“What the hell is going on here?” shouted Howie. Entering, he grabbed the door and flung it behind him. The door slammed. “Can you please explain to me why the hell I was dragged away from my beautiful wife to come here?”
“Um…” Paul didn’t know how to answer.
“Oh, and don’t worry, I woke Trish up as well and sent her to your place to sit with your kids.”
“How’d she get in?”
“I have a—”
“Key. Right.”
Howie stepped around his desk, jerking the chair back as if he was about to assault the comfy-looking seat. He had on his uniform, but the shirt hadn’t been tucked in and hung unbuttoned over a white, wife-beater tank top. Paul noticed the muscle bulging against the wispy white shirt and felt a pang of envy.
Howie dropped down in the chair. Leaning over his desk, the chair popped with protest. The look on his brother’s face once again reminded Paul of their father. It also made him immediately feel as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. He recalled the time Dad had come into his room after discovering Paul had been skipping school.
Scowling, Howie held out his hands. “So what the hell?”
Paul looked to Becky for help. She shrugged. Sighing, Paul turned back to his brother to find his face had darkened with another flush of anger. The bags under his eyes were puffy half-moons.
“Well?” said Howie.
Clearing his throat, Paul leaned forward. “It’s real.”
“It’s…real.” Howie repeated, slowly.
“Yes.”
“What is?”
“The Bigfoot.”
Howie held his glower a moment longer before it broke away to laughter and a wide smile. “The Bigfoot’s real, he says.”
“It is.”
Howie laughed again. “So you’re telling me that a mythical creature believed to rove the mountains in states far from ours is real?”
“Um—well…”
“And it’s now on our beach?” Howie asked.
“Yeah…that’s what I’m saying.”
Howie tipped back his head and unleashed a booming guffaw. When he raised his head, tears were trickling down from his eyes. The laughter was contagious, spreading to Paul and carrying over to Becky who joined in, apprehensively at first, but before long, the once dead calm room was a hullabaloo of laughter.
Then Howie slammed his fists down on the desk, killing it. “Do you think I’m an idiotic buffoon!?!”
“We saw it,” said Becky. “It attacked us.”
“That’s not possible.”
“It is,” said Paul. “It damn near got Becky.”
“He’s right,” she said, leaning back. She swung her legs up, dropping her feet on the corner of Howie’s desk. Her pants were torn around the ankles. She pulled them apart, showing a patch of tanned skin that was ruddy around the scrapes. “This is where it grabbed me.”
Howie looked at her injuries, frowning. “Put your legs down, Becky.” She did. “And this…Striker guy saved you?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s a load of shit, is what that is.”
“But my legs,” started Becky.
Howie silenced her with a wave of his hand. “Probably did that yourself, shaving.”
“Shaving?” Becky’s mouth dropped, coughing noises coming from her throat. “Shaving?”
“You have to believe me, Howie. Why would I make something like that up?”
Howie relaxed some, but not much. “I’m not saying you made it up. I’m saying you didn’t see what you think you did.”
“There’s no way it wasn’t what I think it is.”
“Or what I think it is.” Becky added. She thrust her hands down at her legs. “Or what I know caused this. And it wasn’t my goddamn razor!”
“And the two of you think it’s a Bigfoot.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement, almost an accusation.
Paul frowned. “Unfortunately.”
Groaning, Howie leaned back in the chair, entwining his fingers and putting them on top of his head. “Tell me what happened.”
Paul told him everything, including the scabs, bald spots, and infected rashes spread along the Sasquatch’s body.
“And we would have been killed for sure if that Striker guy wouldn’t have shown up,” said Paul, ending his recapping.
Howie poked out his bottom lip, looking as if he might be considering the story. “And you don’t find that odd?”
Paul narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“This creature attacks you and this guy just happens to be there toting a weapon that scares it off?”
Paul hadn’t considered how unlikely those odds were until now. There was no way Striker would have known, unless he already knew the creature would be there.
