The Dane Maddock Adventures Boxed Set Volume 2

by David Wood

  “So my porn career never came up?” Bones laughed as Slater’s eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. “Just kidding.” He took another drink just to keep her in suspense, and then smiled. “All right, you’ve piqued my interest. What’s the pay?”

  Chapter 2

  Sarasota, Florida

  The offices of the Sarasota Sun stood on the corner of Ringling Boulevard and South Osprey Avenue in the heart of town. Bones squeezed his Dodge Ram pickup truck into a narrow parking space, cranked up some AC/DC on the stereo, and waited for Slater to arrive. He hadn’t been there long when a sharp rap on his tailgate startled him. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a man in the all-black uniform of the Sarasota County Sheriff’s Department beckoning to him.

  Bones rolled down his window and stuck his head out. “What can I do for you, officer?”

  “It’s deputy, and you can start by shutting off that vehicle and getting your narrow behind out here where I can talk to you.” Though his ruddy features and sturdy build didn’t scream “inbreeder”, the man’s southern drawl marked him as a likely member of one of the long-term native families rather than a more recent transplant from somewhere up north. He was probably a redneck. Bones hated rednecks.

  Slowly, he cut the engine, opened the door, and slid out into the tight space between his truck and the vehicle alongside him.

  “I don’t know how they do things down in Munro County,” the deputy said, glancing at Bones’ license plate, “but around here, when an officer of the law gives you an order you obey it without…” He halted in midsentence as Bones stepped out from between the vehicles. The deputy was not a small man. He was a shade over six feet tall and solidly built, and probably accustomed to physically intimidating most of the people he encountered, but next to the broad shouldered, six foot five Cherokee, he was a bit on the small side.

  “Sorry about the delay,” Bones lied, trying to make his smile as friendly as possible, “Deputy Logan,” he added after a glance at the man’s name tag. He said nothing else. He knew he done nothing wrong so he simply waited for the deputy to explain himself.

  “You know why I called you out here?” The deputy had regained some of his fire, but his demeanor was decidedly less pugnacious than it had been a moment before.

  “If it’s to tell me how freaking hot and humid it is in this town, I’ve already noticed.”

  The deputy didn’t crack a smile. “You mind telling me what you doing sitting here?”

  “Listening to music. Good old classic rock. You into that stuff?”

  “Excuse me?” The deputy shuffled his feet as if debating whether or not to take a step toward Bones.

  “Am I free to go?” Bones knew he probably shouldn’t mess with the man, but he didn’t appreciate being rousted for no particular reason. “Or am I under arrest?”

  “I just want to know what you’re doing here. You’re from down south, which is a pipeline for the drug trade, and you’re sitting here in this parking lot doing nothing.”

  “He’s waiting for me.” Slater had arrived. She strolled up to the deputy and flashed an apologetic smile. “He and I have an appointment with someone inside.” She inclined her head toward the newspaper office. “I’m running late. Please accept my apology.”

  The deputy looked like he had just sucked a lemon. He looked from Bones to Slater and then nodded. “All right. Just don’t loiter in the parking lot when you’re done.” He didn’t wait for a reply but turned and stalked back to his car, climbed in, and drove away.

  When the deputy was gone, Slater turned and frowned at Bones. “Do you always treat people like that?”

  Bones shook his head. “Nope, but bullies and rednecks get on my nerves.”

  “I don’t know how many of the former we will encounter but we’re likely to meet up with plenty of the latter. Do you think you can keep your attitude in check?”

  “You’re the boss.” Bones looked up and squinted at the late morning sun. “What do you say we blow this appointment off and head over to the Siesta Key Oyster Bar? I hear it’s a great place to hang out and pound a few brews.”

  “When this investigation is finished I’ll let you buy me a pitcher, but not until the work is done.”

  “Bummer. I thought you were a party girl.”

  Slater rolled her eyes and led the way into the office.

