Nobody Loves a Bigfoot Like a Bigfoot Babe (17 page)

A LITTLE OVER AN HOUR LATER, a thoroughly hungover MB was crouched behind some thickly tangled brambles with his listening gear attached to his ears. The sound of heavy feet had piqued his interest.

MB used his hands to spread a hole in the thicket and peered into the forest. His eyes bulged almost from their sockets. He told himself what he was looking at wasn't real.

Trees and undergrowth partly obscured his view of the tall Bigfoot as it strode across the small meadow.

It had to be Duane-o, he thought.

MB was quick to notice the wild flowers behind the Bigfoot's ears and a string of dog rose around its neck. Who else could it be, but Duane-o?

But something was different about Duane's Bigfoot costume. It was a different color-it was a reddish foxy color and streaked with golden flashes with a golden flash down its snout. The hair appeared to look like real hair, not the lifeless fur on Duane's costume, and quite fluffy and rippled with muscular movements. There was also very little hair on the creature's face which, to MB, seemed very feminine, almost attractive. He frowned as he seemed to recognize the face. He concluded that his friend had bought fancy new duds and had given them to a female friend of his. Most of all, MB noticed the large breasts swinging free.

MB started to film the creature with his camcorder, but as he aimed his directional microphone at the Bigfoot, a perplexed look came over his face.

It wasn't just the color of the costume that was different-the Bigfoot had a different stride. It was a smooth, fluid stride, but a heavy stride, as if the creature was heavier in weight-much heavier than a human. And something else bothered him—the strides seemed further apart and the Bigfoot didn't lean forward as if it couldn't lock its knees in an upright position, as was the consensus of opinion. These Bigfoot walked like humans. And something else bothered MB-Duane just wasn't that tall.

The Bigfoot stopped walking to pick some flowers.

MB wondered if someone else was masquerading as Bigfoot, apart from himself and Duane, but no one came to mind. MB excitedly concluded that the hairy creature was a real Bigfoot, or miserably concluded some newcomers had trespassed into the woods for reasons unknown.

Another Bigfoot suddenly stepped out from behind some trees at the edge of the meadow and walked over to the female Bigfoot, carrying a rucksack.

MB immediately recognized the rucksack as belonging to his friend and thought the Bigfoot he was looking at had to be Duane-o. But again, the color of the Bigfoot's hair was different, almost raven black and slick as if wet or greasy, and the way it walked was exactly like the first Bigfoot. And if it was Duane, he had suddenly put on a lot of muscle.

The big-breasted Bigfoot stopped picking flowers and watched what MB assumed was her mate as he approached her.

She bleated plaintively, "Woooeeeooo-wooooeeeeeooooo."

Her mate replied, "Woooooo-woooooo-woooooo."

The two Bigfoot nudged noses. There was a lot of mewls, snorts, hoots, glugs, yowls and weeee-woooos.

MB watched the amazing spectacle and recorded the animal sounds that he had heard so many times before. Yeah, it had to be old Duane-o. The no-brainer must have leg extensions on or something similar. They nudged noses again and the big male Bigfoot licked the snout of the tall female Bigfoot. It could even look like they were getting frisky. This might get interesting, thought MB.

Something big crashed through the nearby undergrowth, causing MB to give a start. A mean-looking grizzly came charging out of the woods towards the Bigfoot. It jammed its claws down and came to a stop. It gave a menacing roar and pawed the air.

MB watched the scene with eyes wide in amazement and disbelief. He didn't feel so afraid now because what he was witnessing couldn't be for real. It just couldn't. Could it?

At the sight of the grizzly, the sexy reddish Bigfoot yelped in fear and quickly hid for protection behind the bigger, muscular Bigfoot.

The grizzly charged menacingly towards them.

The male Bigfoot carefully placed the rucksack on the ground and stood erect. He gave a ferocious growl at the grizzly, revealing his yellowed teeth, beating his chest and stomping the ground.

Duane sure was getting into character, MB thought—if it was Duane.

The grizzly stopped and reared up on its hind legs and growled back.

The stacked Bigfoot stepped out from behind her mate and growled at the grizzly.

