“Another Dewar’s, Chuck?” the bartender asked.
Chuck Landry certainly wanted another Dewar’s, but he paused, and shot a look to man beside him. The man with the open notebook, and the glasses, and the smarty phone.
“Why don’t you make it a Johnny Walker Black Label, Doug,” Chuck said with a grin. If this guy insisted on interviewing him, and promised to buy the drinks, he might as well go for the expensive stuff. “And we’ll take it over to the booth over there. This guy’s gonna need to start a tab,” he pointed with his thumb to the writer.
“You got it, Chuck.”
The two men made their way to the heavy wooden booth in a more private section of the bar, Chuck with his premium glass of scotch on the rocks, and the writer, whose name was Benjamin with a glass of ice water.
“Could you at least get a beer or something, you’re making me nervous with that water. Hell, get some fruity wine if you want,” Chuck couldn’t understand someone being in a bar and not drinking alcohol. It just wasn’t right.
“I’m fine, Mr. Landry,” Benjamin said, laying down his phone and setting an app to record their conversation. “Now, can we start with the night of August 22nd?”
“August 22nd, well, that was the Friday, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” said Benjamin.
“I get confused sometimes between the Friday and the Monday. So on the Friday, I was trucking some logs to Bentley, and it was just starting to get dark out. So it had to be what, 8:30 or 9 o’clock,” Chuck recounted. “I really wanted to get to the mill and unloaded so I get me a decent night’s rest. I had to get to Missoula by Saturday night, and couldn’t afford to wait until morning to unload.”
“So I was driving on Highway 57, and like I said, it was getting dark. Now my eyes aren’t as sharp as they used to be, but I can still see pretty good, even on the dark roads. The damn Governor wanted to save some money for the state, so he doesn’t light the street lights until well past dark if at all in some places, so it was getting a little tough to see. And out of the woods I see it. Eight feet tall at least. And hairy, like a Chewbacca or something.”
“Let me stop you a second. You’re driving the highway. Do you remember how fast you were going?” Benjamin said.
“Maybe 45 miles an hour. It was a heavy load of logs,” Landry said.
“And you said the creature came out of the woods? Was it running, walking?”
“It was walking. Upright, like any man would. I saw it in the bit of grass that separated the roads from the woods. I hit the brakes straight away,” said Landry, “worst damn mistake of my life.” He took a drink from the glass of whiskey. And then kept drinking, downing the entire glass before slamming it down on the table. “Worst damn mistake of my life.”
Chuck Landry certainly wanted another Dewar’s, but he paused, and shot a look to man beside him. The man with the open notebook, and the glasses, and the smarty phone.
“Why don’t you make it a Johnny Walker Black Label, Doug,” Chuck said with a grin. If this guy insisted on interviewing him, and promised to buy the drinks, he might as well go for the expensive stuff. “And we’ll take it over to the booth over there. This guy’s gonna need to start a tab,” he pointed with his thumb to the writer.
“You got it, Chuck.”
The two men made their way to the heavy wooden booth in a more private section of the bar, Chuck with his premium glass of scotch on the rocks, and the writer, whose name was Benjamin with a glass of ice water.
“Could you at least get a beer or something, you’re making me nervous with that water. Hell, get some fruity wine if you want,” Chuck couldn’t understand someone being in a bar and not drinking alcohol. It just wasn’t right.
“I’m fine, Mr. Landry,” Benjamin said, laying down his phone and setting an app to record their conversation. “Now, can we start with the night of August 22nd?”
“August 22nd, well, that was the Friday, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” said Benjamin.
“I get confused sometimes between the Friday and the Monday. So on the Friday, I was trucking some logs to Bentley, and it was just starting to get dark out. So it had to be what, 8:30 or 9 o’clock,” Chuck recounted. “I really wanted to get to the mill and unloaded so I get me a decent night’s rest. I had to get to Missoula by Saturday night, and couldn’t afford to wait until morning to unload.”
“So I was driving on Highway 57, and like I said, it was getting dark. Now my eyes aren’t as sharp as they used to be, but I can still see pretty good, even on the dark roads. The damn Governor wanted to save some money for the state, so he doesn’t light the street lights until well past dark if at all in some places, so it was getting a little tough to see. And out of the woods I see it. Eight feet tall at least. And hairy, like a Chewbacca or something.”
“Let me stop you a second. You’re driving the highway. Do you remember how fast you were going?” Benjamin said.
“Maybe 45 miles an hour. It was a heavy load of logs,” Landry said.
“And you said the creature came out of the woods? Was it running, walking?”
“It was walking. Upright, like any man would. I saw it in the bit of grass that separated the roads from the woods. I hit the brakes straight away,” said Landry, “worst damn mistake of my life.” He took a drink from the glass of whiskey. And then kept drinking, downing the entire glass before slamming it down on the table. “Worst damn mistake of my life.”