Or if he’d staged the whole thing.
Turning to Becky, he saw the look on her face suggested she might agree.
“And you said he didn’t shoot the thing, right?” asked Howie.
“No. He fired off to the side. Like warning shots or something.”
“See my point?”
“Yeah,” sighed Paul. “I know what you’re going to say next. That it was all some kind of stunt.”
“Exactly.”
“There’s a good chance you’re absolutely right.”
“I know I am,” said Howie, convinced.
“But you didn’t see the Bigfoot, Howie. That was not a guy in a suit.”
Becky shook her head. “Nope. And it was strong. Damn strong.”
“Couldn’t have been too strong if Paul was able to pull you from its grip.”
Maybe sand got in its eyes, too.
He was about to tell Howie that, but the door swung open again. “Is it true?” somebody asked.
Paul recognized the voice. Mayor Caine. Paul turned around in the seat, seeing the mayor entering, dressed in silk pajamas with a matching robe thrown over it.
Does this guy always wear pajamas?
He cut between Paul and Becky to reach Howie’s desk. “Is it?”
“Are you kidding me?” said Howie. “No. There’s no Bigfoot. And turn off your damn scanner. I’m tired of telling you people this.”
“Is it true you have a man in custody? Someone who stumbled onto the scene and scared it off?”
“Hardly stumbled. Just as I was starting to explain to my brother and his facts-twisting girlfriend here, there is no way someone wanders up on a scene like that and happens to be equipped to handle it.”
Bubba stepped into the doorway, filling it with his bulky mass. Hands crossed at his stomach, he stood there quietly. Paul studied his shape and briefly pondered the idea of him dressed in a Bigfoot suit.
No way. This guy isn’t anywhere close to being as lean.
Paul scooted his chair over so Caine wasn’t standing right on top of him.
“Where’s the man?” asked Caine.
“In a holding cell.”
“And what are you going to do about it?” Caine put a hand on his hip, jutting out his side.
“Well,” said Howie, leaning back in his chair. He put both hands down on his desk nonchalantly. “I’m going to let him go.”
“What!?!” shouted Caine. His face soured, cheeks darkening red.
“The only thing I have him on is for having weapons on the beach, which weren’t concealed, by the way. The grenades are okay since he’s military and has the proper licenses. The flare gun isn’t illegal, so all I can do is fine him the maximum of a thousand dollars and tell him not to do it again.”
“I’m overruling your call on that one.”
“On what authority?”
“Mine. The town’s. Take your pick, I don’t care.”
“You’ll have to submit your so-called superseding decision in writing to the board and it could take up to a week for them to vote. Have you lost your mind?”
“Not at all. My mind is fresh, crisp.” He snapped his fingers. “Quick like a mousetrap.”
Paul could not grasp how this guy had become mayor.
And Gunner has the hots for his daughter? Is she a loon like this imbecile?
“Listen to me, Sheriff,” said Caine. “Let’s go down to the pen and talk to this guy. Hear him out.”
“What for?”
“Humor me, Sheriff.”
Howie sighed, dipping his head. Paul recognized defeat when he saw it. He imagined Howie wanted to dispute this further, but probably figured it was pointless. “All right, Caine. We’ll head down there.”
“Not without me,” said Becky.
“Of course not,” said Caine. “The press should hear this too.”
“Absolutely,” said Howie. “Wouldn’t be a party without her, right?”
20
“I’ve been waiting on this meeting,” said Striker. “I knew sooner or later you’d come down here, wanting to talk.” He sat on the bench in his cell, a lone prisoner in a kennel of single cells. Leaning slightly forward, elbows resting on his knees, he looked at them through the bars.
Paul was amazed by Striker’s bodybuilder size. His biceps looked to be as big as Paul’s head.
“Arnold Striker?” asked Howie.
Striker looked down at himself. “I better be. I’m wearing his underwear.”
