Alligator by Shelley Katz

lighted on his acne-scarred, round face, making him look something like the man in the moon. Only he wasn't smiling. As a matter of fact, he was doing just the opposite.
    Sheriff Thompson's nose was out of joint. He was a man with a clear and unbendable notion of right and wrong. And if there was one thing that rankled his sense of justice, it was that cocky bastard Lee. If he could have proved it, he would have gotten him for contributing to the delinquency of the Clarke girl long ago. He had known right off when that smartass came back from Nam that he'd have trouble out of him, but little had he expected it would be this big. He cleared his clogged sinuses and chewed on the spittle reflectively. "Ain't nothin' easy," he complained to himself.
    The sheriff looked over at the one and only jail cell. He could see Lee sitting on the bed, staring out into space, and the sight made him wince. The bastard still had that cocky sneer on his face. Jesus, he thought, but wouldn't he give a month of Sunday dinners to be the one to wipe it off. It occurred to him that if he could provoke Lee into a fight, he could get his licks in subduing him. He smiled at the thought and called over to Lee, "Well, Mr. Smartass, you really done it this time, didn't you?"
    Lee didn't answer. Thompson tried again. "Yes, sir, Mr. Hotshot Guide, a general's son, no less. Well, you are in trouble, let me tell you. Way I figure it, we got you for contributory negligence or somethin' like that."
    "I'll be sure to use you for a character witness," answered Lee.
    "That's real smart, kid, real smart."
    "Yeah, well, I ain't never said that was one of my strong points."
    "Now if this was the old times, you know where you'd be," grumbled Thompson. "Swingin' from a tree, that's where you'd be. As it is, you're gonna get a nice clean trial with some liberal ass-lickin' judge. If you asked me—"
    "I ain't asked ya"
    The sheriff leaped up, violently wrenching his large belly full of turkey and biscuits from the desk. "Now you be careful there, boy, 'cause I'm just holdin' myself back from creamin' ya."
    "You got no right to even hold me."
    Sheriff Thompson glared at Lee. It killed him to think Lee might be right, but his better judgment told him that roughing the boy up wouldn't be a wise idea. He lowered himself back into his chair and retreated into reading his book. He made a special effort not to move his lips.
    He hadn't gotten through more than a sentence when Ben Ferguson burst into his office. Thompson could see that the tips of his ears were a bright, furious fed and his meaty jowls were quivering in fury. None of it was lost on Thompson. He could feel the sweat running down his thigh. Ben was a powerful man in town.
    Ben hadn't bothered to knock when he entered; he was angrier than hell, and this omission was meant to bring attention to it. He cast a terrible look around the room and threw a report on Thompson's desk. In all his years as town mayor, he'd never had the kind of trouble he'd had the past few days. First Orrin and Dinks, then those damned tourists pouring into town for a glimpse of the alligator, now this. And Thompson was such a nitwit that he couldn't be trusted to check a laundry list, let alone run a town. Everything was falling on Ben's shoulders, and he didn't like it. After all, he still had a business to take care of. There was a new shipment of veal he hadn't even got a chance to inspect. Ben knew it wasn't really Thompson's fault, but he was the only one handy to blame.
    He grunted at Thompson disapprovingly, turned on his heel, and left, slamming the door behind him. He figured to let Thompson stew on that awhile.
    Thompson read the first two sentences of the report, then threw it back down on his desk in disgust. He couldn't have been more upset if he had just read that the world was scheduled to come to an end at noon. He pulled his portly frame from the desk and slowly lumbered toward Lee, still shaking his head and muttering to