Warren Murphy - The Final Reel

A single lion, presumably the patriarch of this pride, was farther inside the shed than the rest. Remo saw it sprawled on its back near an overturned wooden box.

The scent of blood was strong inside. Remo saw a dark stain on one side of the crate. He spotted a few rotted and bloodied teeth scattered like used jacks on the floor. He recognized them instantly as Assola al Khobar's. No one else in Hollywood had teeth like that.

The lion near the box watched him slip through the door. Lying on its back, the animal had a small square of paper propped between its massive paws. As it followed the new intruder with a single wary eye, it continued to drag its big, rough tongue across the exterior of the paper.

Remo was barely inside the shed when he caught another odor, this one stronger than that given off by either blood or lions. It was the familiar smell of nervous human perspiration.

"Hey! Psst! Up here!"

The voice was soft and anxious.

Remo followed it up to the top of a stack of baled hay. An overweight man was crouched precariously atop the bales. They wobbled beneath his great girth, threatening to topple him into the center of the pack of lionesses. A thick trickle of half-congealed blood stained his forehead.

"Dr. Livingstone, I presume," Remo said dryly.

"No," the frightened man snapped. "Reggio Cagliari. Shit, pal, you gotta get me outta here." With a snap of its back and massive shoulders, the lion rolled over onto its stomach. The speed with which it moved was impressive. It let out a low snarl at Remo; however it made no move toward him. It went back to licking the paper.

Remo noticed that what so interested the lion was an ordinary manila envelope. It was smeared with some kind of thin white powder. Scraps of pink cardboard lay on the floor all around the animal.

"Oh, crap!" Reggio begged. "Don't piss him off!"

The lion began chewing contentedly on the envelope and the papers inside.

"Where's al Khobar?" Remo asked Reggio. Reggio didn't have a chance to answer. At that moment the door Remo had come through burst open.

"Get that away from it!" Bruce Marmelstein screamed desperately. He pointed to the envelope clasped between the lion's mighty paws.

The lion had been content to leave the other men in the shed alone until now, but at the abrupt entrance of the movie executive the head of the pride pushed itself hastily to its huge feet. Its roar was deafening inside the small room.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" Reggio screamed. He crawled as far away as he could on his wobbly haystack, pushing himself against the wall.

"Are you crazy!" Remo snapped at Marmelstein. "I thought I told you to stay in the car."

"I peeked in the window," Marmelstein said quickly. He jabbed a thumb toward a small window near Reggio's hay bales. "I need that." He pointed to the half-shredded envelope.

The lionesses rose to their feet. There were four of them, huge creatures with a grace and confidence that almost belied their great fierceness.

The lion tipped its head to one side, seeming to work its jaw into another, even louder roar. It would try to force them toward the females. They would then be responsible for the killing.

He was already partway across the room. While the lion was in midroar, Remo reached quickly over, snatching the crate off the floor. He held it out before him, feeling a bit foolish. With a whip in his other hand he could have applied for a job at the circus.

The lion's eyes had been closed while it roared. When it shut its massive jaws it seemed a bit surprised that its great bellow had not had the proper effect. Instead of fleeing, Remo was even closer than he had been.

The female lions were still near the door. This might be easier than he thought. Remo took another step toward the large creature. The lion was curious, but not fearful. It held its ground as he approached.

"Get that envelope first," Bruce Marmelstein's voice pleaded anxiously, too close to Remo's right ear.

"Get away from me," Remo snapped, elbowing Marmelstein in the gut.

The Taurus executive let out a gust of air, doubling over in pain.

This sudden movement was enough for the lion. Coiling the powerful muscles in its hindquarters, it pushed off into the air. In a split second it was hurtling toward Remo, front paws extended, razor-sharp claws splayed.

The animal cut the distance between them in no time.

The lion was fast. But Remo was faster.

When it was close enough that he could smell the stench of rotted flesh on its breath, Remo dropped low. He tossed the crate from left hand to right, keeping it out of the animal's way. Using his free hand as a fulcrum, he propped his palm up against the breastbone of the great beast as it soared above him.

In a move that seemed almost gentle, Remo flipped the creature up and over. Four hundred and fifty pounds of lion soared through the air, landing in a rough heap amid the females of the pride. Unlike a house cat, the lion did not land on its feet. A few of the female lions were knocked over by the male. All of them scrambled quickly to their feet. But Remo was already amid them.

Using the crate so as not to injure the creatures, he coaxed them all back out through the gate. Unlike their counterparts in the wild, these zoo lions didn't put up much of a fight. Remo was wrangling the last lioness back out into the paddock when the shed door that led into the park burst open yet again.

"Come quick!" Hank Bindle shouted urgently. Remo was replacing the bolt that Assola al Khobar had removed prior to his escape.

"Isn't anyone afraid of lions anymore?" he griped.

"This is it. We're dead," Bruce Marmelstein cried to himself. He was crouching on the floor amid the damp remains of his precious paperwork. The documents that would have implicated Assola al Khobar as the man responsible for the extravagant spending binge at Taurus Studios were in wet tatters. A bit of the powdered sugar that had attracted the lion in the first place still clung to the shreds of the envelope.

"Hurry!" Bindle insisted, ignoring his partner.

"What's wrong now?" Remo asked wearily.

"Monkeys don't talk!" he cried.

"Okay, that's it," Remo snapped.

Using the same crate he'd employed on the lions, but much less delicately, Remo knocked the two men back out the door. He propped the crate up against the knob to keep them from coming back in. When he turned back around, Reggio Cagliari was just climbing down to the floor.

"Man, dat was close," he panted. He was sweating profusely. Remo could smell the distinct odor of lion saliva on the man's face. There were remnants of damp powdered sugar there, as well.

"You were lucky," Remo told him. "So far."

"Males don't usually hunt," Reggio explained, still trying to catch his breath. "Females do. They must not have been hungry, I guess."

"I guess you know a lot about lions," Remo said.

"Hey, I get by," Reggio answered. The panic of a moment before was already given way to suspicion. The hood that was Reggio Cagliari was reasserting itself. "You a fed?"

"I don't have time for this," Remo said. "Where's al Khobar?"

"Who the hell's El Kabong?" Reggio asked, genuinely confused.

"Koala," Remo snapped.

Reggio balked. "Koalas?" he said vaguely. "Don't know if they got them here. I seen hyenas."

"I told you," Remo said, "I don't have time." Grabbing Reggio by the neck of his sweaty shirt, Remo spun around. He dragged the thug roughly across the floor toward the gate that fed into the lion paddock. As the gate swept toward him, the petty gangster decided that cooperation might be the best way not to while away the evening inside the digestive tracts of a dozen lions.

"He knocked me out!" Reggio cried. "I woke up with dat lion licking my face. I don't know where he went! I swear to God, I don't know."