CHAPTER THREE

 

 

On his journey home that evening, Aiguo wrestled with his emotions. He was both amazed and disgusted at what he had encountered. When he felt bad at what he had done, he stared down at the bundle of notes in his hand. It immediately lifted his mood and placed a spring back into his step, hurrying him back along the dusty road to his wife and children. They would eat well tonight, and for the rest of the week.

Mr Liu and Aiguo had not seen eye to eye at the beginning of the day. When confronted with his new working environment and the tools he would be using to complete it, Aiguo had complained continually, refusing to operate in such conditions. It was dirty and cramped and the heat was stifling. As he worked, flies swarmed around the body of the tiger, eager for their own small share in its death.

His employer had been prepared for his complaints and smoothed over any issues Aiguo raised with a wave of his hand and a flash of the huge bundle of cash in his pocket; a portion of which Aiguo now clutched tightly in his hand. Promises of future work and wealth had washed away any doubts that remained for Aiguo. His niggling conscience would simply have to put up with its lot. If Aiguo didn't butcher the tiger then someone else would do it, and Aiguo and his family would go hungry and homeless.

He thought back to what he had learned that morning.

"Very good. Very good work, Mr Chang. But you must waste nothing. Every single piece of this animal will be used and will fetch a princely sum in the city. The park already has many buyers eagerly waiting for their share. Rich city workers will pay a small fortune for the pelt, restaurants all over the world will fight for the meat...and the bones...the bones will be ground down for many different medicines. The bones alone, from this single specimen, are worth more than most will ever see in their entire lives....That is why I need a master butcher such as you, Mr Chang. Your work and loyalty to this park will be well rewarded."

"Will there be more work for me after today, Mr Liu?"

"Oh yes! Of course there are many unfortunate deaths in our establishment. Thankfully the law allows for the disposal of this body in such a way, if it is a captive animal and a natural death. But we don't want the deaths of our wonderful animals in the park to be discussed with anyone. It is not good for business. You understand this, Mr Chang?"

Aiguo looked around the small room in which he worked. As he carefully jointed the tiger, peeling back its beautiful gold and black stripped coat so as not to spoil it, others lurked in the background. They packaged and stored the meat, eyes, genitals, teeth and claws. Whisking the parts away as fast as they could before they spoiled in the oppressive heat of the small windowless building in which he worked. This was not just a wildlife sanctuary, and a poor one at that. This was a farm. A farm for wild and endangered species, where their body parts, bile, bones and their very being were used to line the pockets of its owners, and employees, after their unfortunate deaths.

Mr Liu waited patiently for his reply, his constant smile gone for now and replaced with a thoughtful frown. Aiguo looked down at the half butchered tiger before him, the unfortunate gunshot wound that killed it all too evident at the base of its skull.

"I understand. I am very grateful for the opportunity to work for you here, Mr Liu."

The smile quickly returned to Mr Liu's face, and he left Aiguo to finish his work in silence.

Later, as Aiguo approached his house he could hear his children calling. They ran to greet him with smiles spread wide across their faces.

"We missed you Daddy! How was your first day at work?"

"Good children. Good. You should have seen the tigers!"

He led them back to the house amidst a dozen questions about his day and the many wonderful animals he cared for at the zoo.

# # #

When his mobile phone rang for the third time, Dan sat up from his alcohol induced and uncomfortable sleeping position on the sofa and let out a weary groan. He fumbled around the coffee table with half closed eyes and knocked over an almost empty bottle of whiskey in a painful attempt to answer the call.

"Hello."

"Where the fuck are you, Danny? It's seven o'clock and your night shift started an hour ago. You needn't think that because you're some sort of fuckin' war hero that you can....."

Dan removed the phone from his ear. He didn't need it that close to be able to hear the irate voice of his supervisor Cahill Murphy screaming down the earpiece. He decided that talking to Cahill would be worse than not talking at all, and terminated the call.

As he rubbed at his temples to try to ease the pain in his head, the doorbell rang and he wondered how things could possibly get any worse. He thought better than to tempt fate and lay back down on the sofa, hoping that that one simple act might help to ease the waves of pain currently pulsing through his skull.

These last few months, Dan had found employment at a security firm on the far side of town. It was mind numbing and monotonous work, driving around the city in the dead of night checking on properties of clients on the payroll and chasing off vandals and burglars. Hardly a good use of Dan's specific skill set, but considering his current status as a part-time drunk, he could at least manage the tasks set to him with his eyes closed – drunk or sober. It paid the bills and Dan was grateful for it. Cahill Murphy just wasn't as sympathetic as the recruitment agency that had found him the work.

