Buck Fever (11 page)

“Sorry, no hidden agenda intended. I find Sundays wasted if I am not getting ready for the Monday rush. You are right; we have time. I will see you Monday morning in the conference room near Pillbock’s office. It has all the tools we need. Bring your laptop. You can keep all the data on it. Do you trust me now?”

“Yeah, sure. See you then,” Porter said, giving Dingman a friendly shove toward the apartment door.
I don’t trust him
.

Dingman opened the door and peeked into the hallway. “Good, she’s not out there. See you Monday.”

Chapter 16

G
eorge Montagno sat in the passenger seat of his new black Chrysler hybrid, staring at the headliner as his wife, Sissy, drove the back roads to the Troy Health Center. The car fishtailed over glazed ice as snow-laden wind slammed the windshield.

“Ugh, I’m getting nauseous. Slow down,” George pleaded. “What’s the rush?”

“Oops, sorry, I’m just a little excited,” Sissy said.

“I’ll bet...ooh, here it comes, pull over. Pull over!”

Sissy slammed the brake pedal while swerving the car to the curb. George opened the car door, leaned out and vomited.

“You okay?”

“I’ll...be...all right...in a minute,” George said.

~ ~ ~

“Hmm, I don’t see any redness in your inner ear. It’s probably the pills. Stop taking them. Did you bump your head recently? Tell me about the dreams. Do you wake up in a cold sweat?” the doctor probed.

George Montagno explained the incident with the deer carcass engulfing his head and shoulders, the bizarre dreams following for several days, and his newfound ability to add numbers quickly in his head.

“Might be related to the deer, or maybe the onset of Meniere’s Disease.”

“Is it fatal?” Montagno looked concerned.

“No, it can come and go. It’s a buildup of pressure in the fluid within the inner ear. I’ll give you some diuretic pills. Watch your salt intake. Or maybe...just maybe...” the doctor said, scratching his head, “you’re allergic to deer blood. Could be a toxin in there causing a reaction. Rare, but you did say you were covered with deer blood and got it up your nose and into your eyes, right?”

“Yes, but what do you make of the crazy dreams, and why am I suddenly so good at adding numbers?”

“The dreams could simply be another reaction to the toxic blood. The number crunching ability...I suppose an allergic reaction could have triggered some native ability locked up since birth. Ever do Sudoku?” The doctor handed Montagno a book from his desk.

“Number puzzles? No, I’ve seen people doing them on airplanes. How do you do it?” Montagno took the book and flipped through it.

“You need to fill in the missing numbers from one through nine in the rows and columns. I do it in my spare time. I can usually complete one in ten minutes or so. Let’s see what you can do.”

Montagno stared at the first puzzle grid of half-filled numbers waiting for inspiration. He struggled to find two missing numbers, then gave up.

“Not my game. I’m clearly not good at this.”

“Hmm, whatever savant activity was going on in your brain seems to be gone now. You can keep the book. If, by chance, you are able to suddenly solve these puzzles in five minutes or less, call me immediately.”

“Okay, sounds harmless enough.” Montagno stuffed the book in his jacket pocket.

“Take these pills four times a day. They should help relieve the pressure in your ear. Also, I’d stay away from any deer meat as a precaution.”

“You really think so? I was looking forward to having some tonight.”

“It’s an outside hunch, but you can do what you want. If you do get a reaction, let me know immediately and for sure, don’t eat more.”

“A hunch? Is that a new medical approach?” Montagno said, grinning.

“Yes, we are allowed to guess now and then. Doctoring is an art and a science you know. What we can’t prove or doesn’t work is art. What we can and works is science.”

“Gotchya,” Montagno acknowledged the doctor’s attempt at humor, shook hands and left his office.

~ ~ ~

“Tell me, tell me, tell me,” George Montagno said, as Sissy walked off the elevator in the building lobby, her face beaming.

“We’re pregnant and...” Sissy hesitated and pursed her lips, forcing an uneasy smile.

“And?”

“We’re eight weeks along. It’s already four inches.”

“What? I don’t get it. You were only two weeks late.”

“I lied. I wanted to make sure. You know how the miscarriage last year screwed up my mind. The doctor thinks we’re out of the rough and on the green now.”

“Sounds like your GYN spends most of his time on the golf course,” George said, hugging Sissy gently and patting her stomach.

“He said to eat lots of protein. Maybe a good reason to make those deer chops you brought home last week.”

“Maybe. My doctor said I might be allergic to deer meat. Could be the cause of my dizziness. He thinks there might be something in the blood that got up my nose.”

“You’re talking about raw blood. I doubt if cooked meat would be a problem. My mother was allergic to uncooked chicken. She’d break out in a rash every time she made it, but she had no problem eating it when properly cooked.”

“Yeah, what the hell, let’s pan fry a couple steaks smothered in onions. Damn, I can taste it already. He gave me these pills to replace the other ones. They’re diuretic. I might have too much fluid pressure in my inner ear. Mensair or Menswear Disease, he called it.”

“Menswear Disease? Are your pants too tight? I’ve heard of Meniere’s Disease.”

“Sounds right. Whoa, hold on to me I’m dizzy.”

