Chapter Fifty Four: Brujo

Composite report, events of Monday, 27 April--

Don Joséf has a ramshackle house north of Hermosillo for when he is not staying out in the desert working magic and gathering peyote buttons. He left town on a Wednesday, taking a bus to Nogales, his only luggage a small backpack containing some tools of his shamanistic trade. He crossed the US border with a passport identifying him as a naturalized American citizen, the false identity and the airline ticket to Seattle provided by one of Salvador deVega's Stateside agents.

A handy little computer tablet had also been given to him by that agent, internet capable, but more significantly preloaded with text files and pictures concerning his assigned target, the world-famous Bigfoot Adam Leroy Forest. Instead of wasting the hours of travel time he could spend it researching his intended victim, so that by the time he would arrive in Monroe he'd know where to go and who to see. He studied faces of friends and family and maps of the area, methodically preparing himself for the task ahead of him.

However, he noticed that this source of information was in conflict with his purpose; which was to destroy the Bigfoot's life without actually killing him. He was presented with interviews and news reports spanning time from his first appearance as "El Niño Bigfut de Monroe" twenty years before, to his advent as a commercially successful rock star, up to and including his recent conflicts against an "evil drug cartel" in Mexico. Heroic adventures, admirable talents, presented in the most positive terms, absolutely nothing to indicate why this Bigfoot deserved to be punished for his sins. Oh yes, there was some racist hate-mail from white supremists, but Don Joséf being himself a Yaqui Indian, well understood the diseased mentality of those who write such things.

Several documentaries were in Spanish, recorded from Mexican TV, although most were in American English, many of which he skimmed over: Don Joséf could speak some conversational English phrases, but reading page after page of that foreign language was frustrating and grueling. Video files captured from YouTube were much more entertaining: musical performances from several concerts-- including Mexico City --but the old brujo did not waste much time listening to them. Modern music-- mierda! Although he did allow himself to enjoy looking at the girls: blonde Melly and dark Lissandra-- even the Bigfoot females were rather comely. The brujo was old but not yet decrepit.

Don Joséf got the definite impression that whoever had amassed all this data was an enthusiast and had absolutely no intention of it ever being used against Adam Leroy Forest. Later, he asked Señor deVega about it in an telephone conversation and learned that: "The tablet was my youngest son Roberto's. He is a pincha FAN of that monster! I won't have that in my house, so I took the tablet away from him. I was intending to smash it but once I looked it over I saw that it would be the perfect document for you to study your enemy."

"Speaking of enemies," Don Joséf returned, "how does your son feel about this?"

"That little brat dared to be angry with ME, so I had to teach him to respect MY will."

The old shaman was wise enough not to comment.

Monroe is a small town, easy to get around on foot and find things. He started with the new Nokhon Nation Public Information Office near the corner of Lewis and Main Streets. There was no security to deal with, the office being nothing more than a PR showcase for posters and printouts referring to the actual NNP facilities farther out of town. Don Joséf was amused that the old log house where Adam and his family actually lived and carried on business was designated Hacienda Forest.

The Monroe office was only identified by large green letters painted on the store-front window: Nokhon Nation Project. Inside, it was all very grass roots and cozy: a cast-iron stove warming the place, free coffee, brochures about the NNP; the antithesis of slick commercialistic presentation. Well, except for the bank of LED screens repeating video scenes of Sasquatches wandering around this very Town of Monroe, contributed by and insisted upon by the local Chamber of Commerce. But otherwise the few brightly colored posters were hand-made by actual Bigfoot "artists" or family members: one a dramatic painting of Adam by Melly Wielson, another drawing by Adam himself. A half-finished painting of a mythical “underground city”(Aket?) was displayed as a work-in-progress by Masnia, the immensely popular teen-aged Nokhon princess herself, who might just show up to work on it as a special thrill for any touists. On the walls were photographs of humans and big hairy Sasquatches having fun and being friendly with one another, everybody smiling and waving. Great PR.

There was only one person in the office, a rather plump red-haired and freckled young woman with the jolly disposition of the naturally gregarious.

"Hi, how are you, and can I help you with anything?" Suzie Kay was a talker, working alone in an office was not her dream job, but she had applied for the position because she (like deVega's son Roberto) was a fan of Squatch & Friends and this was her way to become part of the team.

Don Joséf, not so much a talker, shook his head and said in his foreign accent, "I just...looking."

Suzie Kay was looking as well: she was usually glad to have someone come into the office, always ready for a jolly chat, but this unsmiling dark little old man caused her to rather be alone. Not that he´d done anything but "look", yet he was really creepy somehow and made her feel afraid. So she babbled:

"Okay, well look away to your heart's content, ha ha. We have printouts of today's NNP reports, if you're interested. Stuff is always happening in the Nokhon saga, tee hee! Oh, yes, and we have new video clips from last week's Squatch & Friends concert in Vancouver, British Columbia-- which was great; I even got to go along with the band for that, what fun! And over there we have..."

