Primitive: A Bones Bonebrake Adventure

Chapter 1

It was a bar like any other. Loud music and even louder conversation competed to drown out the baseball game showing on the televisions hanging from the walls. Bones selected a table in the corner, ordered up hot wings and a bottle of Dos Equis, and sat back to watch the door. This was his kind of place. The only thing missing, he thought, was the stale smell of cigarette smoke, but that had been absent since banning smoking in public places had become a thing. Bones didn’t care for cigarettes, but there was something about the musty aroma that made the atmosphere in this sort of place just right.

He didn’t have to wait long. He was just digging into his chicken wings when a slender, dark-haired woman came in through the door. She spotted him immediately, smiled, and made her way across the room. As she passed, several sets of eyes followed her progress. Bones couldn’t blame them. The woman moved with confidence and grace. Of course, most of the men were probably admiring the way she filled out her form — fitting clothing. She had just the right amount of curves to balance out her athletic build and she tossed her long, brown hair in just the right way. She was a looker, no doubt.

“Mister Bonebrake, she said, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m Joanna Slater. You can call me Jo or Slater, whichever you prefer.”

“You can call me Bones. I don’t answer to anything else unless I’m at a family reunion.”

“Fair enough.” Slater slid gracefully into her seat and signaled for the waiter, who was already on his way over.

“I would’ve ordered you a round, but I don’t know what you like to drink.”

“I’ll drink just about anything if someone else is buying.” She turned to the waiter. “I’ll take one of what he’s having, and go ahead and bring us another round.”

“You’re off to a good start,” Bones said, nodding in approval. “So, tell me what I can do for you. I assume it has something to do with your television show.” Bones knew that Slater hosted Expedition Adventure, a cable television show that focused on ancient mysteries and cryptids — mysterious creatures whose existence had not yet been documented by science. “You’re in Florida, so what are we talking here? The Fountain of Youth?”

Slater smiled. “So you’re already familiar with my show? I’m flattered.”

“I never miss an episode. I’m interested in the subject matter, and you’re not nearly as full of crap as some of the other hosts of programs like you’re. The guy with the wild hair? Total nutbag.” Bones said.

Slater laughed. “Let’s not name any names, but I know exactly what you mean.” Just then, the waiter arrived with their drinks. “Good service here.”

“I thing beautiful women get good service here. He wasn’t nearly that fast when I did the ordering.”

Slater arched an eyebrow. “Do you really think I’m beautiful or are you just hitting on me?”

“A little bit of both, but business before pleasure.” He took a long drink, enjoying the rich flavor and the tangy zing of lime.

Slater took a drink, set her bottle down, and then leveled her gaze at Bones. “I’m investigating the skunk ape.”

Bones closed his eyes and shook his head. “Seriously? Dude, I can point you to half a dozen legends that are more worthy of investigation than that thing.”

Also known as the swamp ape, Florida Bigfoot, and swampsquatch, among other names, the skunk ape was a primate cryptid reputed to reside in the southeastern United States. Though sightings ranged throughout the South, from North Carolina all the way to Arkansas, the creature was most commonly identified with southern Florida, where nearly all the alleged sightings had occurred.

“You don’t think there’s at least a story worth investigating? You weren’t always such a skeptic.” Slater opened a portfolio, drew out a sheet of paper, and slid it across the table. She had printed out a screen capture from an Internet forum. Bones recognized it immediately.

“Look at the date on that post. I made it years ago. I didn’t know crap back then.”

Slater was undeterred. “You believed it at the time. What changed?”

“I did a little investigating. There’s no solid evidence, just some crappy video of drunk college kids in monkey suits and a few misidentifications of black bears.”

“There’s a lot more than that,” Slater said. “I’ve investigated my share of cryptid reports and some of these witnesses seem reliable to me. They describe the way it looked, sounded, even the way it smelled.”

“And if any of them had spent much time in the woods they’d have recognized that smell for what it probably was — a bobcat.” He held up a hand, forestalling her next argument. “I’ve also seen the plaster casts of supposed skunk ape tracks. They’re all fake. You’ve done Bigfoot investigations so you know the telltale signs.”

Slater sighed. “I can see you’re going to be a hard sell. You are correct. I do know the telltale signs of falsified primate tracks, which is why I believe these are genuine.” She took out a stack of glossy, 8 x 10 photographs and handed them to Bones. “I haven’t had the chance to examine them up close yet, but from what I can tell, they look like the real thing.”

Bones could see what she meant. Most of the castings that were made of primate footprints, at least of the cryptozoological kind, were too regular, too even. These were different. They were deeper in some places, reflecting the way a primate’s weight distribution shifted as it walked and the way it bore more weight on the big toe than on the others. He couldn’t deny he was impressed. What’s more, he had, in his time, personally confirmed the existence of a few so-called cryptids, though he kept that information to himself.

“Not bad,” he admitted, handing the photographs back to Slater. “Where did you get these?”

“From an investigator who lives south of Sarasota. You know, the area where the Myakka photographs were taken?” Slater smiled, her brown eyes twinkling. She seemed to think she had Bones hooked.

“You mean the anonymous photographs of an orangutan? Even if they’re legit, all it proves is someone’s pet got loose.”

“And if that’s what the investigation turns up, that’s fine by me. The Everglades is home to plenty of non-native species: exotic birds, escaped pet snakes that grow to giant size, and more. I think our viewers would be fascinated by the idea of an orangutan, or even a troop of them, surviving and maybe even thriving in the Florida swamps.”

Bones nodded. He couldn’t deny the woman was persuasive but he still wasn’t completely buying it. “Why did you reach out to me?” he asked, changing the subject.

“We found you through that message board post. My staff tracked you down and vetted you. There’s surprisingly little information about you out there.”

“No comment.” Bones took a long drink and let Slater continue.

“Anyway, we learned enough about you to determine that you have interest in, and knowledge of, cryptids. Also, nothing we found raised any red flags, meaning you’re not a total whack job.” She hesitated, blushed, and took a drink. “Also, you would look… impressive on camera.”

“So my porn career never came up?” Bones laughed as Slater’s eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. “Just kidding.” He took another drink just to keep her in suspense, and then smiled. “All right, you’ve piqued my interest. What’s the pay?”