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Authors: Samantha Verant
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interrogation room at an abandoned police station. Billy Bob closed the door, reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny …
“Don’t shoot us, please!” I screamed. “I didn’t mean to upset Peaches so badly and Grumbling hates my guts. You seem like a nice guy. Can’t we talk about this?”
“Easy now, boy, ain’t nobody hurting you. You’re jumpier than a crawdad on a hot-buttered skillet. I’m just fixing to take your picture, that’s all.”
Billy Bob held up a digital camera and played around with it, mumbling, “Now, let’s see if I remember how to use this thang. I think this is the on button…”
While Billy Bob fumbled around with the camera, Freddie shot me a look that said “let’s get out of here.” Walking backwards, we skulked toward the door and I opened it slowly, its creak giving our intentions away. Bill Bob lumbered over and slammed the door shut. I nearly jumped out of my skin and, because of this, my tail peeked out from under the trench. Billy Bob noticed it immediately.
“Grumbling, hmmm?” He gave me the once-over. “Hey, you that alligator boy who wears the funny green Speedo and plays that rock and roll music? I saw you the last time you came to the outskirts of town. You’re good with the guitar, can jam some. Shame you’re so ’flicted.”
“I’m not conflicted. I’m really all right with the way I am,” I said.
“Boy, not conflicted, af-flicted with the mu-ta-tions.” He drawled out the last word with disgust. “Gotta cousin with some issues, though not extreme like yours. Nice little wee man. No matter, now stand over there.” He held up his camera and pointed to the poster with the outline of Louisiana. “I’m going to…what is it you kids saying nowadays?”
“Hook us up?” asked Freddie.
By the way Billy Bob smiled, I knew we had to play along. We were stuck.
“That’s right, hook y’all up. Now smile real big,” he said, and I did. “Mercy me, kid, you gotta set of teeth on you. Probably could tear a tin can apart like a goat.” He just had to add insult to injury. I sneered right when he took my picture. “Skinny kid, you’re next.”
Once our pictures were taken, Billy Bob pulled out an Apple Powerbook Computer and small printer from the desk, tapped a few buttons, and BAM, like hot Creole spices, we were set. He handed us the cards. The name on mine said Vardon Bean, but Freddie’s was even worse. His name was Francis Wiener. Together, we were franks and beans. This guy had a sick sense of humor.
“What?” Billy Bob belched. “I made y’all eighteen because you surely cannot pass for twenty-one. And that’ll be two hundred clams for the IDs, plus twenty for the room, and fifty to watch the bike.”
I glared at him. This was absolutely criminal.
“Look-y here, don’t you eyeball me like that. My cow died last night and I don’t need your bull.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“You got cloth ears? See this is the way things go, either that, or that nice red chopper y’all rode in on is mine. Virgil’s been keeping an eye out on it for you. Said you’d be paying him fifty smack-a-roos to look after it.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Like I said, this neighborhood’s mine. Ain’t nothing going on around here that I don’t know about. And I’m sure as the Pope’s Catholic, y’all don’t want me to call up that circus of yours.”
Billy Bob cracked his knuckles. The sound, well, it was like I could hear every single one of my bones turning into dust. I could tell Freddie wanted to object, but let’s face it—the man had us. We were being bamboozled. I held up my hand to Freddie as if to say don’t argue.
Snaggletooth licked my arm when I reached into my bag to grab, ugh, two hundred and seventy dollars. At least the dog seemed to be doing okay. I turned my back to Billy Bob while I begrudgingly counted out the money. Before I handed it over, I still needed to be sure of one thing. “Cherry Pie, our
“Don’t shoot us, please!” I screamed. “I didn’t mean to upset Peaches so badly and Grumbling hates my guts. You seem like a nice guy. Can’t we talk about this?”
“Easy now, boy, ain’t nobody hurting you. You’re jumpier than a crawdad on a hot-buttered skillet. I’m just fixing to take your picture, that’s all.”
Billy Bob held up a digital camera and played around with it, mumbling, “Now, let’s see if I remember how to use this thang. I think this is the on button…”
While Billy Bob fumbled around with the camera, Freddie shot me a look that said “let’s get out of here.” Walking backwards, we skulked toward the door and I opened it slowly, its creak giving our intentions away. Bill Bob lumbered over and slammed the door shut. I nearly jumped out of my skin and, because of this, my tail peeked out from under the trench. Billy Bob noticed it immediately.
“Grumbling, hmmm?” He gave me the once-over. “Hey, you that alligator boy who wears the funny green Speedo and plays that rock and roll music? I saw you the last time you came to the outskirts of town. You’re good with the guitar, can jam some. Shame you’re so ’flicted.”
“I’m not conflicted. I’m really all right with the way I am,” I said.
“Boy, not conflicted, af-flicted with the mu-ta-tions.” He drawled out the last word with disgust. “Gotta cousin with some issues, though not extreme like yours. Nice little wee man. No matter, now stand over there.” He held up his camera and pointed to the poster with the outline of Louisiana. “I’m going to…what is it you kids saying nowadays?”
“Hook us up?” asked Freddie.
By the way Billy Bob smiled, I knew we had to play along. We were stuck.
“That’s right, hook y’all up. Now smile real big,” he said, and I did. “Mercy me, kid, you gotta set of teeth on you. Probably could tear a tin can apart like a goat.” He just had to add insult to injury. I sneered right when he took my picture. “Skinny kid, you’re next.”
Once our pictures were taken, Billy Bob pulled out an Apple Powerbook Computer and small printer from the desk, tapped a few buttons, and BAM, like hot Creole spices, we were set. He handed us the cards. The name on mine said Vardon Bean, but Freddie’s was even worse. His name was Francis Wiener. Together, we were franks and beans. This guy had a sick sense of humor.
“What?” Billy Bob belched. “I made y’all eighteen because you surely cannot pass for twenty-one. And that’ll be two hundred clams for the IDs, plus twenty for the room, and fifty to watch the bike.”
I glared at him. This was absolutely criminal.
“Look-y here, don’t you eyeball me like that. My cow died last night and I don’t need your bull.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“You got cloth ears? See this is the way things go, either that, or that nice red chopper y’all rode in on is mine. Virgil’s been keeping an eye out on it for you. Said you’d be paying him fifty smack-a-roos to look after it.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Like I said, this neighborhood’s mine. Ain’t nothing going on around here that I don’t know about. And I’m sure as the Pope’s Catholic, y’all don’t want me to call up that circus of yours.”
Billy Bob cracked his knuckles. The sound, well, it was like I could hear every single one of my bones turning into dust. I could tell Freddie wanted to object, but let’s face it—the man had us. We were being bamboozled. I held up my hand to Freddie as if to say don’t argue.
Snaggletooth licked my arm when I reached into my bag to grab, ugh, two hundred and seventy dollars. At least the dog seemed to be doing okay. I turned my back to Billy Bob while I begrudgingly counted out the money. Before I handed it over, I still needed to be sure of one thing. “Cherry Pie, our
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