by Lee Murphy
The family estate had been a huge mansion he had never before seen, nor been invited to. One night he searched for and found the estate and, at well after midnight, when the last of the house lights had been off for at least an hour, he had cut the telephone lines and scaled the outside wall to the master bedroom suite, where Dorian Harris slept like a baby. Kodiak turned on the light and barricaded the bedroom door so nobody would be able to come in when the old man started screaming for help.
But the old man didn't scream. He had simply sat up in his bed and glared at Kodiak with hate-filled eyes.
"I'm not here for your money."
"I know who you are," Harris said.
"The hell you do."
But Dorian Harris had known who the intruder was. There wasn't any family resemblance between the two of them. They really looked nothing alike. What the old man had recognized was the same inner core of cold, almost cruel hardness that existed within himself. It almost filled him with good humor to see that this ugliness that had driven him to become the person he was now had been passed on to someone he considered a lesser human being, who would probably be destroyed by it. "You're Harold Kodiak's kid."
Kodiak had repressed a shudder when he also recognized the steely glimmer of cold rage he so often saw in his own reflection, and he hated this man even more. "I'm also your daughter's son."
The old man had only grunted, glaring at him from the bed. A bed he was in alone. "Speak your piece."
"I imagine you already know she's dead. Hell, you had a hand in killing her." Kodiak crushed the letters in his fist that trembled with rage. He pulled a chair up beside the bed and opened the first letter. It was three pages long, telling the old man about the house Harold was building for her. Kodiak had removed the picture she had originally enclosed with the letter, not wanting the old man to have the satisfaction of seeing the house.
He had read for over an hour, letters about his birth and growth over the years, birthday wishes for her parents, dozens of Christmas and Easter cards, and a sympathy card when her mother had died, all unopened by him.
Kodiak had read them all, and the old man sat stoically against the headboard, totally unmoved. Kodiak had to pause from emotion twice during the letter about his own father's lingering death from cancer, which had been the last letter she wrote to the old man.
Finally, he had gotten up and tossed them all on Dorian Harris' bed. "That's it. I'm finished. You can call the cops now."
The old man had sat still, staring at the lifetime of unanswered correspondence. Then he had lifted his right hand from under the blankets and pointed a .45 automatic at Kodiak's head. "I could blow your head off, and nobody would do a thing about it. You have ten seconds to get the hell out of here. And if I ever see you again, I swear I will kill you."
Kodiak was sickened. Not from the old man's total lack of compassion for his own daughter, nor by his threat to kill him. What had made him so sick was that, looking at this hateful creature, he had finally seen a glimmer of himself in another member of the family. A hard heart was all he inherited from his grandfather.
He left that night by unblocking the door and walking past confused staffers who rushed to Dorian Harris' side.
Kodiak had figured that was the end of it, but six days later he got an invitation from Uncle Sam to serve in the United States Army. His grandfather had used his connections in Washington to get him drafted into a combat unit serving in Korea at the height of the war.
Kodiak and Wayne came out of the elevator and walked across the hall to the library where Jamie Montagna was standing beside a wet bar, pouring himself a drink. Montagna was a middle-aged man with a pug nose and leering eyes that gave him a smug, self-absorbed air. "Kodiak. What're you drinking?"
Kodiak walked over to the bar and poured a shot of Canadian Club.
Montagna studied Kodiak with a mild smirk. "No ice. That's got to go down like gasoline."
Montagna rubbed his hand across his bald head and said to Kodiak, "Pittman talk you into tagging along?"
Kodiak took a sip from his drink. "Yeah, I think so."
"Good." Montagna went over to the leather sofa near the fireplace and sat down. He smiled, but it was a flat, humorless imitation of a smile.
Kodiak said, "Pittman tells me you turned him onto my work. What line of work are you in, Jamie?"
