Alligator (9 page)

Lee didn't answer. Thompson tried again. "Yes, sir, Mr. Hotshot Guide, a general's son, no less. Well, you are in trouble, let me tell you. Way I figure it, we got you for contributory negligence or somethin' like that."

"I'll be sure to use you for a character witness," answered Lee.

"That's real smart, kid, real smart."

"Yeah, well, I ain't never said that was one of my strong points."

"Now if this was the old times, you know where you'd be," grumbled Thompson. "Swingin' from a tree, that's where you'd be. As it is, you're gonna get a nice clean trial with some liberal ass-lickin' judge. If you asked me—"

"I ain't asked ya"

The sheriff leaped up, violently wrenching his large belly full of turkey and biscuits from the desk. "Now you be careful there, boy, 'cause I'm just holdin' myself back from creamin' ya."

"You got no right to even hold me."

Sheriff Thompson glared at Lee. It killed him to think Lee might be right, but his better judgment told him that roughing the boy up wouldn't be a wise idea. He lowered himself back into his chair and retreated into reading his book. He made a special effort not to move his lips.

He hadn't gotten through more than a sentence when Ben Ferguson burst into his office. Thompson could see that the tips of his ears were a bright, furious fed and his meaty jowls were quivering in fury. None of it was lost on Thompson. He could feel the sweat running down his thigh. Ben was a powerful man in town.

Ben hadn't bothered to knock when he entered; he was angrier than hell, and this omission was meant to bring attention to it. He cast a terrible look around the room and threw a report on Thompson's desk. In all his years as town mayor, he'd never had the kind of trouble he'd had the past few days. First Orrin and Dinks, then those damned tourists pouring into town for a glimpse of the alligator, now this. And Thompson was such a nitwit that he couldn't be trusted to check a laundry list, let alone run a town. Everything was falling on Ben's shoulders, and he didn't like it. After all, he still had a business to take care of. There was a new shipment of veal he hadn't even got a chance to inspect. Ben knew it wasn't really Thompson's fault, but he was the only one handy to blame.

He grunted at Thompson disapprovingly, turned on his heel, and left, slamming the door behind him. He figured to let Thompson stew on that awhile.

Thompson read the first two sentences of the report, then threw it back down on his desk in disgust. He couldn't have been more upset if he had just read that the world was scheduled to come to an end at noon. He pulled his portly frame from the desk and slowly lumbered toward Lee, still shaking his head and muttering to himself.

Lee looked up in surprise when he heard the clink of keys and saw Thompson opening the door. It was clear from the look on Thompson's face that he was so enraged that he couldn't even speak. Finally he sighed. "What the fuck good is it havin' a police department anyway. This whole damned world's bein' run by criminals and their liberal flunkies."

"What's the matter, Sheriff, can't hold me?"

Thompson grabbed Lee by the collar. For a moment, it looked as if the blood vessel in his temple was going to burst. "That's right, smartass, can't hold ya. But I'll tell ya one thing I can do. I can fix it so'd ya'll never get another job in this whole state. No, let me take it back, in all the states, including Alaska, Hawaii, and the District of Columbia, ever. Ya understand me?" He let loose of Lee reluctantly.

Lee strained against the anger pounding in his head and tried to retain some semblance of his shredded dignity. He smiled cockily. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Don't ya worry, boy. I'll be there to remind ya some."

Thompson watched Lee leave. His vein was pounding, and his throat was just about closed off with mucus. He coughed up a huge wad of phlegm and spat it into the wastebasket. It was his final comment on the situation.

Well, if they were giving out medals for being cool, he certainly deserved one, Lee thought as he walked down Homestead Street toward the edge of town. He probably was the coolest asshole in town, maybe the world.

He was left with two alternatives in this life. He could take action and go sit in the middle of the street, put his arms around his head and let a car run him down now, or he could wait for them to make the first move. Either way, his future left something to be desired. Lee kicked at a stone and sent it skipping into the oncoming traffic. A large semi, which was barreling up the street, rolled over the stone and sent it skipping back. It missed Lee by inches. He saw it as an omen.

What was called for was a little clear thinking. Lee tried to impose some logic on himself, but it wasn't easy. His mind was anything but logical. Having the sheriff as an enemy wasn't going to make things any easier from now on, he thought. He had enough trouble getting clients as it was.

