I’ve done some of the preliminary Amazon stuff. BQB’s Writing Prompts should be up and to the masses soon. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I’ll be able to buy a nice mozzarella stick appetizer at Applebee’s with the sales. I know, I like to dream big.
Hey 3.5 readers.
BQB here.
Keeping my fingers crossed, hoping my first book will be self-published on Amazon at some point this week.
Hope you will check it out. I need all 3.5 of you to read it. Thanks.
Sharon was unable to process the information she’d just received from Natalie. “The entire joint task force…dead?”
“It just came in over the wire while we were on the way here,” Natalie said. “President Stugotz is mobilizing the National Guard and declaring a state of martial law in South Florida.”
“Mother of God,” Sharon said. “If a SWAT team wasn’t able to take this alligator down then I have no idea who can.”
Rusty raised his hand. “I do…but I don’t have a right to ask.”
Everyone around the table looked to Rusty as though he was about to utter the most important words anyone would ever say ever. Rusty pointed to Cole.
“Me?” Cole asked.
“I have no right,” Rusty said. “I failed you and left you on your own against that dog ten years ago. But you faced down Old Mongo, cheated death, and lived to tell the tale. Since then, you’ve hunted lions, tigers and bears…”
“Oh my,” Maude interjected. Seeing that no one was amused she added, “What? Too soon?”
Cole sighed. “It’s funny. I’ve been thinking lately it might be time to hang up my hunting gear. People don’t seem to have the same amount of respect for big game hunters that they used to. They feel like it’s too macho, cruel, uncivilized…”
Moses scoffed. “Liberal whack jobs who want to crawl up Hillary Clinton’s…”
“Yeah, I know Moses,” Cole said. “You think everyone who disagrees with you must be a liberal whack job who wants to crawl inside Hillary Clinton’s vagina but either way, I’ve been thinking that hunting has run its course through me. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be able to change what happened that day and I could kill a thousand big beasties but that will never bring my leg or my pride back.”
Professor Lambert intervened. “You lost your leg?”
“To a big ass dog,” Rusty said. “While saving a little girl’s life. He’s the best hero I’ll ever know.”
“Then, my good man, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but you are the most qualified person I can think of to go up against an alligator of this magnitude,” Professor Lambert said.
Sharon frowned. She reached across the table and grabbed Cole’s hand. The move stunned Cole. He had so longed for the feeling of his ex-wife’s hand in his and now it was happening again.
“Cole,” Sharon said. “Haven’t you done enough already?”
“I hate to admit it but Rusty is right,” Cole said. “I’m the only one around I can think of with police training who doesn’t lose his cool when a big animal with sharp teeth is looking at him like he’d make a good meal.”
The room went silent. “One last trophy,” Cole said. “And then I’m out of the hunting game for good.”
The ex-chief stood up and took command of the room. “Maude.”
“Cole you need to try some of this,” Maude said as she held up her joint. “It’s like Woodstock all over again baby!”
“Focus Maude,” Cole said. “You still talk to Arthur’s old trucking buddies?”
“On occasion,” Maude replied.
“Good,” Cole said. “Think they could muster us up a couple of big rigs, no questions asked?”
“I’ll have to turn on the old charm,” Maude said just before emitting a loud burp. “Excuse me.”
“Good,” Cole said. “Moses.”
“Sir, yes sir,” Moses said.
“You got any firepower?” Cole asked.
“I’m the owner and operator of Freedom Firepower, aren’t I?” Moses asked.
Cole winked at Moses. “Yeah, but I’m talking about…firepower.”
“Oh,” Moses said. “Yeah, I might have one or two or a dozen pieces that are strictly um…kosher.”
“Sharon,” Cole said.
“Yes?” Sharon asked.
“You still drive like Mario Andretti?” Cole asked.
“I don’t get as many tickets these days,” Sharon said. “But yes. I can put the hammer down.”
“What about me, Cole?” Rusty asked. “I’m not going to screw you over again, that’s for damn sure.”
“You’re going to protect what’s most valuable to me,” Cole said.
Rusty looked bewildered until he noticed that Cole’s hands were resting on Sharon’s shoulders.
“Aw,” Rusty said. “Son of a…”
Maude coughed loudly into her fist. “Cough cough, pussy! Cough, cough. Pardon me. This is some good shit.”
“Have you still got those breakaway pants?” Cole asked.
“Probably somewhere in the back of my closet,” Rusty said. “Why?”
“Just get them,” Cole said before turning to the scholar in the room. “Professor, we’ll need your brain of course.”
“You have it,” the Professor said.
“Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties?” Cole asked.
“Um, I prefer to go by Natalie off camera.”
“Sorry,” Cole said. “Natalie, can you get me on air?”
“I can swing that,” Natalie said as she turned to the Professor. “And Professor Lambert, I am so sorry I ever doubted you. I’d like to get you on air as well.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Madame,” Professor Lambert said. “When I contacted you earlier, it was not about obtaining fame and fortune for myself but rather out of a need to warn the public of a very significant danger. Now that the public is aware, I don’t know if I…”
“I can probably get NN1 to pay you a scientific analyst fee,” Natalie said.
“Who am I to deny my knowledge to the world?” the Professor asked.
“It’s settled,” Cole said. “The Professor and I will go with Natalie. Moses, I’m going to need to check out your hardware later.”
