Read Alligator for Free Online Page B

action than a whorehouse madam. The bed was partially hooked up for Magic Fingers, the bright idea of one of a long string of owners who had tried to make a go of the hotel. There was a bible on the dresser, and an old twelve-inch television that had been around since the days of Milton Berle. There was the distinct smell of dust and dead flies.
    When Rye was a boy and Everglades was just beginning its long fatal journey downward, he used to peer through the windows at the rich sportsmen who had come down for the weekend. The hotel had always represented the unobtainable to him.
    "Shit!" Rye sat down on the bed and opened a bottle of Wild Turkey. He rejected the smeared bathroom glass and took a swig from the bottle. "Welcome home," he sneered.
    He got up and paced the room. "Too early to go drinkin', too late to be sober." He walked over to the bathroom and wrenched a leaky faucet closed. The rusty handle broke off in his hand, and he threw it across the room in fury. Rye took another swig of Wild Turkey and walked over to the dirty window.
    At the end of the street, an old man in a bathing suit was filling a portable pool with water from a garden hose. Propped against the side of the pool was a hand-painted sign: MAN AGAINST BEAST. SEE THE GREAT KING KONG.
    "Well, I'll be damned," said Rye out loud. "If it ain't gator wrestling." Not since Pete Osceola and his shocking-pink alligator had Rye seen alligator wrestling. As a kid, he had always dreamed of jumping in there and showing that Indian what he could do.
    Rye chuckled to himself. He raced out of his room and down the stairs, whooping with delight.
    By the time Rye reached the sideshow, a small crowd had gathered around Lonny, the thin, wispy old man Rye had seen from the window. He held a megaphone to his lips. "Get ready for the big wrestlin' match!" he screamed in his thin, reedy voice. "King Kong, beast of the Amazon, ferocious man-eater. Killer of thirty blacks, ten whites. Eats pigs whole."
    The old man dipped into a sand pail and threw a scrap of rotten meat into the pool. King Kong bellowed loudly, then, grabbing hold of his ration, took it under the water.
    Rye drew closer to the pool and looked in. King Kong, man-eating alligator of the Everglades, was less than impressive close up. One of his eyes was out, most of his teeth were gone, and his back was chopped and uneven from the scars of past battles and the rigors of age.
    Lonny, King Kong's manager and trainer, was as old and edentulous as his partner. He struck a Mr. America pose, rippling his brittle old chest muscles so the alligator tattooed over his right breast wiggled.
    "Here he is, folks," he yelled, "the most fearsome gator the world has ever seen."
    Pete Osceola, the gator wrestler Rye remembered from his youth, had been a little man with a huge hawk nose, long black hair tied back with a red bandana, and tight muscles that stood out from his thin body like twisted rope. Every time he stepped into the ring, he'd make the sign of the cross. He meant it. Pete's alligator was close to thirteen feet long; the jaws alone had measured three feet, and each tooth was the size of a fist.
    Rye took another swig of Wild Turkey and let it burn down his throat and warm his stomach. The liquor made King Kong look bigger and more ferocious.
    Lonny threw another scrap of meat into the pool. King Kong attempted to roar in response, but all he managed was a sound that resembled a dog barking.
    "Hey, he ain't got no teeth," yelled a kid in the front row.
    The crowd began to laugh. Lonny, turning red and angry, screamed back, "You can't judge a gator's toughness by his teeth!" It was as though he had been personally insulted. The crowd began to laugh even harder at the funny old man and his relic of an alligator.
    Lonny looked around desperately, then whispered, "Go git 'em, King Kong." It was more a plea than a command.
    The broken old alligator understood and lumbered over to the crowd, roaring and hissing,