I roared along the streets of Oliloloville at twice the legal limit, speakers blaring with “The Final Countdown”. The noose was tightening around Disco Stu’s neck as I approached his neighbourhood.

The man had been leaking our team’s secrets to The Monsters, and he would pay for his treachery. The olilolo Sasquatches were not a forgiving team.

At the gates to Disco Stu’s Estate, two gigantic bronze statues stood either side of the entrance. The statues depicted a naked Scarlett Johansson, which would have been sexy if they weren’t three times my own size.

Before me, a solid metal gate blocked my path.

“Password?” asked the security system, through a dilapidated little speaker box. (I should add that Disco Stu’s Estate was previously a McDonalds drive thru, which he had decided to “pimp out”.)

“Uh…” I replied, thinking rapidly. “Beer?”

“Not enough minerals,” the system replied, rejecting my guess. “Password?”

I continued blindly:

“Disco Stu?”

“Not enough minerals.”

“Sasquatches?”

“Not enough minerals.”

“olilolo?”

“Not enough minerals.”

“GRRRAAAAAAAAAAGH!!” I screamed, punching the stupid little speaker box.

“Not enough minerals.”

I rubbed my temples in frustration, trying to figure out Disco Stu’s password. I needed to get inside his head. After all, he was a man of intellect, of culture, of fine arts, and of politics.

Surely, he would not set his password as something so trivial and vulgar as ‘beer’, or ‘sasquatches’, or…

“Scarlett Johansson?” I guessed, eyeing the speaker box hopefully.

After a brief pause, there came a whirring sound, and then the gates began to slide open.

“YES!” I cried, cheering in triumph and gesturing rudely at the inanimate speaker box. I was in.

As I drove slowly through the opening gates, I peered up at the statues, to discover that their robotic hips had begun to gyrate slowly, in celebration of the correct password.

It was inspirational.

* * *

My cell phone rang as I approached the house.

“Mauso Industries,” I answered, “serving the community since-”

“Shut up, David,” interrupted Sara.

“Oh, hey! Sara!” I exclaimed. “… what do you want?”

“When are you coming back to the office?”

“Look, I’m busy, so…”

“Just give me a time. Two pm? Three?”

“Well, like I said, I’m fairly busy, so…”

“Four?”

“… well, I mean, I was just thinking… maybe I’d just… not.”

“You’re not coming back?”

“Of course I’m coming back!” I laughed. “You have it all wrong.”

“I meant today.”

“No. I’m out for the day.”

Sara sighed. “Justin wants your report on his desk by the afternoon. This is really important, Dav-”

“Look,” I interjected sharply. “I know Justin. I know him like the back of my hand. All it takes-”

“You can’t bribe him with chocolate,” she said. “I’ve tried.”

I ignored her. If experience had taught me anything, everyone could be bribed. And if they couldn’t, they could always be threatened.

I returned to the task at hand, and knocked politely on Stu’s front door.

* * *

The remains of Stu’s door lay strewn upon the floor. I had not wanted to do this, but he’d left me with no choice.

“I know you’re in here, Stu!” I yelled, to the house at large. “And if you’re not, I’m going to steal all your beer.”

No reply. No screams of anguish. No roars of “NOOOO!!!!”. No sobs of “Not the beer!”

The house was empty.

I strode over to Disco Stu’s computer and observed the screensaver.

I moved the mouse to interrupt the screensaver, and encountered a dialog box.

Once again, I needed a password. I started with the classics – ‘olilolo’, ‘sasquatch’, ‘scarlett’ – to no avail. I got this:

God damn it. I needed to get inside his head. But… how?

I looked around me for some clues. Surely it couldn’t be this predictable…

Spiderman?

Kirsten Dunst?

Mary Jane?

I was in.

* * *

It was difficult to find anything of value on Disco Stu’s computer; all I could see was porn.

I managed to unearth a folder, promisingly labeled “Business”. The subfolders were labeled ‘olilolo’, ‘porn’ and ‘strippers’.

Sighing, I looked in the olilolo folder.

What had I expected to find here? Fraud? Corruption? Embezzlement? I don’t know. But fifty celebrity sex tapes?

The man really needed to organize his files.

I opened a spreadsheet documenting olilolo’s financial performance over the past three years. Surprisingly, the business was flourishing. Magnificently.

But it wasn’t because of their website.

Apparently, the company also manufactured stationary. Pencils, rulers and staplers was where the ‘big money’ was at for Olilolo. They also had a niche market in industrial-strength protractors.

Incredible.

Most amazing of all, I discovered, was that Aaron Doyle was the mastermind behind all of this. The man who came in drunk to work every day – and often slept in the board room.

Disco Stu’s department – the Blog – had proven to be only moderately profitable in comparison.

Amazing.

I literally skipped to the kitchen, high on the satisfaction of the knowledge that Stu was the company’s burden.

I considered, momentarily, the thought that the spreadsheet was incorrect. That what happens on paper may not always match the corporate reality.

I dismissed that thought, and stole the beer from Stu’s fridge.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED in A Sasquatch Mystery: Part 4