"I've always been a kind of armchair cryptozoologist, myself. I've read all the literature, gone on a few expeditions in Washington State looking for the Sasquatch. But on a more personal level, I'm sort of a liaison with the State Department." Kodiak did not like Montagna. There was something greasy and intangible about the man that meant trouble. He said, "The State Department. What exactly is it that you do, Jamie?"
Montagna shrugged. "You might say I'm involved in research and development. Obviously I can't go into too much detail, but I get ideas for things, and Uncle Sam gives me enough free reign to follow up the details as I see fit."
"And how does Pittman's Sasquatch hunt fit into your plans?"
"It's kind of a mutual thing. Like I said, I can't go into too much detail, but I think we have a real shot at a capture." Montagna raised his glass to Kodiak and finished off his drink.
Montagna's evasive answers were a clear indication of his resentment towards Kodiak's involvement in this endeavor.
Norm
Mildred Hunnicut went outside an hour before sunset and placed a huge mound of cat food in the middle of her yard. She didn't know if this was going to work, but she had to try, just in case the visitor did come back.
She didn't think it would make its appearance until after dark, so she went back into her house and watched the plate of food from the kitchen window. Naturally the cat ate first, but Mildred anticipated this and placed more food than usual on the plate. After the cat finished, the bait drew out a few crows and small animals that made the nearby woods their home, but they hardly made a dent in the small mountain of food.
It was almost nine o'clock when the sun began its evening descent. Mildred went back outside and took a position behind a row of shrubs that separated her property from the road that branched off of the 101.
In fifteen minutes it was dark, and she soon regretted the crouching position she had taken. But before she was able to get up to relieve the cramps in her legs, she saw the Sasquatch just beyond the trees that bordered her place.
She got a much better look at the animal this time. It was about five feet tall, as she remembered, and wiry, like a basketball player. She couldn't make out any facial features except for its large, wide eyes that reflected the orange light from her porch. It reminded her of pictures she had seen of baby gorillas, but if this was a baby, she thought with some amazement, God only knew how big the adults were.
When it stepped into the open yard, she could see the blue-gray of its face, and the black, inch-long hair that covered its sinewy body. It was cautious, but looked twice in her direction without seeing her. It walked upright, like a human being. Although its arms were longer than those of a man of comparable size, the length of its legs made it obvious this animal was not prone to knuckle-walking.
The Sasquatch walked over to the plate of cat food, paused to look around again, then crouched down and lifted the plate to its face, sniffing the contents. After another brief pause it started shoving the cat food into its mouth with its hand.
The cramps in Mildred's legs finally became too much for her to bear, and she had to change her position. It seemed that even before she moved, the animal sensed her presence and stood up, dropping the plate and looking right at her.
She tried not to move, but was unable to remain balanced and fell backward to the ground. The creature hissed and took a step toward her.
Oddly, Mildred did not feel threatened, but was more worried that the animal would run off before she had an opportunity to get back on her feet.
The animal, on the other hand, did feel threatened. It bared its teeth at her and screeched.
/> She got back up and took a step forward, almost stumbling because of the numbness in her legs. Her mind raced with emotions and thoughts about what she was seeing. Despite the very presence of the Sasquatch, she still couldn't totally accept what it was, that it was real. She caught herself looking for signs of a hoax; that it was only somebody in an elaborate costume.
The creature bent in a half-squatting position, like a linebacker about to move in for the tackle. It made a deep, throaty growl, but didn't move.
Mildred stopped ten feet from the Sasquatch, maintaining steady eye contact with it.
The creature stood upright, hissed again, screeched, and then ran back into the woods.
Mildred was shaking, as much from elation as from the rush of adrenalin. She was also a little disappointed that it had run off. Ridiculous as she told herself the idea was, she actually hoped to make some kind of connection with the animal.
She walked over to the plate it had cast aside and picked it up, looking toward the woods where the creature had run. She hoped it had stayed nearby and was watching her now. But in the distance she heard it screech again.
