The Poacher
The monkey cowered in the back of the plastic pet carrier, its chest heaving and dark eyes shining with fear. The Poacher had never felt like more of a shit in his life.
His baby girl’s voice echoed in his head yet again. “You’re gonna be good this time. Right, Daddy?”
He wanted to be good. Really, he did. But it wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Harper still looked at the world in black-and-white, like that panda jacket she wore all the time. Someday, when she grew up, she’d realize few things were so clear-cut. His family came first. If he had to be bad to take care of them, then he’d do it.
He handed the carrier over, taking the thick white envelope in return. He opened it and did a quick count. Three grand in hundred-dollar bills. It’s all there.
As he turned to go, the man called after him. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Don’t bother.” The job had been risky, and he couldn’t take another poor, frightened animal looking at him that way. “I’m not doing this again.”
The man had the nerve to laugh. “That’s what they all say.”