Lock, Croc and Two Smoking Barrels

Michael started to row towards a distant gray rock. As he got closer, he realized it was cylindrical. This was no rock. It was the drainage pipe Odile had talked about. He hurriedly paddled to it, the water growing shallow enough that he hopped out and walked the boat up to the opening of the pipe.

There was no grate or anything else obstructing the outlet pipe, thus how Odile was able to swim through it. Inside the pipe, on the left side... were six very faint circles. They were far more superficial, even her sharp claws not designed to tear metal as easily as wood or flesh, but this was definitely the pipe leading to civilization Odile had found.

And from here to the hut... he had seen hide nor hair of her. If she had hair, which she didn't. So, where could she be hiding?

At the mouth of the pipe was a little detritus, some litter from the human world. He looked through it. There were a few ice cream sandwich wrappers, crushed beer and soda cans, a few condoms he wisely decided not to touch... and a crumpled hat with a familiar face on it.

Embroidered on the face of the hat was a pirate's smiling face under a tricorne. He had a beard, but no mustache, and stubbornly held onto both eyes.

Everyone in southern Florida knew this face. This was Salty Peter, the mascot of the Salty Peter's Cove of Fun. He wasn't as famous as his Orlando-based mouse counterpart, but if you decided to drive right past that for whatever reason, you'd wind up here.

There was no way she'd wind up there... would she? She did say she was getting a spine-apple, the kind these kitschy places love to hollow out and fill with grain alcohol. It would explain the soda, the bananas... it's not like she could have easily obtained them from a supermarket.

Could she have been caught by them? Or injured by some aggressive fisherman? If bullets didn't hurt her, no fish hook could hope to pierce her skin. Could she have tangled in one of those giant nets they use to grab clams from the bottom of the ocean? No, Odile said she avoided the ocean, and she'd surely hear a giant boat coming.

If Odile had been stealing from this resort, he would have to investigate. He dragged his boat onto the land, taking the oar with him. Anyone wanting to spontaneously steal an unsupervised boat would have to paddle with their hands, and if they wanted it that bad, fine, it's theirs. Have fun.

With the oar as a makeshift walking stick, Michael walked inland, his feet touching dry sand and earth for the first time in days. He walked away from the white noise of the water, looking for civilization. He hoped he could find a roadway or store where he, a grown-ass man with no children, could ask how to get to Salty Peter's Cove of Fun.

Chapter 11: Croc Star

On his uncertain way towards Salty Peter's Cove of Fun, the first place he found was a gas station with a payphone. He got change by placing a dollar in the 'take a penny' ashtray and used the phone to call a taxi. He was only a few miles south of Salty Peter's, but after being in the wilderness for so long, and with the day fading, to hell with walking and possibly getting lost again. This time, getting lost would almost certainly not work out as well as it did when the tradewinds took him to his scaly swamp enchantress.

They stopped at a branch of his bank to get more cash, mostly to help pay for this cab ride, since this cab apparently didn't take credit cards. He also stopped at a different, less crappy gas station to get some provisions Odile couldn't have provided him.

What a joy it was for him to finally step into an air-conditioned building. He felt the sweat leap off him, drying into an unpleasant film. The clerk stopped him for entering the establishment without a shirt. He did have shoes, though. Michael always thought that meant you need to have either shoes or a shirt on. Rather than leave, Michael grabbed one off a rack of novelty T-shirts and put it on. The clerk backed off.

Michael bought a pack of moistened towelettes into the lav and gave himself a quick wash. He left with a few bottles of water, a travel toothbrush and a wrinkled piece of pizza that looked like it had sat under that red heat lamp for days. The cabbie told him not to get cheese on the back seat, but there was no danger in that. He inhaled the greasy thing quickly, none of it escaping his mouth to ruin any back seat. He brushed a few crumbs off his fingers on his brand-new T-shirt.

Look at him, he thought. My girlfriend leaves for one day and here I am, I'm eating pizza and going off and going to the amusement park without her.

