They fed Tony to an alligator!

                Frank Ferrante woke up in a cold sweat, heart galloping to break free from his rib cage. His mouth was gritty with sand, the sour taste of thick morning breath compounded by the fact that he hadn’t brushed his teeth in two weeks.

                He rubbed his sunburnt lids with filthy knuckles. The image of Tony, screaming like he’d never imagined a man could scream, the alligator clamped on his leg like a vise, refused to dissipate like the ghost of a dream.

                Because it wasn’t a dream.

                The crying gulls overhead were drowned out by Tony’s pleading cries within his head.

                The sun stabbed his face when he sat up, the Gulf of Mexico surf creeping toward his hiding space in the tall beach grass. He spat into the sand, the yellow gob of mucous quickly absorbed.

                “You’re safe. You’re safe,” he muttered, hoping if he said out loud enough, he’d eventually believe it. So far, it wasn’t working. What he did know was that he was safe for the moment. That didn’t mean his ultimate fear wasn’t standing right behind him, waiting to ruin the next moment.

                An old couple walked along the surf, gray hair standing on end against the breeze. A guy wearing nothing but a nut hugger and headphones jogged past them, his body glistening with sweat or sea spray. Frank really didn’t care which.

                Every joint and muscle in Frank’s body hurt. He was used to sleeping on one of those sleep-number beds, not within itchy beach grass, alleys and dark stairwells. He was sore and tired and hungry and scared. He wondered how long his heart could hold out, always on the brink of disaster and misery like this. He was young, only thirty-two, but he’d aged at least fifty years over the past couple of weeks.

                Shit, being forced to watch what they did to Tony had taken him right to the front of the old codger line.

                “What the hell?”

                Something tickled his back. He reached an arm to pull what must have been grass out of his shirt. His shoulder popped, ripples of pain shooting down to his fingertips. The pad of his index finger touched something long and hard. It moved up his back. More like scampered.

                Frank yelped, the old couple pausing in their morning walk to see him pop out of the reeds like an overexcited meerkat.

                Something was in his shirt, clawing its way up and down his back. He went into an impromptu St. Vitus dance, clawing at the dirty rag he called a shirt. Now there was something in his front and back!

                He stepped on his own foot, toppling backward. He heard and felt whatever was in his shirt give a soft pop. A sticky wetness oozed down his spine. Tearing his shirt open, the buttons popping free, a sleek green shape leapt off his scarred belly and tore ass along the beach.

                Goddamn lizard.

                Which meant the thing that had exploded on his back was one, too.

                Disgusted, but not as much as he would have been weeks ago, he slipped his shirt off and inspected the Turin-like stain that was in the vague shape of a lizard. He scooped the sticky remains off his back, flicking it onto the sand but refusing to look.

                Still in his clothes, he walked into the warm waters of the Gulf, washing the remains from his flesh.

                There were more goddamn lizards in this poor excuse for a Florida town than squirrels in all of New York. He’d gotten used to them flitting over him while he slept. But this . . . this was an intrusion that would not stand. He was glad he’d crushed the one, pissed he’d let the other get away.

                After a thorough soak, Frank left the beach, wet shoe prints in the sand. He needed to find food and something to drink. Worsening dehydration was making his heart beat all kinds of funky. He should be home in Ozone Park right now, having a hot cappuccino, huevos rancheros and a side of home fries at the North Avenue Diner.

                Frank choked back tears at thinking he could never go back there again. That life was as good and done as Tony’s.