The Tank Read online

  “Hey, Lyle, you want to do something fun?”

  Before he could reply she continued by way of explanation. “I just remembered I need to release a crocodile. Just a little ways into the swamp. You wanna come with? You wrangle any crocs yet?”

  “No, actually, I haven’t had the good fortune to wrestle one of those out from under someone’s house and into my truck yet. You talking American Croc or Saltwater Croc?”

  “American. We don’t get a lot of saltwater crocs around here, and I can’t say that’s a bad thing.”

  “Not looking forward to tangling with those, are you?”

  “Can’t say that I am. So you want to go with me to release the American croc?”

  “I’m game.”

  She led him down a walkway to a vehicle depot area where an assortment of large trucks were parked and being worked on. One of them had been pulled out and loaded with the animal to be moved. Like the ones Kane worked with, the croc was bagged, but it was easy to see it was a real giant.

  “Whoa, that’s got to be a ten-footer!”

  Alicia nodded. “Ten and a half. Don’t worry, he’s muzzled inside the bag. Hop in, this won’t take long.”

  Kane got into the passenger side of the vehicle, and Alicia drove them out onto a two-lane paved road. On this road, they passed a state prison, with signs on the side of the road warning against picking up hitchhikers. Kane shrunk down a little in his seat as they passed the perimeter of barbed-wire fencing, stark, utilitarian buildings much like the one he had called home in California visible squatting in the distance.

  “Nice to work right next to a prison, right?”

  Kane laughed. “I guess maybe they don’t try to escape much, seeing as they’d have to run into a swamp full of gators and crocs.” He jerked his thumb to the back of the truck.

  “And this is the place we call home! Here’s our turnoff.” She turned left off the blacktop onto a dirt road and followed it into progressively swampier land, with tall sawgrass bordering both sides of the bumpy road.

  Kane was about to ask how far they were heading into the swamp when she pulled off onto a dirt cutout. “This is where we sometimes release gators or crocs,” Alicia said as she put the truck into park and shut off the engine.

  “Why here?” Looking around, Kane didn’t see anything wrong with it as a habitat for gators, but it didn’t look much different than the other thousands of square acres the Everglades had to offer.

  Alicia opened the door and stepped out. “It’s close to the Center but far enough away, with enough directions to go in, that the animals can safely find their way out into the wild again.”

  Kane looked around the place. She was right. It was deserted, and yet they’d driven out here in less than five minutes. “Let’s do it, then. What do you do, just pull it out of the truck, unbag it, cut the tape and let it be, or what?”

  “Pretty much.” She scanned the water at the edge of the road. “I don’t see anything that would make this a poor release spot.”

  They went around back to the truck and opened it up. Alicia grabbed a piece of wood that she used as a ramp and set it up so that the animal could slide from the truck rather than be unceremoniously dropped.

  “Good idea,” Kane said. He gripped the croc’s hind legs through the bag. “On three?”

  Alicia nodded. “One, two…three!”

  “Off you go, buddy!” Kane and Alicia gave the croc a shove as it slid from the truck.

  It didn’t hesitate at all, running off into a tall stand of grass, but stopped short of entering the water. Alicia and Kane stood back and observed the newly released beast.

  “Usually they swim off pretty quick, but I guess this guy decided he wants to get a little sun.” Alicia checked her watch. “Anyway, we’ll call that a successful release. I’ve got a meeting back at the Center I’ve got to get to.”

  They got back into the truck, and Kane watched the croc as they drove away. It still basked in the grass on the edge of the water. A few minutes later, they were back at the Center parking lot and Alicia pulled to a stop next to Kane’s truck.

  “Thanks again for bringing your alligators.”

  “No problem, thanks for taking me with on the croc release!”

  He said goodbye and got into his vehicle. He followed the road out past the prison on the way to the main highway. And then he saw the turnoff to the dirt road Alicia had just taken them down to release the croc. He checked his rearview mirror, saw no one behind him, and slowed down as he became lost in thought.