***
When George Kodiak first laid eyes on Norm Cocke, old Norm was picking his nose. Norm was a friend of Montagna's who lived in Seattle and was at the airport to pick them up. He spotted Montagna among the dozens of people getting off the plane and wiped his hand on his pants before approaching his friend. "Jamie!" Norm walked over to them, laughing with something akin to a smoker's hack-bellow.
Montagna and Norm embraced, and Kodiak stood behind them, making sure he carried his duffel bag with his right hand and kept his left in his pocket so he wouldn't have to shake Norm's hand.
Montagna stepped back for a good look at his friend. "You look good, buddy."
Kodiak almost laughed out loud when Montagna said this, because Norm Cocke was one of the ugliest people he'd ever seen. He was about Kodiak's age, with long, greasy gray hair that hung in front of beady, black pig eyes. He had big, horse teeth that looked too big for his mouth, and he had the facial structure reminiscent of a Neandertal man. He even walked with a slight forward slump to his shoulders that intensified his protohuman appearance.
"It's good to see you, Jamie. I got your cable only this morning, and I ain't had much time to get everything together, but I came through."
"I knew you would. Got somebody I want you to meet." Montagna stepped aside to introduce Kodiak. "Norm Cocke, this is the man I told you about, George Kodiak. The George Kodiak."
Norm smiled, clearly impressed, and being familiar with Kodiak and his work, he said, "Born and raised in Hell. I like that!" He was making reference to the bios on the jackets of Kodiak's books. "You all have any other luggage you got to get before we haul ass?"
Montagna held up his suitcases and said, "Just these. Pittman's having a load of equipment shipped to the lodge after we get there."
"Good enough. Come on, I'm parked in the loading zone."
They walked outside and Montagna and Norm continued to bask in the glow of rekindled friendship. "Letitia coming with us on the trip?" Montagna asked.
Norm spat. "Hell, no. Who needs her tagging along? She'd just ruin our good time." Then he smiled like a devil and said, "But Ruthie is!"
Kodiak had no idea who these people were that they were talking about, but he noticed as soon as Norm mentioned this Ruthie, Montagna became a little quieter. He even looked pale.
Norm changed the subject. "You're not gonna believe this one, Jamie. Couple of months ago I'm in small claims court because this guy I hired to replace some windows took my money without doing the work. So I take this guy to court to get my money back, right?
"Well, as you know, my name's pronounced Coke, like the cola, but it's spelled C-O-C-K-E. The O is long. Wouldn't you know it, the fart-head I'm suing happens to be a guy named Steve Trojan.
"So what happens is, when my case comes up, this stupid bailiff calls out 'Cock versus Trojan!'"
Montagna laughed as Norm shook his head in dismay. "I was so embarrassed."
Norm's car was a twenty-five-year-old International wagon that looked like it had never been washed. The paint was so badly faded it wasn't even white; it was a non-color. The tires were balding, and the windshield had a large spiderweb crack on the passenger side that looked like it was caused by a bullet. Norm opened up the tailgate so Kodiak and Montagna could toss their bags in the back, where Kodiak saw a bumper sticker that read: I brake for beer!
"Norm, you get a hold of those people I asked you to call?"
Norm was not pleased with this part of the deal, and said, "If you're talking about Tyler and his merry band of goons, yeah, I called them."
Inside the International the upholstery was cracked and smelled of sun-hardened foam rubber padding and urine. Kodiak got into the back seat and rolled down the window. It only opened halfway, but that was enough for the fresh air to dispel some of the rank odor inside the vehicle.
Norm and Montagna sat up front.
"Jamie, why do you want these fart-holes coming along on this trip? They're just a bunch of rank amateurs."
"Tyler's a friend. I owe him a favor. Besides, his band of rank amateurs are familiar with the territory and have been tracking these animals for years."
"And that's supposed to qualify them?"
"Norm, I used to be one of those rank amateurs."
Norm said, "I still say they're gonna be a waste of time. What do you think, Kodiak?"
