ShowBiz

by Danial Knight

“Hey! It’s Uncle Bernie!”

“Bernie? Really? You expect me to believe that?”

“You don’t think I have an Uncle Bernie?”

“It doesn’t sound very… sasquatch.”

The bigfoot narrowed its eyes and crammed another enormous fist full of popcorn into its mouth.

“If I didn’t know better,” it managed to mumble, bits of food spraying over the garage’s cement floor, “I’d say you were a speciest.”

Joseph Two Flower, Oklatuna County sheriff, slouched in his recliner and eyed the mess.

“I’m just saying it doesn’t sound likely, is all.”

“There’s only so many syllables.” The bigfoot shook its head. “Take the name Dan.”

“Do we have to do this?”

The creature casually draped one leg over the arm of the room’s only other chair. It, like the chair Joe currently occupied, had seen better days and had been exiled to the garage by Joe’s wife Doreen. The only thing in the place that didn’t count its age in decades was the 70 inch flat screen mounted on the wall before them.

“In Hebrew it means ‘judge’ and in Japanese it means ‘master’.  Naomi is a good one, too.  It’s Japanese and Hebrew.  Makes you wonder if there’s some ancient lost connection, doesn’t it?”

“Not really.”

“You’ve got no poetry in your soul, Two Feather.”

The creature returned its attention to the screen. An older man with a thick, grey beard and shoulder length hair was attempting to move stealthily through a forest. He wasn’t doing it very well.

“I love this guy.”

“He’s awful.” Joe took another sip of cola. “He couldn’t sneak up on a narcoleptic squirrel. How’d he get footage of your Uncle Bernie?”

“Well, Uncle Bernie’s what you might call a bit of a card. He probably did it to get on television.”

“I thought that was against the Lore?”

“Lore, shmore. This is television. I wouldn’t mind a little fame myself.”

“Uh oh.”

“Put on that alien show,” said the bigfoot, changing the subject. “That Greek guy’s got the best hair.”

And that, thought Joe later, should have been the end of it.

The first sign of trouble to come was the eight vehicle motorcade that rumbled down the main street of town three days later. Joe was in Thelma’s lingering over a slice of her famous apple pie. Doreen prided herself on her baking expertise. If she found out he was eating strange pie she would probably shoot him. It was funny, he thought. When a woman reached a certain age her culinary skills seemed to matter more than her dress size. He wondered if men were like that too but couldn’t see how. He tucked some money under his plate and got up to make for the door. He didn’t get there.

“Hey! Hey! How you all doing?”

The café door had exploded inwards and a mass of men and women, mostly in their late twenties or early thirties, had swarmed inside. Half a dozen headed straight for the washrooms. The rest fanned out to occupy every available booth, table and stool. Thelma came out of the kitchen and looked around warily. Four or five locals made a beeline for the exit, leaving their money by the till.

“We’re going to need sixteen cheeseburgers,” said the slightly older man who had shouted the greeting when they’d entered. Someone coughed loudly. “Oh, yeah, make that fifteen and one plain. Dennis over there is lactose intolerant. Don’t expect you’ve got chai latte on the menu?

“Didn’t think so. Worth an ask. Sorry Rita.”

A girl with pierced lips waved acceptance. The man consulted his tablet and began to read off the rest of their order. Thelma scribbled furiously and then disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Church trip?”

The man spun on his very expensive heels, took in Joe’s lanky frame then locked on to the badge.

“Not hardly, sheriff. We’re here following up on the Bigfoot sighting at,” he paused to consult again, “Rainbow House. It’s blowing up all over the internet. I’m sure you’ve heard about it.”

“Nope.”

“So I’m guessing we’re the first here then? Hear that guys? We’ve beat those Real Bigfoot wannabes!”

A small cheer went up.

“And you are?” asked Joe.

“Oh, hell. Sorry.  Sanderson.”  He offered a slim hand. Joe shook it gently.

“Two Feathers.”

“Native, eh? That might be an interesting angle. Angie?”

A young red head with the palest skin Joe had ever seen nodded and held up her thumb. Sanderson smiled.

“How’d you like to be on television, sheriff?”

“Not particularly. You know Bigfoot is a myth, right?”

“Sheriff! Your own people call him Boss of the Woods. You must have heard the stories.”

“Can’t say I recall any, Mr. Sanderson. Do the folks up at Rainbow House know you’re coming? They can be a bit prickly about visitors.”

“All taken care of. We made a little donation to their Armageddon Preparedness Fund. Let their leader make a speech or two which we’ll edit heavily. Everyone’s happy.”

“Fair enough. Just so you know, they’ve got more munitions up there than the State National Guard.”

There were snickers from all around the café.

“Don’t you fret, Mr. Two Feathers. This isn’t our first rodeo.”

Back at the office Joe logged on and searched ‘Oklatuna Bigfoot’. There was trail camera footage from two days before.

“Crud!” Joe banged the desk. “Crud, crud, crud, crud, crud!” He banged the desk again. “That idiot.”

He locked up the office and headed out of town for the old Stone Circle. The motorcade had moved on.

“You mooned Jedidiah Brinkman’s camera. Why?”

“Hey, it’s one of my best features. A little something for the ladies, eh? I thought about full frontal but they might have pulled the video.”

“They’re going to hunt you.”

The Bigfoot smiled.

“They can try.”

“When they’re through there won’t be a single deer left in the entire county. Did you think about that, genius?”