  He mentally pictured that crocodile sunning itself on the bank of the swamp. It was probably still there. A huge one, over ten feet. A specimen that would make a mighty fine first contender in the new tank…

  Kane actually pulled the truck to a stop on the shoulder as he thought even more actively about the possibilities. He doubted anyone would see him if he drove back there to get it. And if he could capture it alone… He pictured it in the octagon and a crowd of people around it, waving bills in their fists…

  He put the truck back into gear and eased onto to the dirt turnoff that Alicia had shown him. Lemme just see if it’s even still there…

  He drove along the muddy road with his windows down and the radio off, listening for sounds of vehicles approaching. What would he tell Alicia if she came back here for some reason and saw him? Just thought it was such a cool area I had to come back? Forgot something…that was better…dropped my wallet or something? He was still thinking about it when he came up on the crocodile release area. He almost passed it, everything started to look the same out here after a while, but fortunately, he recognized the dirt cutout off to the left. The last thing he needed was to go driving off into the Everglades and get lost. He had a GPS unit on his dash that had helped him get around when he was new to Miami, but it wouldn’t help him out here where there were hardly any roads.

  He killed the engine and looked out the window to the left, at the tall stand of sawgrass.

  The croc was still there. Didn’t look like it had moved at all.

  But it sure hadn’t shrunk at all, either. Sucker’s huge, Kane thought, leaving his driver-side door open and walking around to the back. He popped the tailgate and considered his inventory of weapons. He knew he should really have another person with him—or two—to catch this croc. No doubt about that. But even though the beast appeared content to bask in one place for now, it wouldn’t stay here forever. Not to mention the more times he drove out to this isolated spot, the greater his risk for being seen by someone from the Center who might ask him what he was doing, or even worse—report suspicious activity.

  He pulled out a large net constructed of thick nylon webbing. By itself, it wouldn’t contain the croc, but it would slow it down some, and used in combination with the snare pole it might afford him some advantage. Still, he wished he had a tranquilizer dart, but he was not licensed for them, and with his background, he never would be.

  So he took out the throw net and the snare and brought them to within striking distance of the crocodile, which still appeared lethargic, its eyes barely open. Kane gauged the animal. A spot of white on its tail caught his eye. What is that? He walked up for a closer look, and discerned a white piece of plastic embedded through one of the croc’s scutes, or bony, triangular plates on top of the scales.

  A tag!

  Kane recoiled from the beast. Alicia hadn’t told him it was tagged. Leaning in for an even closer look, he could see that it wasn’t an electronic tag, though. Just a simple piece of plastic with some numbers and letters written on it. Still, he’d have to take it off, that was for sure. He could not afford to use a traceable animal in his matches. He decided to capture the animal first, as he normally would, and then to worry about removing the tag.

  He would have to move very fast. This croc had too much power to let it gain any momentum. He had to gain the upper hand right from the get-go and then work quickly to control it. Right now, he had the element of surprise. Sur
e, the croc knew he was here; there was no way it hadn’t heard the truck driving up, but probably due to its large size, it was unaccustomed to threats.

  While it basked, Kane would be able to pounce. But once he did, he knew the animal would explode with rage. Kane took a deep breath and hefted the heavy throw net. He considered backing up the truck a little closer to his target so as to have a higher throwing platform, but didn’t want to risk spooking it. All or nothing, he thought, and stepped closer with the net. He had part of it bunched up in his right hand, and a series of ropes clutched in his left that would allow him to tighten the net after a successful throw. It was time to make that toss.

  Kane stepped forward and eyed the crocodile, still in its basking posture. That’s it, just stay there a few more seconds…

  He brought his right arm back to throw and a large bird—an egret, with long, stork-like legs and white plumage—suddenly squawked and took flight out of the sawgrass not ten feet from the croc’s position. The reptile moved, turning its body sharply to the left, watching the bird. It didn’t step out of place though, and so Kane let the net fly, knowing the croc might be about to leave.