"We can use the extra hands, I suppose," Kodiak said with little interest.
"Besides," Montagna added, "they're not getting any of the money. When will they be meeting us?"
"They'll be at the lodge tonight."
"Good." Montagna turned to face Kodiak in the back seat. "I told you before, I've always been something of an armchair cryptozoologist. I've even been a member of the International Society of Cryptozoology, on and off. I'm mostly into the Sasquatch thing. Especially that case in Russia from several years back, you know, the one where those mountain men captured that female Sasquatch and had sex with her."
This intrigued Norm. "No kidding?"
Kodiak said, "You mean Zana?"
Montagna said, "Yeah, Zana. That's it. She was supposed to have given birth to some hybrid children. I even went to Russia after the Soviet Union fell apart to follow up some leads. Of course, I can't talk much more about that."
Kodiak looked at the two idiots up front and wondered if this Tyler and his band of merry goons were anything like them. He had Montagna pegged as a member of the "lunatic fringe"; bizarre, sometimes dangerous people who appeared on the doorsteps of legitimate investigators of the paranormal, with their own twisted ideas concerning the identities of whatever mysterious phenomena they chose to observe. These people had fantasies, as Kodiak considered them, of capturing the Sasquatch, or other unknown animals by whatever means were available. One such person even suggested a plan to drop poison gas over Washington State's Ape Canyon to see what might turn up.
Norm took them to his place; a rustic outpost that looked like a survivalist camp outside of Seattle. The house was a single-story building constructed of gray concrete blocks and sheets of corrugated tin for roof covering. Kodiak knew this was the house, because there was a carport attached to it.
Thirty yards from the house, down a small hill, was a longer building that was similarly built. Kodiak figured that was where Norm kept the teenage boys he kidnapped and chained to the walls in nothing but their undershorts.
Norm plowed up the front path at fifty miles an hour, deliberately aiming for some chickens that were scratching the ground around the carport. The chickens scattered, narrowly avoiding the balding tires as the wagon skidded to a halt. The three men got out, and Kodiak was very relieved to finally be free of that urine smell.
Norm said, "Just leave your stuff in the car. Letitia's got some grub waitin' on us. Then we'll shoot some targets before heading out."
The front door, indeed
the only door to the house, was solid steel with three locks, which Norm opened, and they walked in. Norm stood in the open doorway and then roared, "That doesn't smell like steak!"
A moment later a small, rotund woman stepped out of the kitchen. She seemed rather sheepish and was covered with old bruises on her face and arms. "There wasn't going to be enough, so I made stew."
Norm looked at the floor, molding his rage like an artist molds clay. "I told you I wanted steak. I don't want stew. I got company here who don't want stew."
Kodiak decided to speak up. "Actually, Norm, stew sounds pretty good about now."
Montagna turned to him. "Just let Norm handle this."
Kodiak could have killed Montagna at that moment.
Norm pointed to the kitchen. "In there, now." Letitia complied, and Norm turned back to his guests. "Help yourselves to some brews. I keep a couple of sixers of Old Milwaukee in the mini-fridge next to the sofa." He followed Letitia into the kitchen.
Kodiak stared at the closed kitchen door, wanting to go in and intervene on Letitia's behalf, but he knew his interference would only make things worse for her later on.
Montagna nudged him. "Brewskies." He opened the three-foot refrigerator beside the sofa and took out two cans of beer.
Kodiak took one and looked around the room. The place was a toilet. The couch was the only piece of furniture in what barely passed for a living room, and it looked older than the car outside. There was a new television set on a dining room chair, with a videotape machine on the floor beside it, which looked out of place with the rest of the junk. The throw rug under the sofa was covered with pee stains and the only decorations were nude centerfolds taped to the cinder block walls.
Montagna sidled up to him, also looking around. "Norm's not a rich man, but he's a hell of a good guy. You know he served in Korea, too."