Bigfoot Beach

by Kristopher Rufty

  “Should we assume she’s dead, too?

  “A year ago, I’d say there’s a good chance that she is.”

  “What if she’s not?” asked Becky.

  “Then it’s keeping her.”

  “Why would he do that?” asked Paul.

  “It’s lonely being such a rare species. It wants a female companion. You can imagine the rest.”

  “Jesus,” Becky muttered.

  Striker shrugged. “You asked.”

  “Well, that’s a pretty amazing story,” said Caine.

  “Right,” said Howie. “And what do you suggest we do about it?”

  “The obvious thing,” said Caine.

  To Paul, the obvious thing would be stopping this Bigfoot parade the town had become. But something told him Caine wasn’t thinking logically.

  And he proved Paul right when he said, “Capture it ourselves. With Mr. Striker’s help, of course.”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” said Howie.

  Striker laughed. “With my help. Is that what you think? Believe me when I tell you this is no longer a seek-and-capture mission. It’s now seek-and-destroy.”

  “Fine,” said Caine, waving his hand as if annoyed by a fly buzzing around his face. “Just as long as we get a picture of it. A good one like the kind they take when someone catches a giant shark or something. We can have it strung up, with me in the foreground clutching a giant rifle.” His eyes as round as ping pong balls, he wiped his hand in the air from one side to the other. “Mayor saves his own town from Bigfoot menace. What do you think of that Ms. Aniston? Would that sell some papers or what?”

  Becky seemed too shocked to reply, but she managed to mutter, “Sh-sure.”

  Striker stood up and walked over to the bars. He gripped them so tightly his knuckles strained white. “Did you not hear anything I just said? I’ve lost count of how many people this son of a bitch has killed—civilians and soldiers. This thing does not deserve to be celebrated in your town, Mayor. It deserves to have its head impaled on a stake.”

  Mayor Caine winced as if he’d just bit into a sour pickle. “So I take it you’re in?”

  Striker’s upper lip twitched into an almost snarl, baring teeth. “I’m in. But not on your terms. On mine.”

  Caine clapped his hands together. The loud smack reverberated all around. “Tomorrow morning then. We’ll all meet here at eight. I’ll bring Bubba, and Sheriff, you bring a couple men.”

  “I’m going,” said Becky.

  “Same here,” said Paul, not realizing he was going to volunteer until hearing the words aloud.

  Howie smirked. “No way. Both of you can forget it. Becky’s a civilian and Paul, you’re not in the books to start duty yet. Too much of a liability if one of you were to get hurt.”

  Before Paul couldn’t dispute, Caine cut him off.

  “Deputize them,” said Caine.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Deputize them and put a weapon in their hands. We can’t take the entire police force, Sheriff, and we can’t call in reinforcements from the other cities. I want to keep this hush-hush until the Beastfoot is dead. Then we’ll call a press conference, and Ms. Aniston here will get first dibs at all the questions, interviews, and stories. After that, we’ll unveil the carcass for the town to see. We’ll be indestructible. Our town will live on well after we’re gone. We’ll be the new Loch Ness! No more worries, Howard. Can you imagine what it would be like to not have to worry if the summer months are going to fund our falls, winters, and springs?”

  Paul studied his brother. He recognized the inner turmoil, though his expressions and movements showed none of it. Howard wanted all those things, wanted the confidence in knowing their town would survive. But he also didn’t want to earn it from what would have to be done.

  How bad is it for them that they have to even entertain such an idea?

  “I don’t like it,” said Howie. He shrugged. “But what choice do I have?”

  “No choice,” answered Caine. “None whatsoever.”

  Howie sighed. He looked at each person before walking away. Paul watched him leave the room.

  “I believe I share your sheriff’s concerns,” said Striker. “If we do find him, I doubt any of you will be alive to reap the rewards.”

  Paul’s intestines felt as if they were being squeezed with cold hands. Somehow, he knew Striker was right. He’d seen the beast. He knew more about what they were up against than Caine.