"Will the Bigfut be come here today?"

"Uhhh...The Bigfoot? Which one? We have so many staying with us now. At least twenty, I think, but they usually stay out at the Camp."

"THE Bigfoot... he called Adam."

"Oh yes, Adam, THE Bigfoot, ha ha ha. Well, I don't know, he's not scheduled to. But if you want to make an appointment I can call him, see if he's available. Is it about some kind of NNP business?"

The dark little man stepped closer, aggressively, suddenly smiling. And things got scarier: his smile resembling a feral baring of teeth. "Yes, yes, call! Say to come."

"Uh..oh...uh... what shall I tell him? Who is asking to...?"

"Tell him... emergency, make up lie. Call now!"

The wrinkled old man stepped even closer, Suzie Kay put a hand forward to ward off his approach. But he touched her: just one ancient finger sliding over the back of her plump hand. It shocked her. Literally, like a jolt of electricity. And then she seemed to see a trail of slime from his finger tracing wet upon her skin, but it evaporated too quickly to be certain of what she saw. Or was it absorbed?

Suzie Kay was not a frail helpless woman or generally afraid of men, she was fat but strong and she outweighed that little old man by a lot, but he scared her on a psychic level. She found herself obeying in a panic, already calling Adam's cell phone number.

Adam answered after two rings so she shrieked: "Adam, help me, there's this guy here..." The brujo nodded in satisfaction and she went silent. Then she relaxed, blanked out for a while.

The next thing Suzie Kay knew she was talking to some older couple, Seattle tourists visiting the NNP office, hoping to catch a glimpse of a real live Bigfoot. And the little dark man... well, what little dark man? Everything was perfectly normal.

Suzie Kay was in the middle of telling the couple about Nokhon magic: "...some of those Sha-hakas are amazing, but really, the most impressive is Adam himself. He's done magic on me, to help me lose weight. He made me promise not to over-eat and fixed it so I can't break that promise no matter what."

The old couple, George and Jane Finworth, shared a glance of amusement, which suggested to Suzie Kay that they were being too polite to mention that she was still pretty fat. "No, really," she assured them, "I've lost 23 pounds so far! Hey, you shoulda seen me a month ago..."

Suddenly the previously roomy PIO office became half filled-up as Adam came rushing in through the front door, somehow without shattering the glass, but in a real hurry. Shirt undone, no shoes, that kind of hurry. Now stopping to look around, he asks: "Suzie Kay-- what's the problem?"

"What problem?" she asks, confused.

"You just called me," Adam insists, "some guy was scaring you...?"

The old couple's male-half, George, after a moment of panic due to a gigantic bigfoot coming so abruptly into the room, suddenly realizes with amazement: "Hey, you're HIM! Adam Leroy Forest himself! Look, Jane it's..."

"Oh my goodness-- George, he's so BIG!" She's a woman in her late seventies and clutching at her chest as if in shock. Adam spares her a quick look, hoping he hasn't caused her a heart attack. Sends her a quick smile to reassure her that he's not really SO dangerous, then checks out her husband. Almost frowns.

"Is this the guy?" Adam asks with a doubtful look, indicating George, who cringes back and shakes his head, pretty sure he does not want to be or have anything to do with the guy in question.

"What guy?" Suzie Kay asks, remembering nothing about the brujo or the phone call.

It takes a few moments for everyone to realize that no one knows what is going on. And maybe never will. Except for Don Joséf, who has been waiting unnoticed in the background all along. It's the brujo's variation of the unseen-squatch trick, not actual invisibility but a psychic unfocusing of vision.

He steps up close behind Adam, taking a moment to register just how much larger this Bigfoot is than himself. Not just taller, his head almost bumping against the high ceiling, but deeper and wider. "Dio mio, el está como una montaña de carne y pelos!" Don Joséf feels something he had long ago forgotten: a thrill of fear.

Then he spatters a fine spray of slime from his fingers onto Adam's exposed heel, so delicately that it will not be felt. The brujo's plan was that the Bigfoot would notice nothing until later.

But Adam suddenly sniffs at the air, frowns, and turns around to see the dark little man standing there. They look at each other for a heartbeat, both surprised.

"Hola Señor, quien eres?" Adam asks, somehow automatically speaking Spanish. "Yo no soy nadia!" the brujo insists, genuinely rattled about having been discovered, so he quickly turns and walks out of the office without thinking of a more logical response.

Not certain how he should react, Adam asks Suzie Kay, "Hey, was that the guy?"

But she is still wondering, "Huh? What guy are we talking about? I didn't see anyone."

Adam turned to the old couple, "Did either of you see a tiny little dark man just go out the door?" George and Jane Finworth shook their heads, mouths open but no words coming out.

Trusting his own senses, Adam rushed outside to see which way the little dark man was going, but there were only two cars out in the street and not one person on the sidewalk. Nor any footprints in the freshly fallen snow.

Adam recalled the warning he'd gotten from his friend Rafael and understood that he was dealing with a Mexican Brujo assassin.

