Alfonso deGarcia crouched alone in the jungle, waiting. In the cave, he waited for the poachers to come in and set off the smoke bombs that would confuse and disorient the residents of the cave. Thinking they would find a cougar, they would wait outside until the mother cougar came out and then kill her, and then take the cubs, fatten them up in the compound, and kill them when they got big.
He had already gotten the mother and her cubs to safety, and now he was the bait for the poachers.
He heard them outside. “She’s in here,” whispered one man, the man he knew as Oliver, one of the trackers. He heard them setting up, waiting with guns drawn. He heard the whoomp of the gun that shot the smoke, and saw the canister fly in, bouncing off the low cave, hitting the floor, rolling toward him, smoke billowing out from the canister. Alfonso shifted to his hybrid form and tightened the scarf around his face so that the smoke wouldn’t get in his lungs.
“Pere! Hold that gun up!”
“There’s no cougar in there.”
“The tracks are fresh. Don’t think I don’t know.”
“She would have come out by now.”
“She’s in there, I swear.”
“There’s no cougar in there.”
That was when Alfonso leapt out of the cave, into the gauntlet of guns. The three men had created a field of fire, and were surprised at seeing the man-cat creature come out of the cave. One man’s cry was cut short as Alfonso tore his throat out. Another man tried to fire, but his gun went wide and the bullet grazed Alfonso’s shoulder. That man’s face was torn off, along with his eye, and he screamed. Another man brought his gun to bear, not realizing that the second man was in his line of fire. He shot, Alfonso turned like the graceful cat he was, and the second man went down, dead instantly with a shot through his other eye.
Oliver turned tail and ran, while Alfonso tackled the third man, throwing him and his gun to the ground. Kneeling above the man, Alfonso took his time gutting him.
He knew Oliver would run all the way back to the compound. He would tell them, again, of the man-creature he had seen in the jungle. Maybe they would believe him this time.
Alfonso left the bodies, as the carrion birds gathered nearby.
~~~~~~~~~~
Saloman Garcia finished whittling the wooden toy and set it aside, among the other wooden toys in a small milk crate set by his chair. The toy horse joined the menagerie of animals in the crate, which the nursing home would bring to the poor children in the mountains at Christmas. Saloman looked out the window from his room, where he sat in the wheelchair that they put him in every morning. It looked like it was going to be another warm day.
“Papa,” came a voice in the doorway.
Saloman smiled without turning around. “Gatito,”
“Papa,” said the voice, a little less enthusiastically than he had before. Alfonso came around the chair to face his father. His long black hair hung loose down his broad shoulders, and he wore a hunter’s outfit of brown and tan, with a vest full of pockets. He was a younger image of the man in the chair, with deep brown eyes flecked with gold, a broad frame and trim waist; long, powerful legs that could propel him through the jungle as the man in the chair had been able to do in his youth. “Papa, I’m not a kitten anymore.”
“You pout because of my pet name for you,” said Saloman, chuckling. “How sensitive you are.”
Alfonso exhaled sharply. “I never know when you’re kidding.”
“That is entirely my fault,” said the older man. “I never should have left you when you were young, and I never should have come back when you’re older.”
“I’m glad you did, Papa,” said Alfonso, crouching down next to the chair. He draped a newspaper across the other man’s lap. “I bought the paper for you.”
His father sniffed. “Who did you kill this time?”
Alfonso leaned back slightly. “I showered before I came.”
“That’s how I can tell. More of the Formosas?”
He nodded slowly. “I saved the mother and her cubs. I think I finally got Pere the Younger.”
“The Formosas will not live until you are dead, Alfonso.” The man sighed. “Go over there, to my dresser.”
“I will destroy every one of them, even their women,” said Alfonso quietly, but did as the man told him. “Top drawer, under the Holy Book, is a small book, do you see it?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Bring it to me.”
Alfonso reached under the small Bible and took out a very thin black notebook with a hard plastic cover. It was half the size of a passport, with probably about ten sheets of paper inside it. He handed it to his father.
Saloman opened the book, nodded, and closed it. “You will take this. You will go to Chicago and you will find the man whose name is on the front page. Then he will tell you where to go.”
“I’m not going to leave, Papa. There’s too much for me to do.”
Saloman put his hand on Alfonso’s arm. “You will have to leave. The last time El Gato was seen was many years ago. Many, many years ago.” He turned and rummaged through the toys in the crate, and came up with a walking cougar, seemingly in motion, with one paw up as he walked. “I was much like you once. I had a reason.”
“So you understand, Papa. I can’t let them kill my friends.”
Saloman chuckled again. “So these animals, they are your friends? You’re closer to them than to your human friends?”
“I have no human friends. They don’t understand. They don’t know how it feels.”
“No. No, they wouldn’t. But Martín, he will know. And so will his friends.” Saloman looked up into the eyes of his son. “The Formosas will come for you. You cannot fight them all alone.”
Alfonso looked away. “I have to.”
Saloman pulled his hand away. “I know you feel this way. I felt this way too, which was why I left. But I learned, later in life, that I needed people, and friends, to help me. You will learn.”
Alfonso patted Saloman on the shoulder. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“I pray for you to.”