The Zoo Crew (Zoo Crew series Book 1) Read online

  The Zoo Crew

  Dustin Stevens

  The Zoo Crew

  Copyright © 2013, Dustin Stevens

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

  For Pop.

  I’m in love with Montana. For other states I

  have admiration, respect, recognition, even some

  affection. But with Montana it is love. And it’s

  difficult to analyze love when you’re in it.

  - John Steinbeck

  Prologue

  Missoula, Montana.

  Fifteen thousand years ago the entire region was buried beneath five hundred cubic miles of glacial runoff. The Salish Indians, one of a handful of tribes that called the area home, named it nmesuletk.

  The place of frozen water.

  Two thousand years ago, after the water dried up, the first European settlers drifted into the area and stole the land and the name. Translated into English it became Missoula, a name it has held for over three hundred years since.

  Despite its official title, over time the town has born many monikers.

  To the hippies that arrive in droves every year seeking low cost of living and the highest marijuana use per capita in the country, it's MisSOULa.

  To the advertising executives trying to make a buck on the pristine beauty of Western Montana, it's the gateway to Glacier and Yellowstone National Parks.

  To the Chamber of Commerce it's the Garden City, a rather odd name for a city that's lucky to see four months of growing season each year.

  But to the locals, both native and adopted, Missoula is simply The Zoo.

  And what a zoo it is.

  Chapter One

  Pain.

  Pleasure.

  Two fundamentally opposed sensations that at their most basic levels have a great deal in common.

  Both can render a person speechless. Both can leave the mind blank. Both can overwhelm the senses to the point of exhausted numbness.

  For most people, it is an either/or scenario. They've either been injured or are in a state of complete bliss. No middle ground.

  Notch, though, is not most people. He has made a career out of mixing pain and pleasure. If he were a bartender, he would be world renowned for inventing concoctions. Elixirs that left people flat on their back, unable to move.

  The secret ingredient? Other people's pain is his pleasure.

  "You see ladies," Notch hissed, his voice barely discernible, "the key is to clip the vocal chords first. That way no matter how much she screams and thrashes about, we don't have to listen to it. Kind of like watching a television with the sound off."

  As he spoke, he walked a small circle around his prey. Her hands were tied high above her head. A leather thong bound them together and disappeared into the rafters above.

  Blood and sweat ran down her arms. Thick tendrils of both striped her blonde hair.

  An ugly smear stretched across her throat where he had clipped her vocal chords. Seared the wound shut with a heated knife blade.

  Her dirty feet hung several inches above the floor. Kicked in vain for the ground beneath her.

  She was completely naked.

  An unwilling audience sat just inches away from her.

  Seated on the floor in a semi-circle was a half dozen girls. None far into their twenties. All in some stage of pregnancy.

  Every face was ashen and tear stained. All looked like they might throw up at any moment.

  "See, now that we've hit the mute button, we can have some fun," Notch said.

  With one hand he grabbed the girl by the hip. Spun her in a clockwise direction until the leather thong binding her was wound tight. Hefted his blade up next to her. Released his grip, letting the tension spin her around.

  As the thong did its job, he pressed the tip of the knife against her skin. Lowered it the length of her body.

  Bright red droplets spattered the concrete beneath her as a serpentine line striped her skin. Trails of blood seeped down from the line.

  Notch waited until she stopped spinning and smiled down at the girls seated on the floor. "I like to call that one the Candy Cane."

  Every last one of them tried to avert their eyes. Tears stained their already puffy cheeks.

  Tethered beside him, the girl continued to throw her head back in agony. No sound came out.

  His orders had been simple enough.

  Find the girl. Bring her to this address. Make an example of her.

  Her pain, his pleasure.

  Notch waited to make sure the effect found its mark. Dropped the knife and picked up a pair of pliers. "Apparently our little friend here has been doing some talking, trying to go back on her agreement."

  He held the pliers out in front of him and asked, "Do you all know what happens when you go back on your agreement?"

  In one quick movement, he thrust the pliers forward. Clamped them onto the girl's front teeth. Twisted them up at a ninety degree angle, snapping the teeth off at the gum line.

  "You get punished," Notch said. Opened the pliers and let the teeth drop to the cement.

  The girls in front of him, the ones that weren't already vomiting or trying to crawl away, recoiled in horror.

  He knew he was on the verge of losing them. It was time for a big finish.

  "I hope, for your sakes, that this is the last time we meet," Notch said. Swapped out the pliers for the knife. "But if it isn't..."

  One wicked slash of the razor-honed blade was all it took. The thin white skin of the girl's abdomen gave no resistance. The steel carved her stomach like a jack-o-lantern.

  Over twenty feet of intestine smacked against the ground with a wet slap.

  Three of the girls on the floor wrenched out every bit of food left in their system. The other three keeled straight back, passed out from shock.