  And I volunteered to tag along.

  But when he looked at Becky and saw the evident fear in her eyes, he decided going with them was the right decision. Howie would also need someone on his side out there. He doubted anyone else would have Howie’s back more than him.

  An awkward bout of silence filled the room. Though nobody seemed to enjoy the stillness, nobody was quick to end it, including Becky. Eyes were aimed at the floor, the walls, anything to keep from making contact with somebody else.

  A couple minutes later, Howie returned with a Bible and a pair of tiny badges. “All right,” he said. “Let’s get this bullshit over with.” Holding out the Bible, he stopped in front of Becky first. “I’m going to swear you in.” He turned to Paul. “Then you. We still have a lot of paperwork to do before you become a legitimate deputy, Paul.”

  Paul nodded.

  Howie said, “I’m going to make myself absolutely transparent here. I do not like this. I do not endorse this. This is your last chance to change your mind. Once you’re deputized, I will hold you accountable out there. Got me?”

  Becky nodded. Howie looked back at Paul. He also nodded.

  Howie took a deep breath. Letting it out, his cheeks puffed. “All right. Here we go.”

  21

  Howie dropped off Trish when he picked up Paul. He thanked her for once again hanging out with his kids. She acted as if she was glad to do it, but he could tell on the inside she resented him for it. And Paul hated himself for putting her in a position where she couldn’t say no. Again.

  Now, sitting in the passenger seat of Howie’s Suburban, on their way to the station, Paul battled whether his decision was what was best for his family.

  It’s not.

  He should be spending time reestablishing the bond he used to have with them before Alisha’s mental state drove a spike through it. They’d been a tightknit group, banding together during the hardship. However, since Alisha was out of the picture for good, they’d drifted apart. Even Natalie no longer seemed as close to Paul as she once had been. Technically, she was still glad to be Daddy’s little girl, but there was this distrust that he detected with her. It was as if she was waiting for him to turn on her like Mommy had.

  Never. I would never turn on her or Gunner.

  “Uniform looks like it fits all right,” said Howie.

  Paul glanced down at the tan and khaki colored shirt and pants. His gun belt was a glossy black bar that separated the lighter tone from the darker one. But it did feel uplifting to have his trusty Ruger back on his hip. The familiar weight against his side was like an affectionate tap from a loved one. “Thanks,” he said.

  “Looks a little loose, though. Lost some weight?”

  There were periods, though rare, when depression really ate at Paul which in return made him not want to eat anything. He’d fake it in front of the kids with small bites and spreading his food across his plate to make it look bare. But after they’d left the table, he would dump what was left on his plate into the trash. What little he’d actually ingested would come out quickly because of his upset stomach.

  Instead of admitting all of this to Howie, he said, “A little. Got to look my best.” He offered a smile that felt strained on his face.

  “You seem bothered by something,” said Howie.

  “Who me?” Paul didn’t take his eyes from the window. He stared out at the private homes, built on stilts and lined up beyond the road. He could see the ocean through the gaps underneath the houses in the distance. This early in the
morning the water looked teal under the faded blue of the sky. It was already hot and humid, and Paul could feel little itchy welts rising on his arms from mosquito bites.

  “Want to back out?”

  Paul nearly groaned. “No. I’m not backing out.”

  “I didn’t mean for that to sound insulting, if it did.”

  “It didn’t.”

  “I’m just saying you can change your mind. You don’t have to go.”

  “I know I don’t.”

  “Then why are you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  And yet, here he was, running out with his brother to track down a Bigfoot.

  How ridiculous is that?

  Paul might have laughed at the absurdity of the situation, had it been funny. But he figured he knew the real reason he’d volunteered to go along. Becky. Deep down, he knew the only reason he’d agreed to go was he wanted to be near her.

  Chasing a woman when I should be rebuilding my family.

  “I can think of one,” said Howie.

  “I’m sure you can, but please don’t.”

