by David Wood
“I’m sure Stevie would like something pretentious,” the tall man said. “Do you have anything with Tibetan gonad berries?”
“Goji berries,” Segar corrected. “I’ll have one of your local craft beers. Your choice. Bring me a chilled glass, but I’ll pour it myself. And Terry here will have something pedestrian. Your cheapest light beer will do. You might consider saying ‘dilly dilly’ when you bring it out.”
“Light beer on draft is great, and I’ll have an order of cheese fries,” the man called Terry said.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have cheese fries on the menu,” Kyrstin said.
Gold smirked. “Do you have cheeseburgers and fries on the menu?”
She nodded. Her brow knotted in puzzlement.
“Then I’ll take an order of fries, and throw a couple slices of cheese on them while they’re still nice and hot.” Terry gave her a wink. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.
I’m a generous tipper.”
“Fries and two slices of cheese. I’ll have it right out.”
“That’s disgusting,” Segar said as the girl walked away. “You should try eating healthy. I can send you a copy of my diet regimen, not that I have any reason to wish you to live longer.”
Gold laced his fingers behind his neck, rocked back in his chair, and propped his feet on the table. “Oh, Seagull, I have missed you.”
Segar tried to maintain his calm exterior, but the nickname, juvenile as it was, always seemed to get a reaction out of him. He was certain it was a thinly veiled jibe at the size of his nose, though Gold denied it.
The two had hated each other for practically their entire careers. When Terry Gold had been a young, popular rocker, he’d provided the soundtrack for one of Segar’s first action films. His price had been a supporting role in the film. It had been a disaster. Besides being a terrible actor, Gold had a lousy work ethic and took pleasure in needling his fellow cast members at every turn. What some actors called their “method,” Gold called “pretentiousness” or worse, and had made it his mission to cut people down to size where and when he deemed it necessary. It had been a nightmare. By the end, security had to be on hand every time the two men shared a scene.
“I wish I could say the same, Nugget. I’m surprised you don’t have a semi-automatic rifle slung across your back. Getting soft in your old age?”
Chuckling, Gold took his feet off the table, let his chair fall back onto all four legs, and scooted up to the table. “I’m carrying concealed,” he said softly. “But you know I don’t have a permit for this state, so I’ll trust you not to rat me out. You’re a douche, Segar, but you were never a rat.”
“Never fear. Your secret is safe with me.”
“I’m amazed you don’t carry,” Gold said. “Famous guy like you, people might think you’ve got money. You must make at least a couple of bucks off your B- movie action flicks. So what if they go direct to the WalMart clearance bin?” “At least I’m still distributed. You’re down to selling your music off your web- site and at county fairs. You must feel right at home performing in those rodeo arenas.” Segar smiled, knowing he’d scored a point. “Besides, I don’t need a weapon, as you very well know.”
Gold took a toothpick, thick with lint, out of his breast pocket and stuck it in the corner of his mouth.
“Hey, I charted on iTunes, bitch. Amazon, too!” He waggled his eyebrows. “But how about we discuss your famous martial arts career? Ray Rogain sent me an interesting video. Want to see it?”
Segar tensed, felt his cheeks burning. Rogain was part of the new generation of what Segar termed “hybrid celebrities.” Moderately famous in several disparate corners of the entertainment world, the cumulative effect making them a major player. In his role as a commentator, Rogain was well-connected in the martial arts community, and very well might have gotten a copy of the video in question. “Not really.” He tried to keep his tone casual, but already, cracks were forming in the bubble of serenity with which he’d surrounded himself upon entering. Gold laughed. “Relax, Seagull. I’m not going to show anyone. The last thing anyone wants to see is their favorite action hero getting choked out by a seventy- year-old judo instructor.”
“Sixty,” Segar corrected.
“Did you ever manage to get that yellow stain out of your gi?” Gold threw back his head and cackled. “I guess that foolproof escape you always bragged about wasn’t so foolproof after all.”
“The guy had been treated for testicular cancer.” Segar swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “He had them removed, so...”