The doorbell rang again. This time it was followed by a voice he recognised from the flat next door.

"Mr Harpur, I know you're in there. Can you help please? It's Rou. She has fallen and hurt herself."

It was the quiet old lady that had moved in recently. She and her husband lived there now with whom, Dan assumed, was their daughter. He hadn't met the old couple yet, but Rou Zhao, as she had introduced herself, was a pleasant enough woman. They never bothered him, but often he could hear them chattering in Chinese through the thin walls of the building.

Wearily, he moved to the kitchen table where he knew another whiskey bottle would be waiting and poured himself a drink. He sat for a while and stared at the divorce papers sitting next to the bottle, willing them to say something. This was a ritual he had gotten used to in the evenings.

The letters had found him along with a heap of other legal documents courtesy of his long-time friend Michael Ross. Dan had never left an address for forwarding post on purpose; he told Michael to keep an eye on it and burn the lot if it kept coming. Every so often though, an envelope would arrive containing a few letters and a note asking Dan to call. He assumed that Jenny had been in contact with Michael and she had tried to persuade his friend to disclose his whereabouts, but so far Michael had been true to his word and Dan had expected no less from the man whose life he had saved on a dusty battlefield in Afghanistan. At that time, Jenny had needed his whereabouts to serve the divorce papers that he had been desperately avoiding. The papers that ended his marriage and left him with debts he could ill afford.

A sudden urge to talk came over Dan and he picked up his mobile, quickly scrolling through a very short list of friends and contacts until he found the number he wanted.

"Hello, Mike. It's Dan."

After a long pause, Dan smiled at the sound of his friends' excited voice.

"Fuck me, Danny, I thought you were dead!"

"No not yet, but I'm getting there. How's you?"

"I'm good. All the lads are still asking about you but I'm not sure what to tell them anymore. It's been a few years mate. What are you doing with yourself?"

Dan talked with Michael for the best part of an hour and in the end he opened his heart and let all his worries pour out. He told Michael everything about his sad lonely existence, his spiralling debts and how he missed his life in the army. In the end, it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Right, Danny, that's it. I'm coming over and we're going to get you sorted out!"

"No. I'm all right, Mike. Don't worry about it. I miss The Regiment that's all. Things were simpler then. Is it still the same?"

"Same shit, different day. Look, you have to move on, Danny. Put Jennifer behind you and get those bills sorted. Solicitors have a way of twisting things, but you have to admit she did give up everything she could have had to follow you around in the army, and now that she's gone, you owe her. You need to get off the drink as well mate, that's not helping. I'll take a few days and come over to see you, OK?"

"It would be good to catch up."

"That's it settled then. I'll be on the first flight over. I'll call you when I land. It'll be in the morning if I can make it."

As the conversation came to an end, Danny could hear raised voices from the hallway outside. The old woman had returned and he could hear her arguing with Rou, just outside the door.

He said his goodbyes to Michael, glad that his good friend was on his way, and stood listening to the women outside. He lifted a half-filled glass of whiskey to his mouth, tasting the fiery amber liquid on his lips, but instead of tipping it up and finishing the glass, he slowly set it back onto the table and walked away. He ran his tongue over his lips, savouring what he hoped would be the last taste he might ever have. The whiskey represented so much of what had gone wrong with his life, if he could just forget it for one day then that would be a start. How could he meet Michael in the morning with alcohol on his breath and bloodshot eyes? Michael Ross would be in peak physical fitness and everything Dan once used to be. No, he wouldn't greet his friend like that. Michael was coming to support him, so Dan would take the first steps to help himself.

As the argument outside his flat trailed away, it was replaced with a gentle sobbing. Dan moved closer to the door to listen. He didn't want to get involved, but something was wrong and he knew they would not bother him if it weren't important.

He opened the door and found the old woman crying. Rou cradled her in her arms and the two of them were rocking back and forth. Rou was sporting a badly bruised eye and a cut to her head that at first glance would need stitching. They both turned to look at him with teary pleading eyes and Dan knew that whatever it was would be trouble he could well do without. But buoyed up by his conversation with Michael and how he had dropped everything to come to the aid of his friend, Dan was feeling a lot more charitable than his normal self. Still a little bit drunk, but charitable.

"What's the problem?"

In her hand, Rou held a small plastic bag containing white powder. She held it out in front of her, showing it to Dan; staring at it like it was the epitome of evil and just touching it might taint her forever.

"This is the problem."

Hearing this, the old woman burst into fresh floods of tears, buried her head into the folds of Rou's clothing and renewed her sobbing.