the Story Shop

  "Okay, you asked how much to find the murderer. I can't answer that question. I have no idea how long it'll take...but rest assured, I'll find him or know the reason why."

  Miss Foster opened her purse and dumped a bunch of bills on my desk. It looked like a few hundred dollars.

  "I charge five hundred dollars a day...plus expenses," I said. I watched her face turn red.

  "Damn it all, I ain't got that kind o' money. I got what you see there," she said, pointing to the bills on the desk.

  I was eager to do the investigation. In fact, I'd have done it for nothing.

  "Miss Foster, you are in luck. The Boomer case intrigues me for reasons I need not explain, so I'll do it for the money you've put on the desk."

  I smiled, but the old hag just grunted.

  "Let me know when you find the bastard," she said. "It could be that asshole Fritz for all I know. Here's my number." She dropped a slip of paper on the desk and walked out.

  I was actually pretty happy. Not for the money, of course. It wouldn't pay for gas, but I needed to talk to anyone who might have been involved, anyone who might have seen Janice that day, who might have talked to her at any time over the last few weeks. It was important that I know the details.

  Chapter Two

  I spent the rest of the day making phone calls. I knew a few guys at the station and asked what additional information they had that wasn't in the papers. They knew nothin' and that was a good sign. I phoned some neighbours, but they didn't think much of the Fosters and avoided them like they were diseased. They didn't have much to say about Janice except that she was a pretty girl who didn't get along with Mrs. Foster; they argued all the time and, they said, "You could hear them yelling for a mile."

  By evening I had made a dozen calls, drove to Galway Bush, talked to the cops there and inspected the area in the bush where the body was found. There seemed to be absolutely no clues or evidence implicating anyone, including Janice's dad, Fritz. In fact, Fritz had left town over a week ago and was shacking up with some gal in Montreal. The coroner said the murdered girl had been on drugs, cocaine. Everyone suspected some nut, maybe a drug dealer, maybe a pimp. Everything I heard was good news, for me. I would be able to put this case to bed without any problem.

  I returned to my office, four small second floor rooms on Maple Avenue with a window and a balcony that overlooked the lake. It was cheap and it was convenient: I lived in the back rooms. I celebrated my thirty-fifth birthday a month ago and was in good shape, physically. I jogged regularly down by Spencer park, I walked rather than drive my beat-up Chevy...when it was feasible. I never married, though I knew many women, some intimately. I was engaged for a while. I even gave her a small diamond ring and she gave me a nice opal ring. It didn't fit well and often slipped off my finger, but it was pretty fancy and I kept it. It must have slipped off recently 'cause I haven't seen it in days. It usually showed up in my Chevy or in my bed. I often spent the bloody cold winters in Arizona. I had a friend there, with a motel. He'd provide a room for nothing. Nice guy. I'd bring him jugs of maple syrup every time I visited.

  I collapsed on the sofa. This might work out very well, this murder case. I had known Janice for just eight or nine days. I met her at Ralph's party. Ralph Warren seemed to have a party every weekend, inviting friends, neighbours and lots of unattached gals. He and I had gone to university together. Well, he had finished, I had jumped ship halfway through second year, but we hit it off and have remained friends ever since. Ralph introduced me to Janice: "A nice girl that I know you will enjoy." That's exactly what he said. "... you will enjoy." I knew exactly what he meant and when I asked Janice for a date, she accepted immediately.

  Janice was what one might call a "skank". I knew a few of them types: tacky, trashy, low class, lewd and, lucky for me, promiscuous. She was also drop-dead beautiful with a body that'd make you cry. I'd take her to an inexpensive restaurant, maybe a sexy movie then to the balcony overlooking the lake where'd we'd partake of a bottle of whiskey...then to my bedroom. She was a devil in bed and I looked forward to our nights together. Little did I know that she was also a drug addict and pusher.

  Usually, Janice would leave in the wee hours after midnight, but one night she asked to stay. I had no problem with that. However, when she pulled out a plastic bag with white powder and offered me a snort, I was taken by surprise. I refused, of course. I don't do that shit. So she laid a line of powder on the table, rolled a dollar bill and sniffed. Then she waited, eyes closed, then walked to the balcony door and waited again. I watched in disgust. She opened the door and went out, leaning heavily against the railing. It was a chilly night and, although she was naked, she didn't seem to mind.

