Maximum Bob

“So

Elvin said, “Yeah, I was hoping you might show me your movies.”

There he was trying to smile again, act natural, sucking at his teeth. The other teeth-sucker-Hector?-stood there staring. Elvin couldn’t tell from their plates what they’d been eating. Something with brown gravy all over it. It looked pretty good, whatever it was.

The doctor was saying, “No, I don’t have those movies anymore, they’re gone.”

Elvin thinking, Bullshit, but said, “Well, I just wanted to tell you So

“Listen, that’s good to hear. I’m happy you stopped by.”

“I bet you are,” Elvin said. “Maybe if I’m over this way again and you’re home…”

“Of course, anytime. If I’m here you’re welcome,” Dr. Tommy said, holding out his arm to mean either his house or pointing to the door.

His guy Hector moved past them to show the way out, Elvin telling him in the hall he knew the way and getting another dirty look over the dink’s shoulder.

When they were in the pickup again heading out the drive, Dale said, “I thought you were go

“I am,” Elvin said.

“Well, when?”

“I haven’t figured out how yet,” Elvin said. “You hurt a guy for another guy, you want to see something in it for yourself, if you can.”

The one guy tried to give Kathy a hard time.

When she asked if Dale was home and they invited her in, they were okay for about half a minute. Once they started goofing around, insisting she have a beer with them, she brought a wallet-size case out of her purse and held it open to show her ID and shield. See it?

No shit, a probation officer? Acting like they’d never heard of one before. They were both pretty ripped, their eyes shining like glass, and still drinking, a dozen or so longneck beer bottles on a wooden crate they used as a coffee table. One of the guys stumbled over to the sofa and fell into it. She was watching him when the other one grabbed the ID case out of her hand.

“Katherine Baker? You’re Cuban, aren’t you?”

Everyone interested in her nationality. “I’m Department of Corrections,” Kathy said. “What are you?” A rockhead for one thing, no doubt lights popping in his brain.

She snatched her ID case back before he decided to keep it and he didn’t like that one bit. Gave her a snarly look and tried to grab it again. He reached for the case and Kathy got hold of one of his fingers, the little one on his right hand, and bent it back enough to make him say “Owwww, hey,” hunching his shoulders. He made a fist with his other hand, cocked it getting a mean look and she bent the finger some more. This time he yelled out, “Jesus Christ, let go, God damn it.”

“If I do, you’ll behave?”

“I’ll bust you in the mouth if you don’t.”

She said, “You mean it?” giving the finger a twist. He was a big guy and that finger was thick.

He said, “Okay okay okay,” trying not to move, his shoulders hunched up again.

It was a tough situation to get out of.

Sooner or later she would have to let go. Then what? If he wanted to hit her, he would. She had a pistol Tony, her Metro-Dade brother, had given her and was licensed to carry, but kept it in her apartment. Corrections said probation officers shouldn’t get into situations like this, so there was no reason to pack. Walk away and call the cops. This had happened before and she wasn’t hit when she let go. But those times it was different, the guys were on probation. She told them, “Don’t ever touch me again, or even think about it,” and they backed off, knowing she could violate them, maybe break a finger, too. But this guy wasn’t on probation, that she knew of. If he hit her she could call the cops, get him for assault. Then have to appear against him in court, spend all that time…

“You know my name,” Kathy said. “What’s yours?”

He told her it was Ron, easing his shoulders down.

“You don’t want to get in trouble, do you, Ron?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You go

“Yes, ma’am. Anything you say.”

She did not want to let go of that finger, but said, “Okay then,” because she had to sometime and let go of it. Before she could move he grabbed her by the shoulders, threw her down on the sofa next to the other one sitting up asleep, and got on top of her, got her neck bent against the cushion smelling of mildew, one of his knees between her legs, working it up tight against her.

He said, “You know I just got out of jail?”

Wanting to scare her if she wasn’t scared already. Or maybe impress her, a guy his age.

“I know you’re going back, you don’t get off me.”

“You like to broke my goddamn finger. I never even touched you.”

“You’re touching me now, Ron.”

“Showing you I can be nice if I want.”

Breathing his beer smell in her face. She turned her head enough to see bare dirty windows, a lamp without a shade, paint peeling from the stained walls and ceiling.

“You’re a nice guy, then get up.”

“But I like it here. I’m close to it, huh?”

“You think you’re go

“If I want, and I’m getting the urge. Feel it?”

She said, “Ron, I can break something else besides your finger.” And heard the door bang open.

Ron started to turn his head.

Now she saw a cowboy hat up there above them and Ron was gone from her yelling “Hey, shit-” as he was yanked away, knocking longnecks off the crate they used for a coffee table and she saw who it was in the straw cowboy hat, Elvin Crowe, holding the young guy Ron by his belt and shirt collar in back. Kathy pushed up in the sofa to straighten her shirtdress, get it down over her bare thighs. She saw Elvin looking at her and saw Dale now, Dale moving out of the way as Elvin threw Ron out the door. Elvin came over and pulled the other one up from the sofa, grunted with the effort but didn’t look at her now or say a word. She saw this one’s eyes come open, startled out of sleep, no idea what was happening. Elvin dragged him to the door and now this one was gone, out into the night. She saw Elvin turn to her adjusting his cowboy hat, though it hadn’t been touched, setting it straight again over his eyes.

He said to Kathy, “Now then, can I get you something? A cold drink?”

7

The alligator, a ten-foot female weighing about five hundred pounds, opened her eyes and, after several minutes, moved her head from side to side, drowsy, disoriented, not knowing where she was, not catching the scent of anything familiar other than grass and dry soil. No water close by. She raised her head and hissed in the night, in the sound of insects. The wind rose and with it came a scent she recognized as something she liked that she had smelled before sometime in her life and had eaten. After several more minutes she began to move in a sluggish sort of way as though half asleep, not entirely upright on her legs, brushing the grass with her tail. The scent she liked became stronger as she moved and kept moving until her snout touched something she had never smelled before. She sniffed and air came through it into her nostrils, bringing a strong scent of the thing she liked. Now she pushed and whatever it was in front of her bent against her weight until it gave way and the alligator walked through it and felt the ground cold now, smooth and hard. The scent she liked was here, though not enough in one place that it would become the thing itself she could fasten her jaws on and tear or take into her mouth whole. She settled on the cool ground, feeling it become warm beneath her as she went to sleep.