Fat Carlos picked his teeth with a short knife as he eyed Franz.

“A jaguar took Benicio a week ago. Down by the Tortoise Beach,” Franz said.

“Well, that is a tragedy. Truly. You have my condolences. I did wonder what the big spread was all about. Lovely pig. My compliments to the—”

Franz pushed in closer to the big poacher, his eyes ablaze. “When did you take this jaguar?”

“Oh, it’s been a week now, hasn’t it, since we’ve been out, Dutchie?”

“ ’Bout that.”

“We were way out. West of the Tatinga. Nowhere near here. By the Black River, near that oxbow lake.”

Dutchie’s swimming pool–blue eyes grew wide. “She was sleeping in a tree. All sloppy-like.” He did a pretend collapse in his seat, his arms falling forward, neck loose. “Like that. Got her in one shot, didn’t we, Carlos?”

Franz took another step toward the big man, but Omar hissed something under his breath, seizing Franz’s forearm and fastening him in place. “What was in her belly?”

Fat Carlos grinned at Franz. “You think maybe . . . oh no, oh no. Im-possible. Right, Dutch?”

Franz fumed. “What was in her belly?”

“Listen, I’m very sorry for your loss, but if you’re asking what I’m thinking you’re asking, well—”

“What was in her belly?” Franz wrenched his arm free from Omar’s grip and grabbed at the tattered collar of Fat Carlos’s open shirt. Dutchie freed a gleaming knife from his belt, hopping from foot to foot as if ready to pounce at his boss’s command; grinning like using the blade would provide entertainment, nothing more.

“Dutchie. Enough. You’re overreacting.” Sheepishly, Dutchie did another dance step with the knife, dialing down the fun before cooling off completely. “We’ve talked about this.” Carlos shrugged himself free of Franz’s grip and straightened his threadbare collar with a prissy sort of care. “No need for any of this, my friends. The jaguar’s belly contained—nothing like that. No boy parts. Jaguar stuff. Fish. Paca. Ocelot.”

Franz gathered himself as Omar visibly relaxed. “Let me see the paws.”

“Of course.” Carlos got up and turned slightly toward Franz. The jaguar’s long arm swayed slightly, the claws of its heavy paw scraping against the bar. With Anna just behind him, Franz picked it up and studied the three-inch claws, turned it over, examined the great soft pads ringed in black. He turned it back over, flattened it against the bar. Anna traced her forefinger around the paw, slowly, almost dreamily, then snatched it away with a yelp and covered her mouth, tears coursing down her cheeks. She turned away.

“No,” Franz said, pulling her back. “No, Anna. Look, come back and look. This is a different jaguar. The prints on the beach were twice this size.”

She snatched up a knife that Omar had been using to peel an aguaje. With a stifled scream, she stabbed the paw, attaching it to the wooden table, and stumbled off toward the longhouse. Fat Carlos pursed his lips and shook his head.