Hearing Killer Croc's almost threatening words, the little girl did not let go. Instead, she gripped his rough, hard finger even tighter, tilted up her soft little face, still streaked with tears, and whispered, "I'm not scared. Uncle Big Crocodile saved me. Uncle Big Crocodile is a good person."
The tender little child felt nothing like a tough, cold-blooded creature. Her tiny palm was as soft as cotton, and its warmth passed through Killer Croc's scarred, scaly skin, searing its way into the most rigid corner of his heart.
Killer Croc went taut all over. His massive body instinctively drew back a little, afraid that the slightest pressure might crush that fragile little hand.
What he had heard most throughout his life were screams, curses, and the sound of guns being cocked. Everyone called him a monster, a beast, something that should never have been allowed to live. Never had such a pure, sincere voice called him a "good person."
Killer Croc's Adam's apple bobbed several times. His formerly vicious voice turned dry and hoarse, sounding unfamiliar even to him. "I... I'm not a good person."
I kill people and burn things down. I keep company with villains. I was born evil...
The little girl seemed not to understand. Rising onto her tiptoes, she gently touched the hard scales on his arm with her other little hand. "You just carried me out of the cage and chased away the bad guys. That makes you a good person."
As she spoke, the girl suddenly remembered something. Her eyes lit up, and she tugged downward on Killer Croc's huge claw. "I know! Uncle Big Crocodile, crouch down! Hurry and crouch down!"
To Killer Croc, the strength of an ordinary five- or six-year-old girl amounted to little more than a falling leaf. He