“You got it,” Moses said.
“The rest of you reconvene at my place,” Cole said. “We’ve got to draw up a plan to take this gator down.”
Sixteen weeks. Wow. Time goes by so quickly.
I suppose “Toilet Gator Sundays” is a misnomer at this point. At first, I pledged that I would only work on Toilet Gator on Sundays in order to give me enough time to finish Zom Fu.
At some point, I began cracking myself up that I just keep speeding through Toilet Gator. Zom Fu is mostly done. It just needs an ending.
My plan at this point is to finish the Toilet Gator first draft, then finish the Zom Fu first draft. Then rewrite both books, get them off to an editor. I’d like to say they will both be out by the end of this year but if it goes into next year, then so be it.
I have come to accept that writing is a long game. I don’t like it, but I accept it.
The gang assembled in a study room at the Sitwell Community College library. Professor Elliot Lambert launched into an impromptu class on toilet dwelling animals.
“You see,” Professor Lambert said. “The average speed for an alligator is approximately ten miles per hour. However, the alligator we are dealing with is not average whatsoever. Given his length and muscle mass, I’m willing to wager our reptilian friend can move at speeds upwards of seventy miles per hour if he really pushes himself.”
“Hell,” Rusty said. “I’m surprised he didn’t get me then. I don’t run that fast.”
“An athletic human running at a vigorous pace can reach twenty miles per hour,” Professor Lambert said. “But tell me, was the alligator doing anything else while he was pursuing you?”
“He stopped to snap his jaws at us,” Rusty said. “And roar. He roared a lot.”
“Well there you go,” the professor said. “Multi-tasking slows this beastie down.”
The Professor drew a rough outline of the state of Florida on a whiteboard. “Remind me, Agent Walker. The first murder where Countess Cucamonga took her final curtain call, so to speak, that happened at what time?”
“Witnesses put it a little after 9 p.m.,” Sharon replied.
Professor Lambert put a dot right around where Miami would be. “And the death of Herbert Hogan?”
“Around 10 p.m.,” Sharon said.
The Professor put a dot on Boca Raton. “And when did Mr. Becker leave us so soon?”
“After 11 p.m.,” Sharon said.
The Professor connected the dots. “All and all, a one hundred and thirty mile trek, completed in three hours.”
“Doesn’t sound so impossible,” Rusty said.
“Not if you have a lead foot,” Sharon said. “And if you’re lucky enough to not encounter any traffic, which never happens in the greater Miami area on a Friday night.”
“And if you don’t have to stop at three separate locations, sneak through security, murder three separate people and then leave undetected,” Cole added.
“A human never could have done this,” Sharon said. “We’ve had our heads up our asses the entire time.”
Professor Lambert said. “Do not be too hard on yourself, Agent Walker. When it comes to the unknown dangers of the animal world, humans have had their heads up their asses for quite some time now.”
“Gordon had theorized that a cult might have been at work,” Sharon said. “Multiple people committing murders in different locations within the same timeframe.”
Rusty stared dreamily off into space. “So much wisdom behind that man’s kind eyes.”
“What?” Rusty asked.
“Nothing,” Rusty answered.
“My new friends,” Professor Lambert said. “I know this comes as quite a surprise, but I have literally spent my entire life studying the impact of aquatic animals who commit toilet murder.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Rusty said.
“You actually kind of look like the type of guy who would be obsessed with toilet animals,” Cole said. “No offense.”
“I stopped taking offense years ago,” Professor Lambert said. “When I realized my research was too important for the future of the human race to ignore. Sure, I could have gotten into a more reasonable line of work but you know what? They scoffed at Columbus until he proved the world was round and I have resigned myself to the sad fact that people will make light of my labors until they realize the cold, hard truth that when they sit their butts down on toilets…their butts are not alone.”
“That video should give you all the vindication you need,” Rusty said. “Say, why didn’t you tell me about all this the day we met?”
“Would you have believed me then?” Professor Lambert asked.
“Nope,” Rusty said. “And no one believed me until the video.”
“Such is the life of a believer in toilet animal related phenomenon,” Professor Lambert said. “Humans are so close-minded that they rarely believe anything that they can’t see with their very eyes. And don’t think for a second that murderous toilet animals don’t take advantage of this lack of faith.”
Maude lit up a smoke.
“Oh, there’s no smoking in here,” Professor Lambert said.
Maude blew smoke in the Professor’s general direction. “And yet, here I am.”
“Well,” the Professor said as he pulled a joint out of his pocket. “If it’s that kind of party.”
The scholar lit up, then caught a glance of Cole’s disapproving eyes. He grew frightened, like he’d just made a big mistake.
“It’s fine,” Cole said. “I’ve been fired.”
The Professor turned to Rusty.
“I quit the force.”
Finally, the Professor turned to Sharon.
“I have bigger problems.”
Convinced no one was about to arrest him, the Professor noted to the group that his habit was strictly medicinal, then took a question from Maude – “How does someone start studying toilet animals? You go bananas or something?”
“A fine question,” Professor Lambert said. “When I was a young boy, my parents were missionaries in South America, working to bring the first sewer system to a very impoverished region. When the project was completed, I was given the honor of taking the first shit.”
“Academy eat your heart out,” Maude said.
“All was going well until I felt the slightest pinch on my bottom…”
“Catholic priest?” Rusty asked.