  It landed slightly off target due to the croc’s sudden shift, but still landed over about seventy-five percent of its body, including the head, which was the important part. Only one of its legs was uncovered, the right rear.

  As soon as the predator felt contact with the net, it began to thrash. It rolled sharply to the right, then when it felt resistance with the net in that direction, it rolled back to the left. Kane knew this was his opportunity to singlehandedly wrangle this monster. He snatched up the snare pole and moved around toward the head, giving the writhing creature a wide berth.

  He moved in with the snare, and had plenty of misses. But ten minutes later, he had the croc’s jaws tightly encircled by the thin cable at the end of the pole. He’d removed a nine-foot alligator once from a private residence—with assistance from the owner himself who had some experience—making this the largest gator or croc he’d ever had to deal with. And absolutely the largest he’d ever dealt with alone. It was pretty stupid, he had to admit. There was no doubt he could be seriously injured or even killed attempting this.

  But once he had its jaws pulled shut, and wrapped in the net, he began to calm down a little, taking deep breaths, willing his heart rate to slow. He knew he could do it; now, he just had to go through the steps. And although he relaxed somewhat, he didn’t let himself forget that he did not need to be seen out here.

  He decided to back his truck up to the beast, figuring the engine could possibly spook it into a wild frenzy, but on the other hand, the less he had to drag it over the ground, the better. As it turned out, the animal didn’t change its behavior much on hearing the vehicle start up.

  Kane put down the piece of wood he used for an animal ramp up to the truck bed and got a length of stout rope. He took it over to the croc, which still dodged from side to side. This would be the most dangerous part of this whole feat, and Kane knew it, but he saw no other way. He jumped on top of the animal, straddling it facing backwards it as he had done with many alligators. Immediately, he could feel the croc’s power as it moved to one side, trying to roll him off. Only the netting kept it from using its full force. Kane was able to stay atop the croc long enough to get the rope around its midsection just forward of the hind legs.

  He eyed the white piece of plastic on one of the croc’s tail scutes. Now was the time to deal with that. He pulled a multi-tool from his jeans pocket and opened one of its cutting implements, one with a hooked end. He leaned forward from his sitting position on the beast and wedged the tool beneath the circle of plastic that was fastened through the scute. With a single swift motion, he pried the tool upward and the plastic tag broke and flew off to one side, landing on the ground.

  The croc began to thrash right then, rocking its big body back and forth. It was all Kane could do to stay on, and for a second, he thought he was going to lose control of the creature. He shifted his weight forward, toward the head, and that subdued it enough to be able to control it to a degree.

  Then he dragged the animal inch by grueling inch to the base of the ramp, wishing he had a winch mounted in the truck bed to haul this monster load up. He made a mental note to install one if this panned out. With a lot of sweat and multiple small cuts and bruises from handling the reptile’s rough hide, Kane managed to brute force the beast into the truck bed.

  In the interest of time, he decided to forgo the bag. Time to get out of here. He got into the cab and headed back out of the wilderness while placing a call on his cell to Boyd.

  TWELVE

  Kane stopped counting heads when he quickly got to fifty, with more people still coming into the yard. Boyd had the octagon set up at in the backyard of a house in Homestead within two hours of getting Kane’s call. Now the ten-foot croc was in the tank, which was filled with water about three feet high—high enough for the reptile to swim if it wanted or be able to rest with its legs on the bottom and its head in the air.

  Boyd had come through, hooking them up with a friend who was having a party anyway, it being a Friday night, and adding the octagon to the mix. A local rock band even played in the yard. Kane expressed concern that the noise would attract cops but Boyd had assured them that the guy who lived here had informed his neighbors he’d be having a party, and that it wouldn’t be a problem. He’d conveniently left out that a crocodile-wrestling match would be taking place at that party, but the neighbors should be none the wiser.