  “Not really the kind of first date you need.”

  “Stop.”

  Howie glanced at him, nodded. “Fine.”

  “Do you really think we’re going to be able to stop this thing?”

  “Do you want me to lie?”

  “Please.”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you believe that it’s real now?”

  “I’m not sure what I believe. I believe you saw something. And I can tell Striker believes. He wasn’t lying when he was telling us his story. I’ve always had a great bullshit detector, and he thinks his story is real. He truly believes there’s a Bigfoot out there that he can’t kill.”

  “But you’re not entirely convinced.”

  “Who knows? Maybe I am.”

  “Maybe you’re not.”

  “Does it really matter one way or another?”

  “You could have told Caine to fuck himself.”

  Howie nodded. “Yeah. I could’ve also refused this search party. But it would have cost me my job.”

  “Can Caine really fire you?”

  “Not on his own, no. But he has the pull to get me canned. It would only take one board meeting and then a town meeting afterward to get me out of here. Why put everyone through that when agreeing with Caine would make things so much simpler?”

  “I guess I see your point.”

  “Are you trying to prove something to yourself by going with us?”

  Paul’s eyes popped open with a choked gasp. “Where’d that come from?”

  “It’s just a question. You don’t have to answer it.”

  Paul scratched his head. His hair was damp from a light misting of sweat. Even in the air-conditioning, he still felt hot. It was Howie’s blunt query that had caused it. “What would I be trying to prove?” As soon as he’d asked, he wished he hadn’t. He knew Howie already had an answer waiting.

  Proving Paul right, Howie said, “Because you’re angry with yourself. You blame yourself for Alisha’s problems.”

  “Come on, Howie, I was a major cause of her…stress.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “It’s bullshit for you to say it’s bullshit. I screwed up. I could’ve kept playing the hero, could’ve tried harder to make her happy. I know budgets were cut and the force had to severe ties with people, and there was nothing I could do to stop that, but there are other places to go work. I sort of just stayed in idle after I lost my job. I could’ve done—I don’t know—more, I guess.”

  Howie seemed not to have heard any of what Paul said. “Does it make you feel better?”

  “Does what make me feel better?”

  “Shouldering all the blame and guilt. I don’t think your kids blame you at all, but I think they can tell that you do and are too scared to point it out.”

  “You asshole, leave my kids out of this.”

  “Out of what? I’m just pointing out—”

  “I know what you’re doing, so knock it off.”

  “Damn it, Paul. You need to snap out of this. Alisha’s where she’s at because of a chemical imbalance. It’s nothing you did to make it happen. She didn’t even do it. So stop making yourself out to be the bad guy here.”

  “I’m not doing that at all.”

  Howie pushed back into the seat as if the car was slowly pressing together. Paul could tell this talk was peeving him.

  “Yes, you are,” said Howie. “That’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re putting all this liability on yourself because you feel like you’ve failed your children, so you are constantly trying to make it up to them when they don’t blame you at all.”

  “Yes, they do. Deep down.”

  “Trust me. They don’t. You’re weakening yourself because you think it will make your relationship with them calmer, when the truth is, your relationship with them is just fine. Or it was before you started acting like the boyfriend who’s relentlessly kissing his girlfriend’s ass. Stop that shit right away before they start thinking you can’t handle their problems. If they think that, they’ll stop coming to you for help.”

  Howie’s speech hit Paul like a brick to the skull. Everything he’d said made perfect sense. Worst of all, he feared they already had stopped seeking out his assistance in their personal affairs. Even Natalie wouldn’t willingly come to him whenever she had an eight-year-old’s dilemma. She’d go to Gunner first and if he couldn’t help, then she’d go to Paul.

  Howie sighed. “I’m out of line and I’m sorry.”

  “Stop it, man, seriously. I don’t think right now is the time for us to talk about this.”

  “It’s the perfect time. Who knows if we’ll get the chance later…” Howie’s voice trailed off and he made a regretful face, as if he’d accidentally divulged information he shouldn’t have.

