The next afternoon, we all rode down to the plaza. A new sign hung in the Gator Aid window: Grand Opening Saturday. Now a counter display case was stocked with merchandise, and lights glowed in big glass boxes.
“Terrariums,” CC announced. “Hope there’s venomous snakes. Baby Komodo dragons would be cool. You’ve got to get a king cobra or a python, Zal. Imagine pulling one out of your hat.”
“The rabbit is enough trouble,” Zal said. “You get a cobra.”
“I’m asking for sure on Saturday,” CC said. “C’mon, let’s hit the Trails.”
The Trails were the best riding around. They were in Oakwood Park, the biggest park in our city. Our neighbourhood bordered its west side. The Trails ran through some killer hills that were also excellent for winter tobogganing.
I bet I knew why CC wanted to go there. Coming down the last hill, you went past Green Pond. CC always liked stopping there because of what she called its “ginormous amphibian density.” In other words, the place had lots of toads and turtles.
I guessed that if Gator Aid wasn’t open, she was going to see what she could find herself. What the heck, I thought, if we couldn’t catch a bandit, maybe she could catch a bullfrog.
Green Pond was usually deserted, but now when we rode up people were clustered at the edge. Parked nearby was a van marked Municipal Animal Control. Everyone was murmuring and staring at the water. We edged closer.
“What is it?” Zal asked.
A lady turned to us. “There’s an alligator in there.”
“Alligator? Where?” CC went up on her toes.
The lady pointed. I squinted. Green Pond was called that for a reason. It was dark green with a topping of light green scum, and shadowed most of the way around by trees that seemed about to topple into the water. The weird part was that past the trees on the far side, where you’d expect a wilderness, was a road and houses. The SUV with the Gator Aid sign was parked there.
The sunny part of the pond was choked with bulrushes. A slimy log poked above the surface, barely floating. Beside it, I finally spotted two dark little bumps in the scum. Not far behind them, looking like ripples on the surface, were two rows of wavy lines.
“It was sunning on the log,” the lady explained. “But when the van pulled up, it slipped into the water.”
“It can’t be very big.” CC sounded disappointed.
“Give him twenty years, he’ll grow on ya,” said someone, and I recognized the bearded SUV driver. Now he had on a wide-brimmed straw hat. I eased back a little. “Technically,” he went on, “it’s a caiman, spectacled caiman. Looks a year old maybe, just a baby.”
“How big will it get?” CC pushed forward.
“About six, seven feet; three hunnerd pounds.” He turned and grinned through his beard. “If he was home in South America, that is.” He wore a little shell on a rawhide loop around his neck.
A lady in a blue uniform shirt said, “Big or small, Animal Control can’t deal with it. We’re not trained for this. I don’t even have anything to put him in. The department will have to find someone that can handle it.”
“Look no further,” said the driver. “This just happens to be my business.” He dug some business cards out of a pocket in his safari shirt and passed them around. “Marty Raymond,” he said. “Gator Aid. Chief herpetologist. Got a regional outlet opening over at the plaza on Saturday, in fact. That’s why I was in the neighbourhood.”
People looked at the cards, then back at Marty Raymond, impressed. “I’ll round up some gear and get him tomorrow afternoon.”
“Tomorrow?” someone said.
Marty Raymond nodded at the pond. “That little guy’s not going anywhere. You want to do it right, and safe, for him and me. He’s lost and scared, doesn’t need any more stress. And I don’t want to get bit. He may be little but he’s got teeth like razor blades.” He tipped his hat back. “One o’clock tomorrow, if you care to take in the show.”
People began to chatter and move away. Some shuffled closer to the pond and got video with their phones.
“I’ll report that and be here tomorrow,” said the lady from Animal Control, waving the business card. “It’s our jurisdiction. One o’clock?”
“The more the merrier,” said Marty Raymond. “See you then.” He raised his voice, “Heck, bring your friends.”
A couple of people swung their phones to get a shot of him too. He flashed a big grin again, then lifted his own phone and started tapping something in. As he did, he said to us without looking, “You three gon’ be here? You could help. I’ll need assistants I can count on.”
“Won’t you bring helpers with you?” Zal asked. “Like, from Gator Aid?”
“We’re short-staffed right now, pardner. I can’t bring people in just for this, what with travel and all. Can you help?”
“I’m in,” said CC.
Zal said, “We could film it. Right, C?”
Marty Raymond nodded. “Video would be huge. And I’ll need a paddler. Excellent.” He talked as if we’d been a team all along.
“Um,” I said. “We’ve got— What about school?”
Marty Raymond turned to me and nodded. “Good point. I could tell you three were smart. That’s why I spoke to you. Son — what’s your name?”
“Duncan.”
“Duncan, you can sit in science class any day or you can live science, like I do. This is the real thing, wildlife biology right here. Besides, when you gonna get the chance to catch a gator again?”
“Caiman,” CC corrected.
“Beg pardon. Precision pays. You three are definitely the kind of helpers I’ll need. Duncan, you choose what’s best for you. Bring the whole darn class for all I care. More the merrier. Can’t do it, I understand, but I’d surely appreciate your help.” He winked. “Comes to it, there’s worse in life than skipping a little school. I didn’t say that. Hope to see you tomorrow.”
He shook hands with Zal and CC, then me. He had a strong grip. As we shook, he stared hard at me for an extra second. I wished I hadn’t sounded wussy about school.
“Tomorrow,” CC called as we rode off.
Marty Raymond was already texting.