Tom Dantry lie twisted and battered in the lion enclosure. Orange feathers stuck out of his right eye and the back of his head balanced on a metal tip poking through a bloody hole in his skull. If Dantry saw it coming, it likely didn’t matter. The tranquilizer dart scrambled his brain before breaking the skin on the back of his head.
From the wound, a stream of sangria blood pooled on the bricks. I figured the killer exhaled heavy into a blowpipe or the dart ripped from a gun overfilled with compressed gas. Either way, this murder ended the life of my good friend Tom. I intend to find the killer and shove the dart gun, point first, up his ass.
My name is Torely Stone. My job borders on the mundane. I hear guest stories, patrol the zoo grounds, and write citations for dogs off their leash. Murder does not make the top of the list of a zoo security guard. Apart from the gruesomeness of seeing Tom’s dead body, I am pissed.
As a former Diablo Valley sheriff, I have a reputation for obtaining justice. Something I plan to do even if it takes giving up my retirement job to find the killer.
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