driver’s seat. “You guys in Atlanta give them plantations and ladies with hoop skirts. We give them Bubba’s alligators. But only from a decent distance.…”
* * *
THE SIGN ABOVE THE WOODEN arch of the gates around the huge dirty brown pond was inscribed with bold, red letters.
B UBBA’S A LLIGATOR F ARM
B RING THE K IDS
C OME F EED THE P REHISTORIC M ONSTERS
“You can’t say that Bubba isn’t appealing to the basest instincts,” Joe murmured, as they drove under the arch. “And he should be a little clearer. Does he want to bring the kids to feed the alligators?”
“Good point. But you’re not being fair,” Detective Julian said. “Alligators are throwbacks to prehistoric times. Maybe he’s trying to educate the kids.”
“Yeah, sure.” Joe was glancing around the grounds. All of the alligators appeared to be clustered at the far end of the brown-green pond. Other than a long pier jutting out over the pond, Bubba’s farm appeared to consist of three refreshment stands, a gift shop, and a butcher shop sporting the sign with a beefsteak. Fresh alligator meat. “And would you let your kids go out on that pier and throw beefsteaks to the alligators?”
“I don’t have any kids.” He looked at the pier, which had only a slender cord on one side. “Nah, not a good idea. Maybe we’d better have a talk with Bubba.”
“After we talk to him about the scuba equipment. Where the hell is he? The place is deserted.”
“What are you cops doing here?” A truck had been driven through the gates behind them, and a bald man had stuck his head out the window. “I’ve got a license. You’ve got nothing on me. Has the Department of Environmental Quality been complaining? I treat my gators good.”
“No one’s been complaining,” Julian said. “Though I’m beginning to wonder why not. Are you the proprietor of this business?”
“I’m Bubba Grant.” The bald man got out of the truck. “Yeah, I own the farm. I’m just trying to make a living like everyone else. A man tries to get ahead, and all of a sudden the cops are down on him.”
“I’m Detective Julian. This is Detective Quinn. We have a few questions to ask you.”
“I treat my gators good. They’re better off than they would be in the swamp.”
“Do you use any underwater scuba equipment?” Joe asked.
“Are you crazy? I don’t let anyone in the water with the gators. Do you know what that would do to my insurance?”
“Do you have any underwater equipment you use for maintenance? What about when you have an injured alligator or you need to remove harmful debris from your pond?”
“Naturally, I keep my gators safe.”
“So you do have underwater equipment.”
“A suit, a speargun and some spears.” He added quickly, “But I’d never use them on the gators if I could help it. Only self-defense. Maybe to save a kid who fell off the pier in the water or something like that.”
“I’m impressed by your humanity,” Joe said ironically. “May I see the equipment?”
“Sure. It’s in the storeroom behind the gift shop. I’ve got nothing to hide.” He moved toward the shops. “Is this some new rule the DEQ has come up with? Do you want to talk to any of my people? You’ll have to wait for a couple hours. We don’t open until noon, and no one shows up until the last minute. You can’t get good help these days.”
“Why noon?” Julian asked.
“The gators have got to be hungry, or they don’t put on a good show. They won’t come near the pier. People like a little thrill, you know?” They had reached the gift shop, and he pulled out his key, then stopped. “What the hell?”
The jamb of the door was splintered, and the door was slightly ajar.
Bubba was cursing as he pushed the door open. “I’ve been robbed!” He ran to the cash register and checked it. “The son of a bitches thought I’d leave money in here? I’m no dope.” He glanced around the shop and frowned. “I don’t see
* * *
THE SIGN ABOVE THE WOODEN arch of the gates around the huge dirty brown pond was inscribed with bold, red letters.
B UBBA’S A LLIGATOR F ARM
B RING THE K IDS
C OME F EED THE P REHISTORIC M ONSTERS
“You can’t say that Bubba isn’t appealing to the basest instincts,” Joe murmured, as they drove under the arch. “And he should be a little clearer. Does he want to bring the kids to feed the alligators?”
“Good point. But you’re not being fair,” Detective Julian said. “Alligators are throwbacks to prehistoric times. Maybe he’s trying to educate the kids.”
“Yeah, sure.” Joe was glancing around the grounds. All of the alligators appeared to be clustered at the far end of the brown-green pond. Other than a long pier jutting out over the pond, Bubba’s farm appeared to consist of three refreshment stands, a gift shop, and a butcher shop sporting the sign with a beefsteak. Fresh alligator meat. “And would you let your kids go out on that pier and throw beefsteaks to the alligators?”
“I don’t have any kids.” He looked at the pier, which had only a slender cord on one side. “Nah, not a good idea. Maybe we’d better have a talk with Bubba.”
“After we talk to him about the scuba equipment. Where the hell is he? The place is deserted.”
“What are you cops doing here?” A truck had been driven through the gates behind them, and a bald man had stuck his head out the window. “I’ve got a license. You’ve got nothing on me. Has the Department of Environmental Quality been complaining? I treat my gators good.”
“No one’s been complaining,” Julian said. “Though I’m beginning to wonder why not. Are you the proprietor of this business?”
“I’m Bubba Grant.” The bald man got out of the truck. “Yeah, I own the farm. I’m just trying to make a living like everyone else. A man tries to get ahead, and all of a sudden the cops are down on him.”
“I’m Detective Julian. This is Detective Quinn. We have a few questions to ask you.”
“I treat my gators good. They’re better off than they would be in the swamp.”
“Do you use any underwater scuba equipment?” Joe asked.
“Are you crazy? I don’t let anyone in the water with the gators. Do you know what that would do to my insurance?”
“Do you have any underwater equipment you use for maintenance? What about when you have an injured alligator or you need to remove harmful debris from your pond?”
“Naturally, I keep my gators safe.”
“So you do have underwater equipment.”
“A suit, a speargun and some spears.” He added quickly, “But I’d never use them on the gators if I could help it. Only self-defense. Maybe to save a kid who fell off the pier in the water or something like that.”
“I’m impressed by your humanity,” Joe said ironically. “May I see the equipment?”
“Sure. It’s in the storeroom behind the gift shop. I’ve got nothing to hide.” He moved toward the shops. “Is this some new rule the DEQ has come up with? Do you want to talk to any of my people? You’ll have to wait for a couple hours. We don’t open until noon, and no one shows up until the last minute. You can’t get good help these days.”
“Why noon?” Julian asked.
“The gators have got to be hungry, or they don’t put on a good show. They won’t come near the pier. People like a little thrill, you know?” They had reached the gift shop, and he pulled out his key, then stopped. “What the hell?”
The jamb of the door was splintered, and the door was slightly ajar.
Bubba was cursing as he pushed the door open. “I’ve been robbed!” He ran to the cash register and checked it. “The son of a bitches thought I’d leave money in here? I’m no dope.” He glanced around the shop and frowned. “I don’t see
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