Claws of Doom

by Peebles, Chrissy

  And like Duane and Sam, Great Uncle Wainwright was a loner. But unlike Duane and Sam, Great Uncle Wainwright had business acumen. He went from dubious deal to dubious deal.

  Lou was well aware — in fact anyone who knew Duane was well aware, that Duane sadly lacked the skill or desire to make his mark in life. Duane was content to meander along life’s highway, singing and playing his guitar at hen parties, at Earl’s Bar & Grill and at kids’ parties. Not to mention pranking the shit out of her. She wondered if he’d ever grow up.

  It had to be said that most people liked Duane. Though there were some that thought him a little too weird, living out there in that cabin of his with his wildlife photographer father.

  Yeah, he sure was one weird son-of-a-bitch, agreed Lou. Come to think of it, Sam was a little off center too. And where was Sam? She hadn’t seen him for nearly a year or was it longer?

  She watched Duane glare at a Japanese tourist giving her an amorous smile. The tourist got the meaning right away and sauntered off the stool recently vacated by Joey.

  Duane sat down at the vacant barstool next to Lou and put his arm around her shoulder. He gave her a big Bigfoot hug-n-kiss. Trying to look concerned, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes gave his true feelings away.

  “Aw, what’s bothering my gal? Come on, you can tell old Duane-o.”

  Lou narrowed her eyes, glancing at the feigned look of concern on his cheeky face. “Two things are bothering me, right now.”

  “I guess you’re wondering when Beau’s gonna show up?”

  “Oh yeah … that’s one of them.”

  “He’ll show up when he has a mind to … so hang loose.”

  Lou nodded her head and sighed, “Yeah, I guess that’s the best thing to do.”

  Duane gave Lou a pensive look, “What did the results from the second Phantom Bigfoot Bather Case have to say?” He scratched his earlobe with his thinking finger.

  “Had the same conversation with Walt, earlier today.” She wondered if the dumb son-of-a-bitch was toying with her.

  “DNA give anything away?”

  “Give me a break, Duane.” She sighed. “Nope.”

  Duane nodded his head and said, “Shame about that … a real shame.”

  Lou saw the concern on his face, but she was quick to notice the twinkle of humor in his eyes. A long, weary sigh escaped her. She loved Duane and knew the feeling was mutual. But he sure knew how to yank her chain with his practical jokes. Lou looked away from his cheeky face and gazed miserably into her glass of beer.

  She was resigned to her fate. “I dunno … what is the world coming to?”

  Duane solemnly nodded his head and agreed. “Yeah, what is the world coming to? You gotta admit there’s a lot of weird shit going on these days.” His tone was mockingly serious.

  Lou wasn’t fooled by his tone of voice. She took a sip of beer as Earl placed a bottle of Baby Bigfoot Bitter and a tall glass in front of Duane.

  Earl gave Duane a wink implying — no real beer for you while Lou is here. He poured the alcohol-free beer into the glass and walked away to serve other customers that were eagerly jostling for a prime position at the bar, jabbering in Japanese and pointing to Duane.

  Earl looked flustered. “Look guys, he can’t drink the real stuff … he’s underage.” He pointed to the sheriff.

  The Japanese tourists refused to listen or didn’t understand, and showered Earl with orders, pointing at the Bigfoot.

  “Bigfoot drink my beer … please.”

  “Sasquatch Ale for the Squatch!”

  Duane chuckled at Earl’s frustration and turned back to Lou.

  “Shit, Lou, I’ve told you, it ain’t me,” Duane pleaded. “I’m not The Phantom Bigfoot Bather … it has to be some other idiot in town responsible for clogging up Beaverite’s plumbing.” He took another mouthful of beer and grimaced at the bland taste. He could really do with a Sasquatch Ale right about now.