Fifty-two dollars later, he arrived at the entrance to Salty Peter's, his giant steel facsimile sitting on a treasure chest just before the entrance, the gateway to the park underneath his knees. It was about four o'clock, and the woman at the ticket counter told him he wouldn't be getting much value out of his trip today, since the park would only be open until 8PM. He insisted he would do fine, and he did not want to wait until tomorrow. She did tell him his bottles of water weren't allowed in the park, so he stepped out of line and drank them both, tossing the bottles in the trash.

He entered a smaller line, where men, women and children alike placed their hand in a metal post with a hole like a mailbox. At his turn, he put his right hand inside, and a piston gently kissed his hand and printed a blue skull-and-crossbones on it.

Michael sighed and looked around. Somewhere in here, Odile might be hiding or trapped. She certainly wouldn't be in plain sight. He looked around for the outlet pipe that she'd used to get here in the first place.

Salty Peter's Cove of Fun was divided unevenly in two segments, shaped like a lopsided infinity symbol: a larger area for kids and their supervising adults which included carnival games, pools, water slides, a nine-hole mini-golf course, which seemed like a ripoff to him to only get nine holes, and a theater where robot pirates sang to you about the joys of sharing. Pirates, of course, were known for having a different philosophy about sharing in their time. In conversion for use as child's mascot, no fictional warrior had so many of its sharp edges buffed off as the pirate. Salty Peter didn't even carry a gun, not even a sword! If anyone wanted to rob him, Salty Peter was screwed, and no song about the joys of sharing would dissuade the drug addict who just wanted to score.

Michael explored the parts of the park that were closest to the water, looking for the pipe. It would probably be painted to look like something else here. He walked past the tidal pools, the water slides, but saw nothing unusual. He'd had loved to climb to the top of the water slide to get a look at the whole park, but he was too tall and old to actually go down the slide. The novelty map he'd been given at the entrance was little help at all. One would think the ONE thing a pirate themed park would get right were maps!

He stopped for a paper cone of cotton candy; he wasn't really hungry, but he hadn't had this since the last time he was here, when he was maybe ten. By the time the blue puffball was mostly eaten, he had come back to the entrance of the park. He had seen nothing that looked like the pipe. Maybe all the infrastructure was hidden more carefully in the kid's section of the park to not break the illusion, the idea that led them to paint broom closets to resemble stone castle doors.

Maybe the pipe was in the other section. This was the 'adult' area, but not in the sense of anything fun or dirty. It was simply more of a resort, including restaurants, reasonably sized hotel, and even live shows that didn't involve robots that sung about friendship.

He passed between the umbrella tables, heading towards the pool. The far edge of the pool had some concrete that lead to a large beach area, a bit too rocky to sit and sunbathe on. Michael remembered Odile had stolen their bathing suits from some poor couple looking for a remote location to have sex. Maybe it was over here.

When he turned a corner of bushes, he heard some rustling of clothing and hushed talking. Two young people were putting their T-shirts on. The woman clearly didn't have her bikini top under her shirt.

"I'm sorry. I'm just looking for a friend." He said.

The guy looked to his mate briefly. "What do they look like?"

Michael put his hand up. "About yea high. Green eyes..." His description stalled. Green, scaly skin, long tail, razor sharp teeth... big old titties.

"What color's her hair?" The man asked.

"She doesn't have hair." Michael said. "She... shaves it. She's a swimmer."

"I haven't seen any bald chicks around."

"All right." Michael looked past the pair, not seeing the pipe anywhere in the distance. The two didn't look like they were going to move. "Have a good night." He turned around, and he could immediately hear them sling their T-shirts back off and get back to business.

Lucky them.

Michael entered the hotel and explored the lobby, finding it connecting to a smaller building nearby. There was a sign advertising a live animal show, with a new label in the shape of a twelve-point star advertising a brand new show to premiere tonight.

Michael shilled out a few more bucks to take a seat in the second row. The lights dimmed and a spotlight dropped onto a man in a red lion tamer's outfit. He had a top hat and megaphone, but no whip. Apparently, he was Salty Pete's brother, Salty Greg, and this was his amazing sea animal show.

The next half-hour were filled with random animals doing tricks, most of them jumping through some sort of hoop. A dolphin sailed through a hoop hanging from the ceiling. Penguins slid down an icy slide and through a small hoop. After promising a ray would go through the hoop and encouraging the audience to tell him it was impossible, Salty Greg swept a hoop through the water, a motionless stingray passing through it. He followed this up with a "Ta-da!" that would have put Rip Taylor to shame.