But he had also been lucky: exactly as he had exited the NNP office a pickup truck was driving by. The brujo cleared an amazingly athletic leap over the width of the sidewalk to avoid leaving footprints in the snow, hopping once in the slushy gutter, and rolling adroitly over and into the back of the pickup, which was transporting a few bales of hay. His landing was even soft-- and silent.

Luckily for the ancient brujo, the pickup drove slowly up Lewis Street and pulled into the Safeway parking lot rather than getting up to speed out on Highway 2, and Don Joséf rolled off without ever being discovered, now several blocks away from the Bigfoot in the NNP office.

But Adam had not just shrugged and given up, there was a lot to tip him off as to how serious this was: he knew Suzie Kay had called him, even though she denied it (but not convincingly), and he knew he'd seen the little man although the old couple had said they hadn't. He recognized psychic magic when it bit him on the ass. And he'd somehow just KNOWN that the dark little man was an especially sinister threat from Mexico, like those cartel assassins whom drug lord Salvador deVega had sent to kill him a few weeks ago, and speaking Spanish had confirmed it.

Adam wondered: but why send a little tiny shriveled-up old man against a Bigfoot like me? Well, the answer was immediately obvious when you took deVega's "magic curse" into consideration: to fight magic with magic. This was the brujo Raf had warned him about.

Adam excused himself from the office, telling Suzie Kay to go home for the day. He didn't want any innocent bystanders getting involved in whatever happens next. She was disappointed not to be of help to the team, so he told her to drive out to Hacienda Forest and tell Melly and Lissandra what was going on.

"What IS going on?" Suzie Kay had to ask, to which Adam replied "That's what we have to find out. Now GO!"

Adam Leroy Forest, the world's most modern Bigfoot, stepped out into the middle of Monroe, Washington, sidewalks all blank and white with snow, no clues for a human tracker to follow. Not one footprint on any nearby snowy sidewalk: a mystery for Sherlock Holmes to solve. Eliminate the impossible. He made certain the little man had not climbed up to the roof of the office building, expecting some extreme physical capabilities of a brujo, but he would have had to fly, and that was impossible even for a magical brujo... he assumed.

He might have jumped across the sidewalk into the slush of the road gutter...

Adam closed his eyes, smelled the air. There had been a peculiar smell in the office which had caused him to turn around and discover the little man. The air outside in Monroe was cleaner than usual, the snow having scrubbed away pollution from cars and electrical machinery, so he could search out that certain odor. Took a moment, but he found it, leading North up Lewis Street. Towards Safeway.

Don Joséf was standing on the Safeway parking lot, looking back towards the NNP Office when he saw the Bigfoot coming towards him, three blocks away but moving briskly. Adam had obviously recognized the brujo as a threat and was going into action. Once again, a thrill of fear tingled throughout the little Mexican: this was a challenge. He considered his options and decided that rather than hide and wait, as originally planned, he would lead his victim into the trap here and now. He'd done his research, he was equipped, he was ready.

Don Joséf stepped out into Main Street in front of Safeway and deliberately waved to the Bigfoot, now approaching from only two blocks away, and was spotted. The Bigfoot did not waste time with a silly wave back, but began running toward him. It was surprisingly fast for its size-- all that muscle and mass coming quickly up to speed, all that weight and inertia and power now coming at him like a locomotive that would run over anything standing in the way.

So it was time to get out of the way. The brujo turned and ran up Lewis Street, towards the nearby junction with Highway 2. Don Joséf could also run amazingly fast-- he'd chased down hares and coyotes out in the desert. So he was across the width of Highway 2 in seconds, right to where the woods began, and he vanished into them before Adam could intercept him.

But of course, those woods were supposedly home turf to a Bigfoot. So the question would be: was the brujo foolishly giving his opponent an advantage? Or was he fooling the Bigfoot into THINKING so, all the better to lure him into a trap?

The same considerations were taking place in Adam's mind as he closed in on his quarry, but he did not hesitate to follow the trail of the dark little man into the dark of the forest. The little guy was nowhere to be seen again, but Adam had expected that. He still had a scent in his nose to follow, so he aimed after that. There were also some occasionally encouraging signs in the patchy snow on the floor of the forest. He charged on, full speed ahead: trees flashing past, bushes blurring with velocity.

But then the trap was sprung: he smelled another scent, quite different, cactus like, as if from some Mexican desert rather than the local rain forest. He observed that he was running through a fine mist, probably some kind of brujo drug-bomb spray. He'd stopped inhaling in the middle of his first whiff, exhaled and held his non-breath until passing through the cloud, but knew that it might already be too late to avoid any consequences.

But an amusing thought passed through his head: "Hmm, do Sha-hakas use any kind of neurological chemicals? Maybe I should learn some of this guy's tricks."

Adam stopped running. He needed to use his senses to locate the brujo. Also to determine if or how he had been affected by the mist. He did not feel different: was neither staggering nor confused. But neither could he sense nor smell his quarry, which was odd.

