Maximum Bob

They had noticed Gary Hammond walk up, one of the deputies nodding to him; but now they were talking, the deputies and the judge, sounding like hunters.

“We musta hit him.”

“Yeah, there’s blood. See, on the cement there? Less he cut himself coming through the glass.”

“No we hit him a good twelve times.”

“More than that, boys. I put six in him before you got here.”

This was the judge, in bedroom slippers and a sport shirt hanging out of his pants. Gary Hammond had appeared in his court to testify and have warrants signed, but had never been introduced to him.

“I know a fella has a gator skull on his microwave,” a deputy said. “Looks like a hunk of rock.”

“We need something heavy, a high-powered rifle.”

“Hit him with an ax. That’ll do him.”

“I think we better get Game and Fish out here.”

“Or some old boy from the Glades, Canal Point.”

Gary Hammond said, “One of you better bring a car around here.”

That got them looking at him. The deputies knew he was a sergeant in the Detective Bureau, worked Crimes Against Persons and was maybe a homicide star. Check the suit. They might know he’d transferred from Palm Beach PD, where he’d kept the island safe for millionaires, but that was about all these deputies would know of Gary Hammond.

One of them said, “Sir, what do we need a car for?”

A mild kind of put-on, polite in front of the judge and his wife.

“The gator walked in there,” Gary said, “it can walk out. What do you do then?”

The deputy said, “I guess run like hell.” With a grin to show he was kidding.

“I’d want a car to jump in,” Gary said, “even if we didn’t have Mrs. Gibbs to think of.” She looked as though she might be in shock or some kind of trance. He saw her eyes half close and the lids flutter as he said, “You know an alligator can outrun a man?”

Gary turned toward the porch, see what the gator was doing, and just then heard a voice that sounded like a young black girl.

“You bes’ hurry up get that car.”

The one in Gone With the Wind, Butterfly McQueen.

That was who he thought of and turned back expecting to see the deputies gri

Now the judge said, “You heard him. Get a car.”

Him? Meaning you, Gary thought, not the voice. The judge ignoring the voice.

Gary said, “Judge,” and introduced himself. Bob Gibbs gave him sort of a nod, that’s all. He seemed more concerned for his wife and took her aside now, whispering to her. One of the deputies walked off and then started to jog. The other three moved toward the porch, though didn’t get too close, talking again, looking at the alligator.

Gary Hammond stood by himself in his neat navy-blue suit.

This morning a few minutes before seven Gary’s boss, Colonel McKe

“What do I do about the alligator?”

“Call Game and Fish if you have to. What I’m concerned with is finding out how it got there.”

So now, the next step… He could call Game and Freshwater Fish, wait around for somebody to come out and kill the alligator. That was a fact, they weren’t going to dress its wounds. Gary watched a green-and-white creeping toward them from the far end of the house, coming past sabal palms, dipping over the uneven ground in low gear. The judge seemed to have a tropical garden out here, orchids hanging from trees… He was taking his wife by the arm toward the squad car. The three deputies were looking that way now.

They could spend half the day waiting for a Game man to get here. Then stand around some more, watching. Gary thought about taking his suit coat off. No, he’d leave it on, he was comfortable in it. He drew the Beretta holstered on his right hip.

Walking past the deputies Gary racked the slide to put a nine-millimeter load in the chamber. They turned as one at the familiar sound it made. Gary kept going, his eyes holding on the gator as he opened the screen door, closed it quietly, walked up to stand over the gator and stare at its head. You could crouch low and shoot it through an eye or into its ear to find its tiny brain. Or you could stand close and aim at a spot directly behind the animal’s skull, drive the bullet straight down to cut its spine. He had seen Game men and contract nuisance hunters kill this way. A shame even when it had to be done. Poachers hit them with an ax or a sledge looking at forty-seven dollars a foot for the hide to make belts and shoes for snappy dressers.

Someone, Gary believed, had brought this gator. It did not know where the hell it was or want to be here lying on a cement floor. There were nicks in its hide, a mark on its skull, a dent, it looked like, where someone had given it a good lick. He aimed the Beretta at the spot behind the skull, the muzzle a foot away, and fired one shot. The gator flattened and lay still.

The deputies waited for him to come out to the yard before they filed in, each one giving him a look before approaching the gator to poke it with a toe.

“I think it was brought here,” Gary said, standing with his back to the kitchen sink. “It could be malicious mischief we’re looking at, criminal negligence, or it could be more serious.”

The judge had come into the kitchen dressed for business in a gray suit and maroon tie. He said, “Wait,” got a glass from one cupboard, a bottle of Jim Beam from another, and poured himself a good one, eight o’clock in the morning. He went to the refrigerator for ice, then moved Gary out of the way to add a splash of water. Now he took a couple of deep pulls on his highball, raised the glass and said, “Ahhh, that’s better. It’s been quite a day. An alligator walks into my house and my wife walks out. She says, ‘That’s it, I’m leaving.’”

“I could see she was scared,” Gary said. “But she’ll get over it. I mean, you don’t think she’ll actually move out, do you?”

“That’s what she says.”

Gary watched the judge sip his drink. He didn’t seem too upset.

“This is the second time it’s happened to her. She isn’t going for three, I know.”

“You had one here before?”

“No, it was up at Weeki Wachee, years ago. My wife was a mermaid at the time I met her. An alligator swam into her act one day and she hasn’t been the same since.” The judge paused to take a drink. “It did something to her, I don’t know what. See, then another one comes along, the poor woman can’t handle it. I said, ‘Well, hon, it’s up to you.’ At least she can go someplace there aren’t any alligators. Maybe in time… I don’t know, people do have phobias. Some are scared to death of cats. A cat walks in the room, they’re petrified.”

There was something here Gary didn’t understand. He said, “Yeah, but everybody’s afraid of alligators. You’d better be. I mean it’s normal.”

The judge had turned and was gazing out the window, at deputies appearing out of the trees, poking through his plants.

“What’re they looking for?”

Gary edged up behind the judge to look over his shoulder. He said, “I think the alligator was brought here.” Then had to step back when the judge turned to face him.

“Why?”

“Well, I did notice driving in, there’s a canal over on the other side of your property where it might’ve come from…”