  He thought with his scratch finger. “You wanna know who I think it is?” He paused for a moment and smiled at Lou’s frown. “That shit-for-brains, Walt Bruger. He loves drains … loves the smell of them … wouldn’t surprise me if he bathes in sewage.” As an afterthought, “Sure smells as though he does.”

  Sad to say, some of what Duane said made sense, but Lou didn’t really think the town plumber was the Phantom Bigfoot Bather. Everyone knew Duane loved to play practical jokes. How many times had he been caught red-handed by MB and tourists alike in his tailor-made Bigfoot feet stomping up the ground in the woods?

  And how many times had someone photographed or got Duane on a camcorder in his Bigfoot duds, only for him to remove his Bigfoot head just before it got blown off by some excited hunter? Of course, there had been numerous occasions when a hunter had actually shot at Duane mistaking him for a grizzly or Bigfoot. He had the scars to prove it. That Duane sure as hell was one lame-brain stupid dumbass.

  Lou lifted her gaze from her glass of beer and looked keenly at her best friend. He had to be the culprit, for he sure as hell was dressed for the part.

  Duane ran his fingertips over his unshaven chin and looked thoughtful for a moment or two, then gave a grin, scratching his other earlobe with his thinking finger. He looked around not seeing a single deputy stuffing his face with free food.

  “With all the food Earl is dishing out, you’d expect to see your deputies here. Guess their delicate stomachs can’t take that Bigfoot stink.” He sniffed his armpits, “Smells worse than me.” Duane gave another grin. “And as for the good people of Big Beaver, well hey, not many seem to mind there’s a Phantom Bigfoot Bather in town.” He chuckled. “He’s becoming quite a celebrity.” Duane winked. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he gets his own TV show.” He laughed, “Oprah’s interview with Phantom Bigfoot … prankster extraordinaire … that kinda has a ring to it.”

  A look of exasperation darkened Lou’s face. She had to admit Duane was right about her deputies. They were off their food, apart from Dwight — another reason she had not arrested Duane. As for most people in town, they didn’t take the antics of the Phantom Bigfoot Bather too seriously. In fact, there were some who hoped the idiot would pay their home a visit. It was deemed an honor. Now that was real fucked up.

  Lou sighed, inwardly knowing if she did find out Duane was the culprit he’d place her in a moral dilemma. Would she actually have him arrested and convicted?

  Duane shook his head solemnly and raised his beer glass to his lips. Lou’s confused thoughts amused the hell out him and he was fit to bust a gut anytime soon now. He took a mouthful of Baby Bigfoot Bitter, licked the froth from his stubbly chin and fluffy lip fuzz then picked up Lou’s latest ponderment — she was thinking of Dwight stuck down that raccoon nest and actually wondered if Duane had led them there on purpose. He burst out laughing.

  “Lighten up Lou. No one’s being harmed.” Duane tweaked an earlobe. “Oh yeah, what was the other thing bothering you?” As if he couldn’t guess.

  She was the acting town sheriff, a person with responsibilities, someone who enforced the law — she had no one to love — that was the massive problem. And it was five years to this very day the heartless bastard left her without a word. Okay, so Beau had gone missing. How could she lighten up? Lou gave Duane a withering look.

  “Who knows … maybe the heartless bastard might turn up unannounced one day soon,” Duane offered, choking on his beer when it dawned on him he might have given the game away. He furiously scratched his ear wondering if the shit had hit the fan.

  “Not gonna happen,” Lou said staring into her glass.

  Phew! That was a close call, Duane thought. He patted her shoulder. “I dunno, Lou … I gotta feeling he just might.”

  From his vantage point seated at a table close to the stage, MB sipped his alcohol-free beer and watched Duane and Lou talking. He was not alone.

  MB eyed up Kirsty and Zooey. They looked positively delicious in their sexy getup of short, tight skirts, tighter tops and to round things o
ff — huge Bigfoot slippers, claws and all. They were the backup to his and Duane’s band — Duane and the Bigfoot Babes. Their adoration of Duane and MB knew no bounds. He had only recently joined Duane on stage and loved all the fuss that came with being a local celebrity, not to mention free beer now and then from the tourists when Lou wasn’t looking.

