Bird Brained by Jessica Speart

horny boy!” screeched my neglected roommate.
    “What the hell is that?” Santou demanded, pouncing for his gun.
    I turned on the light and walked over to the perch. “Meet my newest acquisition,” I said, giving the bird a sour look. “Actually, I’m housing him as evidence.”
    “To hell with the commander!” the cockatoo squawked.
    “You want to tell me about it, Porter?” Santou asked, nodding in the bird’s direction. “On second thought, I’ll grab the wine and you can fill me in outside.”
    I threw on a shirt and headed out to join him. Santou was settled on a makeshift bench, which in a former life had been the front seat of a ’68 Catalina. He held a glass of wine in each hand. I relieved him of one and sat down beside him, our legs comfortably entwined.
    My transfer to Miami had turned into a compromise of sorts for us. A Louisiana Cajun, born and bred, Jake was a detective with the New Orleans Police Department. I’d already put in my time with Fish and Wildlife there, and wasn’t anxious to head back yet. The fact that Jake liked Miami meant that we could now spend weekends together without my having to fly out of state. Santou considered the arrangement a warm-up for the main event. To me, commitment was the fact that I’d given him a key. The thought of anything further threw me into a cold sweat.
    I’d nearly lost Jake due to a breakup while I was stationed in Las Vegas. Now I couldn’t imagine my life without him, even if it was one weekend at a time. A few more silver strands were threaded in among his tousled black curls, and the creases lining his face had grown a bit deeper. But Santou could still make my pulse race more than any man I’d ever known.
    “I found an informer of mine murdered this evening,” I told Jake. “All his birds had been taken except for the one in there.”
    “The perp probably knew what he was doing when he passed that bird by,” Jake wryly noted as a series of squawks, screeches, and shrieks issued from inside the bedroom.
    “Actually, the bird was smart enough to hide. He’d scooted under the bedsheets,” I revealed. “That’s where I found him.”
    “Lucky you.” Santou flashed a lopsided grin that warmed my skin nearly as much as the wine. “Any idea who murdered your informant?”
    “Metro Dade has narrowed down the possibility to either a Cuban bird theft ring, the Skunk Ape, or followers of Santeria,” I said scornfully.
    “Santeria?” His hooded eyes penetrated straight through me, even in the dark of night. “Why Santeria?”
    I began to squirm and instinctively resented the intrusion. “Birds are sometimes sacrificed in Santeria rituals,” I replied calmly.
    But Santou’s eyes continued to burn, demanding more of an answer.
    “Jagged cuts were found on the body that might have been made with a serrated blade. Evidently that type of knife is used in certain Santeria ceremonies.” I kept my tone nonchalant.
    Nonchalant wasn’t an adjective to be found in Santou’s vocabulary; his moods swung between intense lite and intense dark. His moodometer now veered toward the dark mode. “I hope you don’t plan on getting involved any further in this,
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    I didn’t answer but kept my eyes on my wine glass, studying the curve of the rim. The abundant foliage in the garden cast shadows that ranged from ebony black to ashen gray, as a breeze rustled the fronds of a coconut palm, setting off a flurry of whispers.
    “What are you, crazy, Porter?” he asked, his tone tinged with disbelief. “Do you have any idea what it is that you’re possibly getting involved in?”
    “A three-hundred-year-old Afro-Cuban religion which is big on animal sacrifice for marking the passage of such events as births, deaths, and initiations into the faith.” I hoped my meager knowledge on the subject was scoring some points. “There are close to seventy-thousand followers here in south Florida.”
    I’d already seen the aftermath of Santeria