"Maybe the mist was a chemical meant to disrupt my sense of smell? So that he could get away?" Although Adam was pretty sure that the little guy did not really want to get away, but was rather after a showdown.

As far as Adam could tell he was alone in the forest. A mile behind him the town of Monroe, the outskirt of civilization stretching all the way West to the waters of Puget Sound; before him to the Northeast was an almost uninterrupted patch of raw wilderness climbing up the Cascade Mountain Range, most of which could be considered Bigfoot country.

Adam had evidently lost his quarry, and should therefore be safe from attack. And yet he found himself experiencing a deja vu: that same feeling of some unknown danger that had warned him of the cartelero's previous assassination attempt --and saved his life-- was back again. He did not disregard the feeling, he'd learned to trust it.

The little Mexican man was now stalking him, he somehow knew it, although he'd heard no sound, seen no shadows. Adam went into Unseen Bigfoot mode: stopped, holding his breath, blending into nature. He moved a few steps slow and silent in a new direction, then froze again, scanning the woods with his more than human senses, listening, sniffing, still finding nothing amiss. And yet the feeling of danger was growing the deeper he went into what should be safe and familiar woods on the fringe of town.

Suddenly that feeling peaked sharply and he instinctively threw himself to the ground, observing that the tree beside him was hit, spraying him with bark and splinters as if a heavy bullet smacked into it, followed fast by the sound of a high-caliber rifle shot.

But... there had been no shot. He'd only hallucinated it happening. Visual and tactile inspection of the undamaged tree proved that... unless those perceptions were also affected.

He had rolled to put himself behind some trees between him and where the shot might have come from-- had there been a shot. He listened. Heard nothing: no one was moving through the woods, neither towards him nor away, so whoever had not fired the shot was waiting. Probably ready to fire again. Or not-- it was very confusing. Adam didn't move either, trying to locate some nonexistent shooter.

And now he could smell burnt gunpowder, ostensibly leading him to exactly where the shot had seemed to come from. Following that smell would be easy enough, since it was so strong. Amazingly strong, considering that there had (probably) not been any shot fired. But there were no other clues to find-- no footprints, no impressions, no fabrics, no smell apart from the phantom gunpowder aroma. As if a rifle had floated in by itself, without a gunman, and then floated away again. Or winked out of existence.

It seemed impossible that a standard-issue human being, be he brujo or not, could have so confused his senses about what was happening in the woods around him: hey, Adam's a SQUATCH, you know! Maybe another Nokhon could have done it, an older Sha-haka using magic, although they probably wouldn't ever simulate rifle shots. For Adam it was a blow to his big Bigfoot ego, more rattled about that than being pseudo-shot at.

Another deja vu: of that time he'd been infected with Daklakht's ssysk, which had driven him out of the wilderness and back into Civilization against his will. This was like that; impossible and illogical perceptions sending him in directions not of his own choosing. But a ssysk is Sha-haka magic, and he'd been near no Nokhons who would or could do that to him. So this had to be the brujo's magic, a different kind of ssysk. He wondered about the mist he'd half-inhaled.

Adam dismissed his automatic assumption that he was the superior woodsman just because he was a Nokhon and his quarry was a mere human. It would be wisest to track this guy as if they were on the same level, supposing that he was some kind of especially gifted and trained jungle combat expert. Adam laid his head down on the forest floor and listened to the earth.

Not that he expected to hear footsteps; more to sense the flow of his opponent's haka up from the world, the disturbance of bio-magnetic fields between the trees. If the guy was nearby Adam might just feel the passage of his weight compressing loose soil. These were things he'd learned from Dagrolyt and other Sha-hakas who had tried to teach him what all Nokhons grow up already knowing about haka and psychic instinct. And although it had taken Adam a while to catch up after a misspent youth among city-folk, he finally seemed to have gotten a feel for it, just like a real squatch.

But nothing. Nobody. The closest person he could sense was back in town, he was alone here. Only, he knew better.

Adam began to understand just how tricky this brujo was, because his sense of smell was telling him to look in the wrong direction, away from where anybody was. He was somehow generating a gunpowder scent to lead Adam forward into a trap. So Adam moved very carefully, around but not towards any obvious destination, keeping himself surrounded by trees, sometimes crawling flat to intercept a stalker's path. It was very slow, took a while. Then he noticed that his feeling of danger was gone.

He waited another ten minutes. A straying fox wandered through the wood, otherwise nothing stirred. Finally Adam had utilized every sense he had, trying to see, smell or hear an attacker, without result. As far as he could tell, there really was no one out there.

He relaxed, stepped forward, then felt a minor sting in his chest. Looked down, surprised to see a tiny dart sticking into him. Another followed immediately. He felt a tingling sensation and realized that they were poisoned darts. Another flew at him, he tried to slap it away but it stuck in his right hand. He could feel his fingers already going numb.

Curare? Amazonian Indians? No, but something like that...

Adam still hadn't seen his attacker. But he ran, hoping it was away from instead of directly toward whoever was pincushioning him. Another dart lodged in his neck.

