by Simon Okill
Dense woods surrounded Duane's isolated homestead consisting of a cabin with ivy creeping all over it. The sheriff's patrol car stopped right in front of the main door of the cabin in a cloud of dust. Lou stepped out of her cruiser and surveyed the wilderness that crept right up to the porch.
Two other vehicles were also parked outside the cabin-Duane's Harley Davidson and a shiny, new, blue Winnebago campervan gaily painted with large white Bigfoot footprints. Bigfoot Mobile was written on both sides of the camper van. The camper was scratched all over.
Lou stepped onto the porch and tapped the screen door. The floor beneath her feet creaked alarmingly. She kept moving in case she went through the floor.
A sudden creak of the screen door exposed Duane's beaming, unshaven face. He prompted Lou inside with a wave of his hand and a scratch of his ass.
Lou followed Duane into the main living area. Not that anyone could call the room a decent place to live in. Even pigs had better homes than this, thought Lou.
She rather gingerly sat in a beaten up, threadbare armchair that smelled real bad. In fact it smelled quite similar to the crime scenes-most curious. She was trying not to pay too much attention to the cluttered living room, but it wasn't easy. Her concentration started to waver with thoughts of tiny livestock finding a new home on her body. She touched an arm of the chair and instantly regretted it.
Something sticky and quite pungent stained her hand yellow. She sniffed the goo and almost choked on the smell of rotten eggs and stale garlic. She was again reminded of the Phantom Bigfoot. She wiped her hand on the chair, now thoroughly distracted from her task.
Surely with Duane's money, he could afford a luxury cabin, furniture to match, nothing but the best, and yet he chose to live in such a shabby home. She'd often commented upon this fact, but he'd never done anything about it.
He was-and there was no doubt in her mind-an incurable eccentric. Money was of no real use to Duane. Keeping up appearances didn't bother him. He didn't care what people said or thought about him.
She focused her attention on a recumbent Duane as he lay comfortably on the sofa. She couldn't help but notice clumps of cushion and springs poking through the woven material of the collapsed sofa.
Duane was casually dressed in a faded t-shirt covered in food stains and threadbare, red and navy check long johns. On his feet were disgustingly grubby Bigfoot slippers.
Lou fidgeted in the gross-smelling armchair. She wondered what that stink was, and worse, what was that yellow stuff. Lou gave Duane a quizzical look.
Duane sat bolt upright as something dawned on him.
"Where are my manners today?"
He sprang to his feet. The sofa gave an audible squeal as fresh springs popped anew through the rotting material. He shuffled off to the kitchen, out of sight.
The sounds of coffee making could be heard.
Lou got up and made a quick search of the rest of the living room. She had to admit that some areas of the living room smelled real nice, despite its clutter. She faltered, wondering what that nice, flowery smell was. Her keen eye detected several air freshener wands dotted about the room giving off a sweet fragrance.
Suddenly something nipped her bare arm. She started to itch, thinking the armchair was flea-infested. She furiously scratched her lower arm. She wondered if Duane had fleas, but she hadn't noticed him scratching before—unless he was thinking with his butt-finger. The little nipper had progressed to her back. Damn it Duane!
Lou shouted out, "What the hell's been in that armchair, Duane?"
Duane entered the living room with two mugs of steaming coffee. "Why d'ya wanna know?"
"I think I've picked up some miniature guests."
"Oh . . . sorry about that," Duane said with a shrug, handing the mug to Lou. As an afterthought he explained, "Some hunters' hounds chased a raccoon through here, not long back . . . they were all over that armchair like fleas on a Bigfoot."
Lou sipped her coffee. Not bad.
"Beau has never stayed missing for more than nine hours," she said, sounding troubled.
"He'll show up," Duane replied with an unconcerned shrug.
If Beau knew what was good for him he'd better show up soon, thought Lou. She decided not to return to the armchair and remained on her feet.
"Something I should've asked you last night at Abe's . . . have you seen any strangers in the woods in the last two days?"
Duane looked thoughtful for a moment and idly scratched his butt. He shrugged as he sat back down on the creaking sofa.