“A sandwich restaurant chain representative?” Maude added.
“Neither,” Professor Lambert said. “I jumped off the bowl to find a rather menacing looking snake had crawled up through the pipe and attached itself to my bottom. I passed out immediately, as the snake’s venom was highly poisonous. Luckily, a brave fellow sucked all of the poison out of my backside in time.”
“Catholic priest?” Rusty asked.
“A sandwich restaurant chain representative?” Maude added.
“Guys,” Sharon said sternly. “This isn’t a joking matter.”
“Agreed,” Cole said.
Maude threw up her hands. “Well excuse me all over the place!”
The old lady looked at the Professor. “Don’t they teach people how to puff, puff pass at this school?”
The Professor nodded and handed his joint to Maude. She stubbed her cigarette out on the old oak table, completely uncaring about the likelihood that some poor janitor would be called upon to buff out the mark. She then proceeded to suckle the doobie and suckle it good.
“Does she know that smoking isn’t good for a person on oxygen?” Sharon asked Cole.
“She doesn’t give a shit,” Cole said.
“I do not,” Maude said. “And I’m right here.”
“Anyway,” the Professor said. “At that moment, I realized how vulnerable humans are while they sitting on the toilet. Humans have come to assume that their bathroom time is one of the safest times of day. They’re in an enclosed space, they think they are all by themselves but oh no, at any given time, there may be hundreds if not thousands of sewer dwelling animals in their general vicinity, any one of which might crawl up and give an unsuspecting human a nasty surprise indeed.”
“But Professor,” Sharon said. “This is where I’m stuck. How does a great big alligator squeeze its way up through the small pipe that connects a toilet to a sewer?”
“Bone displacement,” the Professor said.
“Excuse me?” Sharon asked.
“Take the average bat,” Professor Lambert said. “It can literally dislocate its bones and smush its body together until it can fit through the tiniest crack in a homeowner’s abode.”
Moses piped up for the first time in this meeting. “That happened to me when I was a young boy once. I’d like to tell you that I reacted bravely but in fact, I hid under my bed until my father caught it and threw it out the front door. For the rest of my childhood, I was convinced he might have contracted vampirism and frankly, I’m still not entirely convinced he didn’t.”
“Your father died five years ago,” Cole said.
“Did he?” Cole asked. “Or did the CIA…”
Cole threw made a stop motion and pointed it at Moses before turning to Professor Lambert. “Continue.”
“Like humans, not every animal within a given species is the same,” Professor Lambert said. “Most fear pain. Most fear death. But some, they are willing to overlook these negative outcomes in order to push their bodies to the limit if it will get them closer to something they desire. Dislocating your bones to the point where you are able to squeeze yourself up a pipe like some kind of backed up ooze has got to be incredibly painful, but they’re willing to do it if will lead them closer to a butt sitting on a toilet they wish to consume.”
“Do all animals have the power to displace their bones?” Sharon asked.
“Not as such, no,” the Professor said. “At this time, I estimate that a small minority of animals have this ability. However, according to Darwinian Theory, these animals may continue to procreate until they dominate the Earth.”
Rusty shuddered. “A world full of killer toilet animals.”
Maude laughed as she puffed on her ganja. “Bullshit! This is so farfetched that if I ever read it in a self-published e-book, I’d give it a one star review and a pithy, passive-aggressive comment.”
“You shouldn’t do things like that, Madame,” Professor Lambert said. “Self-published e-book writers are the backbone of today’s book industry and they should be treated as such. I’m sorry to digress, but I spent so many time self-publishing my toilet animal studies that I feel the pain of any self-published e-book writer.”
“I’d demand my money back too,” Maude said. “Bone displacing toilet animals. Bitch, please!”
Rusty held out his hand. “Yo, Maude! What happened to puff, puff, pass?”
Maude flipped Rusty the bird. “Get your own supply, Narc!”
“Can we steer this conversation back on topic?” Cole asked.
“Yes,” Professor Lambert said. “Many individual animals will often display traits that help them stand out above and beyond their peers. Mr. Yates, you, for example, told me earlier that it seemed as though the alligator in question was communicating with this Buford fellow, that two were locked in a squabble.”
“Sounded that way to me,” Rusty said.
“Sometimes animals will stand out above their peers when it comes to intelligence,” Professor Lambert. “When these animals breed, they added smarter versions of themselves to their species gene pool. The collective IQ of a species grows smarter as a result.”
“Until the entire world is run by damn dirty gators?” Rusty asked.
“It’s not an impossibility,” the Professor said.
“Shit,” Rusty said. “I don’t want to be a slave in a world run by damn dirty gators.”
“Meh,” Maude said. “I still smell bullshit.”
Rusty waved the air away from his face. “I think that’s the dank bud.”
“It’s Mississippi Mud Bud, actually,” Professor Lambert said. “And Madame, I assure you, this is not bullshit. My many years of research have taken me all over the world, where I have encountered toilet piranha, toilet walruses, toilet dolphins…”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember your rant,” Maude said. “Toilet sharks, toilet whales…”
“A toilet whale?!” Sharon asked.
“A killer toilet whale,” Professor Lambert said. “In India. I believe that was the case though I never proved it. I have, however, documented the activities of many toilet animals the world over. My self-published studies are filled with photos of toilet animals engaging in toilet related activities. And, I’m proud to say, they’re often rated with a gentleman’s three star review.”
