Weekend at Bigfoot's

Chapter 1: Never Fake! We Swear! Maybe Wilson Banks should have picked up on the life-changing aspect of his new assignment when Jerry first mentioned it to him. Life-view-changing, anyway. No, it was ultimately life-changing. Or both. Regardless, he’d never considered things like extra-sensory perception to be true any more than he’d believed in the reality of many of the articles he wrote. This assignment was an annoyance to be ducked in favor of something—anything—that wasn’t such typical tabloid fodder. “Come on, Jerry, I froze my ass off chasing quotes for that Yeti story eight months ago.” Wilson pulled out the pencil he had tucked behind his ear and pointed it at Sensational News’ (Never Fake! We Swear!) features editor. “Can’t you give me something else?” “You want to interview all the victims of the chimney shitter in Boise?” Wilson slumped. On the plus side—depending on one’s perspective—at least that story was true. Bigfoot? Not so much. Considering the speculation about the sample one of the recipients of the malodorous deposits had saved (“There’ll be DNA in those droppings!”), he cringed at the thought of chasing down the chimney shitter story. He let out a long sigh. “How far back in the boonies is this hillbilly who says he trapped Bigfoot?” “Nah, you’ll still be in civilization. It’s a quaint tourist trap in Northern California. I’ll put you up in a nice little B&B.” Wilson shifted, pushing back in his chair. One of these days he was going to get into this office when Jerry wasn’t around and check out these damned chairs. It felt like Jerry had shaved down the length of the front legs to deliberately make reporters slither forward on the hard seat. The better to get them to agree to anything and rush them out of there? “Besides.” Jerry tapped his middle finger on his desk calendar. “There’ve been multiple sightings over the years. We’ve tracked them down; you just have to sweet talk them. Get me some good soundbites and maybe a fuzzy picture or two.” “A bed and breakfast, eh?” That did sound relaxing. He could deal with another round of interviewing loonies…er…confused people who apparently couldn’t recognize a bear for what it was if it happened to stand, in exchange for a little R&R in a pleasant setting during his downtime. Jerry bounced back and forth against the tilt mechanism in the top-quality leather office chair in which he had his own rear parked. A slow grin spread across his face. “In an updated Victorian with all the amenities.” Wilson grimaced as his butt slipped forward again. “Fine. Give me the Sasquatch story.” It was doubtful he’d come up with images fuzzy enough to make a black bear look like Bigfoot—he shivered at the thought of getting close enough to snap a picture anyway—and he wasn’t going to fabricate one. He had his standards. But maybe he could find a nice footprint? If nothing else, he could photograph a few witnesses. “Great.” Jerry was all business, sliding a manila envelope across the desk and leveling his patented squint at Wilson before turning to his computer. “See Mark on your way out. He’s got your travel itinerary.” Wilson let out a long breath and heaved out of the chair. If Mark had his itinerary, then his airline and lodging reservations had already been made. He hadn’t really had the option of talking Jerry into giving him something less deceptive. Less…quintessentially low-brow sensationalism. Not that it mattered. It all paid the same. He scowled at the thought of facing Mark, but letting Mark get to him wouldn’t help anything. The differing ways they each dealt with their post-breakup relationship only emphasized how hopeless their affair had been in the first place. Wilson should have known from the beginning that Mark wasn’t ready for the kind of commitment Wilson wanted. But no, Wilson had been unable to pick up on the clues over the roar of his biological clock—did men have those?