Adam ran fast but was already wobbling, his legs uncertain, knew he wouldn't get far. So he had to move faster, needing to get out of sight before collapsing. He dashed for a quick hundred yards through the trees and that was it; he was staggering backwards as much as forward. He fell, his muscles seizing and then he could not get up again.

The brujo did not bother to run; he knew his victim would be waiting for him, paralyzed and helpless.

The Bigfoot had in fact managed to get just out of sight, but not far enough to be gone. So it was a surprised brujo who discovered that he could not find the enormous creature lying on the ground where he should have been. 500 pounds of hairy humanoid had simply vanished!

Don Joséf reasoned that Bigfoot magic probably included some form of the hiding technique that he himself used: a matter of holding absolutely still and refusing to be noticed. Basic shaman magic, simple enough if one practiced it diligently.

So he methodically searched the area, rather than running after a phantom Bigfoot, certain that Adam had to be right there, even though it appeared that he was gone. He stood still and closed his eyes, using other senses, but nothing registered. So then he walked back and forth, slowly, carefully, looking for some clue. Then he stumbled over something big and hairy, something he hadn't quite noticed lying there.

The brujo immediately understood and tried to jump back, but it was already too late: an unseen Bigfoot's Big Hand suddenly gripped his ankle-- quite hard --like a bear trap. His victim had been lying there in plain sight all along, simply blending in with the forest floor. Even now it was absurdly difficult to focus on the huge creature, Don Joséf's eyes kept sliding away, seeing only everything around the prone figure. Bigfoot magic, how interesting!

Suddenly he could clearly see the entire Bigfoot, who was evidently no longer concerned about hiding. It was lying on his side, completely collapsed, paralyzed, helpless... except for the powerful fingers of his left hand so solidly clenched around Don Joséf's right ankle.

The brujo took another dart out from under his jacket and prepared to stick it in that hand, apparently the only body part the Bigfoot still maintained any control over. Once that was also paralyzed Don Joséf could come free.

Adam could not speak, but he frowned at the dart and grunted a warning--"Mmmm-mmff!" --clenching his hand tighter around the Brujo's slender ankle, almost crunching the bones. Don Joséf was poised with a dart ready to stick into Adam's gripping hand, but he hesitated-- not certain it would paralyze so large a creature quickly enough to save his foot. It was obvious that the Bigfoot could simply pinch the leg in two. Another grunt and he got the message and cast the tiny weapon aside, into the bushes. They both paid exact notice to where the dart landed, should there come a scramble after it.

Adam relaxed the pressure on the ankle. It was Don Joséf's turn to grunt and collapse. He had the discipline to ignore the pain, but not the consequences to his old flesh and bones. Squeezed any tighter and he would be permanently crippled.

So they both lay there in a temporary stalemate, neither moving, each awaiting the other's strategy. Don Joséf observed that the Bigfoot was gasping for air in a controlled hyperventilation, sweating profusely, heart beating rapidly and with great power, his entire metabolism accelerated throughout his gigantic body. He was clearly processing the drug away and would soon be mobile again! Fascinating, something no human could ever do!

In response to the Bigfoot's emergency processing, Don Joséf became more calm, more relaxed, more in focus of his occult powers. It was a contest to see which technique would result in advantage. He was also surreptitiously groping for another dart from his belt bag.

But Adam was the first to stir, he moved his head enough to look around, wiggled his body onto his back, to a better position from which to regard the brujo. He was still mostly paralyzed, but it was obvious that he was gradually recovering. For example, he could speak again, which he did in Spanish.

"Well, that's some nasty drug in those darts, might that be curare?"

Don Joséf considered the strategy of remaining silent and therefore mysterious, but needed to talk his way out of the Bigfoot's grip, so he responded politely: "No, my own special blend. Actually, I am surprised you're so lucid."

"Sasquatch constitution, I'll be on my feet pretty soon."

"Well then, you may as well release my foot now."

"Oh, I think not: you seem kind of dangerous. In fact, keep your hands away from your belt; no brujo tricks."

"What makes you think I am a brujo?"

"Hey, my folks read me the Carlos Castenada books when I was a kid. I've also spent some time in Mexico, and you look a lot like a Yaqui Indian, so I'm guessing you're a peyote shaman from Sonora."

"Ah, so you believe me to be like the famous Don Juan. He was a fictional fantasy character, you know."

"No, you're not like Don Juan-- he was a good guy, you're an assassin sent to kill me."

"Oh no no, I am just a simple campesino, señor," said with profound innocence.

"I'm going to let you know that I can smell when people lie. Just to cut through the caca, you know. You're obviously a sicario working for the Carteleros."

"Very well, smell this: I am NOT here to kill you."

Adam sniffed. Looked surprised. "Hmm. That seems to be true. All right then: why are you here?"

Don Joséf hesitated, unable to come up with a truth he dared to tell an angry Bigfoot with an already crushing grip on his foot.

