A Man of the Mountain - The Busy Bee Diner

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8. The Busy Bee Diner

     Shirley sat at the counter of a local chain diner, sipping a cup of watery coffee. It wasn’t nearly as good as the stuff she brewed at home, but after around four cups she found she could get a twinge of motivation, if not a kick. Her hands shook, partly from lack of sleep, partly from the rage induced by the full-grown toddler that was Rick Mansen. In all her years at the tabloid, she had never witnessed such a parade of idiocy, and that was saying something. At least when George brought a UFO convention to town, they believed in what they were selling. Mansen was just a ratings whore hiding beneath a paper-thin shell of false bravado.

     Shirley drained what was left in the coffee cup and set it down in front of her with a little too much force. The waitress, dressed in a laughable black and yellow striped uniform, looked up from her magazine and set it down. She grabbed the coffee pot with practiced lethargy and meandered over to pour Shirley her fifth cup. Begrudgingly, the waitress filled Shirley’s mug and then hesitated as if to ask: “Would you like to order food now?”

Shirley said nothing, choosing instead to sip the coffee loudly until the waitress returned to her post. There was no point in muddying the caffeine with diner food. A plate of the Busy Bee’s eggs and toast, fried in a pint of butter, was more apt to give her a heart attack than the inspiration she needed. Through the haze of stress and exhaustion, Shirley had to laugh as the waitress sighed and slumped away in her cutesy uniform. Must be the world’s most apathetic bumblebee.

     Pain throbbed in her temples. It seemed that all the coffee in the world could rid her of the current predicament. For the first few days, she had tried showing up on set, guiding Mansen through her research, but quickly realized it was pointless. The only chance Mansen’s team stood of killing the beast was if it was somehow allergic to autographs. All the footage from the upper mountain was shot from hidden vantage points by interns or automatic cameras. So far, they hadn’t seen anything. Rick, meanwhile, had stuck to the kids trails, never traveling more than a few hundred feet away from his trailer.  

     It seemed that every day he was out gallivanting on the lower trails, finding nothing but pre-placed evidence his crew had laid out for him. The segments had been so scripted that Shirley had to force herself not to gag. After a full week, they were no closer to finding the beast, and while the town loved the publicity, Shirley’s credibility at the tabloid had somehow sunk lower. She sighed and laid her head down on the cool countertop, hoping to ease her aching brain.

     From her new sideways perspective, Shirley noticed something odd. A man reading a newspaper had just peaked over the edge at her and ducked quickly out of sight. She raised her head to get a better look and the man raised his paper to obscure himself further. The weirdos in this town, she thought, ignoring the vial of sasquatch hair around her neck. She lifted her head and continued the search for optimism at the bottom of her coffee mug.

     He has to go up the mountain at some point. It’s impossible for them to shoot everything down here. She doubted that Rick would have any idea of what to do with the monster when he found it, but that would serve him right. A chill crept up her spine as she spotted the man peaking over his paper at her again. There was something off about him and her heart beat loudly in her chest. Calm down, it’s just another asshole. Probably just wants to tell you you’re crazy.

     Once more, she tried to distract herself with schemes of getting Rick to do his job. There’s only one way. I have to play to his ego. Shirley tussled her hair up a bit, wondering briefly if seducing him was an option. The thought alone nearly killed her and she immediately nixed it. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied movement. Glancing sideways, she saw the man with the newspaper had moved to a barstool not five feet away.

     “Can I help you?” she asked.

     The man peaked over the newspaper. He had awkward eyes, but there was a strange confidence behind them. He quickly lifted his paper once more, as if somehow maintaining the image of stealth.

     “Look, if you’re going to insult me over some long-forgotten article, get it over with. I’ve had a long day.”

     “Sorry, I was still thinking of an answer to your first question,” he said without lowering the newspaper.

     “My first question?”

     “Can I help you?” he mocked.

     “Look pal—”
     “You see, I thought I was here to help you, but I’m not one to turn down a favor.” He shuffled the newspaper and clucked his tongue.

     “Well I’m doing quite fine, thanks.” Shirley pulled a five-dollar bill out of her wallet, trying not to notice that it was her last, and set it down on the counter. The coffee isn’t even good. Why do I keep coming here? She got up from her stool and began to walk away.

     “Oh, really?” The man lowered the newspaper to gloat. “Then Mansen has killed the beast? Amazing, I really didn’t think he had it in him. Once saw him struggle to put down a vampiric gerbil, but glad he’s found his stride after twenty years.” There was a slight hiccup from the man as he put the newspaper on the counter.

     Shirley sat back down in stunned silence.

     “You see, I was under the impression that Rick never films anywhere near danger and prefers to make his underlings do it instead. In fact, I don’t think he has any intention of going up the mountain at all!” The man smiled broadly as if he had just figured out some complex puzzle and wasn’t shouting conspiracy theories in a rural diner.

     Shirley’s brain was telling her legs to move forward, but the drunk wasn’t wrong. “I was starting to think the same thing,” she admitted. The man was strange but didn’t seem dangerous. All the same, her hand dropped to her side pocket where a small tube of mace was clipped.

     The man glanced nervously down at her hand, not missing the implication, but brushed it off. “Hi, I’m Nick Ventner, a proper monster-hunter and nothing like those ass-hats at the History Channel.”