"Duh-I'm always seeing strangers in the woods . . . you know, hikers, campers, hunters and such . . . just the usual crowd hoping to get a glimpse of Bigfoot or bag a specimen." As a little added touch, he said, "No alien shit though."
Duane shook his head and eased himself away from a spring that was trying to ream his butt hole, but no matter where he sat another spring was waiting. He gave up.
"But Lou, this isn't the first time he's gone missing nor will it be the last."
Before she could reply, Lou felt a sharp nip on her backside. She twitched and involuntarily scratched her butt. She stood looking at Duane, scratching her backside frantically while trying not to spill her coffee.
"Don't I know it," she agreed irritably.
Her gaze held onto the stinky armchair. She had an irresistible urge to blow it away with her Magnum .44.
"I don't want to ask this . . . but are you involved in Beau's disappearance?" Lou immediately felt ashamed.
Duane looked genuinely aghast at Sheriff Lou. "Me! You think I'm hiding Beau?"
Lou gave Duane a keen look. He seemed genuinely shocked by what she had just asked. Of course, he could be putting on a good act, but her gut told her that her friend didn't have anything to do with Beau's disappearance. And that was fine with her.
"Sorry about that, Duane, but I'd be remiss in my duty if I hadn't asked what was on everyone's mind."
"If you like, you can take a look around the place," Duane offered. "You don't need a search warrant." He suddenly went stiff, "Who's everyone, Lou?" Duane sighed, "No, don't tell me . . . that shit-for-brains, Walt!"
Lou nodded yes and had to agree, Walt Flucker surely was a real shit-for-brains. Should she take him up on his offer of a search? She hesitated for a moment.
"No need for a search, Duane . . . I believe you had nothing to do with Beau's disappearance."
She looked at her best friend-the guy who'd saved her all those miserable years ago, and could see the relief on his face. She glanced at a fading photo in a wooden frame above the fireplace. It was of her, Duane and him displaying a massive steelhead. A twinge of sadness tugged at her heart. Her thoughts wandered back to her surroundings.
"You're not much for housekeeping are you?"
"Can't say that I am," Duane said with a shrug. He watched Lou scratch her behind with a smirk. "Don't scratch, it just makes them bite all the more."
Lou gave the armchair a look of disgust then looked back at her amiable host. "That armchair stinks more than just dog. What the hell made that smell?" It sure as hell reminded her of each crime scene, but not as pungent.
Duane was slow to reply as he gave the matter some thought while scratching his butt with his thinking finger. He blew out his cheeks and shook his head.
"Search me, Lou. You know I never lock my door . . . guess some critter nested there while I was away . . . a skunk maybe."
She loved Duane, but why couldn't he take more pride in himself and his home? "You know it wouldn't hurt to get a haircut and put on some decent clothes and give this place a dusting." She thought the only thing this place needed was a bulldozer.
Duane didn't reply for a minute. He gave Lou one of his amiable smiles before he spoke. "I'm happy the way things are."
Most times she found that amiable smile of his hard to resist, like now. She smiled affectionately at him.
"Love you, Duane, you scruffy, lazy bastard."
Duane didn't take offense at h
er remark. He just continued to smile that amiable smile of his as he watched her place her mug on the floor then walk over to the door.
DUANE STOOD ON THE PORCH and watched Sheriff Lou's patrol car drive away down the dirt road. He smiled as he waved goodbye.
As soon as the cruiser had turned a corner in the dirt road, he called out, "Teeelaaa!" He gave the safe whistle several times.
He scanned the perimeter of the forest that surrounded the cabin. From behind a fir tree stepped a stunning, six and a half foot, foxy red Bigfoot with gold-colored streaks in her hair. Teeelaaa had a bright yellow streak running down her forehead to her pert little snout that twitched incessantly seeking signs of danger. Her suckle-bumps were fully developed and quite overly-sized for a female Bigfoot. Her snout told her she was indeed safe.
Duane smiled, and beckoned her to come to him with a wave of his hand and a come-hither whistle.
Teeelaaa sniffed the air again as if to make sure no other pale ones were nearby, stepping into the clearing.
