Del Carlyle's eyes jump from his clipboard to the empty spot on the shelf to the clipboard again. He should have three bottles of women's black hair color in stock. In fact, he remembers when the last shipment came in, because it marked the first time three bottles of the same color had ever been delivered to his Texaco station. "Shoplifters," he automatically thinks to himself as he reaches behind him and tucks the tail of his flannel shirt into his pants. Oh well. If he sees a gang of local kids running around with jet-black hair, he'll know for sure who took it.

The tinkling of door chimes heralds the arrival of a customer. Lukey Brice walks into the station wearing a new camouflage jacket. Lukey's hands are driven into his pockets and he chews on a toothpick, looking to all the world like a man that just lost his best bloodhound. "Mornin', Lukey," Del says. Rainwater drips off his friend and he hopes Lukey doesn't set foot on the tile.

Lukey steps off the doormat and walks down Aisle 2. "Mornin', Del," he replies.

"Forget your raincoat?" Del inquires.

"Ah, hell," Lukey grumbles, scratching his stubbled neck, "I went out to my pickup this mornin' and it and my pair a' gray sweatpants was gone."

Del gives a knowing nod. "I know whatcha mean. I go outside to untangle the hose on Pump 4 and hear the door chime chime. I come back in and all the black women's hair color's gone."

"All of it?" Lukey asks and receives a nod in reply. "Damn, Del. Don't that beat all?" Lukey squats down on his haunches to view one of the lower shelves and disappears from Del's view. "Say, Del? You look to be outta shavin' razors... shavin' cream, too."

"What?" Del asks with disbelief. He marches around the end of the aisle to where Lukey squats and views the two vacant product spots for himself. His fingers nudge the bill of his John Deere cap upward and find a scratchable region near the skirmish line between his hair and his baldpate. "I'll be damned."

"I tell ya, Del, it's those damn Timmons kids; Ferdy and what's his face." Lukey shakes his head. "One night I'm gonna catch those little S.O.B.'s and I'm gonna do more than give 'em a talkin' to."

Del stares at the spots, remembering back to earlier that morning, when he took inventory and found two packs of razors and three cans of shaving cream. "C'mon in the back, Lukey. I think I got a couple cans of Barbosol left over."

The two men perform a stoop shouldered shuffle toward the back, past the closed door of the unisex bathroom. As soon as they begin perusing the contents of the wooden shelves, the door chime rings again. Del saunters out of the back room to find an empty store. He checks each of the aisles. Still empty.

"Hey, Del. Found some," Lukey announces, breaking Del's concentration. Lukey emerges from the back, triumphantly clutching a purple can of shaving cream. Del leaves another loose end untied and lumbers toward the front counter to complete the sale.

Del checks the price label on the bottom of the can, hunts for the "9" key on the old fashioned cash register, and strikes it twice. "Sorry 'bout the shavin' razors."

"Don't mention it," Lukey assures him as he pulls a handful of assorted change from his pocket and begins to count it out. "Hey, you goin' to see the Huskies and the Cougars play this year?"

Del nods absently, his attention focused behind him on the sedan pulling into his gravel lot. The tinted windows and clean exterior mark it as a non-local vehicle.

A forty-something white man wearing a black suite and tie climbs out of the passenger's side door. He displays a confident stride while approaching the front door and wears sunglasses despite overcast sky. The door chimes ring as the man enters the station. He apparently has no need for gas or beef jerky, because his journey stops at the front desk. "You the owner?" he asks Del, removing the sunglasses and slicking back his wet, brown hair.

Del checks with Lukey before answering. "Sure am. Can I help you?"

The man holds up a circular badge with a star in the center. "I'm Deputy Sam Gerard with the U.S. Marshals Office. Have you fellas seen anything unusual in the past hour?"

Del glances at Lukey again. "Whatcha mean, 'unusual'?"

Gerard shrugs and replies with the same, staccato delivery. "I mean an eight-foot tall humanoid covered in hair."

Del and Lukey both break into an uneasy smile, waiting for the punch line. "What're you talkin' about, mister?" Del asks.

"I'm talkin' about a sasquatch."

"Sasquatch?" both men ask, eyes wide.

"Sasquatch," Gerard repeats evenly.

Del's slowly shakes his head. "Naw. We ain't seen anything like that, mister."

Gerard stares each of them down for a moment before breaking into a broad smile. "Heh, that's cause I was just kiddin' with you fellas." He returns his sunglasses to the front of his face. "Be seein' ya." Within five seconds, the sedan peels out of the lot with Gerard inside it.

Lukey and Del remain silent and rigid for several seconds after Gerard's departure. "Goddamn," Lukey finally says. "Now I gotta drain the snake."

Lukey staggers toward the bathroom like a man having just awakened while Del dutifully checks which flavors of Skoal he needs to reorder. After counting the sixth can of Wintergreen, Del hears Lukey call out, "Hey, Del? Can you c'mere a minute?"

Del cautiously crosses the distance to where Lukey stands outside the open bathroom door. Lukey's wide eyes look at Del while his index finger points at the light brown shag carpet on the floor of Del's bathroom. "Wait a minute," thinks Del, "I don't have a bathroom carpet."