Pete

If there was one thing Ferris P. Jones knew to expect, it was the disgruntled, if not outright disgusted, look on Sheriff Shaunessy's tomato red face. Why exactly the old boy was always so grumpy had remained a mystery to Ferris this past half a decade. Personally, he enjoyed his job, got a real thrill and a sense of accomplishment out of helping the poor wayward fellers, but like peanut butter-and-pickle sandwiches and competitive rollerblading, he figured not everyone could muster the same excitement as him for the aliens.

"Morning, Hank," Ferris cheerfully called the very moment he pushed his way into the station, a little spring in his step. "Been having a good week?"

Hank Shaunessy, with all the energy of a sleep deprived tortoise, looked up from the stack of papers piled on his desk and fixed Ferris with a veiny-eyed glare. His thick black mustache twitched as he slowly rose from his swivel chair, the inanimate object seemingly breathing a sigh of relief now that its sizable occupant stood on his own two feet.

Without a word spoken, the sheriff crossed the room and shoved a thick file at Ferris. He turned around, marched back to his desk, and plopped down. The chair looked to drop two whole inches.

Ferris took a moment to look through the file, occasionally fiddling with his coke bottle glasses between pages. "An impressive string of charges," he said, having almost let the mess of papers spill out half a dozen times already. Rolling his eyes after reading one particular ridiculous accusation, he fixed the sheriff with a glare of his own, no doubt magnified by his inch-thick lenses. "Half of these are complete nonsense!"

Hank shrugged without looking up. "Your little green friends can do whatever they want on Mars, or Venus, or wherever. But here, pants are mandatory."

"Well yes," he said, "but they don't have the same-"

"No!" Hank hollered, pounding his desk with a fat fist. "No more anatomy lessons." His face burned a whole new shade of red. "You got ten minutes, Jones. Now get in there before I have you both deported!"

"Not in your authority," Ferris muttered as he cut through to the back, but his mood wasn't dampened for long. As soon as he reached the interrogation room, and smelled that familiar chlorine scent the extraterrestrials seemed to sweat, he was grinning from ear to ear.

It really was amazing. Five years ago, Ferris was considered a local cook, and this was a tiny sheriff's station in a tiny New Mexico town, population barely scratching one-thousand, known only for drunken alien sightings if at all. And now, now that contact had officially been made, that extraterrestrial lifeforms had taken to vacationing on earth, Ferris P. Jones was a worldwide respected expert, and the rundown station had grown into the very heart of a booming tourist destination for extraterrestrial vacationers. Old Hank Shaunnesy just didn't know how lucky he really was to be sheriff in such a a place, which was why Ferris so often took the time to remind him.

As he pushed through the heavy door, Ferris made a show of flipping through the file. In a clear voice he said, "Mister Zigger Zohar Zaheer?"

"Greetings, Earthling," came the jolly response, spoken from the lipless mouth of the poor feller handcuffed to the cold metal table. He was a lithe creature, his limbs all long and bendy like pipe cleaners, his skin smooth and hairless and a bright neon shade of green. A pair of large, beetle black eyes blinked above a nonexistant nose. "I am indeed Zigger Zohar Zaheer, but in the spirit of assimilation, I've taken an appropriate earth name."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Ferris pulled out a stool and sat down opposite the alien, setting file down between them. "And what would that be?"

Grinning toothlessly, Zigger Zohar Zaheer declared, "Pete!"

"Well Pete, my name is Ferris P. Jones." He took a pen from his coat pocket, clicking it. "I'm here on behalf of the Friends of Extraterrestrial Lifeforms and Adjacent Beings, or F.E.L.A.B. for short. Let's see what we can do to get you out of here, hmm?"

"On the contrary," Pete squeaked, "I'm very fond of this... how do you say... hotel?"

Ferris coughed into his hand. "Pete, I'm sorry to tell you this, but this isn't a hotel."

"Ah, my mistake. A resort?"

"No."

"One of your theme parks?"

"Pete," Ferris said grimly, "you've been arrested."

The scrawny green alien's mouth formed an O in shock. If he had eyebrows, they'd doubtlessly have shot up.

"You, uh, weren't confused by the handcuffs?"

Pete gave them a tug, scowling. "I thought it was an earthling custom." His large eyes met Ferris's "This is most distressing."