  Boyd walked up and handed Kane a beer. Cody was here also, flirting with some woman over by the band.

  “So who’s getting in the ring tonight?”

  “I will.” A tall guy with extensive tribal arm tattoos walked up to them, beer in one hand, lit cigarette in the other. Boyd gave him a fist bump.

  “Parker Combs, what’s up? You know Lyle?” He turned to Kane. “He tends bar at the Glades Club.”

  “How’s it goin’, Lyle?” Parker said.

  Kane nodded to the octagon. “You ever wrestle with crocs or gators before?”

  “A little bit of gator wrestling. I took a look at that croc. I can hold my own.”

  Kane found the confidence to be disarming. Who said that when talking about wrestling a ten-foot crocodile?

  He looked to Boyd, who shrugged. “He’s the first one who asked to go, so…”

  “How about in thirty minutes, right after the band stops?” Parker suggested.

  Boyd nodded. “We’ll send the pot around, see what we get.”

  Parker nodded then turned to Kane. “What about you? I hear you’re the guy who caught this croc. You gonna get in the ring, too?”

  Kane shrugged. “Wasn’t planning on it. But we’ll see.”

  Parker gave him a hard stare. “Maybe we can work something out,” he said, then turned and stalked off without another word.

  Kane shot Boyd a quizzical expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Boyd watched him walk off toward the octagon for a few seconds before replying. “I think he wants to go up against you. In the octagon.”

  “What? Go up against me how?”

  Boyd shrugged. “He heard you’re the best at the matches. Like he said, he knows you’re the one who catches the things in the first place. So if he can win a couple matches by himself, he wants to go up against you, see who can last longest, I guess.”

  Kane appeared puzzled for a moment. “What if the croc or gator or whatever just lays there. Could get pretty boring.”

  “I’ve got a few ideas we should talk about when the time is right.”

  Kane raised his eyebrows and was about to reply when the music stopped and they heard the feedback of a live microphone followed by an amplified voice. “Thanks to The Lionfish for playing on my birthday—you guys rule! Hey, I don’t want to make a big speech, but Boyd and his buddies cooked something cool up in the octagon over there, which I’m told…that’s right. We’re
ready to go over there, people, so let’s go! There’s a hat going around, and I’m told the more cash that goes in it, the longer Parker’s going to stay in the tank with that croc.”

  Parker the bartender walked up to the tank, barefoot, wearing a pair of surfing board shorts and a tank top.

  Boyd pointed to him. “See that? No shoes. That should be part of the deal for everybody.”

  Kane nodded. “Works for me. No protective gear, right? No shoes, no gloves…”

  “And no helmets.”

  Kane laughed. He’d never seen a gator wrangler wear one of those, though as he thought about it, he had to admit it wouldn’t be a bad idea if you absolutely didn’t want to get hurt. Short of not wrangling gators at all, that is.

  Boyd had erected a small platform on the side of the tank, large enough for two people to stand on, with a ladder leading up to it. He climbed up next to Parker, spoke to him briefly in hushed tones, then addressed the partygoers. “Parker here says he can hang out in the octagon with this ten-foot crocodile for ten minutes. If he climbs out before then, or asks for help getting out—that’s a loss. He climbs out under his own steam after ten minutes—that’s a win. Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.”

  Kane went around with a notepad collecting the bets, recording the information, excited knowing he was making a percentage of the take, win or lose. He also noted that a lot more cash was changing hands compared to the alligator matches. Maybe it was the new tank, or the venue, or that word about the matches was spreading… Or maybe it was because the crocodile was larger than the gators, a more formidable predator?

  Probably all of the above, he thought, and then had no time to ruminate on it more, for a bell was ringing—an actual ship’s brass bell, rung by Boyd—to signal the start of the match. Another improvement was a large display digital timer hung from the side of the octagon itself, currently reading 10:00 in red font.