Maude jerked her hand up and down, pretending to jerk off rather than listen to the professor.
“You scoff, Madame,” the Professor said. “But I’ll have you know that alligators are the masters of toilet murder. They, above all other aquatic creatures, have utilized sewer systems all over the world to take down their enemies though I must admit, I have never encountered a toilet gator as intelligent, organized and vindictive as the one you are all describing.”
“Professor,” Sharon said. “You’ve explained how a toilet gator can sneak through a pipe, but how does it become big again so that it can…”
“Eat the victim?” the Professor asked. “Simple. It reconstitutes itself within the small space, grows too large for its surroundings and bursts out of it, just in time to catch the unsuspecting toilet user in its jaws. A pity really. The toilet user never truly grasps what is going on until it’s too late.”
“Then it shrinks and escapes down the pipe, the same way it came?” Cole asked.
“Precisely,” Professor Lambert said.
“Leaving police none the wiser,” Cole said.
“I can tell you I have spoken with authorities all over the world who were left baffled by this phenomenon,” the Professor said. “Many as skeptical as Miss Fuller here, if not more so.”
“You got any more of this?” Maude asked as she held up the joint.
“Not for free,” Professor Lambert said.
“Bah,” Maude said. “Lousy cheapskate.”
“This is literally the perfect crime,” Sharon said.
“Indeed,” Professor Lambert said.
“Professor,” Sharon said. “I have to say, the way the academic world has treated you is a shame. I mean, here you are, conducting pioneering research in an incomprehensible yet apparently very real field and yet here you are, stuck lecturing at a community college when you should be teaching at Princeton or Yale or…”
“Oh,” Professor Lambert said with a chuckle. “You think I was tossed to the bottom of academia for researching toilet animals?”
“You weren’t?” Sharon asked.
“Of course not,” Professor Lambert said. “All of my research into the world of toilet animals was sponsored by several big name universities. Institutions of higher learning are often willing to jack up tuitions in order to fund all sorts of silly, navel gazing research. Why, I have a colleague who was given full funding to study the mating habits of East Peruvian tree mold spores.”
“Tree mold spores have mating habits?” Rusty asked.
“My good man,” Professor Lambert said. “Put a few tree mold spores under a microscope, dim the lights, play a little 1970s disco music and you’ll swear you’re staring at a scene straight of Studio 64.”
“Sorry I asked,” Rusty said.
“They why are you teaching here of all places?” Sharon asked.
“Justin Bieber,” Professor Lambert said.
“Justin Bieber?” Sharon asked.
“Indeed,” Professor Lambert said. “I am a big Belieber. I know, it’s odd, a man of my intellect and age, to be a fan of such a frivolous young man but what can I say? The lad can carry a beat.”
“He sure can,” Rusty said before he caught himself. “So I’ve heard.”
“In the early days of Lifebox, I wrote a post about how I quite enjoyed Justin’s Beauty and a Beat video,” Professor Lambert said. “The elegance, the choreography, the pageantry, all made to look like it was spontaneous footage of a pool party. Oh how I loved it and watched it over and over. Alas, I didn’t quite understand the far reach and permanent nature of social media at the time and became an instant laughing stock. Only this and one other college would have me after that.”
“Which one?” Sharon asked.
“Arizona State,” Professor Lambert said.
Sharon shuddered. “Yeesh. You picked right.”
The door to the study room swung open. Natalie Brock and Walter walked into the room. “Professor Lambert, they said at the front desk that I could…”
Natalie looked around the room. “Oh, hello everyone.”
“Back of the line, dip stick,” Captain Russell said as his men picked the lock on the front door to the Dufresne McMansion.
“Look,” Sheriff Hammond said. “The boy ain’t right in the head but his Daddy and I go way back. Maybe I can talk him down and end this all peacefully.”
“Fine,” Captain Russell said. “But if that kid’s got a big ass gator in there, you’re going to be the first nugget.”
“I understand,” Hammond said as he drew his sidearm.
“I shouldn’t let you do this,” Captain Russell said. “You’re not SWAT trained.”
The lock clicked. A team member looked up at the Captain and gave him a thumbs up sign.
“We’re in,” Captain Russell said. “Everyone fall in line. Standard two by two formation, eyes in the back of your heads, people. I don’t want any chances.”
Hammond put his hand on the front door and creaked it open. Slowly, he walked in with gun drawn. A joint task force followed consisting of Russell’s SWAT team, FBI agents, and Sheriff’s deputies followed. They were all clad in state of the art helmets and body armor. They also carried high grade firepower, including machine and shot guns.
The task force entered the kitchen.
“Clear,” Hammond said.
They made their way into the sitting room.
“Clear,” Hammond said.
“Something’s not right,” Captain Russell said. “I can feel it in my bones.”
The task force moved down the hallway, clearing several rooms along the way. Finally, their noses caught a whiff of a disturbing stench coming from the bathroom.
“I think we found him,” Captain Russell whispered. “Shit, what the hell did he eat?”
“Potato chips mostly,” came the grim voice of Buford from within the bathroom. “Full of saturated fats and high in sodium and cholesterol. Everything a growing boy needs.”
The task force stacked up, taking positions on either side of the bathroom. Hammond took a spot just to the left of the door.
“Buford?” Hammond asked.