"Don't you worry, Pete." Ferris patted the alien's rubbery hand. "I've always been able to get a client out of a jam." He scanned the first page again. "Now, let's see... Ah, indecent exposure."

"I think you'll find I'm dressed in a most respectful way!"

Ferris hummed. The alien wore a red Hawaiian shirt, buttoned all the way up, a pair of flip-flops, and a lady's sun hat atop his bulbous head. Around his thin neck hung blue plastic goggles on a stretchy string, the kind you'd find at a tanning salon. A child's glow-in-the-dark, sparkly pink wristwatch sat snug around his bendy arm.

"You're certainly fashionable," Ferris conceded, "but I'm afraid the sheriff's right. Pants, or some sort of lower body covering, are a requirement, even if your species doesn't biologically require them."

Pete sighed. "I shall pledge to wear pants, Mr Jones."

"Very good," Ferris said, and moved onto the net charge, and several more until he came to: "Now Pete, here we have an accusation of throwing bread to birds..."

"Of course!" the alien cheered. "I've long hoped to participate in one of earth's favorite past times!"

"Understandable, but Pet World isn't the ideal place. Why not try the park next time?"

Pete gave a nod. "If you insist, Mr Jones."

Ferris read the next, squinted, then read it again. "Did you try to kidnap a child from a public pool?"

"Of course not!" Pete's handcuffs rattled. "I merely went for a swim, and there in the pool I spotted a poor child named Polo, if memory serves right, apparently afflicted with blindness. He'd fallen into the water, it seemed, and was frantically calling for his friend, a cruel boy named Marco, I believe. 'Marco,' he screamed, 'Marco, Marco!' But that cruel child only taunted him, swimming away whenever he came close enough to latch on for support. Fearing poor Polo would drown, I pulled him from the water and, well..."

"Well, what?"

"It was a miracle!" Pete looked like he might cry. "His sight returned, and so overwhelmed was young Polo that he burst into tears!" He wiped away a tear of his own. "They say tourists are a blessing to the less fortunate, but I never knew how true that was until I met little Polo."

Ferris grimaced. "Pete..."

The aliens already massive eyes widened that much more. "Yes," he said, voice still swelled with joy. "Yes, my friend?"

"Uh, nothing," he said, slamming the folder shut. "Nothing at all. I just wanted to let you know that you'll be free to go soon. Just give me a moment to go over a few things with the sheriff, alright?"

Behind the one-way glass, Ferris found Hank leaned against the wall with his typical unpleasant expression.

"Let me guess, you want him let loose."

"Sure do," he said, wiping down his glasses with the hem of his shirt. He slipped them back on. "Pete's a sweetheart, just a little confused is all. Besides, you know most of those charges are nonsense. I'll make sure he understands the rules of pool games and doesn't go around picking up kids he doesn't know anymore, alright?"

The sheriff sighed, glaring through the glass at the little green alien on the other side. "Fine," he said at long last, turning to poke Ferris with a sausage-like finger. "But I want it in writing that he'll wear pants from now on, you hear?"

Ferris grinned. "Hank old boy, you're one of the good ones!"

An hour later, with a contract signed under the watchful eye of Hank Shaunessy himself, Pete was a free man- or rather, a free little-green-man. First thanking Ferris's, the alien then spun around to face the sheriff, gripping his catcher mitt of a hand with the fierce grip of a rubber band, and shook with much excitement.

"You have been most hospitable, Mr Hank," he said, grinning up at him toothlessly. "You know, I think I'll invite my whole family down here next cycle!"

Hank's mustache twitched. "Whole... family?"

"Just my Ma and Pa, and a few hundred of my siblings," Pete quickly explained. "After all, Ma just laid a fresh batch. Two dozen eggs in all, a new record!"

"That's wonderful!" Ferris cheered. "They're a remarkable species, aren't they, Hank?"

The sheriff, though, had fallen slack-jawed and mute. In fact, it wasn't until Pete had left the building, a pair of baggy pants from the lost-and-found hanging loose from his waist, that Hank regained the ability to speak.

Face red as ever, eyes so bloodshot the veins looked ready to burst, he said, "Ferris, you're the expert here. Tell me, please, of all places, why do they always have to come here?"

"Because Hank," Ferris said, slinging an arm around the big man's shoulders, "good folks like you make it such a nice place to visit!"