She skipped up to Duane, squealing with joy, "Weeeeooooeeee."
"I don't know about you, but I'm hungrier than a grizzly after winter," Duane said with a smile, rubbing his stomach and licking his lips, "Teeelaaa hungry?"
Teeelaaa nodded yes.
Duane nodded his head as he entered his cabin to make them something to eat in the kitchen.
Teeelaaa eagerly watched Duane preparing her favorite-canned tuna on toast with melted cheese topping. And for a special treat he plopped a big dollop of mayonnaise on top. Bigfoot went nuts for mayonnaise, especially the garlic variety.
Many times Duane had blissfully watched Teeelaaa and her hairy friends scavenge for food as nature intended. With her powerful hands she would rip from the earth bunches of wild garlic and devour them with relish. She also went nuts for nuts of all kinds and bonkers for berries.
Berries held a special meaning to Bigfoot, but more on that later.
14
EARLY THE FOLLOWING MORNING, a shiny, black FBI Sedan drove at the regulation steady pace-well within the speed limit, down the narrow two-lane highway towards the town of Big Beaver.
Agent Willis Johnson sat in the passenger seat irately tapping his fingertips on both knees. He was tight-lipped as he looked out of the window at the endless row of trees passing by. It was clearly evident he was not in the best of moods. The closer he got to Big Beaver the worse his nerves jangled-nerves of guilt-nerves due to her.
Agent Merlot was at the wheel. Occasionally she would smile to herself at the sight of such pleasing scenery, or a red-tailed hawk soaring above; it made a welcome change to concrete gray.
Coming into view was a road sign—"Bigfoot Bend — please slow down for Bigfoot crossing the road."
Merlot chuckled out loud and pointed to the sign. She dutifully slowed down and scanned the forest for Bigfoot, calling out in a cute voice, "Here, Bigfoot."
Willis stared at the sign as it flashed by and grimaced. He was aware that his pulse rate had increased and his palms felt clammy. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, like a nest of snakes squirming out of control. And his throat felt dry. He wondered if this is what a panic attack felt like.
Willis recalled telling his FBI supervisor that it was a pointless waste of time reassigning him to a missing person case and sending him to Big Beaver to investigate the disappearance of Beau Flucker, someone well-known for claiming he'd been abducted by Bigfoot. He had pointed out to his FBI supervisor that his area of expertise was audio and visual surveillance.
His supervisor had told him in no uncertain terms that it was on Doctor Fernandez's prescription that Willis be sent to his hometown to sort out his personal problems.
It was just dumb luck that this abduction case should occur at the wrong moment, and a perfect excuse to be psychologically evaluated to see how he'd react on returning to his hometown, a place he had expressed negative feelings about and was possibly the root cause of his recent antagonistic behavior. Shrinks! What do they know, thought Willis. Problem is, deep down, Willis knew the shrink was spot on.
Willis looked askance at his partner and saw her take her eye off the road to admire her reflection in the rear view mirror, and inspect her exceptionally white teeth.
The vain bitch will kill us both, thought Willis, as he looked back out of the passenger window.
"Eyes on the road!"
The Big Beaver welcome sign loomed up in front of them like something out of his nightmares.
Willis swallowed nervously. His pulse rate went up a notch. He ran his clammy hands down the legs of his trousers. The bad feeling in the pit of his stomach had started to give him the cramps. Sweat broke out on his brow. He started once again to tap his fingertips on both knees.
The woman he once loved was so close his guilt was ready to explode in his head-guilt at dumping her without saying anything. He just up and left.
The sign read "Welcome to Big Shaved Beaver."
At first, Willis wasn't at all amused at what was emblazoned on the sign for all to see. Disgusting, he thought. But inwardly, the juvenile reference caused him to smile at distant memories-fond memories of her. Outwardly, he was a rock.
Merlot looked at the sign and chuckled. She slammed on the brakes with a squeal of rubber, and peered up at the town welcome sign through the front window.
"Welcome to Big Shaved Beaver!" Merlot took a snapshot of the sign with her cell phone and sniggered.
