Krugar: Chapter 2

Scene: The Boston Globe – A Hustling, Bustling, Stress-Filled Newsroom

The newsroom was a chaotic symphony of ringing phones, clacking keyboards, and editors barking orders like drill sergeants. The modern technology—dual monitors, high-speed internet, voice-to-text software—was impressive, but deadlines were still the Grim Reaper of journalism.

At his desk, Mooch slouched in his chair, staring at a small write-up on his screen. It was a brief piece about Lilly Barter, the photographer who had been mauled to death six months ago at Kruger National Park. The story was cut-and-dry: the park had rules, she broke them, and she paid the ultimate price. Tragic, but not exactly scandalous.

Except... life was never that simple.

Mooch had learned that lesson the hard way, ever since his first big break a decade ago—a supposedly airtight case about a city councilman skimming money from a community center. Open-and-shut, right? Until Mooch dug deeper and found out the councilman wasn’t the real thief; he was covering for his wife, who was funneling the stolen money into an underground dog racing ring. The truth didn’t just spill out—it exploded.

That was when Professor Jacobs’ words cemented themselves in Mooch’s brain:

"Press hard until the news comes spilling out all sides."

Mooch scrolled down. The article linked back to a blog, which linked back to NBC10. That was Jess Greystone’s turf.

Mooch smirked. If anyone knew something, it was Jess.

He hit her number.

She answered on the first ring.

"What the fuck do you want, Mooch?"

"Well, good morning to you too, sunshine."

"You've got two seconds before I hang up."

"Wow. You sound glum."

"Glum? Glum?! Are you serious, Mooch?"

Mooch sighed. So this was still a thing.

A month ago, they’d both had too much to drink at a media event. One thing led to another, and—well, let’s just say their journalistic collaboration had taken an unexpected turn into the personal section. And then Mooch, being Mooch, never called.

"Jess, I was gonna call—"

"Oh, bullshit, Mooch! You’re a reporter, you track people down for a living. And yet, somehow, you lost my number? Did it get eaten by your inbox? Maybe abducted by aliens?"

"Actually, I was just about to dial you when Breaking News came in—"

"Yeah? What was it?"

"Uh... something about a fire... in my heart... because I missed you?"

Silence. Then—

"Ugh. I hate you."

Mooch grinned. He could hear the tiny crack in her anger. Time to push.

"Okay, okay, I need to ask you something about Lilly Barter."

"The photographer who couldn't keep her ass in the truck?"

"Had a bad day," Mooch said.

"What about her?"

Mooch leaned forward. "You heard anything... weird about her death?"

Jess sighed. "Not this again, Mooch. She broke the rules. She got too close. Nature happened."

"Yeah, yeah, I read the report. But sometimes, the truth isn’t in the report—it’s under it."

"Jesus, you really should put that on a T-shirt."

"Already working on it," Mooch shot back. "C’mon, Jess. Nothing strange at all?"

"No. And before you ask, no, the park wasn’t covering anything up, no, it wasn’t some poaching conspiracy, and no, Bigfoot was not involved."

"Okay, okay, I get it—"

"Although..."

Mooch’s ears perked up. "Although what?"

"It’s nothing. Just something dumb one of the witnesses said."

"Jess. Spill."

She sighed. "One of the park hands... he made a weird comment after the attack. He said something like, ‘I guess Granny was a bad cat.’"

Mooch frowned. "Granny?"

"Yeah, that’s what they called the lion that killed her."

Mooch tapped his pen against his desk. A ‘bad cat’... You sure that’s what he said?"

"I mean, don’t quote me on it. And it probably means nothing. But hey, you’re Mooch—you’re gonna go crazy over it anyway."

Mooch grinned. "You know me too well."

"Unfortunately."

There was a beat of silence. Then Jess cleared her throat.

"So... was this the only reason you called?"

"Yep."

A long pause.

"You asshole!"

Mooch chuckled. "Love you too, Greystone."

"Don't you—!"

Click.

Mooch hung up, leaning back in his chair.