Gold was racked with an onset of silent laughter. His shoulder heaved and he struggled to catch his breath. “You mean,” he huffed, hand pressed to his chest, “that all this time,” another gulp of air, “it was just grabbing them by the...” “By the nuggets,” Segar finished. That cut down on the laughter a little bit. Gold hated the nickname Nugget. Segar found that odd. The man had named his son Platinum Record. What was so bad about Terry Nugget when you had a Platinum R. Gold in the family? “I had some other options for escape,” he explained, “but I didn’t want to hurt the old man.”
Kyrstin returned with their drinks. Gold caught his breath, wiped the corners of his eyes with his napkins.
“Your fries will be out in a minute,” Kyrstin said.
“Cheese fries,” Gold corrected.
She rolled her eyes, let out an impatient sigh, and hurried away.
“You know she’s going to spit in your food, don’t you?”
Gold shrugged. “She probably just got into some bad avocados.”
Segar laughed and hated himself for it.
Gold took two large gulps, let out a wet belch, and patted himself on the chest.
“That hits the spot.”
Segar sipped his beer, savored the taste. It was bitter with just the right hint of citrus. He held it in his mouth for a few seconds, swallowed, and took another drink.
Their opening salvos exhausted, the men sat there drinking in silence until Kyrstin returned with Gold’s version of cheese fries. He offered one to Segar, a wicked sparkle in his eye.
“I’m not hungry,” Segar said, “especially not for that. Now, why did you insist on meeting with me?”
“I’m dipping my toe into television. Reality television to be precise. And I want you to partner with me.”
Segar's lips moved but surprise rendered him mute. How could the man even think they could work together?
Gold mistook his silence for interest and kept talking. “I was thinking back on our... rivalry, and I came up with the idea for a show that will put our shared interests and best attributes on display. It’ll be a contest. Not that gladiator crap and Spartan crap.”
“I hate that stuff,” Segar said. “Those things are for gymnasts and gym rats.
There’s no real-world application. If a bad hombre accosts you in a dark alley, you won’t be making your escape Tarzan-style over a swimming pool and onto a spinning platform.”
“Why are you always going up dark alleys, Segar? What is that about?” Gold chuckled, took another drink. “But seriously, I agree with you. If you’re out in the wilderness and a bear attacks.” He spread his hands as if the rest were obvious.
Segar found himself intrigued. The chance to best Terry Gold was hard to pass up. “What is the contest? And there better not be a companion soundtrack.”
“No, nothing like that.” Gold waved a fry at him. “I want to make it something where neither of us has much advantage. I mean, I’ll always be a notch above you thanks to good genes, but there’s nothing we can do about that.”
Segar folded his arms and waited, his drink forgotten. He didn’t want to seem too interested.
“A couple of interests you and I share,” Gold went on, “are the outdoors, and unsolved mysteries. I know this dude, total bookworm, message board trawler, deep dive into newspaper archives kind of guy. Finds all sorts of bits and pieces that never made it onto the web in any form. He has uncovered
a mystery that he believes can be solved. He’s collected enough clues to point us in the right direction. We each take a small team and a camera guy and head off in the wilderness. We keep it super simple to hold costs down.”
“So, this is ‘searching for lost treasure’ series? Along the way we talk about the mystery, throw in local color, that sort of thing?”
“It’s that with added layers. You and I are outdoorsmen. We’ll talk about survival skills, about ecology, respect for nature. So many audiences we can target.”
“I’m more than an outdoorsman. I’m a warrior and a poet. I’m spirit brother to the wolf and...”
“Come on, Segar, are you interested or not?”
Segar nodded. He doubted they’d actually find any lost treasure, but the idea was solid, even if it was hatched from the addled mind of Terry Gold. “What does the winner get?”
“Bragging rights and a donation in his name to the charity of his choice. Makes us look better that way.” Gold had finished off the cheese and now drowned his remaining fries in ketchup. “The rest of the proceeds we split right down the middle.
I’ve already started pitching it.” He removed a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and slid it across the table. “That’s the first official offer, but we’ve got strong interest from at least three other parties.”