Salty Greg seemed to notice most of the bags of popcorn were empty, which meant it was time for the intermission. But he had one more exhibit to show off. "Tonight, we have something brand-new at Salty Pete's Cove of Fun. She's the missing link between humans and animals. She can breathe air, water, she can bite through a steel rod..."

Michael felt his stomach sink through his pants. His head felt heavy, like there was nothing under it. Greg's voice faded into a mute squeak. Michael thought this might be what this was all leading up to, but he was not ready for it.

"Ladies and gentleman... the Amazing Alligator Woman!"

Several spotlights moved to a high door on the stage. The audience filled with gasps. Odile was up there, still wearing the pink bikini she'd found. Her arms were out in the T-pose. She pulled them close and jumped off, splashing into the water. She swam around the tank, briefly visible in the plexiglass tank before resurfacing on the fake stone platform above Salty Greg.

The audience was filled with applause. Over the noise, Michael cried out indignantly, "Alligator?!"

But nobody heard him. Greg gestured wildly to her. Odile was looking at the crowd, bewildered. She'd probably never seen a crowd before, much less been in front of one.

"You might wonder how she came to be. Well, moms and dads, please cover your little ones ears, but... her father was a lonely man who lived out in the swamp, and one thing led to another, and nine months later..."

Laughter burst out of the crowd. Michael felt anger swell in him. He grabbed his arm rest to stop his hand from balling into a fist.

"And not only is she a great swimmer, she's strong. Would you please take a bite out of this steel rod I have here in my pocket for no reason?" Greg had made his way to the higher stage and handed her a silver rod. She held it with both hands, sniffed it, looked at him sideways, and took a bite.

Michael held his hand out in shock. She was strong, but she could never bite through steel. She was going to break all of her teeth. How could this cruel moron force her to--

Odile bit through the steel rod effortlessly.

Applause.

She chewed the strange morsel once or twice, a foreign act for her to chew anything at all. Greg took the rod back into his pocket, and the applause drifted to laughter as she blew out the 'metal' chunk, which floated like styrofoam on the surface of the nearby water.

"You'll never need to recycle your cans and bottles again. She makes a goat look like a picky eater!" Greg called out, looking at her. Odile was looking out into the audience.

Michael stood. She was looking at him. And he was looking at her. She stepped off the edge of the stage and into the water. The edge of the tank was too high for Michael to get to, but he walked up to the clear window in the tank. They found each other through the plexiglass. Michael put his hand up, and Odile put her clawed hand in the same spot.

I found you, Michael thought. He was breathing hard. All day, he had seen plenty of women walking around in bikini tops, thongs, so much nearly nude female flesh, the kind that haunted his dreams... but nothing happened as he walked around. Seeing Odile again made his heart thump like a timpani, ringing in his ears.

Odile, seemingly overwhelmed, pressed herself against the glass. Greg improvised some line about the animal empathy she must feel, and then Odile pulled her bikini top apart and pressed her tits against the glass, rubbing them up and down.

"OK, everybody, we're going to take a short intermission, but we'll be back with Act Two!" Greg rushed as a curtain fell from the ceiling, landing just in front of Michael. He sidestepped to the right to try to get behind the curtain, but was intercepted by Salty Greg. "Hey, mister! What was that?"

Michael looked at Salty Greg like he wasn't sure he was talking to him. He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess she likes me."

"Well, be careful, there, Romeo." Greg said, out of earshot from the children. "These gator chicks will bite your dong right off."

Michael didn't respond. He was aware of that possibility. Thanks for the warning, sailor. Greg walked off through a door marked "Employees Only."

The crowd had mostly filtered out, the air filled with pirate-themed muzak. Michael had found her, but what could he do now?

He scoffed, disgusted. Alligator, he thought.

Alligator, indeed!

Chapter 12: Jailhouse Croc

Michael watched the second half of Salty Greg's asinine aquatic animal extravaganza. Odile did not make an appearance in the second act. It felt a bit like blowing your load too early. Start with ordinary animals, introduce this amazing humanoid chimera, and then go back to the stupid animals. It'd be like a petting zoo with a dinosaur exhibit in the middle. Nobody's going to care about the goat after they get their photo with the stegosaurus.