“Hello Sheriff,” Buford said in a depressed tone. “So lovely that you have come to visit me but I must confess, now is not a good time.”
“We just want to talk to you, son,” Hammond said.
Buford sighed, then laughed maniacally. Soon, he simmered down and he spoke as though he were in the midst of a funk again. “Oh, you are a card, Sheriff. I’m sorry, but I’m not much of a conversationalist.”
“Son,” Hammond said. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way…”
“Sheriff,” Buford said. “I feel a desperate urge to warn you and your assorted constables to go back the way you came. Otherwise, I can’t be held responsible for what happens next.”
“You armed Buford?” Hammond asked. “Just throw it down and slide it out here and you won’t be hurt when we come in. You have my word.”
“Oh, I’m not armed,” Buford said.
A low rumble emanated its way out of the bathroom. Russell and Hammond looked at each other, their minds clearly clutched in the grip of fear as the floor began to shake.
“My associate, on the other hand, is armed to the teeth, you might say,” Buford said. “He’s packing roughly eighty razor sharp teeth in his mouth, to be exact.”
Hammond peered around the corner to find the unsavory sight of Buford sitting on the pot with his pants down.
“Pinch off and wipe, son,” Hammond said. “You’re coming with us. We’ve got questions about your big green friend.”
Buford looked at the Sherif and cocked his head to the side. “Oh, I’m sorry Sheriff, but my big green friend would not like that very much, you see. Oh no, he would not like that at all.”
“It’s a trap,” Russell said. “Everyone! Fall back!”
Hammond held up his hand. “No! I got this.”
The Sheriff holstered his weapon and stepped into the bathroom with his hands up. “Now look, son, I’m unarmed. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to…”
“RAARGA!”
The toilet exploded as Skippy crashed through the floor and crushed Buford between his jaws. It only took three chomps for the beast to swallow his longtime companion whole. Most of Buford was in the alligator’s belly now, except for the parts that covered the walls, the floor, the ceiling and even Hammond’s face.
Hammond lost control of his bodily functions. A stream of urine poured down his leg as he stepped backward. “Fuh—fuh—fuh—fall back.”
Out in the hallway, Captain Russell watched as the gator’s mighty jaws snapped Hammond in two.
“Too late!” Russell shouted as he pumped a shotgun blast into the gator’s face. “Open fire!”
Buford sat on a fluffy white couch in his father’s McMansion with a sullen, defeated look on his face. He put on his headset and spoke into the mouthpiece.
“So is this the state you’ve decided to leave me in, Skippy?” Buford asked. “A wanton criminal, mocked my entire life and soon to be despised by the entire world for unleashing you? Destined to be alone forever, without even a Momma or a Daddy to talk to?”
The other end was silent for a few seconds until finally there was a bittersweet, “Raarga.”
“How could you do this to me?” Buford asked. “Were you even my friend to begin with?”
“Raarga,” Skippy said.
“I was such a fool to think I could control you,” Skippy said. “That I could hold you back.”
“Raarga,” Skippy said.
The gleam of flashing lights poured through the big bay windows of the McMansion’s sitting room. Sirens blared as well. Buford stood up and looked out the window to see a number of Grover County Sheriff’s Department cruisers coming up the driveway, along with FBI SUVs and a SWAT team van.
“That’s it,” Buford said. “Game over.”
“Raarga,” Skippy said.
Buford lowered his head in shame as he walked through the halls of the excessively big home. “No, Skipford. Don’t worry. I’ll never become a state’s witness against you. I love you too much for that, though I’m beginning to doubt you ever loved me.”
“Raarga,” Skippy said.
“You have a funny way of showing it,” Buford said as he flicked on the bathroom light.
Buford lifted the toilet lid, dropped his trousers, and sat on the bowl.
“It never had to be this way,” Buford said.
“Raarga,” Skippy said.
“We could have become something greater than all of this, you and I,” Skippy said.
Buford winced as he blasted out a few farts, followed by a wet plop. “Excuse me.”
“Raarga,” Skippy said.
“You know what you need to do now, boy,” Buford said as he closed his eyes.
“Raarga, raarga?” Skippy asked.
“Yes,” Buford said. “That.”
“Raarga,” Skippy said.
Buford listened as a fist rapped on the front door to the McMansion. “You have no choice. A life in prison is no life at all. I need you to stop being selfish and do this for me.”
Skippy was quiet for a moment. “Raarga?”
“Yes,” Buford said. “I’m sure. It’s time for the two of us to become one.”
Cole walked through the hallowed halls of Sitwell Community College, flanked by Sharon and Rusty to his left, and Maude, Moses, and Felix to his right.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the professor, Cole,” Maude said.
“It’s fine,” Cole said. “I never would have believed it until I saw the video. And Rusty, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
“It’s ok,” Rusty said. “I’m sorry I said you’re the same as Hammond. You aren’t.”
“I have so many questions for this professor,” Sharon said. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“I wish I’d of asked him some,” Maude said. “Maybe I could have figured out he wasn’t one of the crazies.”
The gang stopped in front of a door marked, “Professor Elliot Lambert, Professor of Animal Biology and Physiology.”
Cole knocked on the door. Sounds of an intense hacking cough came from inside. “Who is it?”
“Cole Walker,” Cole said.
“The police chief?” Professor Lambert asked.