  The reporter who greeted them was a weedy, bespectacled man with a rat face and a thatch of yellow hair. He barely glanced at Bones, having eyes only for Slater. Bones couldn’t blame the man. She was garbed in a tight tank top, snug fitting khaki shorts, and hiking boots. With her brown hair hanging in a braid down the middle of her back, she was giving off a serious Lara Croft vibe. Bones couldn’t deny the look worked for her.

  “I’m Gage,” the reporter said. “Please follow me.” He led them to a tiny cubicle in the far corner of the building, and sat down in front of a cluttered desk lined with bobble head dolls of famous baseball players. When bones and Slater had pulled up chairs and sat down, Gage got down to business.

  “I understand you are interested in the skunk ape.” He kept his voice low, frequently glancing about as if spies lurked in every corner.

  “That’s right,” Slater said. “I host a television show and we’re doing a feature on it. I understand you are the man to speak to on the subject.”

  The compliment did the trick. Gage relaxed and a smile spread across his face. “I’m a local affairs reporter, so the skunk ape is strictly a hobby. I have, however, done extensive research.” He took out an overstuffed accordion folder and handed it to Slater. “This is all of the information I’ve gathered: newspaper clippings, articles from the web, transcripts of eyewitness reports including interviews I personally conducted, research into possible scientific explanations, and a summary of my conclusions in the back.”

  “This is wonderful,” Slater said. “Is there somewhere we can sit and examine it?”

  “These are copies,” Gage said. “I only ask that you credit me if you use any of the material in your show.”

  “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble. Thank you.”

  “If it will help you prove that the skunk ape is real, or at least its existence is a real possibility, it will have been more than worth the effort.” He looked around again. “I don’t mind telling you that people around here give me a hard time about my research.”

  “I know what you mean,” Bones said. “I’m into cryptids, alien visitor theories, and all that kind of stuff. Most people don’t get it.”

  Gage nodded. “Yes, but it’s not just that. In general, the locals don’t like it when anyone talks about the skunk ape. The transplants from other parts of the country are concerned about our community’s image. They think treating the legends seriously makes us look like a bunch of hicks. The families who have lived in the community for generations are afraid Sarasota is going to, I don’t know, turn into Roswell, New Mexico. You know, drawing in the oddballs and pseudo-scientists. Sorry,” he said, blushing, “but you know what I mean.”

  Bones and Slater nodded in unison.

  “I’m just saying,” Gage continued, “don’t be surprised if you get a lot of push-back. And be careful where you go and who you talk to.”

  Chapter 3

  Gage snapped his head around as a long shadow ran across his keyboard. He looked up to see a tall man in a sheriff’s department uniform standing over him, arms folded.

  “How can I help you, Deputy Logan?” He couldn’t stand the man. He was a scion, if someone who lived in rundown mobile home on the edge of the swamp could properly bear that title, of a long-time local family. As such, the deputy stuck his nose into everyone’s business and had an opinion on how just about everything should be done.

  “You had some visitors today.” It wasn’t a question.

  Gage gritted his teeth. Damn Logan and his reticence. “Would you care to explain why you’re investigating my activities?”

  Gage threw back his head and laughe
d. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Gay,” he said, using the high school nickname Logan and his football buddies had slapped onto Gage so many years ago. “I happened to be in the office and saw some unfamiliar faces, and I wondered who they were and what they were up to. I mean, why would outsiders need to meet with a local affairs reporter?”

  “I’m afraid that’s confidential,” Gage said through gritted teeth. He felt his cheeks begin to heat. He hated Logan and despised the way the man could get a reaction out of him with such ease. Sometimes it didn’t get better after high school.

  Logan smiled and sat down on the corner of Gage’s desk. “You got this all wrong. I’m just looking out for my town, same as always. I’m not trying to get on your nerves or anything.

  “Well, you have. Same as always.”