  Paul understood where Howie had been going with his last comment. He was about to offer some kind of reassuring negation when the backside of the police station came into view. A small group was already assembled in the back parking lot. From this short distance, he recognized Striker right away in his mercenary gear. Becky’s petite frame was also easy to spot.

  “Talk about a welcome wagon,” said Howie.

  “Really.”

  Groaning, Howie situated himself in the seat. “This is going to be a long day.” He opened his mouth, about to say something more, but stopped.

  And Paul was grateful.

  22

  Harold Williams walked along the mist-shrouded street, moving behind the empty rental houses. He held Bobo’s leash, the tip wrapped around his hand as the black lab kept his nose to the ground, sniffing. Every few feet he stopped and cocked his leg to urinate on something that smelled strange to him. This was an every morning routine that had become much more enjoyable since the tourists had gone home. He could actually move about freely without the lines of cars behind the houses, or the abundance of people wandering to the beach at this hour to search for seashells. He understood the summer months were what kept his town striving, but it never took long before he was ready to see the tourists go home. This year had been the worst and most crowded he could remember.

  A lot more college kids this time, too.

  Those were what he despised the most. Adult brats coming here to spend Mommy and Daddy’s money on booze while treating the locals like horse piss.

  And we’re supposed to kiss their smooth rich asses so they’ll come back?

  Harold spat.

  Bah!

  Harold Williams was sixty-seven, thin, and walked with slightly-stooped shoulders. He still had most of his hair, though this morning it was an out of control squirrel’s nest on his head. He owned a convenience store in Seashell Cove. And being one of the few local businesses that stocked beer, all he saw were those college assholes. The women were nice to look at, coming in wearing their skimpy bikinis and dark tans. It never failed to surprise him how so many women would just
walk around in public without covering up. He supposed they figured since it was the beach, then it didn’t matter. But the signs around town clearly stated that you must be dressed to enter the stores. Maybe during all their expensive tuitions and long hours at the schools, they’d forgotten to learn how to read.

  Spitting again, Harold paused to give Bobo time to urinate on a small bush. There was a used condom wrapped around the base, the extended sperm-catching tip clinging to a prickly leaf.

  Well if that isn’t just awful.

  If they were going to screw in the streets, they could at least clean up after themselves. He’d stopped counting how much litter he’d come across during his morning walks this week. The condom was the foulest and most disrespectable of them all.

  So far.

  He figured a guy had been knocking a girl’s socks off in the backseat of his car and just discarded the used rubber tube out the window. Harold was envious of those young full-of-cum bums. Back in the day, he could rut like the best of them. Wasn’t a hole he couldn’t plug. In fact, he became quite popularly known as the trunk snake.

  Smiling, Harold gave Bobo’s leash a couple quick tugs to get him moving before he put his nose against the condom. He didn’t want whatever coated the slick exterior to adhere to his dog’s nose. He’d have to give him a bath when they got home, and he didn’t want to spend the rest of his morning before going into the store to check on his part-time clerk washing the damn mutt.

  Might have been stuffed inside a man’s butt for all I know.

  Fags were another thing he’d seen a lot of this year. They’d come into his store multiple times, daily, buying beer and alcohol-tainted lemonades and teas. Some of them blended in quite well and if he hadn’t seen the male pairs holding hands, he never would have known. Others, well, they seemed to want everyone to know they preferred stuffing a man’s pooper instead of that sweet honey pot between a woman’s legs. Even their voices told all he needed to know about them. Seemed to Harold that sometimes when a man decided to be gay, he felt he had to alter his voice to make the uncertainty plain and apparent.

  Maybe some of the guys were just confused. After all, a lot of the guys out here looked like girls with their skinny bodies and long hair. He’d just talked about it with Walt the other day, how a lot of fags even smelled like women, too. Harold started to smell that coconut-fruit aroma blended with sweat and shook his head, hoping to jar it loose.