Primitive: A Bones Bonebrake Adventure

Chapter 2

The offices of the Sarasota Sun stood on the corner of Ringling Boulevard and South Osprey Avenue in the heart of town. Bones squeezed his Dodge Ram pickup truck into a narrow parking space, cranked up some AC/DC on the stereo, and waited for Slater to arrive. He hadn’t been there long when a sharp rap on his tailgate startled him. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a man in the all-black uniform of the Sarasota County Sheriff’s Department beckoning to him.

Bones rolled down his window and stuck his head out. “What can I do for you, officer?”

“It’s deputy, and you can start by shutting off that vehicle and getting your narrow behind out here where I can talk to you.” Though his ruddy features and sturdy build didn’t scream “inbreeder”, the man’s southern drawl marked him as a likely member of one of the long-term native families rather than a more recent transplant from somewhere up north. He was probably a redneck. Bones hated rednecks.

Slowly, he cut the engine, opened the door, and slid out into the tight space between his truck and the vehicle alongside him.

“I don’t know how they do things down in Munro County,” the deputy said, glancing at Bones’ license plate, “but around here, when an officer of the law gives you an order you obey it without… ” He halted in midsentence as Bones stepped out from between the vehicles. The deputy was not a small man. He was a shade over six feet tall and solidly built, and probably accustomed to physically intimidating most of the people he encountered, but next to the broad shouldered, six foot five Cherokee, he was a bit on the small side.

“Sorry about the delay,” Bones lied, trying to make his smile as friendly as possible, “Deputy Logan,” he added after a glance at the man’s name tag. He said nothing else. He knew he done nothing wrong so he simply waited for the deputy to explain himself.

“You know why I called you out here?” The deputy had regained some of his fire, but his demeanor was decidedly less pugnacious than it had been a moment before.

“If it’s to tell me how freaking hot and humid it is in this town, I’ve already noticed.”

The deputy didn’t crack a smile. “You mind telling me what you doing sitting here?”

“Listening to music. Good old classic rock. You into that stuff?”

“Excuse me?” The deputy shuffled his feet as if debating whether or not to take a step toward Bones.

“Am I free to go?” Bones knew he probably shouldn’t mess with the man, but he didn’t appreciate being rousted for no particular reason. “Or am I under arrest?”

“I just want to know what you’re doing here. You’re from down south, which is a pipeline for the drug trade, and you’re sitting here in this parking lot doing nothing.”

“He’s waiting for me.” Slater had arrived. She strolled up to the deputy and flashed an apologetic smile. “He and I have an appointment with someone inside.” She inclined her head toward the newspaper office. “I’m running late. Please accept my apology.”

The deputy looked like he had just sucked a lemon. He looked from Bones to Slater and then nodded. “All right. Just don’t loiter in the parking lot when you’re done.” He didn’t wait for a reply but turned and stalked back to his car, climbed in, and drove away.

When the deputy was gone, Slater turned and frowned at Bones. “Do you always treat people like that?”

Bones shook his head. “Nope, but bullies and rednecks get on my nerves.”

“I don’t know how many of the former we will encounter but we’re likely to meet up with plenty of the latter. Do you think you can keep your attitude in check?”

“You’re the boss.” Bones looked up and squinted at the late morning sun. “What do you say we blow this appointment off and head over to the Siesta Key Oyster Bar? I hear it’s a great place to hang out and pound a few brews.”

“When this investigation is finished I’ll let you buy me a pitcher, but not until the work is done.”

“Bummer. I thought you were a party girl.”

Slater rolled her eyes and led the way into the office.

The reporter who greeted them was a weedy, bespectacled man with a rat face and a thatch of yellow hair. He barely glanced at Bones, having eyes only for Slater. Bones couldn’t blame the man. She was garbed in a tight tank top, snug fitting khaki shorts, and hiking boots. With her brown hair hanging in a braid down the middle of her back, she was giving off a serious Lara Croft vibe. Bones couldn’t deny the look worked for her.

“I’m Gage,” the reporter said. “Please follow me.” He led them to a tiny cubicle in the far corner of the building, and sat down in front of a cluttered desk lined with bobble head dolls of famous baseball players. When bones and Slater had pulled up chairs and sat down, Gage got down to business.

“I understand you are interested in the skunk ape.” He kept his voice low, frequently glancing about as if spies lurked in every corner.

“That’s right,” Slater said. “I host a television show and we’re doing a feature on it. I understand you are the man to speak to on the subject.”

The compliment did the trick. Gage relaxed and a smile spread across his face. “I’m a local affairs reporter, so the skunk ape is strictly a hobby. I have, however, done extensive research.” He took out an overstuffed accordion folder and handed it to Slater. “This is all of the information I’ve gathered: newspaper clippings, articles from the web, transcripts of eyewitness reports including interviews I personally conducted, research into possible scientific explanations, and a summary of my conclusions in the back.”

“This is wonderful,” Slater said. “Is there somewhere we can sit and examine it?”

“These are copies,” Gage said. “I only ask that you credit me if you use any of the material in your show.”

“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble. Thank you.”

“If it will help you prove that the skunk ape is real, or at least its existence is a real possibility, it will have been more than worth the effort.” He looked around again. “I don’t mind telling you that people around here give me a hard time about my research.”

“I know what you mean,” Bones said. “I’m into cryptids, alien visitor theories, and all that kind of stuff. Most people don’t get it.”

Gage nodded. “Yes, but it’s not just that. In general, the locals don’t like it when anyone talks about the skunk ape. The transplants from other parts of the country are concerned about our community’s image. They think treating the legends seriously makes us look like a bunch of hicks. The families who have lived in the community for generations are afraid Sarasota is going to, I don’t know, turn into Roswell, New Mexico. You know, drawing in the oddballs and pseudo-scientists. Sorry,” he said, blushing, “but you know what I mean.”

Bones and Slater nodded in unison.

“I’m just saying,” Gage continued, “don’t be surprised if you get a lot of push-back. And be careful where you go and who you talk to.”