The three creatures faced each other in a Bigfoot-bear standoff.

To MB's well-attuned ears, the growls emanating from the three critters sounded like genuine animal sounds—not that he'd ever heard a genuine Bigfoot growl, except those strange noises in the woods he had heard from time to time and couldn't identify, but assumed it was Duane. The grizzly sure sounded and looked real, though. But how could it be, unless the other two creatures were also real? Nah, that's impossible.

The giant Bigfoot thumped his chest with both fists and growled ferociously. To MB's utter amazement, the Bigfoot did a clumsy roundhouse kick, clipping the grizzly's head with his massive big foot, thus confirming these were not real Bigfoot. He felt deflated, thinking Duane had fooled him yet again. Or had he?

A few moments later, the grizzly landed back down on all fours and trudged off into the woods, looking totally miserable and mewling pathetically.

MB continued to film the scene. As he watched, he thought,
nah, someone was fooling around and that someone was probably the Phantom Bigfoot
. The three creatures couldn't be real, or his name wasn't Chief Mocking Bird.

He thought the matter over for several moments before he concluded that he had just witnessed one of those kinky dress-up-as-animal sex things he'd heard about and the three creatures were performing some animal mating ritual before they did what nature intended. That meant one of the Bigfoot was Duane-o-the rucksack Bigfoot.

Yeah, it was some kinky, sex thing, thought MB, as he watched the two fluffy creatures walk hand-in-hand across the meadow. What else could it be?

And sure enough, the bigger of the two Bigfoot mounted the smaller one, and rammed the biggest bright pink cock MB had ever seen between the other's hairy hindquarters.

The rutting was over in seconds. The two Bigfoot nudged noses then skipped off across the meadow.

Duane must have had his dick surgically altered-not that MB had ever seen Duane's goods in that agitated state, or maybe Duane was wearing a massive strap-on.
You kinky bastard,
MB thought.

MB watched until the two Bigfoot disappeared into the woods and then quickly followed after the creatures. But in no time they were no longer in his sight as the trees and undergrowth became thicker. All he could do was follow his instincts and the distant sounds of crunching undergrowth.

OLAAA WALKED THROUGH the same woods with her pale plaything slung over her shoulder, fireman style. The undergrowth crackled and snapped beneath her heavy feet. The journey from her lair to Duane's cabin had taken longer than usual because her pale one had walked some of the way. She realized that he wasn't like her. He was slow on his feet and took smaller strides. He wasn't capable of walking for endless miles and he tired easily. And he also moaned and groaned a lot. Overall, Olaaa decided her precious plaything was a bit of a baby boy.

Olaaa was disappointed when Boo had collapsed in a state of exhaustion some hours ago. At first, Olaaa had carried him in her arms then she was forced to sling him over her back when her arms got tired.

Olaaa stopped and sniffed the familiar meadow air. She knew Maaawooo and Teeelaaa had been there not so long ago. The unmistakable smell of grizzly wafted through her keen, twitching snout.

Another scent caused danger signals to attack her brain-a pale one was close by. She looked all around with her keen eyesight, but saw nothing with a fire stick.

She did look up however to see the familiar swirling trails of smoke from Duane's cabin. Smoke that Duane always ensured would direct his hairy friends to safety. Olaaa surmised the cabin was no more than three thousand strides away. All Bigfoot measured distance and time by their stride.

Olaaa sighed. She felt sad at having to leave her woooo-woooo plaything. She also felt sad at how much of a baby he was and knew he wasn't meant for her. He needed to be with his own kind. So Olaaa paced off the three thousand strides towards Duane's cabin with Boo slung over her shoulder. Her puppy love moment had gone. She had grown up.

MB WAS HIDING WITHIN A thicket at the edge of Little Beaver picnic area staring at another scene that was so extraordinary that he had to film it. Before MB's astonished eyes were Walt, Bob and Chuck, tied butt naked to that damned leaky tree with the yellow crime scene tape.
Gives a new meaning to tie a yellow ribbon,
MB mused. All three were gagged with their own torn clothing which lay in tatters at their feet. MB suppressed the urge to giggle as all three assholes struggled to be free.
So that's what you three get up to in the woods,
mused MB. He wondered if they were involved in the kinky, animal sex thing. Probably not.