What he needed was a plan. Lee sifted through the millions of conflicting thoughts that were clamoring for his attention. He could leave town, go to Miami, and try living under an alias. He snickered to himself. That was a great plan. He was well suited for a life in the city. Plan two: He could go to the general and throw himself on his mercy. So sorry about your son. It was all my fault, for not pointin' up to you his remarkable resemblance to a five-hundred-pound bear. Plan three: He could go home, propose to Cindy, and live off her wages from cleaning restrooms at the Rod and Gun. He couldn't even laugh at that.

As Lee was imagining the rosy future that lay ahead, he spotted Orville Levi rushing down the street toward him. Lee checked his instinct to duck into the closest available building. Running away from his creditors at this point in his life was not the best idea.

Levi screeched to a halt in front of Lee and blocked all escape routes.

"Heard you had a little trouble," he said, forcing his sweaty face into Lee's.

"Somethin' like that." Lee shifted from foot to foot uneasily. His mind might have told him not to run, but his body didn't agree. It was gearing up for the forty-yard dash.

"Now I hope you don't expect this to change our little arrangement," continued Levi. "I like to help a friend every once in a while, but I can't have them welching on me. Let's see, how much is it you owe?" There was no question in Lee's mind that Levi knew the exact sum to the penny. "Around five hundred, isn't it?"

"Five hundred and twelve, to be exact, or twenty-five dollars a week, payable on Monday."

"Well, now that you mention it, that's just what I wanted to talk to you about." Levi was uncomfortable. He liked his money a good deal, enough to make him play the bastard to get it, but he didn't enjoy doing it. "You see, boy, you may think I lend out money on my own but it isn't quite like that. No, sir, I'm merely a representative of big Northern money. I have creditors to account to, and they get a bit itchy about a man whose income looks to be not so steady." Levi hesitated, but there was nothing he could do except press on. "I was wonderin' if you couldn't just pay back the whole sum now and be done with it."

Lee's stomach, which was already unsteady from the day, lurched from its moorings and sped to his throat. He swallowed hard.

"That's what I call a generous gesture, Mr. Levi, and don't think I'm not appreciative as hell, but I think, if it's all right with you, I'll just stick to our former arrangement."

"I don't think you get my point." Levi did his best to avoid looking at Lee. His voice softened. "I'm afraid I ain't got no choice."

He patted Lee on the back, by way of sympathy, then turned quickly and walked away. When Levi looked back, he could see Lee standing where he had left him, gazing out into traffic.

"Have I ever told you about the time the President came to one of Daddy's parties?" Lizbeth's thin, wispy, disconnected voice drifted down from the attic window like the faint smell of magnolias. Lee stood in the garden of weeds and looked up at the decaying remains of the once-gracious manor house and the thin white face of his mother, who peered out at him from the top floor.

The Lancaster house had been, in its time, one of the grandest in all the county. With seven bedrooms, front and back parlors, a porch as wide as an average-size road, it had been the symbol of all that was good about being rich and Southern. But hard times had come to the Lancaster house. Bad business and despair had choked it off, and what little grandeur was left seemed only to mock what remained. The roof and porch of the great house were crumbling, and the paint had chipped so badly that bare wood showed through. Most of the windows were gone, and the few that remained were so shattered it was difficult to see through them.

Lee put a small package into a wicker basket that was hooked up to an elaborate pulley system along the house and jerked on the rope three times. Lizbeth slowly raised the basket. Lee could see her shriveled little hand snap up the package.

"Oh, cream cakes," she said, rattling the paper open. "That's nice, dear. Anyway, not to lose my train of thought. The Reverend Albert Johnson was there, as was Mrs. Cambridge Wilson and the Charleses and just about anyone else in the whole county who meant anything. And the house, oh, Lee, honey, it was all lit up like a weddin' cake. You could smell the wisteria for miles around. Which reminds me, I must make sure to order some for tonight. There ain't nothin' like the smell of wisteria to get a tea dance off on the right foot, I always say. Actually ..." Lizbeth stared off into space dreamily. She couldn't quite remember what it was she had wanted to say. Something about the dance, perhaps. She just couldn't remember. Suddenly she noticed Lee. Odd, she thought, she hadn't seen him come, damn him. "What you doin' here, Lee? I ain't comin' down."