Becky snickered, a soft quacking sound in her throat.
Howie leered at the buff man, not amused. “Making jokes?”
“The only joke here is your judicial system.”
“You can rot in there, pal.” Howie started to turn around, but Caine’s grip on his forearm stopped him. The hard look he gave the finicky mayor sent a cold shiver even through Paul. “Want to let go of my arm?”
“Don’t be pigheaded, Sheriff. We came here to talk. He’s only sizing you up to see if you’re a threat.”
“And I’m sure he knows that I am.”
“Howard,” said Caine with a bit more hardness. “I do insist.”
“Fine, if you want to talk to him, then talk.”
“Thank you.” Caine released Howie’s arm and approached the cell. “Mr. Striker, I’m Mayor Caine...”
“I know who you are.”
“Oh, you do?”
“I know who all of you are except for that guy over there on the right who looks like he’s a guest at a party he doesn’t want to be at.”
Everybody turned to stare at Paul.
“Wow,” said Paul. “You nailed that.”
Striker nodded with a wink. “So, who are you?”
“Paul Thompson.”
“Any relation to my kind host here.”
“Brother.”
“Uh-huh. Thought so. You guys look alike.”
“Should I give you guys a moment alone?” asked Howie. “I mean—you’re bonding so well already. Paul, you could take him home, you have a car with two seats, right?”
“Sheriff Thompson,” said Caine. “Another comment like that and I’ll be forced to ask you to leave. Please don’t make me do that.”
“Then ask him your goddamn questions and quit this polite bullshit.”
“I’ll ignore your harshness, Sheriff, and get on with it.” Caine turned to Striker once again. “How do you know us?”
“I researched the town. I know who you are. And that burly guy who’s always with you is your bodyguard, but the rumor is you’re lovers.”
Caine gasped. Bubba’s mouth dropped soundlessly open.
Becky repeated her quacking neigh of concealed laughter. Even Howie’s tightly pressed mouth arched a little in the corner.
“And the lovely lady is Rebecca Aniston, town reporter with aspirations of being a well-respected probing journalist for a much bigger gazette in a much bigger city.”
Becky’s eyes widened. Her cheeks dotted with red flushes. She looked around as if wanting to apologize for his being right.
“And my new best friend is Sheriff Howard—Howie—Thompson. Moved here years ago with his wife, Patricia, whose family owned a house out here. The paperwork claims you purchased the property from her parents, but I’d bet my favorite automatic rifle that it was a wedding gift.”
Howie fumed, looking like he might reach through the bars and squeeze Striker’s throat.
“Okay,” said Caine. “I see you did your homework, though you’re obviously wrong about my relationship with my associate. So why are you here?”
“You know why I’m here.”
“Please, just share it with me. I’d rather hear it from your mouth.”
“I’m here to get back my Bigfoot.”
Paul felt a squirmy sensation in his stomach.
Caine smiled. “The Bigfoot?”
“My Bigfoot. The one you’ve turned into your poster boy. I’ve seen residents parading around for the tourists dressed in costumes, selling merchandise and clothing and trinkets with its face plastered across like some kind of goddamn mascot. If only you knew the kind of feral danger you’re promoting, you wouldn’t be doing it.”
“Feral danger? Why don’t you explain to us this feral danger, and why do you call the Bigfeet monster yours?”
“Bigfeet?”
“Sausfoot…whatever.”
“He doesn’t say the name right sometimes,” said Howie. “He’s an idiot.”
“For the first time tonight, you and I are in total agreement.”
“Fine,” said Caine, waving his hand. “I will be the punchline to your joke if it will get you talking to me.”
Striker smiled. “Fair enough. It’s my Bigfoot because I have already captured it twice. And both times it’s managed to elude me. I’ve hunted it since I was a teenager, through the deep mountains of Colorado and Utah. It’s always managed to get the upper hand. We caught up to it once when I was nineteen, cornered it in some caves in Utah. We pumped elephant tranquilizers in it, enough to put a full-sized elephant out for a week. We had the beast chained up in the back of our cargo truck and were heading back down the mountain when it woke up. It snapped the chains as easily as someone breaking a carrot. Its strength is immeasurable.
