The great fan of the air boat roared in their ears as they sped
across the waters of southern Louisiana. They held their guns ready for
anything in their path on the way to the meetup. The buyer wanted sufficient
tree cover in the swamp for the purchase. Lemmy didn’t like the idea but he had
drugs to sell. A buyer’s eccentricity could be tolerated most of the time. The
coordinates led to an arrangement of shacks on stilts over the water. No one
lived in them. They were entirely for deals like this. They were meant to look
like some swamp person’s little hideaway. Something people in those parts left
alone on general principle.
“There. There they are. Pull right up to them.” Lemmy said
to his pilot. He adjusted his tie and tapped a finger on his machine gun
strapped over his shoulder. Two more boats of Lemmy’s boys followed them in.
Booker and his guys were in row boats and pirogues. They
came out of a part of the swamps you couldn’t take an airboat through. He
preferred using thick trees to cover his exploits and knew he was tough to
follow. He smiled revealing gaps from missing teeth and the sun shined on his
bald head. Lemmy and his boys were suits and ties. Booker’s were scrap shirts
and jeans. Lemmy liked machine guns while Booker’s guys carried rifles and shot
guns.
Lemmy gave a friendly salute as his boat came nose to nose
with Booker’s.
“You think you could pick and uglier place to meet?” Lemmy
joked.
“What? You don’t like the greenery?” Booker gestured in a
wide sweep of his arms. “This is home. Don’t talk bad about my home now.”
“Take it easy. I’m just busting your balls. I got your order
here. Two waterproof plastic crates of white gold, just like you asked.”
“Excellent. We have your money the same way.”
A loud and low growling sound echoed through the shacks and
across the water. All the men did double-takes of their environment to see what
did it. They saw nothing.
“What the hell was that?” Lemmy said.
“Probably just the rugaroo. Legends around these parts say
there’s a monster. Oooooo. Ha. I don worry bout it none. It’s not real.” Booker
laughed.
That’s when a shack exploded off its stilts and flew over
their heads with a savage snapping of wood pillars. Lemmy dropped to his knees
while two of his men went into the water. Booker fell off his boat with a splash.
The beast in the shack’s place stood 14 feet tall and nearly as wide. It had
the head of the biggest alligator you could dream of and stegosaurus plates
reached up from its back. Gator hated evil in his swamp. The legends were true.
Gator had been watching Booker and his men. He knew these
men were up to no good and in his swamp to boot. Ever since evil men used
science to make him into a monster, he patrolled his swamp. Not even littering
college students escaped his wrath. But he only scared those. These men needed
more convincing. Gator was happy to oblige. With a whip of his thick powerful tail,
he turned the shack he hid behind into a flying arrangement of kindling.
Men yelled in terror at the sight of him and opened fire in
panic. It didn’t matter what kind of guns they had, the bullets were worth less
than falling acorns. Gator let out a roar that rippled the water and pushed boats
away. Then he charged into their midst. He snatched a rowboat out of the water
with one enormous hand, flinging its occupants into the air. He threw that boat
at one of the air boats, smashing both to bits. More men were thrown into the
drink. Two were severely injured.
Gator didn’t want to kill anyone. He did want to make sure
he left a lasting impression on these men to never come here again. Another whip
of his tail capsized every one of Booker’s remaining boats with a powerful
splash and wave of swamp water. Another stilted shack collapsed into so much
driftwood garbage. In moments, only Lemmy remained on his boat and all others
were trashed. Booker stood up in the water choking for breath.
Gator grabbed Booker up out of the water and put him on the
airboat next to Lemmy. He took up both plastic containers of drugs in one huge
hand and showed them to the men. Gator cocked his arm back like a professional
baseball pitcher and threw the two containers out toward the Gulf of Mexico.
The two shocked men watched as over a million dollars in cocaine flew out of sight
into the distance.
Gator turned back to the men and roared in their faces as
they screamed like children. Lemmy felt himself defecate.
Gator left them with one word before turning and lumbering
away.
“GO.”
Before disappearing into the trees, Gator picked up some wreckage
and threw it at the last standing shack, reducing it to splinters.
Now they knew the legends were true. Word still got around.
It’s his swamp. No trespassing.