Granny was a bad cat, huh?

Yeah. Something about that smelled funny.

Mooch shifted in his seat, trying to look confident, which was difficult considering he didn’t have shit.

Gary O’Shaughnessy squinted at him like he was debating whether to fire him or physically launch him out the window.

"Mooch, you betta have somethin’ good."

Mooch swallowed. "I do, sir. I just need a day or two to figure out my angle."

Gary let out a slow, exaggerated sigh. "Ya angle? So what you’re tellin’ me is, this story’s so goddamn lame you don’t even have an angle yet?"

"Not exactly—"

"Alright, hotshot, what do ya got?"

Mooch hesitated. If he didn’t immediately ask for something, Gary would call his bluff. So, Mooch did the only thing he could do.

He went big.

"I need to go to Africa, sir."

Gary blinked. "Africa."

Mooch nodded. "Lilly Barter. I think there’s more to the story."

Gary groaned. "So what you’re tellin’ me is, ya wanna fly halfway across the world to interrogate a goddamn lion."

Mooch shrugged. "I mean, I’d be open to an exclusive if she’s willing to talk."

Gary stared at him.

Then he threw a stapler at Mooch’s head.

"DO NOT PISS ME OFF, MOOCH! You got one shot. ONE. If you come back with nothin’ but a sunburn, ya fired!"

Mooch grinned. "Crystal clear, boss."

Gary pointed to the door. "Get outta my sight."

Mooch had no story. No proof. No plan.

But he had a ticket to Africa.

And that was a start.

Zeke stood just inside the sterile white walls of the OR, arms crossed, his boots leaving faint scuffs on the pristine tile floor. The scent of antiseptic burned his nostrils, mixing with the raw, unmistakable musk of lion. The overhead lights hummed softly, casting a clinical glow over the massive form stretched out on the surgical table.

His lion.

Dr. Anouk Van Dijk, the Dutch veterinarian, peeled off her gloves with a snap and let out a slow breath. She was small, wiry, and had the no-nonsense demeanor of someone who had stitched up more wild animals than most people had ever seen. She studied the lion’s bandaged body, shaking her head.

“I’ve seen poachers do a lot of horrible things,” she said, her voice edged with disbelief. “But this? This isn’t normal.”

Zeke ran a hand down the lion’s mane, his fingers disappearing into the thick fur. He was still unconscious, his breathing deep and steady. Zeke had been around enough tranquilized animals to know he wouldn’t wake up for at least a few hours, but still, he asked—

“When will he wake up?”

Anouk glanced at the monitors, then back at Zeke. “A few hours, maybe less. He lost a lot of blood, but he’s strong. He’ll pull through.” She hesitated, then added, “You’re lucky you got to him in time.”

Zeke exhaled, nodding. “Yeah. Lucky.”

But that’s not what this was.

This was something else.

Anouk peeled back one of the bandages covering the lion’s flank, revealing deep, jagged cuts. Some were too clean to be from claws. Too deliberate to be from a struggle. She pointed to the worst of them, her brow furrowing.

“You said poachers were involved. But these wounds? This isn’t how they work.”

Zeke’s jaw tightened. “I know.”

Poachers killed for profit. They went after rhinos for their horns, elephants for their tusks, big cats for their skins and bones. It was brutal, but it was predictable.

This?

This was different.

Anouk sighed, running a hand through her short-cropped blonde hair. “If they wanted him dead, they would have just shot him. But they didn’t. They left him alive—barely—but alive.”

“Like they wanted something from him,” Zeke murmured.

Anouk nodded. “Exactly. But what? Lions aren’t worth much alive on the black market. Not like rhinos. Not like pangolins. So why take the risk? Why restrain him instead of finishing the job?”

Zeke didn’t answer. Because he didn’t have an answer.

Something about this whole thing smelled wrong.

He kept his hand on the lion’s body, feeling the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. The steady pulse of life beneath his palm.

“Whatever’s going on,” Zeke said finally, “this isn’t just poaching.”

Anouk nodded. “No. It’s something worse.”