Max Gore Presents: Crocodile Tears

Clark’s cell phone rang, and without checking the screen he let the call go to voicemail.

He finished pouring two tall glasses of California Chardonnay, being oh so careful not to let any spatter his flowery canvas kimono. The tiled kitchen floor felt chilly in his bare feet. He took a generous sip from both rims and savored the wine’s creamy notes of vanilla bean, almond, and tropical fruit as he hummed a bit of Mozart’s “Queen of the Night.”

The cell phone rang again.

Apparently, this caller wasn’t taking the hint, so Clark finally answered.

“Yes, what?”
“Sir, it’s Debbie.”
“This better be good, Debbie. It’s my day off and I’m, ahem, busy.”
“Sorry, sir, I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.”

Clark sighed like a passenger seeing a toddler board the plane.

“Fine, what is it.”

There was a pause.

“Sir, LaBelle has escaped from her pen again.”

“Shit. Really? How?”

“We still don’t know, sir.”

“Have any of the guests spotted her yet?”

“No, sir. We have no idea where she is. I have everyone on the team searching that area. We close in ten minutes, but we can’t have guests here with a loose crocodile running around.”

“Okay. Hang on; let me think up a plan.”

Clark, the Meriwether Zoo’s general manager, put his cell phone on mute so Debbie Maxwell, the woman in charge of all reptiles, wouldn’t hear what he said next.

It would break her heart to know what he’d been doing.

Towards the open bedroom door, Clark hissed, “They know you’re missing.”

He heard a loud banging, like the bed was being shaken by underpaid movers.

A gruff voice from the bedroom said, “Damn. Already? I really thought we’d have a little more time.”

“Yeah, it’s Debbie on the phone. She said they have a search team activated. What do you want me to do?”

Clark heard a deep chuckle.
“You worried they’ll find me here, Clark? Ruin your career? And your precious reputation?”

“What? No! I . . . hang on.”

Clark—kimono flapping—jogged with both wine glasses extended to the bedroom without spilling a drop. He placed the drinks on the nightstand and took a knee next to the bed, then kissed his soul mate on her neck as she lay half-covered.

“Belle, you know I adore you, but nobody can know about us. This has to be a secret, my love. You know that.”

Tangled up in the double-king-sized canvas sheets he had special ordered just for her—well, for them—was LaBelle, an eight-and-a-half foot female Nile crocodile, who’d been born in captivity at the zoo.

She wore a specially made crimson leather nightie, another gift from Clark that had been hand cut and triple stitched to compliment (and withstand) her difficult figure. LaBelle’s long, powerful tail jutted out from under the bed linens, and Clark had to do his best just to focus on her magnificent yellow eyes.

“We knew this couldn’t last long,” said LaBelle, her bulbous tears staining the canvas pillowcase. “We’re lucky it happened at all.”

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” whispered Clark. Then he remembered that Debbie was still on the line. “Shit!” He held up his cell phone for LaBelle to see. “What should I tell Debbie? She’s going to want me to come in and help locate you.”
The freshwater crocodile didn’t say anything, just kept staring up at the ceiling.

“What?” Clark said. Still nothing. “Belle, what?”

Clark moved his hand to caress between two of her back toes, gently at first and then with more passion. The feel of her soft, silklike webbing sent lightning bolts up and down his spine. He tried to gaze into her eyes, but she withdrew them into her bony skull.

Always the reptilian drama queen.

“Belle, we’ve been together long enough where I know when something’s wrong with you. Talk to me, my little croc-a-bye-baby.”

Clark’s cell phone started ringing again.

“Shit. That’s Debbie calling back. What should I tell her?”

More tears escaped from Belle’s golden eyes as she pulled Clark closer to where she lay. She finally whispered, “Why don’t you tell her the truth, my love?”

Clark couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was what he had secretly wanted to do all along. The world might not be ready for what the two of them were together, but the passion he was feeling didn’t give a damn about details like that. Love doesn’t need an applause break from the universe. It only wants what it wants, and that was all he cared about.

“Really?” Clark asked.

You’re really okay with that?”

Belle nodded.

Clark grinned, kissed her moist snout, then took in a deep, reassuring breath of her swampy aroma as he answered the ringing phone on speaker.

“Hey, Debbie. Sorry about that; we must have gotten disconnected.”

