sir, bear with me. I think I know why these guys are transporting various live wild animals around.”

  At this, he said nothing, so she continued. “They seem like very different animals—alligators, the panther, a mako shark—most hunters and fishermen specialize.”

  Her boss nodded, and she went on. “But I heard something around town—in Homestead—about an underground animal fighting ring.”

  “Like cockfights, or dog fights?”

  Heather shook her head. “No, not animal versus animal fights, but people versus animals. Wild animals.”

  Stevens raised his eyebrows. “You mean to tell me that someone is staging some kind of fights with a Florida panther? And alligators? And sharks?”

  “I think so, sir. These guys run some kind of nuisance animal removal business, so they’re used to working with wildlife on a regular basis…”

  “There’s a big difference between hauling alligators off golf courses and yards to catching a wild panther. Or a mako shark, for that matter…”

  “I know there is, sir. But I think they’ve done it because these matches they’re holding—they’re like a business. They must be making money to go through all this trouble. The citizens I talked to said large crowds have been gathering to watch these fights, and that a pickup truck with an alligator logo on it is always seen on the site.”

  “I’m going to tell you something, Winters.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ve heard those same ‘reports,’ though reports are maybe too strong a word. Rumors are all they are.”

  Heather’s eyes brightened.

  “I didn’t want to tell you because I wanted you to come to me with what you had if you felt strong enough about it being something significant. And I think it is. Here’s what I’d like to do.”

  He outlined a plan to her, one that involved her infiltrating the animal fighting ring by posing as an interested spectator.

  “Sir, you’re asking me to…” She paused, not quite believing what she was about to say. “You’re asking me to go undercover?”

  “I’m asking you to take down this animal ring, Winters. By whatever means you can do it. I think undercover offers your best chance at this point, but I don’t care how you do it. Just do it, okay?”

  #

  Heather breathed heavily as she stepped out into the parking lot of her workplace. Her boss had tasked her with one hell of an assignment. Yet it had gone better than she’d hoped. She’d been half-expecting to be reprimanded, perhaps even put back on water duty with the admonishment that, “Maybe you were right, Winters, you’re just not cut out to be a full-fledged agent, able to handle anything we throw at you.” Instead, he’d upped the stakes for her, given her a new assignment that was unprecedented as far as her own career. She’d heard of Fish and Wildlife officers going undercover before, but it was a rare thing, and certainly not something any agent who wasn’t a veteran would ever be asked to do.

  She shook her head and smiled when she saw the new truck she’d been assigned in the parking lot. Not brand new, but new to her. Free of dents, dings, and scrapes. “Try to keep it that way,” Stevens had told her with a smile.

  She put the key in the door and got in, arranging things to her liking. He was trusting her; this agency trusted her. She would have to do her utmost on this case to show them that she valued that trust. Which meant finding one of those animal matches and attending it to see what exactly was going on.

  She’d been hearing more gossip around town since her stop at the Mexican place, and she had an idea of where to start. This town wasn’t all that big, and she’d lived in the general area all her life. She’d track down somebody who knew where the next match was, and she’d be there with bells on.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Kane’s mouth turned down at the corners as he awoke in bed with the chirping of his smartphone. He checked the caller ID: one of his semi-regular clients, a homeowner with a large property including a sizable pond. The guy liked to keep it stocked with bass for him to fish, and so when an alligator got in there, he got pretty upset. Thing was, Kane didn’t feel like handling the call today. He was getting worried about his truck being seen by law enforcement. First on Highway 41, then last night in Flamingo. At least he’d had the license plate off, but that alone was reason to be pulled over. Removing the Gator Boyz logo was no doubt a big help, too, but still…a maroon pickup with a camper shell—he supposed he should take that off, too—it was a maroon pickup at the end of the day. With no plates.

  How much would he really make anyway? A few bucks that required him to risk being pulled over because of his truck. He only needed a couple of more matches and he was out of here. So screw it. He let the call go to voicemail. For his remaining time in Florida, he’d focus on the matches. He was officially retired from the gator removal business. A few of his regular clients were nice enough people and he would miss them, but it was what it was.

  His phone rang again and he glanced at it with annoyance, thinking it was his last client trying again, bugging him to get to work. But it was Boyd, so he picked it up.

  “Good news, amigo. José’s out fishing right now. He says he can hook up with a few reef sharks and bring us some.”

  Kane sat up in bed. “Reef sharks? How ma
ny?”

  “He said to get ready for three or four. They probably won’t be as big as the mako, but three or four? That’ll make for one hell of a match.”

  “No doubt. Let’s get set up for it.”

  #

  The reef shark match was back to a backyard setting where plywood boards had been hastily erected against the existing chain-link fence in order to keep out prying eyes. The venue made Kane a little nervous—there would be a lot of activity and noise for this match—but Boyd and the homeowner assured him that as long as things didn’t get too crazy, they would be able to hold their contest. The fact that the resident did in fact own the house was good, Kane reflected, rather than a rental situation.

  He took a deep breath. Relax…this is supposed to be fun, remember? You’re looking at this one and maybe one or two more and then you’re home free…

  But something else weighed on Kane’s mind as he strolled up to the tank, already prepped for the match with four feet of seawater and with four gray reef sharks patrolling the waters inside the octagon.

  You could go into the tank and make a little more cash instead of just getting the house cut.

  But as he watched the four marine predators roam the octagon, he shook his head slowly to himself. He’d seen these kinds of sharks surfing before, and they had never bothered him, but there was a difference between seeing one a few yards away where both man and beast are free to roam where they may, and being confined with not one but four of them in a tank.

  The smallest of the bunch was only about three feet long, he noted, but still…they were extremely fast and agile, and the largest was closer to five. Even that little one could take a finger in the blink of an eye, Kane knew. He didn’t want to think about the feeding frenzy effect that could happen once they got the scent of blood, all four sharks turning on their prey at once…