“Well, former police chief,” Cole said. “But I’d like a word.”
More coughing. “One moment please. I just need to tidy up.”
“Sorry,” Cole said. “I don’t have a minute.
Cole opened up the door to find the esteemed professor sitting behind his desk, taking one last hit off an elaborate purple bong. The whole office smelled like pot smoke.
Professor Lambert shrieked. “This isn’t mine! I’m holding it for a friend!”
Cole turned to Maude. “I think he’s still one of the crazies.”
Cole, Sharon, Rusty, Moses and Felix all sat around a big table at Ruby Sue’s Barbecue, feasting on Steve’s best work.
“Oh my God,” Sharon said as she savored a mouthful of rib meat. “I forgot how good this place is.”
Cole pointed to the side of his face.
“What?” Sharon asked.
“You’ve got a little something,” Cole said.
After Sharon tried and failed to wipe a barbecue sauce smudge off her face, Cole reached across the table with a napkin and took care of business himself. “Here, let me.”
“Thanks,” Sharon said. “I can’t believe how much I missed this place.”
“Really?” Cole asked. “It was always here waiting for you.”
“Was it?” Sharon asked. “I don’t know. I guess there are sometimes you don’t realize how much you love something until its gone.”
Rusty spied Cole and Sharon trading longing looks and stuck a finger down his throat. “Gag me.”
“So Buford,” Sharon said. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know that there is anything we can do,” Cole said.
“Bullshit,” Rusty said. “I say we go find that little prick and pull a citizen’s arrest on his sorry ass.”
“And what’s the charge?” Cole asked. “Talking to an imaginary alligator in the first degree?”
“It wasn’t imaginary,” Rusty said.
“We could kidnap him and take him into international waters, then torture the shit out of him until he confesses,” Moses said. “That’s how the CIA got Chuck Norris to admit he’s an alien.”
“You read that on the Internet?” Sharon asked.
“So much good stuff on the Internet,” Moses said.
Moses turned to Felix. “Say something, ya’ ignoramus! It’s impolite to not participate in dinner conversation, you know.”
Felix ignored his hetero life partner’s command and stuck a forkful of baked beans into his pie hole.
“I’m sorry, people,” Moses said. “Ever since those terrorists pulled out that rusty pair of pliers, Old Felix here has never been the same.”
“Shit,” Rusty said. “Pliers? I’m sorry, Felix.”
Felix nodded graciously towards Rusty, then went to work on a piece of corn on the cob like he was working a typewriter.
“Every time you don’t talk, you let the terrorists win, F-Man,” Moses said.
Felix was too busy eating too pay attention to that remark.
The front door opened and Maude walked in with a book in her hand. She stormed over to the table, plopped down her oxygen tank, then lightly slapped Cole upside the head.
“Ow,” Cole said. “What was that for?”
“You don’t answer your phone?” Maude asked.
“I hate cell phones,” Cole said. “They’re the worst thing ever invented.”
“Oh Lord,” Sharon said. “I remember this rant from the early 2000s.”
“They are,” Cole said. “I wish we could all just go back to the days when if someone needed you, they’d just wait until you’re home to call you. No one is so important that they need to be reachable wherever they are at all times.”
“Christ on a cracker,” Maude said. “You sound older than I am. Everyone scooch over, I’m coming in.”
“Nice to see you again, Maude,” Sharon said as the old lady sat down.
Maude sighed and looked around the table. “What…what is this? Is she one of the group now? Are we supposed to be nice to her again?”
“I have no idea,” Rusty said.
“I just have no idea how to treat her,” Maude said.
“I’m right here,” Sharon said.
Maude smiled and patted Sharon on the shoulder. “Of course you are, dear, so lovely to see you too.”
The old gal held up the book. The title read, “Sitwell High School: Class of 2007. Go Fighting Platypi!”
“I thought you graduated in 1807,” Rusty said. “Wasn’t Abe Lincoln your valedictorian?”
“Bite me, ginger,” Maude said. “I’m not in the mood. I was up all night.”
“You want something to eat, Maude?” Cole asked.
“No thank you,” Maude said. “Food’s the last thing I need. I had the worst case of indigestion but enough about that.”
Maude turned to the senior class photo section. She pointed to a photo of a young, goofy looking boy with a mullet. “Look. Buford Dufresne. Voted Most Likely to Become a Serial Killer.”
Cole looked at the photo. “I mean, its creepy that out of all of the superlatives he got that one, but that doesn’t prove anything.”
“Wait,” Maude said as she turned a few pages. She pointed out the photo of a chubby girl with braces. “Sally Ann Dubawitz. Voted Most Likely to Die Alone and Have Her Corpse Removed from Her House with a Crane.”
“Kids can be cruel,” Moses said. “A little junk in the trunk never hurt no one.”
“Sally Ann Dubawitz?” Sharon asked as she seized the yearbook and looked at the photo. “Countess Cucamonga was from Sitwell?!”
“She was,” Maude said.
“Interesting,” Cole said. “But again, so what?”
Felix took no interest in the conversation whatsoever. His focus was on the restaurant’s television, which was currently playing an old episode of Dumb Dad. It was the one where the father of the family proved himself to be an incompetent buffoon while his wife and children came across as much more intelligent beings forced to put up with their patriarch’s dimwittery. So, in other words, it could have been literally any episode.
