I sat at my desk happily. It was just another day on the job.

I turned to my coworker, Sara. She frowned.

“What?” I asked. She always frowned at me.

“You’re a slob,” she said, pointing at my feet. It is true that I was leaning back in my chair, and that my feet were resting on the desk. Sure. But sometimes, we all need to take a break.

“Look at you,” she continued, still gesturing at me. “There’s a bucket of hot wings on your stomach!”

Okay, yes, I was also eating at this time. But in my defense, the television in the lunch room was broken, and a hilarious Youtube video required my immediate attention. I wasn’t moving anywhere, and I was hungry.

“I’m fuelling up,” I replied. “For the big game.”

“You’re fuelling up with hot wings?”

“A bucket thereof, yes.”

She sighed, and turned back to her computer. My phone rang.

“Mauso Industries,” I said. “How can we help?”

“Who?”

“Oh, hi Mum. Yeah, it’s David.”

“What’s a Mauso?”

“Nothing, Mum. How’s things?”

“Oh, I’m doing well-”

“Okay great. Hey, you’re coming to the big game tonight, right?”

“I.. what? The big game?”

“Yeah, you know. Sassies vs Monsters. It’s gonna be huge.”

“I’ve never heard of those teams. What sport are we talking about?”

“Touch football, mother. Remember, I joined a team?”

“Oh yes,” she said, stifling a laugh. “How cute.”

“Damn it, we’re going to win this one. I’m sure of it.”

“Okay, darling, have fun.”

* * *

I sidled over to Sara’s desk in my office chair and peered at her screen.

“Go away.”

“Hey, you’re watching that Youtube video!” I exclaimed. “Yes! That’s awesome!”

“It’s stupid.”

“That’s not what you’re comment says.” I pointed at the comment box on her screen.

“Who was that on the phone?” she asked, changing the subject.

“My manager,” I replied. “Just checking in, making sure I’m ready for the big game.”

“That’s not accurate.”

“What, you don’t think I’m good enough? To play at a professional level?” I sneered. She studied my physique appraisingly.

“Want one?” I added, holding up the bucket of hot wings.

“Because it sounded like you said ‘Mum’ on the phone,” she continued.

“Yes, that’s a nickname. For my manager.”

“You call your manager ‘Mum’?”

“Whoa!” I exclaimed, backing up in my office chair five feet, and nearly colliding with a colleague, who stumbled away bewildered. “What’s with the interrogation?”

“It’s just that you also used the word ‘mother’. You’re going to break the wheels on that thing,” she added, as I backed up another five feet.

My phone rang again.

“Mauso Industries. How can we help?”

Sara went back to her ‘work’; I turned my attention to the phone call.

“Hey Maus,” said the caller. “We need to talk. This is serious.”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Abacus. We met at the thing.”

“Oh, hey! How are you?”

“Not great,” he said. There was an urgency in his voice. “Look, I’ve got some information about tonight’s game. There might be a traitor in your midst.”

“What do you mean?” I enquired. “The Sassies are a strong football team. We’re all very loyal to one another, and I couldn’t imagine a traitor amongst us.”

“Well, someone’s leaking information to the opposition, trying to give them a leg-up. You know: player lineup, tactics and strategies, that kind of thing.”

“I bet it’s Doyle!” I spat. “That fucking snake!”

“The captain?” gasped Abacus. “But Mauso, I don’t think-”

“Look Abacus,” I interjected. “I know Doyle. I know him like the back of my hand. All it takes is some chocolate, an infusion of peanut butter, and he’s your bitch.”

“You’re saying the opposition bought him out?”

“It looks that way,” I replied. “Bought him out with chocolate.”

“Those monsters,” he whispered.

* * *

I had five hours left to investigate the traitor, before game time. It was a race against the clock, and I needed to fuel up. Grabbing the last wing and an energy drink, I let out an almighty Sasquatch Roar. This is universally known to be a sign of dominance, of assertiveness, and power. It is also intensely irritating.

“I’m heading out,” I announced to the office at large. No one looked up.

“We should promote you,” muttered Sara. “You spent 20 minutes at your desk today. Isn’t that a personal record?”

“Well, sometimes a man just needs to get out of the office, and fight for glory,” I responded.

“That’s what you said yesterday when you left early for Wacky Wallace’s Fast Food Restaurant.”

“Well, the only Wacky Wallace in the state is two hours away, and I had to beat the afternoon rush. Sometimes a guy just needs to fuel up on tasty burgers.”

“And that’s what you said the day before yesterday, when-”

“Alright, I get it,” I snapped. As I packed my bag with the essentials for my mission (a pair of binoculars, a compass, three watermelons, and an air horn), I couldn’t help but wonder what on earth she was babbling about.

I turned my back on my coworkers and stepped towards the door. It was a crystalising moment; I realised that I might never return.

“Wait!” cried Sara, as I reached for the door handle. “I’m coming with you.”

I sighed slowly, contemplating. “You can’t,” I replied. “It’s too dangerous!”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she muttered, and followed a coworker into the conference room.

I exited.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED in A Sasquatch Mystery: Part 2…