The crowd dispersed, the show was over, Salty Greg went through the Employees Only door. Michael just sat there, looking around. He waited for the crowd to be almost entirely gone before he started to make his way to the Employees Only door.

He turned the knob and poked his head in. There was a long hallway in both directions, heading behind the stage. One had a streak of water along the concrete that hadn't yet evaporated. He went towards it, assuming that would lead him towards Odile.

A door swung open, and he ducked behind it. A few guys walked out, dressed in street clothes. Maybe it wasn't so weird to be walking around in street clothes back here, but his novelty T-shirt screamed "tourist" to anyone looking at him. He looked into the room and saw the men's locker room. A shower was running in the distance, but someone had hung their blue polo uniform shirt on an open locker door. Michael grabbed it without a second thought, tossing his horrible novelty shirt away in the trash.

Michael had just got the shirt tucked in when someone outside the locker room called out and startled him. "Hey!" The stranger shouted. Michael jumped. "Who are you?"

Somehow, Michael had not turned around when he was asked this, giving him a chance to look at the name tag on his left breast. He had to know what name he'd have to answer to while undercover--

The nametag was "Michael." Sure, it was a super common name, but what the fuck? How lucky could be possibly be?

He turned around slowly. "Michael, sir."

The man squinted at Michael. "You new?"

"Yes, sir." He answered.

The man continued to look over Michael uncertainly. He shrugged and let it go. "OK. I just never seen you around. I'm Kris, I run the light board for the live show."

"Nice to meet you." He almost got found out by the guy who runs the lights for their crappy show? If he was going to get caught, it could at least be by the manager or owner or something. Even getting thrown out by Salty Greg would carry some dignity.

Kris went off, his job apparently not strenuous enough to need a shower afterward. Michael continued to explore the back rooms, looking for a security room of some kind. After one other employee looked at him with the gentle squint of unfamiliarity, Michael pulled a clip board off the wall and hustled around with it, occasionally looking at it. Once he did that, everyone avoided looking at him, hoping they wouldn't slow him down or write down their names on his important-looking notes. (The clipboard has a list of sign-ups for what dessert to bring to a company picnic. Why would you have company picnics when you work at a theme park?)

Michael eventually found the security room. In there was a guard sat before sixteen security monitors, tipped back in his chair, hat over his eyes, asleep. This was like a cartoon or something. He entered the room and looked at the screens. He saw a black-and-white image of Odile in the corner of some room in the facility. She was still here.

The sleeping guard had his keys hanging from a carabiner clip, hooked into one of his belt loops. Michael quietly withdrew his Swiss Army knife and cut the belt loop, freeing the keys. The guard didn't stir. This would definitely come up in the guard's next performance review.

Now able to go anywhere he wanted, he looked for where the animals were kept. It couldn't be that far away from the stage, could it? He explored the backstage, continuing his quick, angry walk that made everyone get out of his way. He found a door that said, "Authorized Personnel Only." That seemed redundant, since he was already in the zone designated only for employees.

The door wasn't locked, which saved him from having to fumble with keys and look like a jackass. Inside were several animal cages, most of them empty. One held the penguins, their cell split between water and land. The last cell...

Odile was in the corner, head on her knees, her tail still. Michael threw himself against the bars. "Odile!" He said in a strong whisper.

She looked up. "Michael!" She gasped, then chuckled a bit. "It's been a while."

Michael started to go through the keys to figure if any of them went to the cage door. "What happened?"

"I got caught." She said. "They tangled me in a net. It was like the six-ringed thing, but worse. I tried ripping it, but by the time I could get free, they got me around the neck. I think they saw me because of the pink swimclothes... I should've known better. I should never have dressed like you cityfolk."

"Don't be silly." Michael kept trying keys. "Maybe it's not good camouflage, but it's good fashion. Why don't you come over here to the door?"

"I can't." She stood, revealing a metal collar around her neck, itself affixed to a chain and that chain mounted to the wall. She had only a few feet of chain, allowing her a small quarter-circle of her cell to sit in. They lock her up, and refuse her even part of her own cell to sit in.