Brinkman’s task was to make a list of species that lived on the small barrier island: plants, insects, birds, amphibians, reptiles and mammals. The job could not be sloppy or hurried, because the government would be doing its own survey, for comparison. Steven Brinkman, in fact, once had been offered a position of staff biologist with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, but had chosen the private sector for its higher salaries and broader opportunities for advancement. That was the upside. The downside was having to answer to soulless cretins such as Karl Krimmler, the project supervisor, who would have been rapturous to hear there was no wildlife whatsoever on Toad Island. In nature Krimmler saw neither art nor mystery, only bureaucratic obstacles. A flight of swallowtail butterflies or the chirp of a squirrel could send him into a black funk that lasted for days.
Now Krimmler wedged a phone at one ear and fanned himself with Brinkman’s list. Krimmler was an engineer, not a biologist, and he reported directly to Roger Roothaus. It was Roothaus to whom Krimmler was now speaking on the phone.
“Gators?” Krimmler relayed the query to Brinkman.
Brinkman shook his head.
“Bald eagles? Any kind of eagles?”
Brinkman said no. Into the phone Krimmler said: “He’s sure. No eagles. You want me to read you what he’s got? Yeah. No. OK, lemme ask.”
To Brinkman then Krimmler explained: “All we’re really worried about is endangereds.”
“I haven’t found any yet.”
“You’re positive? We don’t want any surprises—six months from now, some fucking red-bellied caterpillar turns out to be the last of its race. That we don’t need.”
Steven Brinkman said: “So far, I haven’t found a single endangered species.”
To Krimmler this was the happiest of news, and with a satisfied tone he repeated it into the phone. He chuckled at Roothaus’s reply, saying, “I know, I know. It’s too damn good to be true. But the young man tells me he’s sure.”
“So far,” Brinkman interjected tentatively, “none so far.” There was always a chance of the odd burrowing owl or gopher tortoise.
Krimmler glanced up. “Mr. Roothaus wants to know if you’ve found anything weird. Anything we need to take care of before the eco-pinheads from Fish and Wildlife show up.”
Brinkman took a deep breath. It didn’t take much to set Krimmler off.
“Well, there’s this.” The biologist held out his right hand.
Krimmler peered. “The hell is it?” Then, into the phone: “Hold on, Rog.”
“It’s a toad,” Brinkman said.
“Gee, and here I thought it was a baby unicorn. I know it’s a toad, OK? I know what a goddamn toad looks like. The question is, what kind of goddamn toad, Mr. Brinkman?”
“It’s doctor. Doctor Brinkman.” Some things you couldn’t let slide, even at forty-one grand a year.
Krimmler glared. He cupped a hand over the receiver and whispered, “I’m waiting.”
“Bufo quercicus.”
“Now in English.”
“It’s an oak toad.”
“And?”
“The smallest toad native to North America.”
“That I can believe,” Krimmler said. “But it’s not on the endangered list?”
“No, sir.”
“The ‘threatened’ list?”
“No.”
“Any other goddamn lists?”
“None that I’m aware of.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Into the phone he said, “Hey, Roger, young Dr. Brinkman brought me an adorable baby frog… Well, that’s what I’m trying to find out.”
Brinkman said, “There’s no problem, really, with the oak toads. It’s just they’re all over the place, by the hundreds. I’ve never seen so many.”
“That would probably explain the name of the island.”
“It would,” Brinkman said, sheepishly.
The toad in his palm was smaller than a quarter. Its coloration was a mottled gray and brown, with a vertical orange stripe bisecting its back. The toad blinked its shiny eyes and began to squirm. Gently, Brinkman closed his fingers around it.
Krimmler said, “Take your little pal outside before he pees on this fine linoleum. I’ll be with you in a second.”
Brinkman shut the door behind him. The sun was so bright it made his eyes water. He knelt and placed the diminutive toad on the ground. Immediately it hopped off, into the shade of the trailer.
Five minutes later, Krimmler came down the steps. “Mr. Roothaus says you’re doing a super job. He’s a little concerned about those toads, though.”