Fog rose off the water as weak sunlight eased it's way through the tree canopy. The creatures of the swamp began their morning rituals, singing and chirping welcoming the day. They wanted to get out there and forage before the oppressive heat and humidity made it next to impossible to move much. Two gators sunned themselves on the bank, waiting for the opportunity to find a quick meal. Luck might have been on their side today, but for two humans floating along. making a racket.
"Now this here spot I'm takin you to will net you some prime crappie, I promise you that. Yes sir, might be some good size bream in there, too. We got plenty of bait for them, that's for sure!"
The small boat slowly eased through the shallow water, past the tiny island where the gators were sunning. At the sight of the big one, one of the boat occupant gasped and had second thoughts about going way out into a Georgia swamp with a virtual stranger who called himself a fishing guide. He didn't say a word about encountering any alligators, never mind one that large.
"Wh..what about that?" The question came out strained, as the customer pointed towards the bank. "Just how many of those things are there out there? Will they come after the boat? Are we actually going to be safe from them?"
"Naw, they are just waking up. You got nothing to worry about from them. They want easy prey- we humans, we aren't all that easy for them. If one does bump into us, well, don't worry none. I'll take care of it."
That didn't bring much relief to the customer, as he nervously looked around. All his confidence fled at the next thing he saw though. "What the hell? What happened to that guy? Is he dead? You gotta get me out of here. This isn't safe- we gotta leave and call the cops! No one said anything about giant damn alligators and for sure not a damn word about no dead bodies!"
The gators watched as the guide and his customer beat a hasty retreat.
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| Photo by Dennis Groom on Unsplash |
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"Yeah, you might want to keep an eye on old Bill over there. He's been known to be on the bold side, likes to slide up on folks and try to get a bite." Encouraging words from the guide who found the body.
"You named him? And if he is so bold, why is he still HERE and not a pair of boots or a belt or something?" Slopping around in the swamp on a steamy August morning was not how I envisioned my day off. Here I was, again, after the call came in for an officer to go to the scene. This was not the first time I had been out in this particular swamp. Earlier this year it was for a murder. At least it was cooler then, even though we had not caught the suspect.
The giant gator laid still, watching our every step. Earl, my guide, pointed out the body that Bill had been checking out. Luckily he hadn't been in the water too long, so there wasn't too much water damage or critter damage. At least, all of his parts that we could see were still attached. Both arms, both legs, one head, one torso- check, check, check and check. Getting the body out of here was going to be a trick, and I was hoping the guys from GSP would take over and handle that.
We eased over the soupy ground, looking for prints and snakes. Along with other gators. According to Earl, Big Bill there had a partner in crime named Ted that tended to hang close, like he was now on the bank. Great. Just great. I thought to myself. Let's just take the chance of being punked and eaten by a couple of gators named Bill and Ted.
Conversation ceased as I got closer to the body. The head was tipped sideways, so I could see part of the face. Enough to see who it was. It was a maintenance guy from a local park that had disappeared in the middle of the night about 2 weeks ago. Rumor had it that he was up to no good, but no one could prove anything definitively. Looks like someone had some proof, and decided to take action.
"Wow, looks like someone was pretty upset with ol Julio, huh?" Earl was quick to remark when he saw who it was. "Didn't he just get back from a trip to Mexico or some such not long before he pulled a vanishing act?"
"Don't go drawing any conclusions there, Earl. We have to do an investigation. You know this. For all we know, he could have been out fishing and had himself an accident of some sort."
"What kind of accident is going to land him way the hell out here, with an extra hole in his head? Naw, my money is on the cornbread cartel getting a hold of him, and taking out the trash."
Apparently, Earl was just full of opinions and ready to do my job for me.
"How bout you do me a favor, and go bring the rest of the team in, so we can take care of this and get out of Bill and Ted's way?"
I watched Bill for a moment, contemplating my chances of escape should he decide that Julio looked like a good breakfast. I picked out a good tree to scoot to and climb, and bent to my task with one eye and ear on the gators. By the time the rest of the team arrived, I had the scene photographed and notes recorded. The victim had one croc on, with the other across the narrow water way over by the gators. I confess, I got a quiet laugh out of a lone croc sitting by two big gators.
My name is Sam Cheaver. Samantha, actually. I am the lone token law enforcement present in our tiny town, located about 30 minutes south and west of the lovely Savannah, GA. Our tiny town is populated by about 376 hardy souls- well, make that 375 now- and survives on tourism year round. We offer some of the states best access to the edges of the massive swamp system, and eco tours, fishing, and hunting are the biggest draws. That, and ghost tours. I'm not sure where I stand on the ghost aspect of things, as I neither believe nor disbelieve in them. Guess I haven't been convinced either way just yet.
As the big guys from Georgia State Patrol wrap up the scene, I am more than happy to make my way on to my department issued truck. Far as I'm concerned, GSP can have this one. The most I've done is issue parking tickets, speeding tickets to drag racing teens, and help lost souls find their way back to their campground. Climbing into my truck and cranking up the AC is a welcome relief, and I sit and jot down some notes while they are fresh in my mind. I may have turned this over to the detectives at GSP, but it pays to pay attention to things and keep good records.
I had met Julio when he first started work at the local campground. He was new to the area, and struck me as somewhat odd. His unruly dark hair that he wore tied up in a manbun, and the crocs he wore instead of safer footwear to do his job in set a fairly low opinion of him from the get go. The owners of the campground took him on out of desperation, as their last guy left for a family emergency that required he move out of the state. Julio was the first applicant to come along. He never did say where, exactly, he was from, and seemed to be pretty adept at ducking and dodging questions.
The rumor mill had a field day with him, creating all sorts of stories and what not. My favorite was his deep involvement with a Mexican drug cartel. The other I got a kick out of was he was undercover DEA, here to bust the influx of pills that had inundated the area. I couldn't wait to hear what Flo at the diner would come up with about this situation. I'd lay my paycheck on the entire populace knowing already that Julio was found very dead.
As I put my truck in gear to back up, a figure appeared in my rearview mirror. I whipped my head around to look in my backseat, but there was no one there. I must be more tired than I thought, cause it sure looked like a male figure was sitting back there. Shaking my head, I eased backwards, and headed down the rutted muddy lane back towards town and a decent cup of coffee. I really needed coffee. Or a vacation, but the chances of that happening were exactly slim and none, so coffee would have to do.
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