So Adam started guessing: "Brujo magic? Did deVega send you to nullify the curse I put upon him?"

Don Joséf chose his words carefully. "He would like that." Which was true.

The Bigfoot sniffed the air again. Smiled a little. "That was not a lie... but it was deception. You don't want to tell me because it's something even nastier than just murdering me, right?" He gave the foot in his hand a quick little extra squeeze. The brujo tried to ignore the pain.

"Your plan was to paralyze me with these darts... and then what?" Adam studied the face of the little old man, who stared back boldly without showing fear. But it did show something else: evil intention.

Adam pulled on the ankle, sliding the tiny man close enough to see his backpack. He was still too paralyzed to use both hands so he commanded Don Joséf: "Open it. I want to see what you've got in there."

Don Joséf would have resisted, but a slight tightening of those powerful fingers around his ankle convinced him to obey fast, before the bones already grinding together finally did shatter.

"Dump everything out. Now!" Adam commanded.

Among the various shamanistic items, clusters of darts, leather pouches of herbs and peyote buttons, Adam could see a hospital-quality set of stainless steel surgical scalpels.

"You were going to cut me up? What-- castrate me? Tell me!" He was twisting the brujo's leg at an angle that would soon break it.

Don Joséf surrendered to the situation, realizing that he had to tell the truth immediately, thus admitting much more than he wished to: "I had orders to hamstring you, so you could not walk; then cut the tendons of your wrists, so you could not play guitar; cut out your tongue so you could neither speak nor sing; blind you, make you deaf-- and yes, cut off your polla, of course --but leave you alive to suffer your losses."

Adam relaxed his pressure on the little man's ankle, saying nothing for a moment. He seemed quite relaxed. After a while he said, "You know, I try not to lose my temper-- scares people when a Bigfoot gets mad-- but what you were planning to do to me... really does piss me off." He spoke softly and seemed unreasonably calm, but then he was still somewhat paralyzed.

"It was not my plan, Señor deVega ordered it," Don Joséf tried to seem apologetic; "he can be cruel and perverse."

"And you were just following orders, right." Adam stirred, struggled and managed to sit up now, his paralysis dwindling, but evidently still unable to stand.

But even simply sitting up, Don Joséf was again confronted with the colossal size of this monster he had attacked and realized that he had to do something soon, before this thing became mobile enough to act upon being "pissed off". The pressure on his ankle was presently relaxed enough that Don Joséf could also sit up, facing Adam. So being a brujo, he began to chant.

It was a round of melodic phrases, voice constrained to a steady basic rythym: Adam understood that this old bastard was trying to hypnotize him. The chant was not in Spanish but Adam thought he recognized some of the sounds, then realized it was Nahuatl, the ancient Aztec language which is still spoken around Mexico City. Adam couldn't speak it, but he'd learned a few words during that time he was in Mexico as a kid: like koyo-tl for coyote, etc. Coyote: the Trickster, just like this little guy.

Adam took up the challenge and recited the brujo's chant back at him, phoneme for phoneme. Not that Adam could understand a word of it, but he is expert at repeating spoken sounds, being one of his Orator skills. The brujo looked surprised, then stopped chanting, although Adam continued, since the chant was just a short loop which kept recycling.

"That won't work on me, you big fool!" the brujo finally said, as if offended.

"I'm the fool?" Adam said back to him, "You're the one convincing a Bigfoot that he should probably just resort to physical violence." The realization of that truth clouded the brujo's wrinkled old face.

In a sudden change of tone Adam asked, "So what's your name?"

"My Spanish name is Don Joséf." He was not about to utter his secret Nauhatl name, that would be giving away too much power.

"Don Joe," spoken with intentional disrespect, "I guess you already know my name-- or rather, my gringo name. Like you I'm keeping my true name to myself for magical reasons."

Don Joséf was surprised again: it was as if the Bigfoot had read his mind. Which was somewhat unnerving.

"So Don Joe, I'm curious:" he said to the Mexican in a surprisingly chummy manner, "why are you working for an asshole like Salavador deVega? Traditionally, a brujo is supposed to be a wise man, so you must be aware that he has absolutely no sense of fair play."

"That is true, he is a classic cabrón. I only do it for money."

"But as a brujo you probably live as ascetically as a Sasquatch: own nothing, eat nothing, drink nothing. So what use do you have for money?"

"Me? Almost nothing. But I have children."

"And you give them blood money?"

"They don't complain about where the money comes from: they are not good children-- they have all grown up to be typically corrupt Latinos-- also cabrónes. But they are still my progeny."

"Were you a good father?"

"Never. But what business is this of yours?"

"It seems we are to be having a contest of magic. I have intentions for you, if I win."

"If you win?" A nasty laugh. "All right, you seem to have learned some few Bigfoot magic tricks, but are still only a child."

"Sure, I'm young, but I have also been bred to be a Nokhon Orator, which probably gives me some advantages you don't know about. Besides, I do Nokhon magic, not the watered-down human version. I can curse you with a Syssk that will poison the rest of your life, as I did with deVega."