Nick extended his hand. Shirley surprised herself by moving her hand away from the mace to shake his. The only other person in the bar, a man in a baseball cap and camo jacket, stood up from his booth and left cursing, “This whole damn town has gone fuckin’ crazy.”

     “Ah, piss off and open your mind a bit.” Nick held up a middle finger to the man who was already slamming the diner’s door.

     “That was probably more for me,” said Shirley, embarrassed. It wasn’t the first time she had been cursed out in a diner. In fact, it would make the third time at the Busy Bee in six months.

     “Because of the column?” Nick picked up Shirley’s coffee cup, sniffed it, put it down, and pulled out a flask instead.

     Shirley nodded.

     “Well, they’re only half wrong,” Nick said between sizeable gulps.

     “Excuse me?” The tension that had left her fingers renewed.

     “Oh, don’t take offense. There are flaws in everyone’s research.” Seeing that he was once again close to getting attacked, Nick course corrected. “The really important thing is you’re asking questions. Even if you’re making the wrong conclusions, it’s delightful to have an inquisitive mind.” He smiled, as if this smoothed things over.

     Shirley’s face fell halfway between a grimace and a grin. She was still feeling a little on edge, but at least he had read her articles. That was more prep work than Mansen by a mile. “You’re not great with people, are you?”

     Nick looked shocked. “Of course I am. I just speak my mind and speak it plainly. There’s no point in wasting our valuable time. There are any number of shadow organizations that could want us – well, me dead at any moment. Life is short.” He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a newspaper clipping. “Look, you tabloid writers are often the only people willing to talk about something for what it really is.” He slid the article over to Shirley.

     It was a press clipping concerning Mansen’s most recent excursion in New Mexico, where he had taken care of a Chupacabra problem in the area. The story went on to say that Mansen had done nothing but booze around the town and occasionally film promos for the entirety of the three weeks he had been there. In the end, the author claimed that the child had been rescued on camera, when he was actually drugged by a member of Mansen’s team and planted for a better story.

     “That’s despicable,” she seethed. A few days earlier, she might not have believed it, but after a week in Mansen’s company, it was downright plausible.

     “See? Never mind that they got all their Chupacabra facts wrong…”

     “That’s what bothers you?”

     Nick tugged at his collar uncomfortably. “Anyways, point is, Mansen is a fraud. If you want that sasquatch off your mountain, I’m your man.”

     “So, you’re going to help?”

     “Well,” hesitated Nick, “that depends.”

     “Depends on what?” asked Shirley, full well knowing the answer.

     “How much are you willing to pay?”

     “People are dying.”

     “People are dying everywhere. What makes Clearwater so special?” A flicker of regret crossed his face, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

     “There’s no money in it.”

Nick stood up from his stool at the bar. “Well this has been a waste. Next time you put out an ad, maybe label it as charity.” He turned to leave.

     “But there’s a high chance of humiliating Mansen.” Shirley didn’t know much about Nick, but could clearly sense his rivalry.

     Nick stopped in his tracks. “Humiliation, while tempting, won’t fill this flask.” He shook the now empty metal container.  

     “There’d also be considerable notoriety for taking down ‘The Beast of the Mountain’” If he actually finds it, that might be true.

     “History Channel and their clever fucking names.” Nick huffed but did not continue to leave. There was silence between them for a moment.

     The waitress, who had been managing the register the whole time, finally lost it. “Will you two take your batshit conversation out of my diner?!”

     Nick looked at the woman dumbfounded. “If we can’t have batshit conversations in diners, where can we have them?”

     The waitress faltered, trying to process the question.

     “This happens a lot,” said Shirley. “It definitely isn’t her diner, but she will call the cops and that’s more hassle than I need right now.” She picked up her bag and walked away from the counter.

     Nick took a last look at the waitress and said, “Your coffee is shit, by the way.” He then trotted after Shirley.

     Outside, the sky was the brilliant blue of springtime. Shirley rubbed her eyes, surprised by the brightness.

     “Why does anyone even eat here?” asked Nick.

     “It’s the only diner in town, and most people don’t talk about killing mythical creatures in it.” Despite the early nature of the day, Shirley felt exhausted. She now had two monster hunters in town, neither of which were going to provide any help. “The next bus out of town is at noon. You should catch it.”

     Nick stiffened. “I drove here.”

     Shirley looked him up and down. “Really? Look more like the drifter type.”

     Nick smoothed the wrinkles in his clothes and tried to wipe any perceivable grime from them. “Alright, fine. I’ll do it, but you’re going to need to provide for my expenses.”

     “I can barely pay my own rent.” She let out a melancholy chuckle.

     “Fine,” sighed Nick. “You’ll provide a bottle of top shelf booze.”

     Shirley remained silent.

     “Middle shelf,” Nick countered.

     Still silence.

     “Fine, bottom shelf, but it has to be a handle.” Nick stuck out his hand as if that settled the matter.

     Shirley rolled her eyes and shook it. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Ventner.”

     “Splendid, let’s go and get that handle. Then we can pay a visit to my dear friend Rick.”

     “How do you know him?”

     “We went to school together. If he’s anything like he used to be, it’ll be easy to goad him into doing something really stupid.”