"I know, Ma."

"And you ain't comin' up here neither." Lee didn't answer. "You hear me, Lee Ferris? It's been ten years now, and I plan to spend the rest of my life up here. So don't get no ideas about tryin' to get me down."

"I'm lookin' for Aaron," said Lee.

"What's that?" shouted Lizbeth.

"Aaron! Aaron, your husband, remember?"

"Oh, Lee, honey, I'm just a tender young thing, not made for a life of hardship." She sighed deeply, then remembered that Lee was still there. "He's your father, as well as my husband."

"Ain't nothin' to be proud of."

"Now don't you speak disrespectfully. At one time, your father was a giant among men. What's that? Do I hear you sniggering? Well, you can just stop it right now. You should have seen him when he courted me. Why, Daddy was so proud he said to me, now, Lizbeth, if you don't take that man, I'll have you committed to the sanitarium, and that's the truth of it. It wasn't no more than two weeks after..." Lizbeth let out a groan. For a moment she felt the stab of anguish almost as deeply as she had when she was a girl. She was reeling from it. It took her a full minute before she could speak. "Now, honey, you ain't to think on that," she said soothingly. "He wasn't no good, and you're a damned sight better off that he left when he did, even if... Howdy do, Mr. President, I can't tell you what an honor it is to have you here. You know, Lee, your mother's been wronged!"

"Yes, I know that, Ma."

"Why ain't you never done nothin' about it? And that father of yours isn't to be depended on when it comes to defendin' the family honor neither. You're all a bunch of sniveling cowards, and that's the long and short of it."

"Just tell me who you want me to kill and it's done, Ma."

"Now don't you go gettin' sarcastic on me."

"For twenty-eight years you been throwin' around all kinds of dark hints. Why don't you just out with it and be done?"

"His name shall never cross my lips," said Lizbeth. I swore it once, and I reswear it here and now. You understand?"

"Yes, ma'am. Where's Aaron?"

"How am I to know? Nobody ever tells me anything. The two of you just come and go like the wind, without giving me so much as a second thought."

Lee fought the temptation to scream back at her. His parents had always been the laughingstock of Everglades, but he had never been able to see the humor in them. Even though the anger and pity he had felt for them as a child had abated a great deal, it was rekindled each time he crossed their paths, which was only when strictly necessary. Unfortunately, now it was. He had hoped to find Aaron before Lizbeth caught sight of him.

Lee was just about to leave when he noticed a jug of corn liquor sitting on the rain barrel by the side of the house. The jug was Aaron's constant companion, and a sure sign that Aaron was home and up to something.

"Lee, are you listenin' to me?" shouted Lizbeth.

"Yes, ma'am."

"No money... All your granddaddy's money gone..." Her voice drifted off into a bitter muttering.

Lee worked his way over to the barrel quietly. He couldn't see Aaron, but he knew he was there.

"You're rottin' your guts out with that stuff," Lee said as he picked up the jug and shook it. It was almost empty.

"They're my guts, ain't they?" snapped Aaron Ferris. He peeked out at Lee from behind the barrel. He was about to grab the jug back when he remembered what he was wearing and quickly ducked back. It was too late; Lee had already seen the bright-red ostrich-feathered turban and calico vest.

"Get outta them clothes or I'll kill ya," Lee hissed.

There was nothing in the tone of Lee's voice which suggested to Aaron that Lee wasn't serious. Aaron rose up from behind the barrel, his tight little face twisted with anger and outraged dignity. "They ain't your clothes any more than they're mine. I'm the great-grandson of Osceola, bravest Seminole ever."

"You don't deserve to lick his ass."

"Now don't you talk to your daddy in that tone of voice," Lizbeth called down.

Aaron ignored her. "Fine thing this family come to," he said. "Time was, the kin of Osceola was treated with respect."

"That was before you was born."

"Well, you ain't no better'n I am, Lee Ferris. Don't matter what you tell yourself."

"Take 'em off!"

Aaron couldn't keep up his defiance; in the face of Lee's anger, his resolve always crumbled. He began peeling off the clothes, muttering to himself. Lee grabbed the vest and carefully folded it. Even though tattered and faded with age, it still held greatness for him. As a boy, he used to go up to the attic almost every day to look at Osceola's clothes. He had never even dared to try them on.