Still paralyzed but remarkably chatty, Adam went on, "By the way, I assume that deVega did confer with you about removing his curse?" Adam asked, "I mean, you being a brujo, and all."

"He did mention a curse, but I could not sense it. I told him it was probably some kind of hypnotism."

"Well, yeah, basically, that's what it is," Adam admitted, "reprogramming the mind. Although Nokhon magic is different than your kind, so you probably couldn't recognize a Syssk. It's more like a spirit virus than a posthypnotic suggestion. Can be pretty effective ju-ju. In fact, I've just recently taken a course on it, taught by a Nokhon Sha-haka --that's a Bigfoot brujo --who's considered to be the top guy in his field."

"Bigfoot magic must be quite primitive." Don Joséf was trying to scoff. "More like primal," Adam countered, and then laughed: "Hey, if Salvador sent a brujo this time, what's he going to send next-- a toreador?"

The brujo smiled wickedly, "You are assuming you will survive until a next time. Very macho."

"Hmmm, the last hit-guy was accusing me of not being macho enough. Just before I slapped him silly and sent him off to jail."

"You will find that those men have been extradited to Mexico, where Señor deVega has already arranged for their releases."

"Really? Crap. Oh well, at least I sent them to the hospital first, there's some satisfaction in that." Then a smile. "I could do the same to you."

"Empty threats. I know about you-- you do not harm people, it is not in your nature."

"Ah, about that: you need to understand that inclusive in my nature is that I cannot break a promise. At all, ever. And I hereby do promise that if you cripple me I shall rip off your feet. Tu me entiendes?"

"You do not have the strength," the brujo insisted, but did not sound certain.

Adam managed to lift his right hand enough to cross his chest and join the left hand still gripping the brujo's ankle, effecting a bit of twist. "Shall we test just how much strength I have?"

The brujo refused to show fear, but couldn't help blinking. Adam saw that and was satisfied enough to slightly back off the pressure. His right hand was still numb, but could grip enough to effect a high-torque twist on a delicate little ankle, and there was no doubt what the result of that would be.

"Well, Don Joe..."

"That is not my name!" The disrespect was irritating the older man.

"Okay, okay, I was just messing with you," Adam said agreeably, "I'll be polite and call you by your proper Nahuatl name: Koyo-tl. Coyote, right?"

The brujo was stunned. How could this half-human beast have learned his secret name?

And then Adam began to chant at the brujo in a language the old Mexican had never heard before: Nokhontli. It was only a short phrase, deep-toned, repeated with a dramatic cadence, and it had a power to it. Don Joséf could not understand any other word of it than Koyo-tl, as his secret name was repeated again and again. It made him dizzy.

"Koyo-tl, ahat t'ah ø yoto, gw øø ka ahatla, wya h'o e'e ha.
Koyo-tl, ahat t'ah ø yoto, gw øø ka ahatla, wya h'o e'e ha..."

But he noticed that it seemed to make the Bigfoot dizzy too: or at least he swayed with the rhythm of it, as if in a trance. His eyes closed, his powerful grip on the brujo's ankle slackened...

The brujo could not believe his fortune: the fool was hypnotizing himself! Concentrating upon nothing but his own chanting. As the Bigfoot's hand became more relaxed, Don Joséf readied himself to make his move. Just a forefinger and a thumb encircled his ankle now. He could already turn his leg to adjust his position. A little looser...

"Bastante!" Don Joséf shouted and kicked to free his foot, which surprisingly slipped out of the Bigfoot's grasp: he was free!

He knew he had to move fast, rolling to put some distance between himself and the Bigfoot, who still only chanted, making no move to recapture him. He was evidently unaware of anything happening around him.

The brujo dashed to his weapon bag and pulled out a handful of darts. He launched at least five, but too frantically, only three darts even hit his target. Still no reaction from Adam, who was lost in his chanting. The brujo calmed himself for better precision and took more time launching the next five darts and they all stuck into flesh. Within seconds the chanting wore down, became a mumbling, and then the Bigfoot collapsed backwards and lay still on the floor of the forest.

Don Joséf was unsure if this was a trick, it had seemed far too easy. Did he dare approach the monster and do what he'd intended to do? But he counted at least seven darts protruding from the hairy body; that HAD to be enough to take down even a Bigfoot. He'd almost had him with the first three darts-- except for that obstinate left hand --so he was intellectually certain that he was helpless.

But it was still frightening to touch the creature, who still radiated so much more physical power than himself. Like trusting that a lion had been doped enough to stick your head in its mouth. But it had to be done.

He prodded the prone man-thing with a foot, ready to run if an eye should open. But no eyes looked at him. It was breathing as if in a deep sleep, heavy and unconcerned. So he shook the shoulder, as if trying to awaken a friend, hoping to keep from being grabbed again. But the Bigfoot was out cold.