Segar unfolded the paper and his eyebrows shot up. It wasn’t box office hit money, but for this sort of program it was a solid offer. And he liked the concept. It wasn’t something demeaning, like living in a shared house, or taking a road trip together. This was a challenge. A contest of skills and intelligence. He’d like to see one of these YouTube celebrities or hipsters with man buns take on a challenge like this.
“I hate to admit this,” Gold went on, “but I literally can’t do this without you. If it’s not a contest between the two of us, nobody’s interested.”
He had pressed the right button. Segar drained his beer in three gulps, folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket.
“All right, Gold. I will resurrect your dead career. You’ll be my Lazarus.”
They shook hands. Gold leaned in so close Segar could smell the cheap beer on his breath.
“I cannot wait to kick your ass on a streaming network.”
Chapter 2
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The sun baked the parched canyon and scorched the back of Dane Maddock’s neck. As someone who lived in southern Florida, he was well-accustomed to the heat, and although the lack of humidity was a plus, he missed the breeze that would be blowing in off the Gulf of Mexico right about now. Boxed in by parched hills, the canyon that was home to Grizzly Grant’s “UFO Ranch” was an oven. It baked the group of forty or so who stood waiting for instructions.
“I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Maddock said to the tall, broad-shouldered Cherokee standing beside him.
“Quit your bitching, Maddock. You’ve been an emo kid ever since we got back from Africa. I’m sick of it.”
Bones Bonebrake had been his best friend since their early days in the Navy SEALs and he seldom pulled punches, literally or figuratively.
“True,” Maddock admitted. His ears burned, and not from the sun. He’d been betrayed by someone close to him. Even now it hurt and angered him in equal measure. “I do need a break, but did it have to be this?” His sweeping gesture took in their surroundings. Parched earth, stunted palms, yucca growing stubbornly around red rocks worn smooth by wind. “Couldn’t you have taken me to, I don’t know, Vegas?”
Bones turned angry eyes on Maddock, folded his powerful arms, and stared down at him in disapproval.
“Are you freaking kidding me? How many times have Matt and Willis and I asked you to go to Vegas with us? And you always make the same excuse.”
“I know. I’m not a Vegas kind of guy. Well, right now I’m willing to give it a try.
Air-conditioned casino, cold drinks...”
“Hot chicks...” For a moment, a faraway gaze clouded Bones’ dark eyes. Then he gave his head a quick shake. “Jeez, Maddock. Here I am having a good time and you go and put the Mandalay Bay swimming pool in my head. Thanks for that.” Maddock chuckled. He knew that, as much as Bones loved Las Vegas, he lived for the out-of-doors, and was perfectly content right here. The fact that there were more than a few fit, athletic-looking women in the group didn’t hurt.
“This is an awesome vacation. We get to hang out at Grizzly’s Hollywood movie ranch for as long as we like, for free. Might even meet some actresses.”
“We’re a few hours from Hollywood, Bones. I don’t think we’ll be meeting many celebrities out here.”
Bones shook his head. “Always the killjoy.”
“Bones! Maddock! So glad you guys could make it!” A handsome man with wavy brown hair and intense, dark eyes approached. He was clad in a short- sleeved khaki shirt, olive shorts, and hiking boots. A machete hung from a sheath on his belt, although they weren’t exactly surrounded by jungle. The man hurried over and shook their hands.
“Grizzly,” Bones greeted. “Good to see you, bro.”
Don “Grizzly” Grant was a cryptozoologist and former television host. He’d recently joined Maddock and Bones on an adventure in Scotland, and their discoveries had led to a modest rebound in his career. He was back on television, albeit in the form of a short-run series on a subscription-based network.
“Good to see you guys, as well. What have you been up to? Capture Bigfoot yet?”
“No, but we found King Solomon’s Mines,” Bones said.
Maddock flashed him a warning glance. That particular bit of information had been passed on to government agencies through their friend Tam Broderick. It was supposed to be kept on the down-low.
“The hell you did,” Grizzly said.
