Track of the Beast: A Brock Stone Adventure

The bartender smirked, then reached below the bar and pulled out a bottle with no label. “We don’t get much call for this around here, but it’s good stuff. Straight from Napa Valley.”

“We’ll take the bottle.” Alex grossly overpaid and winced when the bartender handed them a pair of chipped mugs.

The bartender quirked an eyebrow. “Sorry, we broke all the wine glasses in the last brawl.”

“No worries.” Alex chose a table in the middle of the room and waited while Constance poured.

“The wine is not going to breathe properly in this.” She cast a baleful stare at her mug.

“It’s all about surface area,” Alex said. “Just keep swirling it. It amounts to the same.”

Constance’s brow furrowed and she gave her drink a tentative swirl. “I feel foolish.”

“It’s not foolish, it’s science.” Alex laughed. “We’re sitting in a lumberjack bar drinking red wine. We already appear foolish.”

Constance laughed and raised her cup of wine. “To your very good health.”

They clinked mugs and Alex grinned. Constance was a lovely lady, but an enigma. She’d kept her distance during their cross-country trip, quiet and circumspect. He wanted to get past the small talk and really get to know her. Perhaps a few drinks would put her at ease.

He raised the mug to his nostrils, inhaling the scents of dark cherry, spice, and vanilla. He took a sip and held the wine in his mouth for a few seconds, savoring the dark, fruity flavor.

“I taste licorice,” Constance said. “Perhaps a touch of black pepper?”

“You know your wines.”

Constance gave a small shrug and looked around. “Not a fan of decor, are they?” she observed.

Alex looked around. The walls were largely bare, save for a missing person poster hung near the door. It showed a smiling young woman with dark eyes and hair. For a moment, he thought the person on the poster was Trinity but quickly realized the resemblance was only passing.

Constance turned and followed the direction of his stare. She blanched. “That’s frightening.”

Alex nodded. He took another sip of his wine and inspected the room. Gathering information would not be an easy task. Neither he nor Constance fitted in.

“We should have ordered beer,” he muttered.

Constance nodded. “At least we’re getting lots of attention. I only hope it’s the right sort.”

Several men stared in their direction. Alex assumed they were ogling Constance. He let his right hand drift casually down to the lump in his pocket where he carried his Remington Model 95 Double Derringer. The pocket pistol, with its three-inch double barrel, was easy to conceal but not very accurate. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

A bear of a man, beady eyes peeking out from shaggy auburn hair and full beard and mustache, stood and swaggered over to the table. Alex forced a pleasant smile, ready to draw his weapon in an instant.

“I don’t mean to be rude.” The man’s breath stank of whiskey. “But I’ve never seen anybody with a hook for a hand. How the hell did you manage that?”

Alex relaxed. “Believe it or not, my hand was bitten off. I was in the jungle with a friend of mine, and things went wrong. I don’t think I’ve ever moved my getaway sticks so fast.” He glanced down at his long legs.

“You an explorer?” the man asked.

“We’re writers,” Constance said, using the story they had concocted.

“What are you writing about out here?”

“Missing women,” Alex said. “Any idea what happened to the woman in the poster?”

“No.” The man grimaced. “I haven’t been here long. My name’s Bart. I’m an Okie.”

Alex nodded. Okies were migrant workers from Oklahoma who had come west looking for better opportunities.

“Lumberjack work?”

“That’s all I could find,” Bart said. “I’d never cut down a tree before I came here, but I’m learning.”

Alex nodded. “Is it dangerous?”

“It can be. The only bad accident I’ve seen was a fellow who started drinking the hooch early in the morning. I don’t know what exactly happened, but he was gone that day.”

“Fired?”

Bart shrugged. “I suppose. He must not have liked it too much because he just left all his stuff behind and took off.”

“Interesting.” Alex remembered the newspaper man’s tale of rumors that lumber camp employees had been killed and their deaths covered up. But if an employer wanted to create the illusion that someone had walked off the job, why not dispose of the man’s possessions?

“I’ve heard some odd stories since we arrived,” Constance said. “About…” Her eyes darted back and forth, then she leaned forward and whispered. “…ape men.”

The man frowned, but then he threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t let that frighten you. Seems like everyone around here has a monster story to tell. Foolishness, if you ask me. Something to pass the time.”

“So, you’ve never seen a hairy ape man?” Constance’s eyes were wide, as if she were afraid, but Alex could tell it was a ruse.