  I asked her leave. I said I'd drive her home, but she refused. In fact, she grabbed the half empty bottle of whiskey and poured in down her throat without stopping to swallow. I needed her out of here. I grabbed the bottle, placed it on the table and collected her clothes.

  "Put these on, right now!" I said, in a hoarse but determined voice. I wasn't accustomed to women disobeying me. She just stood there like a mannequin. I pushed her onto the bed and dressed her, with some difficulty. I left off the bra and panties. I carried her down to my car, drove across town and dumped her in front of the ramshackle house which she called home. I didn't see her again for two days, then she called me. She insisted that I pay her for our evenings together. She was no whore, but she wasn't free, either, she said. In fact, she asked for several thousand dollars. I refused, of course, so she said she'd tell the Burlington Times that I was a drug dealer and had forced her to take cocaine and had raped her repeatedly. This girl was a witch. No way I would put up with her shenanigans.

  Chapter Three

  When the buzzer sounded I was reading the morning news. I picked up the phone.

  "Yeah, who's there?" I said.

  "Jake? It's Roberto. We gotta talk."

  I punched the button that opened the front door.

  Roberto Pollini was a detective, a good one, at the local precinct. He came in with two other cops. They immediately went into my back rooms.

  "What's this shit?" I asked.

  "We gotta search the place," he said. "Standard stuff."

  "Am I implicated in some crime?"

  "Did you know Janice Boomer?' he asked, ignoring my question.

  "The name doesn't ring a bell," I said.

  "Ralph Warren says he introduced you to Miss Boomer at a party, about two weeks ago."

  "Ah, yes. Now I remember. She's the girl they found in Galway Bush, am I right?"

  "Yes, you're right."

  Just then a cop showed up the door to my back rooms.

  "Look what I found," he said.

  He was holding a bra and panties on the end of a pencil. Shit!

  Roberto said, "Bag it." Then he turned to me. "The Boomer girl wasn't wearing underwear," he said.

  "Damn it, Roberto," I groaned. "Those things have been under my bed for ages. Some gal left them there. I can't remember who."

  I tried to remember. Janice was murdered on a Tuesday. She left her underwear at my place the Saturday before. Did she just forget to buy another set of underthings? Did she usually go around without undergarments? Roberto was talking to me.

  "There was a knife at the murder site, the murder weapon. The handle was wiped clean of any prints, but it was an unusual knife. Quibly Stainless Steel, made in a small town in Arizona."

  Roberto leaned forward. "Do you own Quibly knives?"

  I scratched my head. "I don't think so. I never really looked at the manufacturer."

  Just then a cop came into the room with a wooden rack full of knives. There was one knife missing. Roberto inspected the knives.

  "It seems you own some Quibly knives...and one is missing."

  "C'mon Roberto! Is everybody with a Quibly knive a suspect?"

  "It rained Monday, the night before the Boomer girl was murdered. There are tire tracks in the mud. They match your Chevy."

/>   "Chevy's are a popular car, didn't you know?" I tried to smile.

  "Your right front tire has a small nail embedded in the tread. The tracks in the mud have an impression of that nail head."

  Roberto leaned back in his chair. He looked glum.

  "I showed a photo of your car to Miss Foster, the murdered girl's mother. She remembers the car bringing Janice home...often."

  "Jake," Roberto said, sadly, "you gotta provide us with an alibi else I'll have to take you in as a suspect for the murder of Miss Janice Boomer."

  What could I say? The bloody wench was going to spill some incredible story about my being a pusher, raping her, fording her to snort cocaine.

  "Look Roberto, it looks bad, but I didn't murder that girl!" I was almost shouting.

  "One other thing,' Roberto said. He pulled a baggie from his pocket and removed an opal ring. "This was found near the murder site. Would you like to read the inscription?"

  Shit! I knew what it said on the inner side of the ring:

  To Jake with love. May you be forever true.