Maybe this is how the Swedish-looking aliens leave Walt? Cool! He suppressed chuckles and silently left the three assholes tied to their tree to do whatever three assholes tied to a tree could possibly do.

But MB was distracted by excited Japanese voices approaching from the west. He crouched back down and filmed Hiroshi and Akira busting their guts at the sight of three naked men tied to the tree. Hiroshi pointed at a large hairy spider crawling up Walt's leg. Both brothers became hysterical as they watched Walt squirm.
Don't untie them you idiots. Shit!
Too late, as Hiroshi and his brother released the three assholes. Time to move on.

FOR THE SECOND TIME in 24 hours, Agent Merlot looked at Duane's rustic home as if it should be in the film
Deliverance
.

The dried, brown grass grew in scattered clumps. The path leading up to the porch was just a dust trail. The remnants of a tattered picket fence stubbornly resisted nature's desire to return its wood to the forest.

She and Willis noticed Duane's Harley and shiny new Winnebago motor home.

Both agents opened the door to the Winnebago and entered. The stink of rotten eggs was quite overpowering.

Merlot looked into the tiny toilet. Beau wasn't hiding there. She failed to notice the color of the toilet—beige!

Moments later they exited the Winnebago.

Willis carefully touched the bike's engine. It was still ticking as it cooled off. He nodded to Merlot.

Willis was the first to step onto the creaky boards and waited for his partner at the front door.

Merlot gingerly stepped onto the porch and tapped each board with her foot placing any weight on it.

As Willis was about to hammer on the door, it opened, revealing a bleary-eyed, tousle -haired Duane, wearing Bigfoot pajamas and massive slippers that looked like Bigfoot feet.

Duane rubbed the sleep from his eyes and smiled his usual friendly smile, "Glad to see you've taken me up on my invite . . . so soon." He yawned widely. "Please, come in."

He stepped aside for his guests, still yawning profusely. "I guess you think I'm hiding Beau?"

"Maybe . . . maybe not," Willis replied in his regulation, stern voice.

Once inside the living room, the FBI agents surveyed their surroundings with even more disgusted looks on their faces.

Merlot sniffed the air. Her nostrils detected floral air freshener, a damp grassy smell, and something stinky like body odor mixed with something musky and unpleasant similar to the leaky tree.

"What do you think of the old place?" Duane asked his old friend in a congenial tone of voice, gesticulating proudly. "Hasn't changed much from when you used to come up here. We had some good times, back then, old buddy."

WILLIS AGREED WITH A CURT nod of his head. It looked as though the place hadn't been cleaned in-well, never. He stared with nostalgia at the stuffed steelhead on the wall above the stone fireplace. His eyes filled with tears at the sight of the faded photo above the fireplace. He clearly remembered Duane reeling in that ten-pounder. It was a day he could never forget. Willis fought back tears of regret and guilt. Doctor Fernandez was right, yet again.

Duane continued to smile and pointed to the furniture.

"Take a load off. Stick your feet up. Make yourselves at home while I make us some coffee." He continued to point to the threadbare sofa with the clumps of stuffing hanging out.

Both FBI agents exchanged glances of disgust at the prospect of sitting on such a filthy object. They hesitated for a respectable moment before using hankies to wipe it before sitting down. They tossed their hankies to the floor.

Duane smiled with amusement at the agents' unease and once they had seated themselves, he wandered off towards the kitchen.

Willis fidgeted uncomfortably. He pulled out a clump of stuffing that dug into his butt. The big problem was the stuffing was hiding a busted spring which jabbed his tight ass. He slid over a ways.

Willis called out, "You've really tied the flow to the motif, Duane."

Duane poked his head around the door frame to the kitchen, "Nice of you to notice."

Willis said under his breath, "That's not what I meant, dumbass." He saw large Bigfoot prints made of flour and frowned, what the fuck went on here?

SEVERAL MINUTES PASSED before Duane returned from the kitchen carrying a tray with three mugs of coffee and a plate of doughnuts.