Willis turned to look at his partner and gave her an irritated look. "It's juvenile and it's disgusting." He desperately wanted to laugh, but his stoic manner wouldn't allow him to let his guard down. He would be vulnerable then.
Merlot continued to look up at the sign. She chuckled. She started fiddling with her cell phone.
"What the hell are you doing now?"
Merlot grinned and pressed a key, "There."
"You sent that to the guys back in Sacramento, didn't you?"
"You betcha," Merlot said, bursting out laughing.
Willis clenched his fists in anger. Didn't his partner realize what a pain in the butt she was? And just like the idiot who had defiled the town welcome sign, Merlot was a juvenile with a disgusting mind. Willis would give anything right now to see the looks on his comrades' faces back at the field office. But there was that rock again.
"Are you going to stay here all day admiring such vulgarity?"
Merlot couldn't stop giggling. "Lighten up . . . don't you think Big Shaved Beaver is a good one?" She sniggered. "But I can think of a few better ones —such as Big Furry Beaver or Big Trimmed Beaver."
Willis' thin lip curled into a vicious snarl.
"Zip it!"
Merlot looked askance at her partner. The smile left her face as she judged the nasty look Willis was giving her.
"You really mean that don't you?"
"What do you think?" Willis showed his partner the grimmest grimace he could muster. He was gratified to see Merlot's unsmiling face. "That's better. Now let's keep it that way before I do something you'll regret."
"Okay, I get it, Dirty Harry, keep your gun holstered." With those words Merlot put the car in gear and drove off.
Several moments of zip it passed until Merlot began to chatter, like she always did when she was nervous.
"I'm looking forward to seeing your hometown and meeting the people you grew up with." Merlot grinned, showing her perfect white teeth. "Come on, Willis . . . should be fun."
Willis didn't reply. His gaze remained focused on the endless row of trees. He began to fidget. The thought of returning to Big Beaver, meeting the people he grew up with, seeing old friends and one friend in particular, filled him with dread. He hadn't seen or spoken to her for thirteen years. He'd thought when he left Big Beaver that he'd never return. That his life could only get better. He'd been planning to join the FBI and leave his hometown since his mid-teens. One thing he hadn't planned on was falling in love with the most gorgeous girl in town, though at the time he'd
thought his love for her was just young love and that he'd get over her.
With mounting unease he wondered how she'd react to him coming back into her life, after ditching her the way he did. She'd probably knock out a few teeth. He couldn't blame her if she did. He truly regretted leaving her that way. He felt guilty for not saying goodbye.
But Willis knew the real reason why he'd left without saying anything. He wouldn't have been able to handle the tears and hurt. His resolve would have weakened and he would have probably ended up staying in Big Beaver for the rest of his life. And if he had stayed, what would he have done with his life? Become a deputy, maybe even sheriff? That was not how he planned to live his life.
Over the years he'd dwelled more and more on his reason for leaving her. Had he made a mistake in leaving? No, he didn't think so. He had his life to get on with-his life.
But these past couple of months, she had been on his mind more and more, ever since that damned letter—the letter that crushed his cold heart. He was still waiting for the right woman to come along, but none could cause sparks to fly like she could.
Had she been the right woman, perhaps the only woman? Willis didn't know the answer. What he did know, was that deep down, Doctor Fernandez was right, he did have unresolved issues in Big Beaver—issues that had fucked him up real good.
"You suppose we'll catch a glimpse of Bigfoot while we're here?" Merlot asked, suppressing a fit of the giggles.
Willis only half heard his partner speaking.
"What was that? Catch a glimpse of . . . what?"
Merlot repeated herself in an obvious way, "Catch a glimpse of Bigfoot while we're here."
Jesus Christ! Was his partner kidding? Only idiots believed Bigfoot existed, thought Willis, which confirmed his suspicions about Merlot. He didn't reply. He continued to look out of the passenger window, hoping Merlot would shut up.
"Hey, Willis . . . you ever seen Bigfoot?"
Willis didn't reply.
"Well . . . have you?"
Willis gritted his teeth. His partner was irritating the crap out of him. "No I haven't," he replied tersely.