“After it broke his chains, it ripped the back of the truck open and snatched my Papa right out. It tore Papa limb from limb. I tried to regain control of the truck but it was already careening over the edge of the ridge and down we went. When I came to I was being airlifted to the nearest hospital. The Bigfoot was gone and my Papa was dead.” Striker sighed. “And all I have to show for it is this.” He pointed at the long wavy scar on his cheek.
“Was that…?” Caine’s voice petered out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Was that the first time you caught it?”
“No. That was the last time my Papa caught it. The first time I caught it was fifteen years ago. It had snuck back into Colorado and I’d tracked it for six weeks in the wilderness. It wasn’t easy, but I led the bastard into a trap. This time, I’d thought ahead. We had a cell erected from solid steel and after we had it incapacitated, we put it inside. Then we airlifted it out of the mountains. Wasn’t two hours before it busted through the top and climbed up the chain and into the chopper. Killed my entire team, and the chopper went down in the mountains of North Carolina, near Wildcat Landing. And the only two survivors were it and me.”
As Striker’s story progressed, his voice had become more intense and whispery. Paul felt like he was in an old Rambo movie, listening to John Rambo convey a story about an old battle that had gone horribly wrong.
“The second time was a few months back. I’d assembled a new team of mercenaries, the best of the best they’d said. We caught back up to it outside of Seven Devil Ridge. Again, we laid a trap, and again we seized the beast. It had almost seemed too easy, but I thought maybe it was getting old and predictable. I was wrong.”
“The pieces that washed up on our shores,” said Howie, “was from your boat, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. We had chartered a private boat, and for an additional hefty sum, the captain kept it off the charts. I’d hired a trap-maker to design a cage for the B
igfoot, something that he could not break. And he put together this unique cage. We tested its durability with a bulldozer. The bars broke the teeth off its blade. But as you can see it still wasn’t enough to contain the Bigfoot.”
“How in the hell can something be so strong?” asked Caine. “How?”
Striker shrugged. “Guess it got all the goods in evolution, and we got what was left.”
“Do you really believe that?” asked Caine.
“What does it matter what I believe at this point? All I know is the bastard’s real and very deadly.”
Nobody disputed Striker’s claim. A dark calm had spread through them all.
Becky was the one to break it. “What happened on the boat?” she asked, sounding fully like a reporter at a press conference.
“It got loose.”
The group waited for him to continue, but he never did.
“After it got loose,” said Becky. “What’d it do then?”
“Killed everyone on board. Captain included. The boat deviated abruptly off course and crashed into the rocks and shattered on impact. What didn’t break sank. I went down with the ship, and so did the Bigfoot. Clinging to a floating piece of debris, I washed on shore. I thought the creature might have drowned, but I stuck close by just in case. When I heard about the sightings, I figured it was the Bigfoot. When that boy was killed, I knew for certain it was.”
“Why didn’t you come forward sooner?” said Howie.
“Sure. Right. That would’ve been a good idea.”
“We probably would’ve believed you, especially after finding the footprint.”
“You’d have thought I somehow caused it. Like I’m sure you were thinking when you walked in here. No. I had to let it show itself before I made my move. I waited and waited and it never did. I think it stayed out of sight because of the heavy amount of people you had here this summer. Maybe it was scared or just being extra cautious.”
“Why do you think it’s out now?” asked Howie. “It’s killed one of my men, a teenage girl and possibly two other teenage boys. Maybe more for all we know.”
Striker’s eyebrows lifted, lips pointed out. “Looking for food? Exploring? It’s what it does.”
“And what about the missing girl?” asked Becky.
“What about her?”
Bigfoot Beach Page 15