Submitted by Kolawole Abdul
“THAT’S what I want, and I’m going to get it.”
With those words, Joan jammed a foot to the floor, sending her sports car barreling along the Florida highway. Fierce determination, together with the breeze tugging at her blond tresses, filled her with satisfaction.
For two weeks, Joan had toured small towns across the state. But vacations always end. Tomorrow she’d shift gears and begin driving home to Chicago where she worked as a public-relations executive.
Above all, she ached to return with a pair of genuine alligator shoes. She’d browsed in dozens of stores and seen fine footwear, but the shopkeepers demanded shockingly high prices. Joan expected a bargain, not the opposite.
Frowning, she reflected on today’s latest in-store experience. The proprietor’s refusal to haggle had riled her.
“Maybe I’ll wade into the Everglades, catch my own alligator and get shoes for free,” she’d screamed.
“Lady, go ahead and try,” the merchant had retorted.
Gritting her teeth, Joan focused on the highway guiding her deeper into the wilderness.
SOON, Frank, the shoe-shop proprietor, guided his bulky SUV (sports utility vehicle) along the same stretch of road. Noticing a nifty sports car parked at the edge of the pavement, he slowed to gawk. Maybe a fellow motorist needed help.
“What the blazes?” he muttered. By the fading sunlight, he glimpsed movement out in the water. Curious, he pulled to the side of the levee. Once standing beside the SUV, he had a better view.
A young woman holding a handgun stood thigh-deep in the murky water. Her slacks and blouse looked muddy and torn. More dark mud streaked her hair.
Despite her disheveled appearance, Frank recognized the northern tourist who’d thrown a tantrum in his store. “Hey,” he yelled, and she glanced toward him.
“My God,” Frank hissed, spotting more movement. A huge alligator sliced through the water, swimming straight at the misplaced woman.
“HERE’S my chance,” Joan murmured.
Hastily aiming, she fired once, twice. Water churned as the wild creature clawed and thrashed, wounded but still struggling.
Joan advanced and fired again at close range. She aimed for the heaving animal’s head, surely its most vulnerable spot.
SLACK-JAWED in disbelief, Frank watched the slight woman holster the gun, wade to the deceased creature and grasp its log-like torso with both arms. Straining mightily, she hauled her victim onto the slimy bank below his vantage point.
With a loud grunt, the shoe-loving hunter dropped the lifeless gator onto its back. Peering skyward, she screamed in frustration. “Oh, no, it’s barefoot.”
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