“My granddaughter Bernice and Sally used to be friends when they were little,” Maude said. “Those two would come over my house and play all the time but they went there separate ways in high school. Bernice got interested in fashion and boys and Sally got interested in, well, pizza I suppose.”
“Your granddaughter used to be Countess Cucamonga’s childhood friend and you never told us?” Rusty asked.
“I’m old,” Maude said. “At my age, everything blends together. I vaguely remembered Bernice being friends with a chubby girl. I didn’t remember that she was Sally Ann Dubawitz until I saw her picture on the news.”
“Kids are getting chubbier and chubbier,” Moses said. “It’s on account of all the bacon molecules the CIA puts in our toothpaste.”
“Here’s the deal,” Maude said. “Buford has got to be behind all this.”
“We’re way ahead of you,” Rusty said.
“Oh?” Maude said. “Well, have you figured out the motive?”
Felix chomped down on a pulled pork sandwich as he watched the TV. A commercial came on featuring the Mayor.
“I’m Mayor Beaumont Dufresne of Beaumont Dufresne’s Slightly Used Car Emporium and my prices are so low I ought to be locked up in the nut house!”
“Can’t say that we’ve put our finger on that one,” Rusty said.
Maude flipped through the yearbook until she found a photo of a balding teacher sleeping at his desk. “Herb Hogan,” Maude read. “History department. Most likely to keep phoning it in until retirement.”
“Herb was a teacher at Sitwell,” Cole said. “The school where Buford went with Sally before she became the Countess. That’s a connection.”
“It goes deeper,” Maude said. “I called up Bernice and asked her if she remembered anything about Buford and she told me a story about their senior prom. Seems that Buford was canoodling with Sally in the bleachers until Chad Becker…”
Maude flipped the pages to Chad Becker’s photo. “Chad Becker. Most likely to spend ten years on a two-year associate’s degree.”
“…cock-blocked Buford, stole his girl out from under his nose and kicked the crap out of him while Hogan did nothing to stop it.”
Everyone at the table traded glances.
Meanwhile, Felix watched the Mayor’s commercial.
“As Mayor of the fine community of Sitwell, I’m hopping mad that people aren’t sitting well these days. These toilet murders don’t sit well with me and they shouldn’t sit well with you, but y’all got to stop being afraid to go about your daily lives and more importantly, y’all gotta stop being afraid to shit.”
“Obviously,” Maude said. “This incident got stuck in Buford’s craw for years.”
“He seethed with rage about it,” Sharon said.
“Until he finally did something about it,” Cole said.
Felix continued to watch the television as the Mayor opened up the door to his office bathroom.
“Is there a slight chance that the Toilet Killer might get you while you’re on the commode? Sure. But you know what folks? There’s also a slight chance you might get hit by a bus while you’re walking down the street, or that you might get ball cancer from standing in front of a microwave for too long. We all know there’s risks involved in everything we do but we get up and do them anyway.”
The Mayor dropped his pants and took a seat on the toilet.
“If we all just keep taking shits on the toilet, the toilet killer can’t kill us all, can he?” the Mayor asked.
Everyone else at the table was oblivious to the Mayor’s commercial, too focused on Maude’s revelations.
“It all makes sense now,” Rusty said.
Felix took a sip of beer but spewed it out immediately when he saw a massive set of alligator jaws burst through the bathroom floor and grab hold of the mayor. Soon, the toilet was busted, and the entire gator could be seen on television, thrashing around wildly with the Mayor’s body in his mouth.
“Lord-a-mercy!” the Mayor shouted.
One by one, diners elsewhere in the restaurant dropped their food and watched the television in horror. Felix, on the other hand, was the only one at his table watching. The beer sprayed out of his mouth as the normally quiet man choked.
“You OK, buddy?” Moses asked without turning his head toward the TV. “Something go down the wrong pipe.”
Felix’s face turned white.
“Gotta watch what you’re eating, man,” Moses said. “You know you got that acid reflux.”
Rusty turned to Cole. “Buford spent his whole life being pissed at the people who did him wrong, so he took revenge by getting his alligator to do his dirty work for him.”
“Alligator?” Maude asked. “What alligator?”
Felix pointed at the TV and uttered the first words to come out of his mouth since the early 2000s. “That one!”
Everyone at the table turned their attention to the television just in time to watch the severed head of the Mayor get hurled at the camera with the cowboy hat still on it. Diners, waiters and waitresses all screamed as the gator charged for the cameraman. Loud crunching sounds came next, followed by the cameraman’s cries and then, the live feed cut to black.
“Do you believe me know?” Rusty asked.
“Yes,” a dumbfounded Cole said. “And I need that monster’s head on my wall.”
Decked out in a camouflage hunting jacket, Cole peered through the scope of his rifle and took aim at a deer as it lapped up water out of a nearby stream. He’d been trying his best to keep an eye on the animal, though it was difficult, as Moses and Felix had led Sharon and Rusty to his location, and three out of the four were babbling on and on.
“An alligator the size of a boat makes sense to me,” Moses said. “Everyone and everything is getting bigger. It’s because the CIA is putting steroids in our water supply, trying to make every living thing on earth huge so we’ll be better slaves for the impending new world order. I read that on the Internet and you know what they say. ‘If it’s on the Internet then it must be true.’”
“Literally no one says that,” Sharon said.
