Chapter 12

Sixty-five thousand dollars would buy a lot of meat for the cats. He thought of the cages that needed replacement, the addition of more habitats, the new homes he could provide, more medical care. He could give Peter a raise and maybe they could hire another assistant, someone just out of school who wouldn’t need too much money…

He gazed over the shabby room. He could buy a new television. Maybe get a real car instead of that junked-out truck. He was startled to realize he hadn’t owned a car since college; he’d driven the refuge trucks ever since his old Duster had died his senior year.

Roscoe leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Well, kid, whaddya think?”

“I’m not sure, Coach. You caught me off guard.” Jared lapsed back into the comforting names of their school days.

“What does your gut say?” Roscoe’s blue eyes focused on him, as intensely as those times when Jared fought to stay in a game, even near the end of his arm strength. Roscoe didn’t take any bullshit from his players.