  Notch never said another word. He didn't have to. He had been told to make an example of her. He had done that.

  His money would be waiting on him when he left, a fact that made him smirk every time he thought about it.

  He would do this kind of work for free, no questions asked.

  Their pain, his pleasure.

  Chapter Two

  First day.

  Of September. Of the third year of law school.

  Of the reconvening of the Zoo Crew.

  Drake Bell was the first to arrive. He always was. The high beams from his truck cut a swath through the empty parking lot. Stared a hole through the pine trees in front of him as he left the truck running and waited for the others.

  After three months back home in Tennessee, he could not get the cab of the truck warm enough. He was a southern boy through and through. Despite the past seven years spent in Missoula, he still wasn't used to the cold.

  Doubted he ever would be.

  Not that he could even pretend that September 1st was cold. More like crisp.

  Drake was just a few hours back in Missoula after a summer spent interning for the Innocence Project in Nashville. He'd hated every second of it.

  The humidity was atrocious, the cost of living outrageous. The work was tedious and the people insufferable.

  The reason he'd taken the position was threefold. First, a professor had gone out on a limb to set it
up for him. He hadn't asked her to and had no interest in death row work. After she'd gone to the trouble though, he couldn't very well say no.

  Second, standing on the edge of his third year in law school, he needed something that resembled legal experience. Even if it was just enough to tell him to stay far, far away from all things judicial.

  Third, and most important, he had to go back and deal with what he'd been putting off for three years.

  Nashville was no longer home to him, hadn’t been in a while. He just told people that because it explained his accent and, well, he had to be from somewhere. At least Nashville seemed to get a favorable response from folks.

  After this summer though, Drake doubted he'd ever go back. To visit, let alone live.

  Sage was the second to show up, just like always. Drake recognized her by the low twin lights of her Honda Civic. They swung into the parking lot and slid in on the far side of his truck. He made no effort to get out as the lights blacked out and his passenger side door was wrenched open.

  "Hey stranger," Sage said. Climbed in and slammed the door shut. "When'd you get in?"

  Drake rubbed his hands over his face. A two day beard scraped against his palms. "Either late last night or early this morning. Not sure which."

  "I was wondering if you'd make it this morning."

  A wry smile tugged at Drake's face. "You weren't wondering anything. You just hoped I'd be late so you could give me shit about it."

  Sage's white teeth stared back at him through the darkened cab. "Can't blame a girl for trying. You think it's warm enough in here?"

  "Not really."

  "You went south and got soft on us didn't you?"

  A single headlight appeared through the darkness and turned into the parking lot. Drake watched as it wound down the opposite side and came to a stop facing the truck. Its driver was little more than a shadow as he climbed off and nodded at the truck.

  "I would have bet money Ajax was done with that motorcycle by now," Drake said.

  Sage snorted. "This may be the third time he's rode it all summer. He's just on it now to make a point to you."

  "I'm touched," Drake said. Overhead, the first grey streaks of light started to split the sky. "Your brother back or is it just the three of us today?"

  "Said he'll be here," Sage said. "But who knows."

  In front of them, the silhouette of Ajax pulled his helmet off and balanced it on the seat.

  "Naw, if he said he'll be here, he'll be here," Drake said. "You know the rules in Montana."

  "Yeah, I know," Sage groaned. "Church, work, and fishing. But you also know the rules for a firefighter just getting back from a busy season."

  "Desperado's or Blue's?" Drake asked.

  "Despo's."

  "He'll be here," Drake said and turned off the engine. He killed the headlights and together they emerged from the truck. The morning air was frigid after the warmth of the cab.

  They made no effort to unload anything from the bed, instead circling around to the front.

  "We'll if it's not the swinging dick of Montana Law himself," Ajax said, coming halfway to greet them. He extended a closed fist to Drake. Drake matched it, followed by a shoulder hug.

  "In the flesh," Drake said, clapping his friend on the back.

  Ajax was the Zoo Crew's given nickname for Adam Jackson, Drake's roommate since freshmen year of undergrad at the University of Montana. A trust fund kid from Boston, the only reason he'd chosen UM was because it was three thousand miles away.

  No chance of his family ever stopping by for a visit.

  In six years, Drake had met them one time. It was graduation, and they all looked miserable for every second of it. Of course, in a state as white as Montana, that's not surprising.

  The running joke was that Ajax was the only black guy in the state that wasn't there to play sports.

  "How's my girl doing?" Drake asked.

  Ajax made a face and looked to Sage. "You believe this guy? Been gone two months and the first thing he does is ask how his dog's doing."

  Sage broke into a smile and raised her hands. "I want no part of this."

  "Damn dog is dead," Ajax spat. "I cooked her and ate her the day you left."

  Drake smiled. "Thanks for watching her for me. Appreciate it."

