By Annie Bien
His Rolex, Maserati, new blonde. The phones—work, private, classified…boring.
His buddy: “Change’ll do you good. Hand the gamekeeper cash. This is for conservation. Fund their preserve, save endangered animals. Win-win, and legal.”
They’d found the biggest lion, lured it off the conservancy grounds with meat. Gorgeous. Adrenaline.
Across the border, he shot. Wounded, it crawled. Finished off by a heavy caliber bow. All those workouts had paid off. The souvenir—a severed head.
He showed his girl the selfie. Legs akimbo, grinning. The maned lion, cub-like, eyes shut.
She wept, “That’s Alfie. He was my father’s tagged research lion.”
Sickening.
Horrible.
But that was the idea, wasn’t it?
Well done.