“Well they should,” Moses replied. “The Internet is full of all kinds of important factual information and also cat videos. Felix loves his cat videos, don’t you Felix?”
Felix nodded in the affirmative.
“What do you think, Cole?” Rusty asked.
Cole stayed quiet as he shut his left eye and drew a bead on the deer’s head.
“Cole?” Rusty asked.
“Huh?” Cole asked.
“The alligator!” Rusty said.
Cole ignored Rusty and maintained his focus on the deer.
“People,” Moses said. “Maybe now is not the time to bother our fearless former police chief. After all, he’s been through an awful lot and the whole purpose of hunting trip is for him to get his mind off losing his job and his leg and his lousy bitch of an ex-wife…no offense, Sharon. It’s good to see you.”
“Offense taken, Moses,” Sharon said.
“Moses,” Rusty said. “I thought we had joint custody of Cole.”
“I wasn’t aware of that,” Moses said.
“You’re his hunting and shooting buddy and I’m his everything else buddy,” Rusty said. “And right now I need him for something else.”
Cole hovered his finger over the trigger and gritted his teeth.
“Holy shit, Cole,” Rusty said. “Will you blow that thing away already so we can talk?”
Cole sighed. He set his gun down and stood up to face everyone. “I don’t shoot harmless animals. I only use them to practice my aim.”
“Wait,” Rusty said. “So all those animal heads that used to hang on your office wall?”
“They started it,” Cole said. “I finished it.”
“So, what?” Sharon asked. “You just put yourself in situations where a dangerous animal will attack you so you can shoot it?”
Cole popped a piece of gum into his mouth and began to chew. “Yup.
“Wow,” Rusty said. “You’re like the Charles Bronson of hunting.”
“I thought everyone knew that,” Moses said with a snicker. “Or maybe that’s just information his really, really good friends know.”
Felix tugged on Moses’ arm. “Don’t be jealous, F-Train,” Moses said. “There’s plenty of Sergeant Moses T. Malone, United States Marine Corps, Retired to go around.”
“You want to know what I think about your alligator story?” Cole asked. “It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Rusty looked sullen. “You don’t believe me?”
Cole saw the pain in Rusty’s eyes. “I believe you think you saw something but…come on man, I know how you drink.”
Rusty threw his hands into the air. “Then how the hell did Gordon die?!”
Cole shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. Sewer gas?”
The sheer frustration was too much for Rusty. “Arrrgh! You sound just like Hammond!”
“I’m nothing like Hammond,” Cole said. “Hammond’s a kiss ass.”
“You’re exactly like Hammond,” Rusty said. “Two Bozos who spent so long in management they forgot what on the line police work really means.”
“You really want to talk to me about on the line police work?” Cole asked.
“Oh sure!” Rusty shouted. “Just throw your leg at me again, Cole! That’s your trump card, isn’t it? Why don’t you just twist the damn thing off and beat me over the head with it already?”
Moses pulled out his phone. “Hold on. I want to get that shit on video if you do.”
Sharon threw herself between Rusty and Cole. “Enough, you two!”
She turned to Cole. “Cole, crazy alligator story or not, my partner’s dead and you know that’s something I just can’t ignore.”
“I know,” Cole said.
“The FBI has banned me from working on this case,” Sharon said. “But it’s pretty obvious that Buford Dufresne is involved in all of this somehow and he’s benefiting from his father’s protection. Can we please get out of here and talk about how to solve this?”
Cole looked into his love’s big brown eyes and felt he could not say no. Still, he had a question. “Why me?”
“Because I can’t tell anyone at the FBI I’m working on this and outside of the bureau, you’re the best damn cop I know,” Sharon said.
“Ex-cop,” Cole said. “I was unceremoniously given the boot after twenty-years of service. Not one member of the town council was willing to step up and take on the Mayor for me. They all rubber stamped the Grover County Sheriff takeover.”
“Don’t do it for them, Cole,” Sharon said. “Do it for me.”
That was all Cole needed to hear. “I suppose I could eat.”
Cole picked up his rifle and took one last look at the deer. “Beautiful creature, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Sharon said.
The deer took three steps through the grass and then…KABOOM! It was consumed in a fiery explosion. Blood and guts rained down from the sky. Moses, Felix, and Rusty hit the deck. Instinctively, Cole jumped on Sharon and knocked her down to the ground, shielding her with his body.
“What the fuck was that?!” Rusty shouted.
Moses raised his hand. “My bad.”
“Your bad?” Rusty asked.
“What?” Moses asked. “Some people hunt with rifles. Some people hunt with Claymore mines.”
“Literally no one hunts with Claymore mines,” Rusty said.
“They’re going to,” Moses said. “They just don’t know it. I’m starting a trend.”
Everyone stood up and headed for the main road.
“You didn’t set any more of those out here did you?” Rusty asked.
“Of course not,” Moses said. “Wait, Felix. Did I set up any more of those out here?”
Felix shrugged his shoulders.
“Shit,” Moses said. “Oh well. Just stick close to me and you’ll be fine.”
“You know if you left more of those out here, a kid might step on one,” Rusty said.
“Aw, who cares,” Moses said. “Builds character.”
Cole and Sharon remained on the ground together just a little bit too long.
“Are you OK?” Cole asked.
“Never better,” Sharon answered.
Bookshelf Battle 