“Good afternoon,” said Hypok. He could smell his breath after he spoke, but he thought his voice sounded masculine.
“Afternoon.”
His badge said Stefanic. His boots were shiny and his forearms thick. He stopped a few feet away, looking at Hypok, then down into the box.
“What are you doing?”
“Releasing some snakes, sir.”
“Those look like rattlesnakes in the jar.”
“They are. I discovered a den near my house in Orange. I live by a field. Some boys were crushing them with rocks, so I interceded and saved the last of the juveniles.”
The ranger looked at Hypok again. “I’d like to see some ID.”
“My wallet’s back in the car. I’d be happy to get it for you.”
Hypok stepped back as if to head toward his van, but Stefanic raised a palm his way, in the manner of a cop directing traffic.
“Not yet.”
For a moment the ranger stared into the box.
“What’s in the pillowcases?”
“Four adult animals.”
“What kind of animals?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Rattlesnakes, also. Western Pacific rattlesnakes I caught out here a few weeks ago.”
The ranger tucked his citation book under one arm, then lifted off his shades. He looked at Hypok as he slid them into the breast pocket of his shirt. He tapped the book against one leg.
“What have you set loose out here, so far?”
“Two rattlesnakes.”
Oh, Hypok thought, what would Stefanic think when he saw the other three boxes and a dozen bags back in his van?
“That’s all?”
“And a small collection of king and gopher snakes.”
“How many is small?”
“Six specimens of each. All adults and quite healthy. I’ve had them for years.”
Hypok was suddenly furious with himself for giving up so much information to this idiot. Why couldn’t he stay light on his feet, remain glib, move laterally?
“Are you a commercial breeder?”
“Strictly a hobbyist. By trade I’m a photographer and filmmaker.”
Stefanic took a step forward, set his citation book over the corner of the box, then lifted out the jar of young timber rattlers. The snakes retracted and looked out at the ranger. One buzzed and coiled to strike.
“These don’t look like our westerns or reds. These look like something else.”
“I believe they’re the common viridis, sir, based on the distribution maps I’ve seen.”
“Hmm. Awfully dark. No bands on the tails.”
“The juveniles morph considerably, according to Klauber.”
“You come here often?”
“Not often. But I love the park. Especially in the spring because all the flowers and reptiles are out. Got to watch for those mountain lions, though.”
Tighten up now, Hypok thought: hold your tongue and cut your losses. Stefanic seemed to be considering his mountain lion statement. A girl had been badly mauled here some years ago and every spring there was controversy about whether to open the park, and to whom. You had to be eighteen to be here without parents now, Hypok thought. Something along those lines. He felt a big runner of sweat drip down his back.
“It’s illegal to keep venomous reptiles in the State of California,” said Stefanic.
“I understand that, sir. It’s the reason I’m letting these go. I didn’t feel like I had a choice but to collect the small ones, with the boys killing them for no reason.
Hypok entertained a brief vision of the eighteen-foot king cobra appearing now, raising its head six feet off the grass and charging forward to sink its fangs into Stefanic’s forehead. That would actually solve a lot of problems.
“Let me see what’s in the bags,” ordered Stefanic.
“Well, all right.”
Hypok knelt down and unknotted one of the pillowcases. He used leather to make the ties. The case had a cream background with little rows of iris across it. One of his mother’s, of course. He grasped the corners at the top and lifted the bag, shaking it so the snake wouldn’t come flying out at him. Stefanic moved closer and looked in. He took off his hat because the brim was cutting off the light.
“That’s a big one.”
“Over five feet.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Out here, a couple of seasons back.”
“You’ve been keeping it for two years.”
“I have a safe setup and take good care of them. No children or other pets around to cause problems.”
“What’s it eat?”
“Rats.”
Hypok wondered again if anyone in law enforcement would have had the breadth of knowledge to translate his pseudonym into the names of certain animals, then into the names of certain reptiles, then assume that he was a herpetologist, then extrapolate that he must keep a horridus as a pet, then recognize a horridus when they saw one. He didn’t think so when he signed his name to Item #2, and he didn’t think so now. But what if they’d gone that far, and asked around at the pet shops handling reptiles? What if an APB had gone out for anyone suspicious who was dealing with snakes? He couldn’t imagine that anyone could have found the big scale he’d folded so carefully and inserted into Item #2’s shed, although he’d privately wished someone would. But maybe those were some of the subconscious reasons he had for freeing the animals in the first place. Now this Stefanic.
Don’t get scared, he thought. Let those in law enforcement behave stupidly. That’s their job. But it would sure be nice if Stefanic got his face a little too close, wouldn’t it?
“That’s really something. The size of its head. And what, twelve or thirteen rattles? I’ve been working out here for two years and I’ve never seen one this big. Still doesn’t look right, though. It looks like the ones we used to find back in the Carolinas when I was a kid. Timber rattlers.”
“That’s exactly why I kept him,” Hypok ad-libbed. His heart was beating fast and light in his ears and his face was hot Wasn’t it just too fucking much to believe, that a slab like Stefanic would know a timber rattler when he saw one? Hypok suddenly hated himself for his arrogance and recklessness. He hated himself for his attempted coyness with the cops, for his mundane decision to taunt them, to get a little publicity. He had led a life of debilitating shyness and caution — he’d be the first to admit that — and now, now that he was emerging consolidated from three decades of simpering gutlessness, he was going overboard and giving himself away. Wouldn’t anything ever go right? “Because the coloration and pattern were so unique,” he heard himself saying. “Quite a specimen...”
Stefanic shook his head in admiration. “Spooky critter.”
“I think their reputations are undeserved.”
Stefanic set his hat over one of the other corners of the box, and stood. His hair was dented where the headband rested. “What’s your name?”
Hypok knew he had about one second to give a convincing reply. Anything but the truth, his instincts told him: say anything but the truth. Sounding calm and a little disappointed, he gave Stefanic his Web name: the name of the creature he became when he was in his workroom with his fingers on the mouse, yakking it up with some of the Friendlies, or the Midnight Ramblers or just any lonely child worshipper spending time in a private chat room.
Hypok smiled and looked down into the bag again. His cheeks were burning hot now and there was a distinct ringing in his ears. You’re carrying your Lumsden license now. Why did you give a different name? He half expected his mother to run out of the trees and lock him in the basement.
He took a deep breath but kept looking down into the bag so as not to look at the ranger. He knelt and set the pillowcase back in the box and made a show of tying the leather thong over the end, but he left it loose, just draped over itself.