Don Joséf chuckled triumphantly, his oh-so-mighty victim helpless at last. All his limbs free, he now stood up to do the work he had come for: a hamstringing. He gathered up the surgery set, took out a shining steel scalpel, admiring the beauty of it. Then he sat on the forest floor, tight up against the gigantic body and tried to wrestle one of the huge feet onto his lap, where he could operate with utmost precision.

But Dios Mio, that foot was heavy! And what power was in it, when not paralyzed. What if it kicked out spontaneously when he began to operate? When he'd seen Adam running after him earlier he'd had to admire the grace and power of that Bigfoot body. It was with some respect and even regret that the brujo considered what an evil thing he was about to do: permanently cripple such a magnificent creature-- actually, a MAN, un hombre --and do it for such a bastardo as Salvador deVega, whom he did not respect at all. But the money was good, very good.

He shrugged off his conscience and tried to twist the Bigfoot's ankle so that he could get at the Achilles’ tendon on the back, but the leg was so heavy and thick with muscle that he could barely lift it. The monster was lying on its back, it would be better to roll it over so that he could reach his target, but he was aware that there was no way he was capable of rolling over a limp body weighing 250 kilograms by himself. Of course, if he'd assemble a system of fulcrums and levers out of ropes and solid branches, but that would take tools and time and he was not sure just how much time he had.

He found some broken branches and managed to lever one leg up onto a handy tree stump that left the foot floating free, so that he could easily slide under and comfortably have it in his lap as if it weighed nothing. It was also surprisingly easy to turn it for easy access to the back of the heel, where he was to cut.

He ran his fingers over the calconeal tendon of a Bigfoot, immediately aware that it was so thick and tough that he could probably not slice it in one stroke, even with an extremely sharp scalpel, but might have to saw his way through. He used the scalpel to shave off some of the thick hair around the heel so that he could see where to make the incision. He lined up the scalpel to try for a quick slice. Hesitated. Then carefully poked the point into the flesh to establish his starting point. Blood dripped down onto his hand.

He was startled by the stabbing pain in his own heel. It felt as if he was jabbing the scalpel into himself, that he was sharing the pain with his victim, very confusing.

"All right, stop. That's enough," Adam said, not sounding paralyzed at all.

Don Joséf stopped, bewildered, then discovered that he was sitting with his own foot folded into his lap, and that the scalpel was poking into his own ankle, not the Bigfoot's. The blood was his.

"I was waiting to see if you'd really do it, but now I can't let you go through with it."

Looking up, Don Joséf saw that Adam was standing over him, huge and perfectly erect and not paralyzed whatsoever. Looking down again, he saw that he had drawn blood, but had not yet commenced to cutting the tendon over. He pulled the point out and threw the scalpel away from him, horrified at what he had almost done to himself.

Then he realized what had happened: "You hypnotized ME!"

"Actually, I've infected you with a ssysk. I assume you'll figure out the difference eventually. But of course, it amounts to your perceptions of reality being altered. The chant I hit you with was in Nokhontli and was a repetition of: "Koyo-tl (or rather Trickster), you shall do what you came to do, but to yourself, believing it is me."

"But I do not know that language, how could I obey instructions I cannot understand?"

Adam shrugged and said, "Hey, it's magic,"

Then he asked, “How many men have you killed? Ten? Twenty?"

Don Joséf grinned a nasty grin: "You're way off, Bigfoot. Maybe a hundred, I don't bother to remember. And not just men: women, children, horses, dogs, chickens, I don't care."

"You don't care?" Adam asked, interested in that detail, but he didn't wait for a retort, "I'll expect you to remember you said that."

Don Joséf became impatient with Adam. "I know you are not a killer, so what are you going to do with me?" he asked, "Have me put in jail?" It was spoken as a joke, there was no proof that he'd even considered killing anyone and deVega's lawyers would get him out, even all the way up here in Los Estados Unidos.

"Oh no, I'm going to let you go-- after I fix it so that you can't murder anyone again."

The Squatchmobile was parked near the NNP PIO office. Adam's trusty old Camaro convertible had the top down, as usual, so it was slightly filled with snow. Adam brushed it somewhat free with a few sweeps of his big arms. Then he flopped the little brujo face down on the seat beside him and held him there with his right foot. The Camaro had automatic transmission, so Adam could drive using just his left foot for the seven miles back to the Hacienda.

"What have you done to me?" the brujo wailed when he realized that his life had changed. He was weeping and obviously suffering.

"All those people you killed?" Adam mentioned, "Well, now you DO CARE. About every one of them. Have a nice life."

"I cannot bear this!" he cried in utter anguish, "Kill me, por favor!"

"Oh, we don't do that, sorry. Now we have just one more thing you need to do for us, then you can go." Adam had taken the brujo’s cell phone from him earlier, now he handed it back. "You're going to give Salvador another call. Inform him that you will be obeying his orders-- except that whatever he has commanded will be done to him instead of me."

"But he would have me killed before I ever got back to Mexico."

"Oh, you think so? Hey, at least that won't be on my conscience-- what a relief!"