When the old keeper forgot one latch, the 400-pound silverback reached through the steel

fingers and touched the front of Tom’s shirt, just above the pocket where the notebook sat.

Tom looked down at the gesture and laughed once, a broken sound with almost no humor in it.

“Still checking,” he said.

He took the notebook from his pocket. For a moment I thought he meant to hand it through, and my body went cold with the practical fear of staples,continue reading …