  MB hoped he was going to get lucky tonight — lucky with both girls in tandem. As he watched Lou and Duane, he saw his furry friend give the sheriff a peck on the cheek. If he didn’t know any better it could look like the sheriff and Duane had a thing going, but MB knew all the affectionate stuff that went on between them was purely platonic.

  MB often thought it was a shame Duane and Lou couldn’t hit it off, it would sure help Lou’s disposition some. But she considered Duane a teenager and thought of him as her baby brother. Maybe in a few years time when Duane was older she might look upon him differently?

  “Excuse me, girls,” MB said as he got up from his chair. “I think I’m needed at the bar.”

  Zooey and Kirsty waved at MB as he left their company. “Don’t be too long, Chiefy, baby,” they said in tandem.

  MB quietly approached Lou and Duane like an Indian on the prowl. Neither sensed his approach until he placed a hand on their shoulders.

  “You’re not taking advantage of the law are you, dude?”

  Lou and Duane swung round on their bar stools to look at MB’s grinning face.

  “You two look as though you could do with a … stiff … drink?” MB teased. He knew that despite being loaded with money, Duane never turned down a freebie of beer as evidenced by the pitchers lined up in front of the Japanese tourists. Problem was getting away with it. He saw Earl giving him a wary look.

  “Sure thing, MB,” Duane nodded.

  Lou took a sip of beer and shook her head. “Uh-uh, this is my last. Beer just goes right through me. I’ll be peeing all night.”

  MB anticipated Lou leaving any minute now. “Any new scoop on the second poop?” He was distracted by Earl arguing with the Japanese at the bar. It seemed they were all begging to be the first to deliver the Bigfoot a beer.

  Lou shrugged and ignored the commotion going on. “Nothing to report.”

  Duane shrugged, “No luck again … go figure … too contaminated, so Lou tells me … just like the first one.” He sniggered, “Shame about that.” He shook his head woefully.

  MB noticed the look on Lou’s face as she stared at Duane and came to the conclusion what she was thinking — Duane had to be the Phantom Bigfoot Bather — and she’d be right.

  “Come on … time to get into character,” MB dragged Duane away from Lou and snatched two guitars from his table where the backing group sat patiently waiting.

  Some moments later Duane, MB and the backing group were on the stage. A spotlight shone down on the performers.

  Duane and MB tweaked their guitar strings and the girls smiled in readiness.

  Duane tapped the microphone and spoke to the audience, “Howdy all you Beaverites and for those of you who are visiting our town, a big howdy from Duane and The Bigfoot Babes.” He didn’t get everyone’s attention as folks were busy chatting and laughing with one another but more than a few heads turned in the direction of the stage. The Japanese looked in his direction, some pointed and some applauded. Satisfied he had the audience’s ear Duane began to sing.

  “Have you ever loved a Bigfoot,

  So much he don’t smell no more.

  Have you ever loved a Bigfoot,

  Even in bed when he snores.

  Coz once you love a Bigfoot,

  You won’t love anything else no more.

  It’s the Bigfoot … the Bigfoot,

  The Bigfoot Babe Blues.

  It’s the Bigfoot … the Bigfoot,

  The Bigfoot Babe Blues.”

  Chapter 15

  Home Sweet Home

  DUANE WAS SOUND asleep on the sofa, dreaming of his hairy friends traipsing through the forest under a full moon. He chased fireflies as a child would, the sheer joy of his new life held no bounds. He smiled in his sleep, but the smile slowly became a frown as his sixth sense detected trouble coming his way.

  It was the start of a brand new day full of hope as the sheriff’s patrol car sped down the highway. She turned off onto a small, bumpy logging road that led to Little Beaver Picnic Area then made another turn before driving past the infamous crime scene. Sunlight dappled the windscreen as the car passed a never ending line of firs.