Bones faked a smile. “Yeah, just kidding. We’ve been keeping busy, though.”
“Grizzly, this is quite a production you’ve got going on here,” Maddock said, changing the subject. “I’m impressed.” Flattery always worked on Grizzly.
“Thanks. I wanted Jo Slater to co-host it with me, but she’s apparently too busy getting her own show back up and running.”
Like Grizzly, Slater was a television host whose subject matter covered the unexplained. Maddock didn’t know her personally, but she and Bones had once gone off together on a search for the Skunk Ape.
“Have you talked to her?” Bones asked, a note of hopefulness in his voice.
Slater also happened to be intelligent, confident, and attractive.
Grizzly shook his head. “Word is, she’s down in the Antarctic on some top-secret project.”
“I’ll take the heat here over the Antarctic cold any day,” Maddock said, shivering involuntarily. He and Bones had been to the Antarctic and he didn’t miss it one bit. He looked around at the parched, brown hills, speckled with low growing clumps of green. Various obstacles had been constructed around the property.
He saw cargo nets, climbing ropes, even a mock-up of an old west town. Doubtless, the surrounding hills hid many more. “Branching out from cryptid hunting, I take it?”
Grizzly nodded. “There’s a lot of competition in my niche and programming is becoming diluted. New programs like mine aren’t getting much traction. Everyone’s busy binge-watching Ancient Aliens and watching those guys on Oak Island trapped in a perpetual cycle of fail.”
Bones cleared his throat at the mention of the home of the legendary treasure pit. Little did the hosts of that show know, but the treasure of Oak Island had been discovered a few years earlier.
Grizzly went on. “There are so many channels, streaming networks, any ass-clown can host a legends and conspiracies show.”
“That is so true,” Bones said.
Maddock didn’t laugh, but neither did he manage to fully suppress a grin.
Grizzly took no notice.
“I need to start developing the Grizzly Grant brand. And what do people think of when they hear the name Gri
zzly?”
“Bear attacks,” Bones said.
“Far-fetched theories that lack evidentiary support?” Maddock offered.
As usual, their quips bounced right off of him.
“That’s right! Adventure! So, I’ve started the Grizzly Grant Celebrity Adventure Challenge! Teams of celebrities compete in adventure races. Different celebs every week.”
Bones elbowed Maddock at the mention of celebrities.
“I’ll host it, of course. It’ll be a Battle of the Network Stars for the modern day.”
Grizzly paused, gazed out at the horizon. “We could turn Salton into another Palm Springs.”
“There he goes again.” A woman clad in shorts, hiking boots, and a Grant Productions t-shirt stepped up alongside Grizzly. “The short story, which you’ll never get from this guy, is this. We start with the television show, which will serve as a marketing tool for the competitive races we’ll sponsor all around the country and hopefully the world. We’re also laying the groundwork for UFO Ranch to serve as a filming site for Hollywood productions.”
“How do you do that?” Grizzly asked. “You’re like a human Cliff’s Notes.”
“It’s called brevity.”
Grizzly shook his head, then introduced the woman as Rosie Rivera, his second in-command. She was an attractive woman, athletic, short black hair and brown eyes that were just a bit too large for her face. She shook hands with each of them in turn. Her grip was strong, unsurprising since she had the build of a fitness buff.
“Good to meet you. Call me Riv.”
“Riv is short for Rivera?” Bones asked.
“Good guess, but wrong.” Riv pulled up the sleeve of her t-shirt to reveal a tattoo of Rosie the Riveter, the iconic symbol of women who worked in the manufacturing industry during World War II.
“Badass!” Bones said.
“Thanks. Always loved Rosie. I never was a girly-girl, you know?” She glanced at Grizzly for a split-second, but Maddock saw the ghost of a grin flicker at the corners of her mouth, then disappear just as quickly. Perhaps the two were more than just coworkers. “Thank you for coming, by the way,” Riv said. “We needed at least a few highly capable people for our test run, and Grizzly said there were none better than you two. He numbers you guys among his best friends.”