Free Snowman by Norman Bogner

trouble finding buyers."
    "You'd blackmail them."
    "Well, that's a little severe, don't you think? I prefer to think that I'd be performing a public service by warning people about the dangers on the mountain. After all, a girl was killed by an unidentified creature." Bradford smiled.
    "Would they bite?"
    "I'm going to try it on."
    "And what do you expect out of it?"
    "Fame and fortune—the usual things that smalltown nobodies dream about. I'm a newspaperman. I've been reporting broken legs, car skids, the weight of babies, high-school football scores, and weather for most of my life. This story fell into my lap. I can't hack it with the networks or the major papers. If they start sending up journalists, I'll wind up running their shit. This story would make my name. If I have to squeeze somebody's balls, then I'll do it."
    Bradford didn't take the bait. "Nothing could persuade me to take you up with me. One weak man and we'd all be dead."
    "Okay. But what I'd expect would be an exclusive story. We'd set up a radio with the ground. I'd be at the other end with my tape recorder, or following you with a helicopter when I can, taking pictures. I'd want one of your people to carry a camera with him."
    "You're crazy, you know that," Bradford stated.
    "Not really—just hungry . . . like you." Ashby rose and stretched his arms. "There'd be money in it for you."
    "I'm not interested in the money."
    "Well, maybe the people here would be. You might get a score yourself and then give it away. I don't give a damn what you do. But it seems to me I saw you and those Indians out in the sun trying to build a road. You'll never finish it without a Cater and a steamroller. You'll be dead before you've got twenty miles laid."
    He studied Bradford's reaction, and he knew that he had driven the man into a corner.
    "When I was at college I read some Sinclair Lewis. He used to write about hypocritical small-town sons of bitches like you."
    "Only difference, Mr. Bradford, between what you read and me is I'm the real thing. Now, is there anything like a telephone in this wasteland?"
    There was one in Crawford's cabin, and Bradford listened as Ashby went through a series of roles: irate public-spirited citizen ("Somebody's got to be the conscience of the community"); investigative reporter ("The public has a right to know what's up on that mountain"); extortionist ("Well, I'll just have to contact the networks and the wire services. I'll let them make their own judgments on the basis of the evidence. I'm with a man named Daniel Bradford who was attacked near Everest. He's identified the footprints and he's also got a scar on his back that's exactly like Janice's").
    "Monte, if you want to be chintzy, that's your problem. But lookit, you're a public company, and I'm sure the SEC would want to investigate your property development after they see the paper's. Now, I've put a call into the Forestry Service in Sacramento. I'm going to request that they send some investigators."
    Ashby also demonstrated that he was a shrewd negotiator.
    "No, I don't think two hundred and fifty thousand dollars is exorbitant. If GND found that they could buy a gold mine tomorrow in Eagle Mountain they'd be there with the cash. Now you've got the number I'm at, so if I don't hear from you in ten minutes I'll start making my calls."
    He and Bradford settled down on the porch with a bottle of Crawford's redeye. Ashby placed his old Bulova on the rail so that he could read the luminous hands easily.
    "Will he go for it?" Bradford asked.
    "I don't know. Big corporations are usually gutless. They can stand up to people their own size, but the little man frightens them."
    Ashby swallowed the redeye without blinking. The emotional high and sheer intoxication of power overwhelmed him. If only he'd discovered this years before, he might have become really important, someone he himself could have respected.
    "Dan, do you think the Snowman can be killed?"
    "Yes."
    "Twenty feet tall . .