"Well." Georgie couldn't help but feel a blossom of pride. Everyone knew him. His exploits were famous. That was nice. Still Scurvy had an iron grip on his leg.
"Look, whatever your name is. I don't know your name. I can't say it because I don't know it."
"How long you been here? A hundred years? Long enough to find out the names of your neighbors."
"You learn early not to count the years. But thereís is a divide. We're not — we're different from you."
Big Guy squinted at him, trying to decide if it was an insult or not. Scurvy held firm, his black eye beady on his catch.
"Okay, listen. I don't know your history but why do you think you're here."
Big Guy shrugged. "Sinner."
"Yeah, yeah. But what? What did you do?"
"Lied. Fornicated. Was a glutton." Big Guy was ticking them off on his chubby fingers. "Cheated. Stole. Broke a few necks. Shit like that."
"Commendable. Really." Georgie tried to move a little, causing Scurvy to chomp down harder. "Very good, Mr. — " He'd done it again. Big Guy balled his hands into fists. "Sorry. What if I was to get up and we could talk this through. Man to man."
Big Guy wasn't listening. A curl of smoke came out one ear.
"All right. Here's the thing. Sinners such as yourself, well, honestly, you're a dime a dozen. You're everywhere! The place is littered with you. But here, on this end of the trailer court there's just a few of us. The famous assholes."
"Your place ain't any nicer than mine."
"That's right. We're mostly equal that way."
"Mostly."
Georgie sighed. "You see, some of us are just — were just so much better at our jobs. It's that simple."
The door opened behind Georgie's head. Dolf stood in the doorway, a polo mallet in his hands.
Big Guy stared up at Dolf, framed in the dark doorway.
"Mind your own business, paper-hanger."
Characteristically silent, Dolf simmered and reddened. This was common and had nothing to do with the weather. Spittle gathered in the corner of his mouth. Dolf came down the steps and raised the head of the mallet menacingly.
"What?" Big Guy scowled at Dolf. "You got some croquet in mind? Where's the little blue balls?"
"In his trousers," Georgie whispered, chuckling.
Big Guy had thrown his head back to laugh when the polo mallet caught him up short. Dolf aimed for the soft temple, and hit it. The force sent Big Guy crashing through the picket fence, tumbling into the flowerbeds, smashing the dahlias and everything else.
In the fracas, Scurvy loosened his grip. Georgie regained his footing, scuffling to his feet. As the dust cleared he kicked the gator in the midsection. "Get lost."
Dolf looked at the man in the flower bed without emotion. "Your dahlias aren't going to be ready."
"Thanks to you." Georgie rubbed the punctures in his leg and hobbled over to the fence. "Ruined. Another crop, ruined."
"I've heard that before." Dolf pulled the boots off Big Guy and examined them. "Size fifteen. Too big for me." He looked down at Georgie's ballerina feet. "You're what — a six?"
"You could skin the gator for some classy boots," Georgie suggested. Scurvy was waddling slowly out of the yard. "You want me to wrestle him, snap his neck?"
"Sure," Dolf said, dragging Big Guy over the picket fence. His head thumped the ground like a watermelon. "And get out your little cobbler's bench and twee little hammer. Get the crocodile, old cuss. We have to get rid of both of them."
"Or we'll have to stay longer than forever?" Georgie put his hands on his hips. "You know, we were working it out. He was a little slow but he was getting the concept."
"He was never going to get any concept. And you were going to be hobbling through eternity like Captain Hook."
Georgie picked up the gator's leash. "Poor Scurvy was just obeying orders. I'm a soldier, I understand that."
Dolf handed Georgie a shovel. "Get moving."
"Or what? Once a dictator, always a dictator."
They dug two graves out past the last trailer house where the land veers off into quicksand and black rock. The night was as hot as the day. There wasn't any water. If there had been they wouldn't have drunk it. It was hard going in that earth but they had nothing else to do. The flower show would miss them, Georgie was sure, but he could plead a sudden crop failure. Everyone else did.
Dolf wanted to wait until the last minute to bash the alligator over the head with a rock. Otherwise the stink might get them. Dolf had a very sensitive nose.
"Why not just shoot him?" Georgie asked as Dolf raised a stone the size of a pith helmet over his head.
"With what?"
"With what? With that rifle you've got locked up in your room."
"I haven't got any rifle."
"You know the one, Dolf. The one you keep just in case you might want to blow your brains out. Again."
Dolf glared as only Dolf could glare. "You're beginning to get on my nerves."
"It's about time."
"This has nothing to do with time."
Georgie sighed. "Just kill him." He gazed down at Big Guy in the hole. "I wonder what his name was."
"No, you don't. Then he'd be a real person. The enemy never has a name. Never has a face. Never has a family. And damn sure never has a fucking pet."
Dolf cracked the rock over the gator's skull. They rolled him into the pit and covered them both with shovelfuls of dirt. It was an odd concept, burial in hell. Should have a feeling of finality, but it didn't. How did it work? It bothered Georgie that he hadn't worked all this out by now. Could it be he wasn't as smart as he thought he was? Ridiculous. Preposterous.
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