—ticking in his ears. However he labeled it, Wilson wanted to settle down. He would never verbalize it because it was too basic. Cheesy—hell, it had become a downright cringeworthy meme—but he wanted the full “live-laugh-love” package with someone who could be his best friend, all the while making his skin tingle with a glance. As it turned out, after spending too many months convincing himself they simply needed more time, Mark did not share his hopes and dreams. There was nothing wrong with having an open relationship, not as long as both parties were in agreement. But ultimately Wilson wanted monogamy, and Mark’s resistance had gone beyond it simply being too early in the relationship to commit to that. Mark’s face twitched like he was trying to suppress a smirk as Wilson approached his desk. Wilson narrowed his eyes. His ex seemed to enjoy finding little ways to screw with him when making his travel arrangements. Like on every tortuous leg of that long flight to Kathmandu. “Oh, you wanted an aisle seat? I would have sworn you preferred window.” That had been the reason for Jerry’s squint. An admonishment to not start anything. Which was ridiculous, because Wilson was never the one instigating the pettiness that still persisted between them. He valued his job too much. Wilson could deal with whatever Mark had done. Keep it professional—which, he obviously should have done in the first place by resisting Mark’s flirtatious overtures two years ago. Alas, in every other aspect of life, Wilson was a realist, but when it came to romance, he was an eternal optimist. Wilson pasted on a smile and stopped in front of Mark’s desk. “Jerry said you have something for me?” “Right.” Mark swiveled in his seat and took his time flipping through files standing in a sorter on his desk. The desktop was as neat and impeccably organized as ever. The stapler perfectly aligned next to the calendar, the pencil can—no, two cans, because pens and pencils mustn’t mingle—lined up along the edge. Each file was in its own slot in the sorter. Mark knew precisely where the correct folder was. Wilson stifled a desire to tap his foot. He wouldn’t give Mark the satisfaction. Finally, Mark selected a file and handed it over with an affected cheery grin. “Here you go. Your flight’s in four hours, so you might want to head home to pack.” “Four—” Wilson cut himself off and opened the folder. It was Friday afternoon. Jerry hadn’t said anything about working the weekend. He frowned at the airline trip summary staring back at him. Sure enough, his flight out was this evening. He flipped through the pages, and he had a late check-in set up at a B&B in—he suppressed a snort—a town named Tallbear. No doubt Mark would have some excuse about a cheaper flight time, or the accommodations all being booked by business travelers during the week. If Wilson asked. Which he wouldn’t. And for some reason, remaining unruffled, as Wilson did in virtually all situations, would piss off Mark. Wilson would have thought that was an admirable quality, but during their final breakup scene, Mark had raged, “Does nothing get your goat? Nothing? Because seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever once seen you get worked up over anything.” An unfair comment if ever there was one. Wilson was pragmatic. He accepted empirical evidence for what it was and moved on. If Wilson’s mom had said it once when he’d been growing up, she’d said it a thousand times. There was no use crying over spilled milk. Not being emotional was not the same thing as not having emotions. And it certainly wasn’t the same as not having feelings. Wilson gritted his teeth. “Thanks.” On the plus side, maybe he’d be more likely to find random people available to talk to him on a weekend. Hopefully they’d be out and about doing whatever there was to do in a small town. He strode to the elevator. It took every ounce of restraint he could muster to not power punch the DOWN button. Once inside, Wilson closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, willing the tight knots to ease out of his neck muscles. After a final cleansing breath, he reopened his eyes and pulled out his phone to check the weather forecast for his weekend destination. * * * * An hour later, Wilson had crammed a couple days’ worth of clothing suitable for Northern California autumn climate into his carry-on bag and stood in his tiny Chicago kitchen, wolfing down a sandwich. His gaze landed on a pair of dish towels his mother had given him. The only homey things in the gleaming, modern, albeit small apartment kitchen. She’d stitched one of her favorite sayings onto them. One towel proclaimed, When it rains look for rainbows, and the other said, When it’s dark look for stars. Was there a saying for when your boss sent you on a wild goose chase looking for Bigfoot during what was supposed to be your days off? But he couldn’t help smiling; Mom’s attitude had rubbed off on him. Wilson placed his plate in the sink and hefted his suitcase. He’d already started thinking of this trip as a kind of working vacation with all expenses paid. Because why not? He enjoyed chatting up people. That was part of what made him good at this job.