"Real shame about his old man running off like he did. Never figured him for that type that would leave a little kid behind. No wonder Casey was so screwed up. Nobody was around to knock some sense into him."–Matt C, Nobility resident

"Yeah, I heard the rumor. Everybody did after...well, you know. I think he knew personally, I think this whole Bigfoot thing was to cover his ass."–Wes W, Nobility resident

"Damn shame, really. Damn shame."–Lyra S, Nobility resident

"He didn't take it so well." Cushing drummed his fingers on a cup of coffee.

"Well, no shit," Jet said, leaning against the stove. "Why did you have to say that?"

"It seemed obvious!" Cushing said.

"We needed it for the film." Brian turned the phone on the tiny adjustable tripod towards Jet.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You're filming this? Right now?" Jet said.

Cushing kicked at Brian's legs from under the table. Brian sat the phone down on the table, adjusting the shot slightly while Cushing and Jet continued their discussion.

"Why did you have to say that? Have you talked to him at all since?" Jet asked.

"No," Cushing said. "He's locked himself in his monster car."

"Monstomobile," Jet said. "And it's a food truck that's like a hundred years old. Kick the door open. Jesus."

Cushing thought about doing just that. But he remembered that the monstomobile was where Maverick stored his bigfooting supplies, including his rifle.

"I keep telling Roman to get over there and check on him," Jet said, raising her voice on the last words.

"He don't need me checking up on him," Roman yelled from the living room.

"You're his friend!" Jet called, pushing herself off the stove. Brian inched the camera to the left with his index finger, sipping coffee and scanning the ceiling with his eyes.

Roman walked into the kitchen, pulling on a shirt and wearing cut-off sweatpants. "He's a grown man, he don't wanna talk."

Jet replied with a harsh stare.

"Don't do that," Roman said.

Jet crossed her arms.

"Stop it. Come on, now." Roman dropped his arms at his side.

Jet's eyes burrowed into Roman's. He refused to look away, as if they were wolves engaged in a display of dominance.

"Fine! I'm going." Roman turned around and cursed under his breath on his way back to the living room.

"See that?" Jet said. "That's how I got a new car and tickets to Black Dirt Playboys without saying one word. Also, don't have to do that one thing Roman used to bug me for all the time. I'm married, I paid my dues."

* * *

Outside, Roman yanked open the truck door and hopped inside. Slamming the door, he noticed Cushing jogging over to him.

"Hey," Cushing said. "You going over there now?"

"I am." Roman started the truck. "And you're not."

"Hey, it's cool," Cushing said. "I'm just worried."

Roman chuckled and shut off the engine. He looked at Cushing and motioned to him with his index finger to come closer. When Cushing did, he felt a calloused palm land on the back of his neck, pulling him close to Roman, close enough to smell the beer and snuff emanating from his breath.

"I know you," Roman said. "Maverick's got his back to the wall. He thinks he needs you and that's all right with you cause you can use desperate. Desperate works. Desperate does whatever the fuck you want it to do."

Roman gripped Cushing's neck harder.

"Just know, if you make this into a joke at my buddy's expense, I will castrate you. That's not an empty threat. My dad owned pigs. I can do it with surgical precision and tiny rubber bands, buddy," Roman said. "We clear?"

"As crystal," Cushing said.

Roman released his grip and turned the key, the engine chugged to life. Cushing backed away several feet.

"You send him those pictures. You hooked up with his ex. But I'm the bad guy?" Cushing asked.

"That's different," Roman said. "I'm his friend."

* * *

"So," Brian asked. "You have him admitting all these amazing things, coming to terrible realizations, and you don't record it?"

Cushing dropped the plastic menu on the table. "You're the cameraman."

"And you have a phone. Not a good one, but I could make it work."

"Are you wearing an American flag pin? And a suit jacket?"

"You dress for the job you want, not the one you have," Brian said.

"Who are you?" Cushing asked.

"A man who lost his inner fucking peace!" Brian slammed a fist on the table. Eyes in the diner turned to them. "And I need this to work to get it back."

"Okay, sorry, sorry. Look, it was a personal moment, okay? He needs to know we're here for him or he won't say anything to us. I know what I'm doing."

"Good," Brian said.

"We could try interviewing more people," Cushing said.

"We hit a wall with that. Except the two old guys, we could use that now," Brian said.

"Fuck those ancient bastards," Cushing said.

"Look at you with empathy," Brian said.

Of the few people willing to talk to them, Dwyer and Sims claimed to know Franklin pretty well.

"He was full of shit!" Dwyer laughed.

"Couldn't trust a word he said," Sims said. "Still sad what happened though."

Cushing asked Sims to clarify. He started to laugh.

"Why you ain't figured it out yet?" Sims laughed.

The waitress cleared her throat. Cushing jumped. "Sorry, I was thinking about something."

"She doesn't care," Brian said.

"I really don't. Now, what can I start you off with to drink?" She asked.

"Just a soda," Cushing said.

* * *

Stupid fucks, Roman thought. He looked at the monstomobile. If Maverick wanted to avoid people, he would stay where no one would look. They were knocking on the door of an empty food truck.