  Chapter One

  I have to tell you this story. Time is getting short.

  I am so lonely. It's been years since I've had a friend. He was rather large and quite clumsy, but he was so sweet and adorable. They called him Moose, but I called him Romeo, he was so affectionate. But now he's gone. I found his body lying by the river, his magnificent antlers removed, his body decaying. Now I wander the forests on the ocean side of the mountains, by myself, avoiding the Uglies who track through with guns and leave their garbage among the wild flowers and ferns.

  I love to see the ocean when the sun goes down, all pink and blushing. When it gets a little chilly I crawl into my home on Black Tusk Mountain. My cave is quite small, but I love it. It has a huge picture window that looks out onto the sea and sometimes I can see an Orca pod hunting salmon.

  I liked the Matsqui people. They often let me play in their village. I loved the children, they were so sweet and lively. When I was given berries and lovely potatoes to eat and some fermented, velvety thing to drink, I sometimes felt like a Matsqui myself. They called me sásq'ets and I loved that name. It has a very nice ring, don't you think? Even if you say Sasquatch, it's very nice. Of course, the Uglies have a different name for my kind. I avoid them, but I leave tracks, foot prints in the mud after a warm rain. Large foot prints. The Uglies, with their small minds and big guns, call me Bigfoot. I hate that name. Sometimes I sit on a comfortable rock and stare at my feet. They are not that big. Lots of hair, maybe that makes them look big, but when I bathe on the shore of Garibaldi Lake and the hair is flattened against my skin, I can see that I have rather dainty feet.

  Garibaldi Lake is quite pleasant if it weren't for the Uglies who hike there, camp there, swim there, poop there, boat there and leave their trash there. I guess I should be happy that there isn't a highway running to the Lake, with hamburger stands and pizza parlours. Although it is lonely without others of my kind, I do not wish to associate with Uglies.

  I did, however, have one amusing experience with an Uglie. In point of fact, I remember it with some fondness because the Uglie was actually quite beautiful. He was at least two metres tall, hairy in the chest and chin with dark bushy eyebrows and black, black hair that hung to beyond his shoulders. Even his back was covered in dark fur. He was alone except for his dog, a yappy little thing that never stopped barking. The Uglie was camping and fishing and stayed by the Lake for almost two weeks. He put all his trash in a bag and left with that bag. That was very thoughtful, don't you think?

  Well, there was one thing he didn't put in the bag: his poop. He walked a little ways into the woods, dropped his trousers, squatted and pooped in an area free of wild flowers. I watched with immense amusement. I could smell him for a mile and it wasn't an unpleasant smell. In point of fact, it was quite like my own smell. In many ways, this hairy Uglie was much like a Sasquatch. I was tempted to introduce myself. However, when he saw me peeking at him while he pooped, he quickly pulled up his trousers and ran to his tent. He went in and came out with one of those big guns. That was very disappointing. I couldn't imagine why he'd need a gun. The grizzlies that lived nearby were quite friendly.

  In point of fact, I often played with Shaggy when she comes out of hibernation with cute little cubs. Shaggy is a rather small grizzly, as grizzlies go, but she can be quite angry if there's any threat to her children. However, she lets me play with them and I don't feel at all threatened. They are so cute, those cubs.

  But I was explaining the amusing incident with that big Uglie. After a couple of days I called him Bristle because of all the hair that covered his body. Oh, yes, I saw his body, all of it. He would swim without clothes and I would admire his various features, especially his ... well, I needn't go into that. Suffice it to say that it was quite thrilling to imagine that he was a Sasquatch, small in stature except for...well, I needn't go into that. But when he came out of his tent with a big gun, I growled and ran into the woods. Bristle seemed reluctant to follow, but he did, eventually. He found me lying in a bed of ferns, looking ravishing, I'm sure. I thought I knew him well enough to be unafraid of his big gun, and I was right. When he saw me, alone, unafraid and very sexy, he just stood there. Then, I swear it, he actually smiled. A big, big smile that literally shimmered ivory through his black, black beard.