  “Look, you know I care about this town and the people who live in it, even the fellows who are still mad about a wedgie twenty years ago.” He grinned. “Truth is, there was an incident outside with that big Indian fellow. It didn’t amount to nothing, but something ain’t right about him. He’s from down south and we know what kind of characters come from there. I ran his plate, so I already know his name.” He leaned in and laid a heavy hand on Gage’s shoulder. “I’m just asking you, as an old high school buddy, to give me an idea of what the man’s up to. No details, nothing personal. Just the big picture.”

  Gage bit his jaw, holding back a profane retort. He knew Logan would keep pestering him until he got what he wanted.

  “By the way,” Logan said, letting go of Gage’s shoulder and sitting back, “we’re starting afternoon rush hour patrols on your street. I’ll tell the boys to keep an eye out for your car.”

  The implication was clear. If Gage played ball, the deputies would leave him alone. If not, he doubtless would be pulled over for some nonexistent violation. Besides, given that Gage’s interest in the skunk ape was well-known, he figured Logan had already put two and two together. The deputy was a buffoon but he wasn’t a complete idiot. Despising himself for giving in so easily, he sat up and looked Logan in the eye.

  “It’s nothing serious. They’re from one of those pseudo-investigative television shows and they’re doing an episode about the skunk ape.”

  Logan guffawed and slapped his thigh. “So that fellow is crazy. I knew he wasn’t right, but at least it isn’t drugs. I should have known, since the skunk ape is sort of your thing. What did you tell him?”

  “Just the usual stuff. Nothing they couldn’t find on the internet.”

  “You didn’t tell them it’s all a big fake?”

  Gage scowled. “You know I don’t believe that.”

  Logan slid down off the desk. “No, you don’t, do you? All right, Gay, I’ll tell the fellows to let the ace reporter in the yellow Volkswagen pass unmolested.”

  I’ll just bet you will, Gage thought as he watched the deputy walk away. He considered calling Slater to warn her about the meddling deputy, but decided he didn’t need to be involved any more deeply than he already was.

  “I’ve done my part,” he mumbled, “and good luck to you.”

  Chapter 4

  Slater had left her car behind and walked from her hotel to the newspaper office, so she rode along with Bones as they headed to their next appointment. He was pleased to find they shared similar taste in music, though she did request the Black Eyed Peas, which he told her in no uncertain terms was not on his phone. “They can’t decide if they are rock or rap, and they suck at both,” he explained.

  “Just when I was starting to respect your opinion,” Slater said, shaking her head.

  “So, who is this guy we’re paying a visit to?” He asked, struggling to keep his eyes trained on the road and not on Slater’s legs.

  “Nigel Gambles. He’s the cryptozoologist who made the plaster castings of the alleged skunk ape tracks. He lives in a cabin near the entrance to the Myakka River State Park. My crew will meet us there.”

  Slater’s crew turned out to be a two-person team: a short, skinny young woman named Carly, and a round-faced, thickset man named Dave. The two hurried over when Bones and Slater got out of the truck.

  “I’m the cameraman,” Dave said, unnecessarily holding up his camera, “and Carly is the sound engineer.”

  “I’m Bones. I don’t think I have a title.”

  “Of course you do. You’re the resident expert.” Carly grinned and gave him a tiny wink which he returned. She was cute—not Slater-level, but not bad.

  “I’m not paying any of you to flirt,” Slater said. “Let’s go. Mister Gambles is expecting us.”

  Gambles’ cabin stood at the end of a long, winding dirt driveway lined by live oaks and draped by low-hanging Spanish moss. The deep shade did little to dull the Florida heat, but any respite was welcome to Bones, who had ditched his trademark leather jacket but kept his jeans. Shorts weren’t his thing unless he was going to the gym or for a run.

  Gambles was a trim man with close-cropped hair and friendly eyes. He spoke with a slight accent, but Bones wasn’t familiar enough with the various regional forms to say from where in Britain the man hailed. London, perhaps? Gambles invited them in and immediately set to talking about his most recent discovery, but Slater gently interrupted him.

  “We really want to hear everything you have to say, but let’s get it recorded so you don’t have to cover anything twice, okay?”