To look at Duane, no one would suspect that just over two hours ago he'd been held at gunpoint by Walt and his buddies. Not to mention the raging hangover pounding in his head and the frantic cleaning he endured-not that he had done much cleaning as the need to sleep took over his weary body.

But it wasn't every day his old friend Willis dropped in on him. He was overjoyed to see his best friend, despite feeling a tad under the weather. He wanted to hug Willis, but realized, after last night at Abe's, his dear friend wasn't into hugging and tearful reunions.

Duane placed the tray on the tree trunk section that served as a table in front of his welcome guests and sat down in his favorite, shabby armchair, the one he kept hidden from Maaawooo.

"Help yourselves," Duane offered. He picked up a mug of coffee, a doughnut and eased back into the armchair. He waited for his guests to help themselves before he took a sip of his coffee.

"Doughnuts!" Merlot wrinkled her nose. "I don't seem to have much appetite for doughnuts these days." She picked up a mug of coffee.

"Me neither," Willis said. He picked up the remaining mug of coffee.

Duane smiled as he took a mouthful of doughnut. He chewed happily on the confection, smiling at his guests' unease.

"Oh, by the way . . . did either of you see the Bigfoot at Grace Hotel?"

"No," Willis replied in a curt voice.

"If you didn't see it, it must be the Phantom Bigfoot. Heard the Bigfoot left a photograph . . . and wasn't there something about a half-eaten doughnut left at the crime scene?" Duane's expression remained casual as he bit into his doughnut. He shook his head and feigned a look of disgust. "DNA might get something from it . . . but not mine . . . wonder who it could be?"

Willis didn't reply.

"Do you have any idea?" Duane asked. He warned himself to be on his guard. He was in the presence of professionals trained in the art of detecting subterfuge and tricking individuals they suspected of committing or being a party to a crime into confessing.

"I don't really care." Willis hesitated. "But Lou is convinced it wasn't the Phantom Bigfoot . . . the MO is all wrong."

"Must be a copycat then," Duane said with a thoughtful look. He took a mouthful of doughnut and watched both agents keenly. "The things people do these days . . . makes me wonder what this world is coming to."

"Yes, most likely a copycat," Willis replied, giving Duane a curious glance.

Duane casually scratched his butt and allowed his thoughts to wander from this interrogation to MB and how eager he had been to follow in his big feet. Duane hadn't told him the whole truth as it might spread around town, but he knew one day the truth would come out about his tribe of Bigfoot and their ancestry.

Of course, Duane had no intention of hanging up the Bigfoot duds any day soon, but who could say what the future held. He had an urge—not dissimilar to geese migrating in the winter, to take a trip and see the sea. He'd like to visit his property in Florida. Say hello to a few old friends he hadn't seen for a while, and possibly reunite them with some relatives.

"So you agree it wasn't the Phantom Bigfoot?" Merlot probed, suppressing a fit of the giggles.

With a sigh, Duane drew himself out of his pleasant contemplations. "No . . . uh yeah, it must be a copycat."

Merlot fidgeted as a spring forced its way through the rotting material and poked her in the ass. "Really nice sofa you have, Duane." She chuckled, "must have set you back some?"

The sofa wasn't at all comfortable, thought Duane. Merlot was being a tad sarcastic. Duane took another bite of doughnut.

"You sure you won't have a doughnut . . . you could do with a few extra pounds?" Duane added, "No offense."

"None taken," Merlot replied with a bat of her eyelids.

Willis gave his partner a quick glare and kicked her foot.

"Beau's gotta show up soon, don't you think?" Duane asked, maintaining the serious façade.

"We hope so," Willis replied.

Duane looked keenly at his old friend and changed the subject again. He was reminded of a little ditty he and Willis used to sing. He gave a smile.

"You remember that tune we used to sing about Walt? It would sure piss him off."

Willis gave his old friend a wary look. "A shame . . . but I remember."

"We were younger then," Duane said, watching his friend stir uncomfortably on the sofa.

"Enough of this reminiscing . . . we're here to ask you about Beau," Willis demanded in his matter-of-fact tone of voice.