  "Yeah, I still don't know why you couldn't just take the damn thing with you. Tennessee ain't that far."

  Drake made no effort to respond. Instead he cocked an ear to the wind and listened as the oversized muffler on a Dodge Ram rumbled in the distance. Soon the other two picked it up as well.

  All three took up posts around the front of Drake's truck and waited as the sound materialized into a final pair of headlights outlined by a string of orange parking lights. They remained leaning against the cold metal as the new arrival rolled to a crooked stop.

  The passenger door burst open and a disheveled mess of a man spilled from it. The smell of booze came with him.

  "Hey," Kade said, staggering towards them. "I'm not late am I?"

  The three all smiled broadly in the early morning light and hung their heads above the hood of Drake's truck.

  It had been a long ass summer, but at last the Zoo Crew was back together again.

  Chapter Three

  The Zoo Crew.

  Never a bigger bunch of misfits had the world ever seen.

  Not the world of Western Montana anyway.

  To the left of the hood, just past the driver's side door, was Drake. A couple of inches above six feet tall and a dozen pounds north of two hundred, he looked at least somewhat like the norm in lily-white Missoula.

  Blonde hair cropped close to his scalp. Blue eyes. A perpetual two day beard. Arms and chest that insinuated he could still play for the Grizzlies if called into action.

  It was, after all, the Griz that had pulled him out from Tennessee to begin with.

  Beside him, elbows pressed against the front the grill, was Ajax. He had a couple of inches on Drake, though he weighed maybe a hundred fifty pounds on a good day. Soaking wet. Before he went to the bathroom.

  His entire structure was little more than bone and sinew with smooth caramel colored skin stretched taut across it. Every blood vessel and muscle striation on his body was plainly evident for the world to see.

  Despite the seven figure trust fund somewhere in Boston with his name on it, he'd never touched a cent. A world class gamer, he'd made more than twice that designing software from the living room of the home he shared with Drake.

  Not that a soul in Missoula outside the Zoo Crew had any idea.

  On the passenger side of the hood stood Sage Keuhl, her brother Kade leaning against her. They were the most local of the Crew, having matriculated sixty miles south from Ronan to Missoula.

  A little over an hour by car. Light years in just about every other way.

  Located in the dead center of the Flathead Indian Reservation, Ronan was the anti-Missoula. The town knew it, and made sure everybody else did too.

  Kade was the first of the two to make the trip down. Even at eighteen he knew the best way for him to go to college was to offer up his body to the football gods.

  When the Griz came calling, he went running.

  And tackling.

  And intercepting passes.

  Drake played outside linebacker, Kade played free safety. Both were outliers of a sort on the team, one from the South and another from the rez. They became friends out of necessity, stayed that way by choice.

  After graduation, Kade became a forest firefighter with the Fire Boys out of Lolo. Extreme athleticism and a wanton disregard for his physical well-being made him a natural at it.

  Four months out of the year he went all over the west throwing himself at anything that burned. The rest of the year he was in Missoula, throwing himself at anything in a skirt.

  Not a bad life, by any metric.

  Beside him was Sage, the most recent addition to the Crew. A more befitting name on someone there never was, always
doling out her own brand of wisdom to others. Such advice came free of charge and was given whether it was sought out or not.

  Two years younger than the other three, she shot past Missoula to Bozeman for nursing school. After three years on the other side of the state, she fled the new money and pretention of Bozo and ran back west. She was now starting her third year as an RN at Saint Michael's Hospital on the north side of town.

  Through undergrad, Sage had simply been known as Kade's sister. Once she returned to Missoula and started running with the Crew, it didn't take long for her to develop an identity of her own.

  Now she was as indispensible to the Crew as any other member.

  The offspring of a German father and a Kootenai mother, the siblings looked like an odd mash of genetic material. Both had the long dark hair and pointed features of their Native American mother. The light skin and blue eyes of their father.

  Kade was two inches shorter than six feet with a wiry build from a lifetime of handling a chainsaw and fighting fires. Sage was a couple of inches shorter than him, everything about her graceful and lithe.

  Faced with the same dilemma as many mixed-race children across the country, they found themselves too white for the rez and too brown for Missoula.

  Instead, they found the Zoo Crew, who could care less if they were purple.

  They were, as Drake often pointed out, the Keuhl Kids.

  The Crew had started in the spring of their freshmen year. It began as a joke, an excuse for the three of them to blow off studying for finals as long as possible.

  Three days a week, more if their schedules allowed it, they convened in the morning hours for some outdoor recreation. In the spring and summer it was fishing. In the winter, skiing. Filling in the gaps was hiking, snowshoeing, rafting, whatever was available.

  Get up and get outside. That was the only rule.

  During the fall they let up some to accommodate football season. Same for exam period. Otherwise, it didn't matter how late one got in, or even if they got in at all, they made it to the Zoo Crew.