Baton Rouge Bingo by Greg Herren Read Free Book Online

meat in to it. And if the barn is far enough away from the road…no one would hear it roaring.”
    “Yes, that makes some sense,” Storm mused, muffling a burp with his hand. “But AFAR couldn’t be responsible. Their thing is to return animals to their natural state. So they wouldn’t keep a tiger captive in a cage somewhere. They’d want to return it to Africa or India or wherever the tiger is indigenous.”
    “But Mike wasn’t a wild tiger,” I replied. “He was raised as a cub in captivity. He wouldn’t know how to survive in the wild.”
    Mom’s lips compressed into a tight line. “AFAR doesn’t care about that sort of thing.” Her face looked severe, like she was trying to hold on to her temper. “Veronica always claimed that animals were instinctive, that a tiger or any animal raised in captivity will instinctually know how to survive if returned to the wild, like how a housecat will go feral if it escapes, or a dog will go wild.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s true or not, but…it just seemed wrong to me. So many things they believe…are wrong. That’s why your father and I finally had to just walk away from AFAR. It really broke my heart, you know. Veronica was my best friend. But people change.”
    I closed the now-empty pizza box and folded it up for the recycling bin. “So, Storm, are you going to call her?”
    “Well, I don’t think it would hurt her to have some legal advice.” He yawned, stretching his arms overhead.
    “I’ll call her.” Mom got up, digging for her cell phone in her purse before going out onto the balcony.
    Storm gave Frank and me a strange look. “Somehow, I have the feeling this isn’t going to be the last we’ve heard of this. Things never seem to go easily for us.”
    He had a point.

Chapter Three
Strength, Reversed
Discord in one’s affairs
     
    Although I’m the one who has some psychic ability, Mom’s prediction about Hope needing a lawyer came true the very next morning.
    Storm was on his way out the door when I staggered out of the room Frank and I were sharing in desperate need of coffee. “There’s coffee made in the kitchen,” he said as he went out the front door. “I’m running late for the session. See you tonight at the match if not before.” The door closed behind him.
    I walked into the kitchen with a sigh. I dumped the coffee and made a fresh pot—Storm made coffee so awful that there aren’t proper words to describe it. I’d hoped Mom was already up—no one made coffee good enough to match hers. It wasn’t quite eight yet. I yawned again while the coffee brewed. I hadn’t slept very well, tossing and turning all night while trying not to wake Frank up. He needed his sleep—he needed to be totally on his game tonight, and I wasn’t going to be responsible for him not being on his A game. When there was enough coffee in the pot for a cup, I went ahead and poured myself one. I walked over to the window and looked out at the muddy river.
    We hadn’t stayed up too late—even Mom, who usually doesn’t go to bed until the sun is rising, was yawning and wandered off to her bed around eleven. I was feeling pretty worn out myself. It had been a rather long day, and Frank didn’t need to be convinced when I said it was time for us to go to bed as well. Frank, like always, was sound asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow.
    But not me—the best I managed all night was that awful half-sleep where your mind is still very much aware it’s awake but your body thinks it’s sleeping. I couldn’t seem to get comfortable in the bed—it was a little too soft for my liking—and every time I seemed to be about to fall into a deep restful sleep, Frank would turn over onto his back and start snoring.
    Of course, when he does that at home I just put my hand underneath him and lift a bit—he always rolls right over onto his side and it stops.
    But I was afraid I’d wake him—and then what if he couldn’t get back