Page 127 of Sharp Force
And ring…
Dear God, someone answer!
Peanut is no more than six feet away, sitting on his haunches, looking up at me, tilting his head side to side. He barks, making peculiar gestures that seem to be some sort of signing.
“This isn’t where you live, Peanut,” I tell him. “And you can’t stay here. We need to get you safely back to where you belong.”
He grunts and grumbles. Shaking his head and baring his teeth.
Please don’t make me hurt you. I’m aware of the gun in my hand.
“You escaped from your lab yesterday and ended up here on my property. A lot of people are very worried about you.”
He touches a finger to his lips, cocking his head.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency…?” a voice sounds from my phone.
Peanut gives me a raspberry, shaking his hands as if extremely agitated.
“They’re calling you a monkey on the news, Peanut. But you look more like a small orangutan or maybe a reddish-orangechimpanzee,” I say for the benefit of the 911 operator listening. “You escaped from a research lab and now you’re in my greenhouse. At least it’s warm in here, and I’m glad you found something to eat…”
“Help is on the way,” the 911 operator says in a cautious tone.
Peanut continues his grunting and huffing as I suddenly make a run for it. Slipping out of the greenhouse, I slam the steel bolt closed, locking the glass door. Peanut leaps to the top of a vegetable bed, standing up on two legs, his long fringy arms held high with indignation.
“We need animal rescue here right away,” I tell the 911 operator. “I’m all but certain the large monkeylike animal I just locked inside my greenhouse escaped from Primal Biodynamics yesterday, which is very close to here. His name is Peanut, and I’m looking at him as we speak…”
Making kissy squeaks, he’s jumping up and down on the other side of the glass. He shakes his hands like pompoms as I hear someone running.
“A car is on the way,” the 911 operator’s voice sounds.
I hear a siren wailing, and Benton is in front of me coatless, his gun in hand. He tucks it in the back of his waistband, staring at Peanut hooting and screaming.
“What the hell?” Benton is thunderstruck as I thank the operator, ending the call. “One of the escaped monkeys that’s been all over the news?”
I explain that the research lab Peanut ran away from is maybe a tenth of a mile from here near Point Lumley Park.
“He has a residue on him that fluoresces in UV like what we found in Georgine’s house and Zain’s hair. That doesn’t mean it’s the same thing, but what if it is?” I tell Benton as the siren gets louder.
He uses an app on his phone to open our front gate remotely forthe police and rescuers. The wailing stops and an Alexandria police SUV appears on the driveway, parking next to the brief footpath leading to the greenhouse. Blaise Fruge climbs out, announcing that a scientist from Primal Biodynamics will be here any second.
“Lucky for us the lab is very close to here, and he was there working on finding this very monkey,” she says. “Except he doesn’t look like any monkey I’ve ever seen.”
She’s awed and unnerved, staring at Peanut inside the greenhouse eating a blood orange near the UV light, his hair flaring red.
“What’s he got all over him?” She’s fogging up the glass. “Why is he lighting up like that?”
She steps away from the greenhouse as an unmarked white van pulls up, a wire mesh covering the back windows. Peanut begins screaming. He hurls the orange, splatting it against glass as the driver’s door opens, a man in jeans and a ski jacket climbing out.
I recognize him as the scientist on the TV news yesterday, the same man I’ve noticed when running errands at the recycling center very close to his lab and also here.
“We’re sure glad to see you!” Fruge trots over to Duke Mansoni. “No way any of us can handle your hairy buddy.”
Mansoni fixes on me with a simper, his face a composite of features that don’t belong together. I watch him open the back of the van, clacking free the clasps of a black Pelican case withPrimal Biodynamicson it in big white letters. He collects a tranquilizing dart pistol that looks like a futuristic Uzi, and already I don’t like him.
Fruge helps lift out a big steel mesh transport cage on wheels. She bumps it over the walkway as Peanut screams like a banshee. The scientist introduces himself as Dr. Duke Mansoni while Peanut howls and whoops, tearing up everything inside the greenhouse, Dorothy’s leafy plants sailing.
“I’m an animal behaviorist and Peanut’s handler. And as you can see, he’s a lot to manage.” Mansoni’s voice glints with arrogance, and I’m getting an incredulous feeling.