  Well, he didn't shoot me with that big gun. In point of fact, he just stared for several minutes then turned and slowly walked back to the shore and went into his tent. When I followed him back, that dog was yapping. I learned to hate that dog, but I had to put up with it if I wanted to see Bristle. In point of fact, I often sat on a comfortable rock by the Lake and just watched Bristle do this thing: fishing, cooking, relaxing and smiling when he saw me.

  When Bristle eventually left he couldn't find the yappy little creature. He spent most of the day looking, but finally he packed his canoe and went away. I missed Bristle...but I ate his dog.

  Chapter Two

  I am so lonely. I can't even remember when I last saw one of my kind. I was very young, that I do recall. My Mammy was huge, I mean she was gigantic. There was just one other Sasquatchie kid in the neighbourhood and his name was Fuzzy. He was small for his age and I could knock him down with just a shoulder move. He hated that and often went crying to his Mammy–but I really liked him. We would swim together, run together, pick berries together and inspect each other. That's when I learned the difference, and it was quite amazing. I soon came to realize that he was small in every respect, yet we did experiment and it was nice.

  When I was just a couple of years old, my Mammy vanished without even saying goodbye. Even Fuzzy was gone. In point of fact, everyone I knew, every Sasquatchie I knew, they were all gone. I was so depressed. Isn't it reasonable to expect, at least, a goodbye? I am now almost a hundred years old and very lonely. I don't know where everyone went... they never came back. I never had any babies. How could I? Once upon a time I met a man who was very much like a Sasquatch and I thought we might make a baby. His name was Bristle and he lived in a tent by the Lake with a dog that...but wait, have I already told you that? Yes, I have. I remember now. My memory seems to be less than it was. I don't how long Sasquatchies live, but I feel old as well as very much alone. Sometimes I get pains in my lower back. Sometimes I feel an ache in my right hip.

  When I was younger, maybe twenty years ago, I had a very close friend whose name was Gallop. I met him when he was drinking at the Lake. He was a magnificent creature with a mane that flowed along his back when he ran...and he ran like the wind. He told me that he was lost when he was a colt. His herd had come here to browse the tasty ferns, then they left without him. That was a while back, but now Gallop is a magnificent stallion and we got along very well. I showed him where to find the wild berries and he let me ride on his back from time to time. Did I mention that he was fast as the wind? We could go from my cave to the lake in just few minutes. We played sexual games and I loved
it.

  Then, one day, he was gone. I couldn't believe he'd leave without so much as a goodbye, like Mammy and Fuzzy, so I set out to find him...and find him I did. He was lying at the bottom of a cliff. I couldn't believe he had fallen, he was such a sure-footed creature. Then I saw the wounds on his back and the tear on his neck. It was Sly, I knew it as soon as I saw the claw marks. Now, instead of hunting Gallop, I hunted Sly. I found the cat sleeping on a rock, in the sun, his eyes closed, his tail slowly waving back and forth. He was larger than I remembered. I knew this cat since he was a kitten. I even played with him from time to time, but he had killed Gallop and that was a bad thing to do...so I killed him.

  You might think I'd have eaten the cat, but no. I am mostly vegetarian: grasses, berries, ferns, fish, tubers that lie beneath the ground and things like that–especially fish. I do, on occasion, nibble on mice and small rodents, but that's just for a snack. Oh, I almost forgot, I did eat a dog once. It was a yappy mutt that...or did I already tell you that? Yes, I think I did. Anyway, my teeth are getting worn and I no longer eat anything with bones. In point of fact, I eat very little these days and I am losing a lot of weight. Perhaps that's why I'm telling you this story.

  I was told, long ago, that there is a place where Sasquatch go to die. I do not know this place so I am afraid I must die in my cave. It is understood, by my kind, that Sasquatch bones must not be found, especially by Uglies. So I must enter my cave and seal the opening. But I realize that, after almost one hundred years, someone should know of my life. Should I just pass on, unnoticed, unappreciated and unloved? No, I cannot, so I am telling you my story as best I can, from fading memory.

  Now, if you will excuse me I will go now, to my cave with the window on the sea. I will spend some time watching the Orcas hunting salmon, admiring the colours of the setting sun, filling my mind with visions of times gone by.