“Don’t get yourself so worked up. I’ve got a plan.”

He tapped the side of his nose and smiled.

“What was that? Where did you learn that?”

“Johnny Tractor’s. He’s got Webflix. I’ve been catching up on that British stuff.  You know?” The Sasquatch stood up straighter. “A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind beaver. Whatcha! Blonde. James Blonde.

“Smooth, eh?”

“This is going to be so bad.”

“Meet me tomorrow on the ridge above the crazy people place. Eight am.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Told you. It’s a surprise.”

Doreen had gone to the bingo but there was a meatloaf in the oven and cold soda in the fridge. He carried his plate out to the man-cave and fired up the big screen. The video was everywhere; Smacked Ham, Fred Captures… Everywhere. There was a promo for Beast Hunter.  Irwin Allen stood in all his bearded glory outside the Rainbow Compound in full camo. Joe hadn’t seen him with the crew at the café.

“We’ve got some of the most sophisticated equipment ever deployed.  We’ll have drones in the air, infra-red motion sensors, and enough trail cameras to cover a county. If Bigfoot is out there we’re going to find him.  Remember to hit that like button and subscribe. You don’t want to miss this one.

“I’m Irwin Allen wishing you all happy hunting.”

Joe yelled at the television in language Doreen would not have approved of.

“Did you bring coffee?  You did!”

The jumbo-sized cup looked tiny in the Bigfoot’s hand.

“So. Are they coming?” it asked, taking a cautious sip of the steaming brew.

There was a small creek running along at the base of the ridge. Sunlight dappled the water and a small flotilla of ducks spun and bobbed in the water.

“I expect so. Most of them were at Thelma’s eating breakfast. I don’t think these folks are big on early mornings.”

Joe sipped his own coffee and watched the ducks.

“So what’s your Big Plan?”

His friend waggled an enormous eyebrow.

“I’m coming out.”

“What?!” Joe sprayed coffee over his pants.

“You’re what? You can’t!”

“Watch me.”

“No. No. No.”

“Here comes a drone. Smile for the camera, sheriff.”

A large commercial drone hovered overhead. The Bigfoot waved.

“That ought to get them motivated.”

“Why?”

“Why not? I’m tired of country living. Two hundred years of nuts and berries.”

He raised his jumbo triple-triple and saluted the drone which sped away.

“I want to go on chat shows. I want to live a little.”

Three ATVs, bristling with cameras and sound equipment, exploded out of the brush below, scaring the ducks and muddying the creek.

“Time to meet my public.”

Joe had no words. The world felt upside down. The lead ATV slammed to a halt in a spray of dirt and leaves. Irwin Allen, himself, leapt from the vehicle’s seat. His face was red and he did not look happy.

“Greetings, human. Do not be afraid.”

Allen stomped towards them. The other two ATVs had arrived and technicians were disembarking. Not one of them looked particularly surprised at seeing Joe’s friend.

“Just what in hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded the television personality.

“It is time that sasquatch and human join, ah, that they join together and walk into the future in, um, you know, togetherness.”

Things were obviously not going to script here.

“Oh, man,” muttered a sound tech, shaking her head.

“He’s worse than that Bernie guy,” agreed the camera operator. Who, Joe couldn’t help noticing, wasn’t filming.

“Oh, you do, do you?” sputtered Allen. He uttered a string of curses.

The Bigfoot was confused.

“I’m real.  You can check. I’m not a guy in a suit.”

“We know, you idiot!”

“I don’t get it. You’re always chasing us. Here I am. Ta-da.”

“Sanderson!”

“Yes, boss.”

“Explain things to this pin-head. I’m going back to my trailer.”

“Sure thing.”

No one spoke until the ATV carrying the annoyed host had roared back down the hill and crossed the creek. Sanderson shook his head and smiled apologetically.

“Don’t mind him. He’s under a lot of pressure. The other channels have been nipping at our heels. So here’s the deal.” He held out his open hands and began counting down on his fingers. “Real Bigfoot—no more Beast Hunter. No Beast Hunter—no more money. No more money—we all go on unemployment. I, for one, do not want to go on unemployment.”

“Amen,” chorused his colleagues.

“But, I’m here. I’m right here. I want to be famous.”

Sanderson shook his head.

“Do you think you’re the first? We’ve had them lined up three deep. Hell, one old guy even juggled! Juggled People don’t want juggling. People want mystery. People want to play ‘what if’ and argue on message boards. They want show biz.”

The sasquatch dropped heavily to the grass and bowed his head.

“Look, you seem like a decent sort.  I’ll make you a proposition.”

The creature raised its enormous head.

“Here’s what we can do.”

It was Saturday night.  Doreen was at the bingo and Joe two Feathers, sheriff of Oklatuna County, stretched out on his ancient lounger and cracked open a fresh soda.

“Put it on. Put it on.”

The familiar bearded face of Irwin Allen filled the giant screen.

“Tonight on a very special edition of Beast Hunter, incredible new footage of the elusive Bigfoot captured live in Oklatuna County!”

Something huge and hairy moved behind a screen of trees. It appeared to be bipedal but then they always did.

“Not my best side,” said the Bigfoot, slamming another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “But that’s show business.”

“And the t-shirts very nice,” said Joe, tipping his can towards his friend’s newest (and, frankly, only) piece of clothing. “Funny them having those in your size ready to go and all.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Play it again.”

Later they watched the Greek guy. He really did have the most amazing hair.