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flashed it in his face. “I’m RachelPorter, a special agent with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and I’ve just caught you in my net.”
    Aikens’s jaw dropped in shock. “Sonofabitch! What is it with you people, anyway? Don’t you have anything better to do than harass small businessmen who are only trying to make an honest living? I have a good mind to call my local congressman and raise hell about how my tax dollars are being spent!”
    “Feel free. They already know how to contact me,” I dryly informed him. “Except I wouldn’t call dealing in endangered species making an honest day’s wage.”
    “What are you talking about?” Aikens sputtered. “Everything in this place is perfectly legit. No way would I ever do something illegal. Not when a pain in the ass like you could be lurking behind every bush.”
    “Ahh. Now you’re just trying to flatter me and make nice. Let me give you a piece of advice. Playing the innocent victim isn’t going to work. Not when you’ve got an endangered San Bruno elfin stashed in the closet and a Mission blue cooling its wings in your ice chest,” I bluffed, hoping my guess was correct. “You’re in deep trouble, Aikens. This is going to cost you big-time.”
    “I don’t damn well believe this,” he muttered, pile driving his fingers through his bushy mound of hair. Then he defiantly threw back his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “Aw, come on. Who are we kidding with this? Let’s get real here. We’re talking a few lousy butterflies. Big fucking deal. It’s not like I’m hacking ivory tusks off elephants or mowing down rhinos for their horns. For chrissakes, get a grip. What do you think my pissy little crime is gonna amount to anyway? Maybe a couple hours of community service, or a minor fine at most. Worse comes to worst, I’ll plead entrapment. I can see it in the papers now: ‘Hardworking businessman set up by self-styled Fish and Wildlife MataHari.’ That oughta sell a few rags and bump up my business in the process.”
    I didn’t know whether he was trying to convince himself, or me—but my only hope was to outfox him.
    “Good thinking, Mitch,” I said and pulled a tape recorder from my bag. “You might have a point, if you were just a small-time collector. There’s only one problem. I have our entire conversation on tape—including your offer to pay me more money to catch protected butterflies and collect their eggs. That’s illegal, whether you agree with it or not.”
    I was hoping that Aikens wasn’t terribly savvy when it came to the law and my legal limitations. Not to mention that there wasn’t any tape in the machine. I quickly dumped the recorder back in my bag before he had a chance to check.
    Aikens took a moment to size up the situation, as his shoulders slowly began to slump.
    “All right, all right. So let’s make a deal.” He finally caved, flapping his arms in the air like a pair of wings.
    Whadda ya know? The ruse had actually worked.
    “Listen, I’m nothing but chump change in the big scheme of things. My stuff is mostly legit. You can look inside those boxes and see that for yourself.”
    Instead, I gave him the evil eye—an unspoken warning not to jerk me around.
    “Aw, come on, Porter. There are a lot larger fish for you to fry. Guys that deal in endangered butterflies big time, not just for a few lousy bucks. We’re talking mucho dinero . I’m telling ya, they’re selling rare bugs to the Krauts, the Japs, the Canucks, the Aussies, and a whole bunch of others. Go ahead. Name any nationality you like.”
    I should have known I could count on Aikens to be politically correct.
    “That’s not the way the game is played, Mitch. You’re supposed to give me names. Remember? So, who are these guys?”
    “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re jumping the gun here. That’s information I don’t have yet.”
    “Gee, that’s too bad. I can’t tell you how unhappy that makes me.” I dug into my bag and pulled out a