Duane didn't hear his old friend's grouchy request. He was lost in a world of his own where he and Willis would hide in the forest and tease Walt the hunter as he was about to bag his prey. Walt's anger would never fail to cause him to miss his target.

Duane started to hum to himself then a moment later he broke into song—

"Walt Flucker thinks he's so tough,

Acts so mean but it ain't enough.

Likes to run naked round a big ol' tree,

Chased by a big, randy grizzilly.

Coz he's a bear mother fucker,

That's Walt Flucker-a bear mother fucker."

Willis bit down on his lower lip suppressing a smile. "Give it a rest, Duane."

Merlot sniggered. "I love it . . . don't stop."

"For fuck's sake, don't encourage him." Willis gave Merlot a kick.

"Walt Flucker likes to…."
Duane was interrupted in mid-verse by the sound of several rapid knocks on the door.

All three looked curiously at the front door.

"Wonder who that is? Excuse me," Duane said, rather too politely. He placed the remainder of the doughnut back onto the plate with the uneaten doughnuts and got up.

He sauntered over to the door with the mug of coffee in his hand.

A SWEATY MB STOOD on the porch of Duane's cabin. He was more than a little excited at what he had witnessed, but told himself the creatures he had seen couldn't have been for real. But supposing they were for real? There was one way to find out for sure.

He glanced over his shoulder back at the FBI car. He cautioned himself to be careful and not say too much in front of the nosy FBI agents, for Old Indian legend tells us that man who isn't careful is likely to get scalped.

Duane opened the door and smiled. "Mocking Bird, guess who's here?" He whispered, "The FBI."

"You don't say," MB replied in an obvious way. "Uh . . . what time did you get back from town?"

Duane shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Dunno for sure . . . hmm . . . about eight this morning, I guess." He winked at MB, "Needed some quality sack time after spending the night with the Bumsen Sisters."

MB looked speculative, "Who wouldn't? You go out afterwards in your Bigfoot duds?"

Duane looked thoughtful as he scratched his butt and looked rather vague. "Nope . . . not that I can recall."

What sort of reply was that
?
MB thought. Either the Phantom Bigfoot had been out today or he hadn't. Sometimes it was impossible to get a straightforward answer from his friend.

"You want some coffee and doughnuts . . .
ring
doughnuts?" Duane gave MB a cheeky smile.

MB frowned at Duane to be careful, peeking into the living room to check on the FBI agents who were obviously trying to listen in on their chat.
What the fuck!
He smiled at them as he entered Duane's humble abode.

"Sure thing, Duane-o. I could really do with a cup of your coffee, but hold the doughnuts."

MB mimicked disgust at the lurid image of the Bigfoot eating a doughnut on the toilet. He watched for any reaction from Duane's guests, but got nothing. MB smiled timidly to both agents as Duane handed him his own half cup of coffee.

MB frowned at his friend, thinking, Old Indian legends told us beggars can't be choosers. He stood by the sofa drinking coffee. There was no way he was going to sit in the stinky armchair. That would have been the final insult.

Willis broke the silence, "What did you see in the woods, MB?"

MB was as cautious as an elk on a frozen lake. "Not quite sure . . . just a blur of movement . . . probably a grizzly?"

He looked away from Willis' intense gaze and stared at the frightful mess all over the floor. Bigfoot footprints were everywhere. His keen eye detected three different sets of Bigfoot prints and several boot prints in the flour. He gave Duane a curious look.
Old friend, you've been holding out on me.

Willis put his empty coffee mug on the log table and asked, "What's in the basement, Duane?"

Duane colored slightly and shrugged, "Nothing that could be of interest . . . but be my guest if you don't trust me."

Willis nodded to Duane, "Thanks for the coffee." He indicated to Merlot it was time to leave.

Merlot dropped her cup on the table and sprang from the sofa with all the eagerness of someone who was desperate to leave. She brushed her suit with her hands.

Duane was curious, "Was there something else you wanted to ask me, Willis?"

Willis hesitated by the door as if he were about to ask something. But he shook his head. "It can keep."