Nancy Grace - Murder in the Courthouse

He was no rat lover. Even the thought of all those nasty rodents writhing on top of each other in the plastic bin totally skeeved him out. Still, the idea of them being thrown by their tails into the mouths of chomping gators made Cecil’s stomach churn and he felt hot all over. He had to physically look away from the barrel of mice.

Poor little guys.

So while Cecil loved wild animals, sacrificing live mice, even rats, was not exactly what he had in mind. But when it comes to feeding alligators, was there really any alternative?

Reaching deep into a plastic bin with pale, watery blood trickling in rivulets down the sides, Cecil pulled out a big handful of raw chicken. Although the smell of possibly rancid raw meat permeated the air, he could tell some of it still felt frozen through his own oven mitt thingies.

With the slight breeze on the edge of the boardwalk, he could see the ripples in the water in the sunlight and knew that just beneath the surface, they were waiting. Just feet away from him, they could already smell the raw meat.

Just then, several sets of eyes emerged over the water and instinct kicked in. Cecil Snodgrass, never an athletic child, pulled back his right arm and drew up his left leg like he was Sandy Koufax on the pitcher’s mound at Dodger Stadium. With all his strength, he clutched a handful of raw chicken chunks, oozing blood on the edges, and hurled it, catapulting the pale glob of meat out into the dark water.

At once, two giant gators dove out of the water and toward the raw meat, grappling with each other for a single fistful of frozen chicken thigh. There was no doubt about it, these two bags of leather and teeth had to weigh an even ton each.

A surge of electricity went through his body, replacing the tingling fear that had stuck in his legs and pelvis when he first saw the gators’ eyes rise up from the water. He, Cecil Snodgrass, had the power. Because he, Cecil Snodgrass, had the chicken thighs.

They were the puppets and he was the puppeteer. He spent the next hour and a half lobbing glob after glob of bloody chicken until his right arm ached. When the Feeding Frenzy Thrill was over and all the chicken, and sadly the mice as well, were gone, the gators still circled the boardwalk. The barrels of food were probably just appetizers for these monsters.

Looking down, Cecil saw his own clothes splattered with chicken blood and guts. He went to the edge of the feeding area and rinsed his hands and arms up to the elbow at an outdoor sink area Gator World had wisely constructed. Following a jungle-themed dirt path out of the Feeding Frenzy Thrill area, he couldn’t help but spot the Gator Gift Shop across the way.

Who could resist alligator memorabilia?

Strolling across the paved common area, he saw that it opened up to a food court of sorts sporting gator-on-a-stick trucks, “gator tails” akin to elephant ear pastries consisting of fried dough drenched in sugar and cinnamon, and an ice cream truck. By the time he reached the gift shop, he had eaten one of each. He felt so festive after manipulating ton upon ton of wild gators, he couldn’t stop himself.

A bell tinkled as he opened the glass door to the gift shop. Front and center on display was a wide range of genuine alligator tooth necklaces, obviously made with the real thing. A handwritten sign over the necklaces guaranteed they were in fact real gator teeth. It also claimed the necklaces claimed to possess “real gator bayou voodoo magic.”

Genuine alligator teeth secured on a sturdy leather strap? Seriously? He loved it! Plus, when would he ever see one of these again? He had to have it. Along with the added bonus of obvious good luck.

He browsed through the inevitable… hundreds of kids’ items… plush gator hoodie hats with iridescent yellow eyes on top, gator T-shirts, baseball hats, snow globes, and posters. But it was the adult section that was the real siren’s call. Stepping through a roped-off line, he inspected all sorts of powders and mixes made from alligator hides and teeth. Weren’t those illegal?

In a long row several shelves high was everything from alligator toilet paper handles to alligator chew toys for cats and dogs. Further down the row were the mysterious cures and antidotes… actual alligator blood in vials touted on the label as a new antibiotic for superbugs. One display was several shallow crates of alligator pepper plants in clay pots to cure diarrhea. The shelves were full of medicinal cures… alligator pepper to treat diabetes, even alligator pepper oil to treat a host of maladies.

In a refrigerated stand-up cooler Cecil found “Select Florida Alligator Fillet, processed by a needlepoint tenderizer then marinated with Cajun combination spices to enhance the gator’s natural taste!” It was nineteen dollars a pound, ninety-three dollars for five pounds, or one hundred sixty-five dollars for ten pounds of the frozen gator meat. There were even frozen gator-on-a-stick in family value packs. Cecil Snodgrass had no idea there was such a demand.

Looking through a glass door with a bell hanging by a string on the door handle, he spotted dozens of outdoor alligator statues on an adjoining covered patio outside. They had little handwritten placards above them on posts, ranging from “Agitated Alligator” to “Snoozing Gator” to “Big Bite Alligator,” which was portrayed with its huge mouth wide open and all eighty teeth on display. They ranged from $995 to a whopping $1,500. There was also a bronze alligator fountain reduced to $995 situated beside an aquascape floating alligator decoy.

Wow. He’d love to put the Agitated Alligator statue in his own backyard, but on a courthouse salary he couldn’t blow a thousand bucks at the Gator World gift shop.

He kept browsing.

On the next “adult” row, he spied several shelves of alligator-related “performance enhancers” for the bedroom. Some were even labeled triple-X. Ambling along trying to act inconspicuously, Cecil could feel his face getting warm and he knew without looking his neck and cheeks were red.

Creeping up to just barely over the top of the shelves of performance enhancers so just his eyes would show on the other side, he craned to get a look at the store clerk up front, who was wearing a green alligator plush hat and reading a magazine with his back squarely turned on Cecil. Cecil confirmed the guy wasn’t watching him. All sorts of mysterious powders, some claiming to be crushed and-

“All the bedroom aids are 30 percent off!”

Cecil Snodgrass was mortified.

“Hey! You… in the back.”

If Cecil was a turtle, his head would be so far under his shell he’d be chewing his tail. Instead of responding to the muleheaded cashier who clearly had no sense of propriety, Cecil looked to the right and the left as if the clerk was clearly addressing someone else. Anyone else… anyone other than himself.

Sadly, Cecil Snodgrass was the only shopper browsing the adult section of the Gator Gift Shop.

“Hey… Steve Irwin. Did you get that? You in the Crocodile Hunter vest in the back. The bedroom products are marked down. Just so you know.”

Although briefly flattered someone would lump him, Cecil Snodgrass, in with the famed Crocodile Hunter, the words “absolutely mortified” couldn’t possibly do justice to Cecil’s humiliation. Especially when a young and very attractive redhead with two little boys in tow turned to look at him. “Mom, what are bedroom products? Is it a pillow or a night-light?” the older boy addressed his mom, still staring at Cecil.

“Ok, thanks,” Cecil answered feebly. Then he realized the clerk had a closed-circuit camera in front of him, plainly planted catty-corner above the glass entrance door by the front counter. With this revelation, he abruptly ducked out the glass door onto the patio, causing the bell attached to the door to tinkle fairly loudly for a bell its size.