The right half of the house, the living room portion, remained a pile of ash and exposed wiring. A gaping hole exposed the remaining half of the trailer.

"Well goddamn, Maverick," Roman said.

Roman was shocked the porch still stood and didn't collapse under his feet. The door was locked and unlikely to be opened voluntarily. Instead, Roman took his maxed-out gas card and slid it into the space between the door and frame and gripped the knob with his other hand. He slid the card up and down until he heard the click and turned the knob.

"You could've just knocked," Maverick called from the living room, feet dangling off the edge of the remaining half of his house.

"You would've answered?" Roman stuffed the card in his back pocket.

"You could've taken the hint," Maverick said.

"Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Instead, I just picked your lock with a credit card."

"You picked the lock? This entire half of the house is open," Maverick said.

"Yeah, but I would have got ash all over the floor. Seemed rude, you know?" Roman sat in the recliner, causing a stack of TV guides to collapse. "Hope those weren't in order or anything."

"You're an asshole," Maverick said.

Roman leaned back in the chair and offered Maverick a guestroom in their house, before immediately realizing that may be awkward.

"What are you doing here?" Maverick asked.

"Checkin' on ya," Roman replied.

Maverick nodded his head. "She do that staring thing?"

"Oh yeah," Roman said.

"I hated that," Maverick said.

"It sucks," Roman said.

Maverick returned his gaze to the view outside the crumbling half of his home. Roman pulled himself out of the recliner, the leather peeling away from his arms like a bandage.

"You know, you can hear them building the dam from the highway. Tearing down trees," Roman said.

"Yeah. You don't see any animals out there. No deer or turkey," Maverick said.

Roman suggested they take a walk. He could take pictures of the woods on his phone.

"Why?" Maverick asked.

"To remember how the woods used to look," Roman said.

"I have my memories," Maverick said.

"Unless you get Alzheimer's. Then you'll be glad you have pictures."

"If I have Alzheimer's I won't know what the pictures are of," Maverick said.

Roman reminded him that the nurses at the home would tell him what the pictures depicted.

"If I got Alzheimer's you'd put me in a home?" Maverick asked.

"Duh."

"That hurts."

"Well, actually," Roman said. "It won't. Because you'll have Alzheimer's."

Maverick laughed and drew his legs up onto the burnt edge of the house.

"So, look, the reason I came to talk to you," Roman said.

"Didn't shoot my dad, Roman." Maverick interrupted.

"Ah. So this wallowing in self-pity thing is completely unrelated, then?"

"Shouldn't you be nailing my ex-wife?" Maverick muttered.

"Oh, there's time for that, for sure," Roman sat down next to Maverick. "Right now I just want to know how you're doing. For real. Not to get all mushy and all, but you can talk to me."

"I'm not a murderer," Maverick said.

"You were a kid," Roman said.

"I was twelve," Maverick said.

"Exactly," Roman said. "A kid. Frank was a shit, he liked to fuck with people. This time...look, you weren't going around dressed up like a monster to mess with some kids. If that's what happened, it was an accident. A terrible fucking accident."

Maverick looked at the empty spot on the wall, where his poster of himself as a monster hunter once hung, framed by Jet. The poster survived the fire, initially.

"I shouldn't have just fired. I should've got a closer look. You know, when I found the letter Jet said she wished I could've talked to my mom. I'm glad I didn't."

"I wouldn't have either. Paula was a scary woman. No one who smoked that much should have lived for that long. She might have been a witch," Roman said.

"When I find it, when I find the monster...I didn't shoot my dad. I don't think I did." Maverick diverted his eyes to the ground.

"So, that's it then? No movie?"

Maverick looked up at Roman, confusion across his face.

"Why are you doing this? That asshole is just using you!" Roman said.

"And I'm using him," Maverick said. "We both get something out of this."

Roman reminded him again that there was nothing out there. In fact, not even Maverick, who spent nearly every day of his life in the bottoms had seen the creature.

"We don't know that. Not for sure," Maverick said.

"Buddy, come on," Roman sighed.

"My dad might have been dressing up, but he wasn't the only thing out there, there were sightings long before he was even born."

Roman shook his head. After all these years Roman could continue the entire debate on by himself. The sightings? Only Maverick's dad ever heard about them. Roman never heard any stories, no one did. Maverick's dad was a joker, messing with people. People knew not to trust a word out of his mouth.

"You want me to quit?" Maverick asked.

Roman nodded.

"Jet wanted me to quit," Maverick said.

"Still does," Roman said.

"Over fifty years. And then I just...stop?" Maverick asked.

"Look, no one thinks any less of you for being tricked," Roman said.

"I'm not stopping," Maverick said. "Because what's the alternative? If I don't find anything what does that mean?"

Roman placed a hand on Maverick's shoulder. "You're a grown man, you do what you think is right."

Maverick smiled. "Thank you."

"I'm still here...you know...for you," Roman said.

"Stop that shit," Maverick said.

"All right, asshole." Roman stood up. "See you later."

"Later, dickhead," Maverick said.

Roman walked to the door and stopped, turning towards the empty spot on the wall. "What happened to your poster?"
"Didn't survive the fire. Why?" Maverick asked.

"Nothing," Roman said. "I just always liked it."