  Gambles agreed, and when Dave and Carly had everything in place, he took up a position in front of a bookcase laden with titles relating to cryptozoology. Slater sat down in a chair facing him and began an Oprah-style interview.

  “Can you tell us about the skunk ape?”

  Gambles nodded. “The skunk ape is a legendary primate that is believed to inhabit the Everglades and outlying areas, though sightings have been reported all around Florida and in other states in the Southeast. It’s known for its elusiveness and its distinctive smell.”

  He went on to discuss the history of skunk ape sightings in the area, beginning with Native American legends and reports from Spanish explorers, including a harrowing tale of a shipwrecked crew, of whom all but one were killed by the legendary beasts. He then moved along to modern sightings, skirting around the obvious fakes, but providing multiple accounts from ostensibly reliable witnesses, and even sharing a few grainy photographs. Bones had seen and heard it all before, but what Gambles said next surprised him.

  “Some people believe that the creature is not an ape, but a primitive human.”

  Bones almost spoke up, but remembered the camera was rolling, and kept his silence. Slater, however, followed up.

  “Primitive humans? Is there any evidence to support this theory?”

  “In truth, there’s not much evidence to support any theory, but I have found what I believe are rudimentary tools and stones that show signs of being worked. What’s more, I discovered them in the general area where I recently came across the tracks.”

  Gambles picked up the briefcase sitting beside his chair, opened it, and took out a palm-sized stone. “This looks like a scraping tool.” He held it up for the camera and then handed it to Slater, who examined it with polite interest. “And this one,” he continued, taking out a triangular stone, “appears to be for cutting. See how the edges have been chipped away? It’s not a regular break. Someone or something has worked it.”

  The man wasn’t wrong. Even from where he stood, Bones could tell that someone had scraped and chipped the rock to give it a sharp edge. Slater seemed to agree, nodding slowly as she looked it over. “But how do we know these aren’t artifacts from the Native Americans who once lived in this area?”

  “Because I have evidence that at least one item was used quite recently.” Gambles took out a smooth, round stone about the size of a tennis ball and a Ziploc bag containing small, gray fragments of some unrecognizable material. “It appears this stone was used to break open freshwater clams.”

  Slater frowned. “Why would someone smash them instead of just p
rying them open? It ruins the meat.”

  “Exactly!” Gambles sat up straighter as he spoke, a triumphant smile playing across his face. “You or I would do just that. But what if you did not have a knife or other implement at your disposal? Or what if you didn’t know such things existed? Only a true primitive would use a bludgeoning tool for this sort of work.”

  Slater adopted a properly interested expression, paused for a few moments to let viewers appreciate the implications, and then continued with the questions.

  “Tell us about the other evidence you’ve recently uncovered.”

  This was clearly the moment Gambles had been waiting for. He leaned forward, his words coming faster. “I was taking a stroll down by the river and the tracks were just there. My first thought was that someone was winding me up.”

  “Why would you think that?” Slater asked.

  “My neighbors know I’m a cryptozoologist. Truth told, they think I’m a bit of a nutter so I thought one of them might be having some fun at my expense. Then I realized that I was well off my usual route. No one would have any reason to believe I’d have gone so deep into the swamp. If someone wanted to play a joke on me, they’d have planted the tracks somewhere I’d be sure to stumble across them.”

  “Of course, that doesn’t mean the tracks aren’t fake—only that they probably weren’t intended specifically for you,” Slater pointed out. Bones was impressed that she didn’t merely accept the man’s story at face value. “What makes you believe these tracks are genuine?”

  “That’s a fair question.” Gambles once again reached into his briefcase, this time taking out a set of photographs. He passed most of them to Slater, but kept one which he held up for the benefit of the camera. “I immediately took some photographs with my cellphone, just in case someone or something disturbed the tracks before I could return. I then hurried home to retrieve my camera and my footprint kit. These are the high-resolution images I took. You can see they bear some resemblance to ape footprints, but are also reminiscent of very old tracks found in Africa.” He handed the last photograph to Slater.