“Hey, sir. Still no sign of her. I can’t imagine where she’s hiding. We’ve turned the entire zoo upside down.”

“Are all the guests gone now?”

“Most of them, sir. Just a few stragglers that we’re rounding up with the golf carts. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Good work. Well handled, Debbie.”

“Thanks, sir.” Nobody spoke for a moment, then Debbie finally said, “Um, Clark? What should we do next?”

Clark felt Belle squeeze his hand, almost crushing it with her superior strength, so he nodded and cleared his throat to speak.

“So, Debbie, I have something I need to tell you.”

“Okay, sir, go ahead. I’m listening.”

In the sudden silence, Clark searched for the right words to describe what was happening between him and LaBelle, the African crocodile he was sworn to protect and conserve , not fall in love with.

What words could he use to describe how LaBelle made him feel?

How their complete connection was unlike any he’d ever had with another creature—and he’d had many. How there was zero judgment between them and no emotional baggage that held them back, only a true curiosity to learn what made the other tick. Their somewhat similar four-chambered hearts were deeply in love and forever connected. And, despite their vast physical differences, their libidos were perfectly aligned, an exotic coupling that both craved often.

Warm or cold-blooded, what the hell’s the difference?

Clark opened his mouth to tell Debbie all of that. But what came out was, “I’m not feeling well, Deb. Can we handle this first thing in the morning?”

Debbie paused for a second, then said, “Uh, sure, sir. Hope you feel better.”

The line went dead. For a few awkward seconds, neither Clark nor LaBelle said a word.

Finally, LaBelle spoke up.

“So that’s how it is?”

Clark shook his head. “No, no, my love, no. It’s nothing like that, I just . . .” He tried to touch her dry shoulder, but Belle pushed away his hand.

“That’s okay, Clark. It is what it is.” She hissed out her words. “I’m me and you’re you, right? Guess the world ain’t ready for an ‘us’ just yet.”

More crocodile tears stained the canvas sheets.
Clark wondered if she was right. Was he even strong enough to fight the world on this? Was he willing to put his reputation on the line, all for the sake of his feelings?

Another long look at her and he decided, a thousand times, yes.

“Oh Belle, my sweet Crocodylus niloticus, I never want you to be anything but you. That’s who I love.” He kissed her lipless mouth and tickled under her silky chin. “Look at me. This silly Homo sapien loves you with his whole damn human heart. I’m just not sure how to tell the world about us yet. But I will soon, I swear it.”

LaBelle’s sun-colored eyes filled with more tears. “You really mean that, Clark? You’re okay with who I am?”

“Of course, I am, my love.” Now they were both smiling. “Please, Belle, just be you, okay? I’ll figure out my end of it soon enough.”

“Oh, Clark . . . I thought you’d never ask.”

Then LaBelle, the ever-patient hunter, opened her narrow jaws as wide as they would go and showed him all sixty-eight of her jagged teeth.

She whispered, “I will love you always, my tender primate.”

“Wait, what are you—”

The carnivorous crocodile shifted her body with shocking speed for a beast her size. LaBelle faced her lover, jaws agape, and snapped down on Clark’s head and shoulders with a bite force of 2,125 PSI. A wide spray of blood shot outward as if from a burst garden hose, covering her grayish-green body like red delta mud. She sucked in the blood’s metallic fragrance, and then began an in-bed death roll that gradually increased in speed. The two spun round and round in a tangle of bloody canvas. Clark’s screams gradually faded as he sank deeper inside his lover.

What was left of Clark in that bedroom would eventually mystify the local detectives.

L aBelle took a warm bath in Clark’s oversized tub. Afterwards, she toweled dry and borrowed some of his expensive body lotion. Then Belle belly-crawled her way back into the bedroom to where her former lover’s remains were still scattered about. She searched under the bed and between the sheets and finally found Clark’s cell phone.

The croc repositioned Clark’s mangled right hand to where she could unlock the phone using his bloody fingerprint. She placed the cell phone on the floor in front of her and, with a clawed webbed toe, dialed a number she had memorized.

A female voice on the other end answered.

“Hello, Debbie Maxwell, reptiles. How can I help you?”

Silence.

“Hello? Who is this. Clark? Sir, is that you?”

Finally, Belle whispered, “It’s me.”

“Oh.”

“It’s done.”

Silence. Then a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God .”

“See you at your place?”

“I can’t wait, my love.”