At one point he would have thought of this group of children as a buffet of snacks, but not anymore. Fear-tart oozes into the bus from them, but the older ones are more interested in him than scared. Mango and banana billow out the bus windows.
“That costume is killer, croc dude.”
“Can I get a selfie?” asks another passenger.
Big Sal poses for the selfie, his attention still drawn to the scent so unlike anything else. It smells like every human scent he knows, all at once.
He finally traces it to two people near the middle of the bus, away from the daycare children. An older brother of about twelve sits with his eyes downcast over a book. His index finger points at words on a page for his little sister. She is about five and small enough to disappear behind the bus seats. She quietly says the words he points at. When she doesn’t know a word, he says it aloud.
But the scent isn’t coming from either child. The book is a furnace pushing out aromas like a smokestack.
The strong scents seem to come from the pages, the paper itself. Every page gives off different shades of emotion. Some carry whole spectrums of fear-tart. Others glow with mango and banana. It smells like hundreds of humans layered together within the pages.
He waddles along the bus aisle toward the two. They don’t notice him until he’s standing right next to them.
“It’s not…often that someone comes along who is both a true f…fr…”
“Friend.”
“Friend. And a good wri…writer,” says the little girl.
She looks up and sees Big Sal next to them.
“Are you a friend?” she asks, unafraid of him.
He thinks he is. He wants to be. But he doesn’t think everyone will think that yet.
Her older brother looks up and smiles.
“Hey Croc. You like books?”
“I don’t know. What is that? What smells like so many different humans?”
“What do you mean?” asks the older brother.
“What she’s holding.”
His sister pipes up. “It’s a library book.”
“Hey Sal,” calls Petra. “It’s our stop.”
“I got you—Flamin’ there,” says an automated voice from the bus as it comes to a stop. “Hooks Restaurant by the docks.”
“You good, Sophie?” says Petra to another adult sitting with the Evermore kids.
“Good as always, Petra. We’ve got this, right boys and girls?”
“Bye-bye Petra,” says a chorus of voices.
“Come on, Sal,” she says.
I never get enough time for the things I really want.
He lumbers off the bus behind Petra.
“You got everything done?” she asks as they wait to cross Sparrow’s Strait. “I did. But now I have more questions.”
Petra laughs. “Oh?”
“Why do I need a phone number? Why are there spaghetti and meatballs on the pirate ship that is City Hall? Why do books smell like so many different humans? And what’s a hologram?”
“We’ll get to them, Sal. What is your new number?”
He gives it to her. She takes out her phone and taps at it. His phone makes an electronic ding that hurts his ears.
“I can change that, right?”
“You can change the sound to whatever you want, yes.”
“Can I try making bison stew sometime in the kitchen?”
“Uhm. You would need to talk to Raleigh and the chef about that.”
As they enter the Hooks dining room, Don Maroon is interviewing someone on the television over the bar. The guest sounds more like squeaks and calls.
“I can’t tell if this is real or not,” says Petra. “I’ve seen Don Maroon improvise with comedians before, but this really takes the cake.”
Standing in a lagoon in the center of a city park, Don Maroon wears hip waders and attempts to interview a heron. The heron dips its beak into the water between answers, swallowing small fish while its wings shake.
“It’s all dried up. Everyone left.”
“I’m sorry, you do look very tired. Where did you say you were from?”
“Oh, it doesn’t exist anymore. Some of us called it Stinkwater Marsh, but like I said, it isn’t there anymore.”
Big Sal slows down and stands as still as a floating log.
“I don’t understand anything but Don Maroon,” says Petra, stopping next to him. “Can you make any of this out?”
“Uhm.”
What? No Stinkwater? No home to return to?
His stomach churns, but not in a hungry way.
“Good morning main cast!” says Raleigh, coming out of the kitchen. “Petra, can you set the proximity bands to siesta mode? Today is Taco Tuesday! Sal, this is Mr. Longbottom. He’s the curator of the Centre for Ankerton Culture, History & Exhibits. He’d like to ask you a few questions and get your profile loaded into CACHE.”
A roundish man in a plaid blue button-up shirt and brown tear-off shorts approaches Big Sal. His mustache sticks out like two chopsticks. Banana and beaver dam whirl around him. He holds out his hand.
“We’re delighted to welcome the new Hooks croc. We’ve wanted to close the chapter on the previous one for a while. Since you have your own suit, CACHE would like to preserve the old costume in cold storage as part of Hooks history. If I can just get the old suit, we can get started with your story.”
“I…what? I did what I thought I was supposed to do.”
Raleigh and Mr. Longbottom stare at him as their scents shift.
Petra looks at him. “I told you to hang on to it. Where is the old crocodile suit, Sal?”
“I did. Until Henry asked for it back.”
Green tea washes over him from the three people around him.
“This is highly unusual,” says Mr. Longbottom. “Highly unusual. Huh.”
Raleigh’s scent changes to fear-tart and then to hot-metal and salt. Like the big guys at the Zit & Grit.
“What did you do that for?” he yells. “How much did Henry pay you for that?”
“Wait, wait,” says Petra. “We don’t know that Henry paid him anything. Let’s not make assumptions.”
“What did I do?” asks Big Sal. “I didn’t mean to…I don’t understand.”
“Out!” yells Raleigh. “No, wait. First, give me your key.”
“Are you sure this is necessary?” asks Mr. Longbottom, his green-tea scent held behind beaver dam.
What is happening?
As Big Sal hands the key to Raleigh’s outstretched palm, a scent seeps out from beneath his scales: damp wind whispering between cattails, dandelion pushing through sunbaked mud, and hints of cilantro.
Is that me?
Customers turn from their tables to watch.
Raleigh floods the space with fear-tart and hot metal.
Petra’s scents change faster than her face. Cilantro rises from Petra as she seems to put something together.
“You hung onto it and walked past The Cinnamon State on your way to Phone Nerds, didn’t you?”
“Exactly! What did I do wrong?”
“Oh, Sal.” Her voice goes quiet. She looks down and rubs her forehead. “I should have told you to leave it in the closet. It wasn’t Henry’s anymore. It belongs to Hooks.”
“That costume has been waiting patiently like a dead crocodile for four years!” yells Raleigh.
“He didn’t know that, Raleigh,” says Petra. “We put it in a bag before he left this morning, and I told him to hang onto it. I…didn’t think I needed to explain that Henry couldn’t take it back.”
“What’s happening, Mommy?” asks a little girl before someone quickly shushes her.
“How does this even—GAAH!” yells Raleigh. “Out!”
As he turns to go, Big Sal glances up at the TV, where the heron eats fish out of the pond.
I wanted to make bison stew. How did I take too much?
His tail has never felt so heavy as he walks out the front door of Hooks.
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Chapter 28 podcast drops August 8
Chapter 29 text drops August 15