  Lou drove with a grim determination for she had hoped, with the start of the new day, Beau would have shown up. She had no choice but to treat him as a missing person and continue with her investigations, though her gut told her he was still messing around.

  She slowed down and turned onto a tiny logging road, no wider than her car. Branches swished and scratched the sides of the cruiser as a ramshackle log cabin came into view with a spindly wisp of smoke leaking from the chimney.

  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 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 — the Harley Davidson and a shiny blue Winnebago 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 gingerly 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. Duane’s mountain bike, caked in mud, was propped against the cabin.

  A sudden squeak of the screen door exposed Duane’s beaming, unshaven face. His hair was tousled as if caught napping. He prompted Lou inside with a wave of his hand and a scratch of his butt.

  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, she thought.

  Duane gestured to the sofa, not that the item pointed to resembled furniture and shrugged when Lou shook her head no. He put up a hand as if to stop her, but it was too late. What’s done was done.

  Lou rather tentatively sat in a beaten up, threadbare armchair and instantly regretted it. It smelled real bad. In fact it smelled quite similar to the crime scenes — most curious? The cluttered living room drew her attention away from the smell. 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 wished she hadn’t.

  Something sticky and quite pungent stained her hand yellow. Lou sniffed the goo and almost choked on the smell of rotten eggs and stale garlic — the kind that had been left in the bin for a few hot days and God forbid if you ever opened up the lid. The stink of the Phantom Bigfoot Bather came to mind. She was about to wipe her hand on her jacket but thought better of it, instead she returned the goo to the armchair.

  Surely with their windfall, his father could afford a luxury cabin, furniture to match, nothing but the best, and yet they chose to live in such a shabby home. She’d often commented upon this fact, but nothing had ever been done about it.

  Duane was certainly taking after Sam, an incurable eccentric, and at such a tender age she wondered what he’d be like in twenty years or so — probably locked up in a nuthouse. Everything people took for granted seemed of no real use to Duane. If it was anyone else, they sure as hell would have moved into town or as far away as possible as many Beaverites tend to do. Keeping up appearances didn’t bother him, either. He didn’t give a hoot what people said or thought about him. Duane was either wise beyond his years or just plain dumb.

  The sheriff focused her attention on a now recumbent Duane as he lay comfortably on the sofa. Comfortable was not really the right word. You’d have to be comatose to lie on that shit heap. She couldn’t help notice clumps of cushion and springs poking through the woven material
of the collapsing piece of junk.

  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. She so desperately wanted to leave, but that wouldn’t be polite. She sat right at the edge of the chair as if ready to spring off it. Lou gave Duane a quizzical look.

  Duane frowned at Lou as the lights suddenly came on and her thoughts flooded his brain as if a dam had burst. He sat bolt upright as something else dawned on him.

  “Where are my manners today?” Duane sprang to his feet. The sofa gave an audible squeal as fresh springs popped anew through the rotting material with a boing. He shuffled off to the kitchen, out of sight. The sounds of coffee making could be heard.

  “Where’s your old man, Duane?” Lou called out.

  A clatter of cutlery was followed by his answer, “Um … Sam’s shooting a wildlife video over at Blind Man’s Canyon.” More clatter of cutlery. “Why’d ya wanna know, Lou?”

  Lou got up and made a quick search of the rest of the living room. “Nothing I guess … just haven’t seen him in a coon’s age.”

  She had to admit that some areas of the living room smelled real nice, despite its clutter. Pausing, she wondered what that nice, flowery smell was. Her keen eye detected several air freshener wands dotted about the room giving off a sweet fragrance.

  “Have you heard from your Mom lately?” she asked in an offhand manner.

  Something nipped her bare arm. Her itching arm made her think the armchair was flea-infested. She furiously scratched her lower arm.

  “Mom’s doing okay in Oakland. She opened up a garden nursery,” Duane called out.