~ ~ ~

“When should I pick you up?” Sissy asked out the car window, as George stepped onto the entrance sidewalk to the HMM Design Company building.

“No need. I’ll have Jack or Dillon take me home, probably around six o’clock. Have those deer steaks thawed and ready to go. I have extra bookwork to finish after dinner.

A plain black car with government license plates sat next to the curb.

Shit, Internal Revenue
, Montagno thought, stumbling slightly in the revolving entrance door.
Now I’m in trouble.

~ ~ ~

Jack Hermanski shook his head as a balding man in an aging blue suit flipped through pages of a handheld report. Dillon Lacarter stood next to him.

“Are you sure it’s the same?” Jack asked.

“One hundred percent positive the blood anti-bodies are the same as Gordon Lickshill’s.”

“Ah...what’s going on? Anything I need to be part of?” Montagno said, hesitating to join in the discussion.

“Did you see the article in the newspaper yesterday about all those strange accidents happening near West Branch?” Hermanski said.

“Yeah, we already know what happened in one instance...right? We...we...” Montagno said, hesitating to expose the truth in front of the suited stranger.”

“This is Josh Morris from the Troy Police department; he knows all about the deer and the two men from Port Huron. I told him about us finding the deer and claiming it.”

“Oh,” Montagno said, shaking hands, “so what’s this about?”
Whew, it’s not the state auditor
, he thought.

“We’ve done some tests on the deer blood sample provided by Mr. Hermanski yesterday morning. It’s definitely deer blood, but contains matching anti-bodies of the blood from a Mr. Gordon Lickshill of West Branch, who may have been a victim of foul play. I understand the three of you found a deer in the woods off Cook Road near West Branch, apparently, in a field connected to Lickshill’s property.”

“You don’t think the two guys in Port Huron got into an argument with Lickshill and possibly killed him, do you? Wasn’t Lickshill impaled by blunt objects similar to deer antlers? Maybe the deer, our buck, killed Lickshill. Is that possible? I’m confused as to how the deer’s blood got mixed with Lickshill’s DNA, though,” Lacarter said.

“Those are all good questions,” Morris said, as he scribbled notes in his folder.

“Do we need to do anything? I put the deer carcass in the trash, and as you know from the report, the deer head was carried away by a couple of dogs,” Hermanski said.

“Dogs? Deer head? I don’t have anything else in my report except a description of a possible break-in and some blood from an unknown source, which we know now, is definitely deer blood. It’s best you tell me the whole story of what happened this weekend.”

Hermanski explained the two incidents with his dog, the deer head and the two unfamiliar dogs. Montagno explained his encounter with several dogs carrying something through his yard, too.

“Hmm,” Morris murmured. “That doesn’t make any sense. I might be back to ask a few more questions, or maybe the State Police will call. This is clearly out of my jurisdiction.” He finished writing notes, gave the three men a firm handshake and showed himself to the door.

“I’m getting less and less enthused about eating deer meat. What if our deer killed Lickshill, and his blood antibodies are in the deer’s blood and the meat? God, I want to puke,” Lacarter said.

“Antibodies aren’t the same as the person’s DNA. Jesus, let’s not get carried away. I’m having some tonight. By the way, we’re pregnant,” Montagno said, changing the subject.

“It’s confirmed? George, that’s great! When’s the due date?” Hermanski said.

“Yippee, I’m going to be an uncle," Lacarter said. "Dillon Montagno—what a great name for a boy.”

“The baby is due sometime in July. I was thinking Jack Montagno would be more appropriate,” Montagno said, smirking.

Hermanski feigned an open-jawed laugh. “Brilliant. Suck up to the boss. Makes sense to me. Now let’s get some work done. The auditor should be here later today.”

The three men retreated into a conference room and closed the door.

Chapter 17

K
atie Kottle rushed her normal Monday routine. Porter had called late Sunday and explained they were to meet with Dingman at 7:30 AM sharp, and plan to work late.

A thought stream of past days’ events flowed through her head. She must maintain a reporter’s edge to retain facts: who, what, where, why and how. Dingman will be watching and testing her constantly.
The two Port Huron men, who were they?
She struggled to remember:
Harry Lopez and John Greppleton. Ah...now who was the West Branch mortician?
She pulled on her blue twill suit jacket, adjusted her red-flowered neck scarf, brushed lint from her proper knee-length skirt, grabbed her smart-looking laptop storage bag and headed toward the door.

Sukine, Surkind...argh
, she thought.
What’s his name?
She stopped, opened her bag and browsed her notes.
Come on, girl, Dingman’s going to have you for lunch.

“Sulkin, Mort Sulkin,” she blurted and stuffed her notes back into the bag.
Now describe the three men in detail.
“Oops, sorry people, didn’t mean to wake anyone,” she said, as the apartment door slammed behind her.

~ ~ ~

“Kaaatie,” her mother shouted, standing on the front sidewalk of their small, split-level brick home in Warren, Michigan. “Come home, dinner’s ready. I baked pizza.”

“I have to go, my mother is calling,” Katie said to the stranger who stopped his car alongside her and asked directions to a local grocery store. She could hear her mother calling from around the street corner.

“You must be Katie; you’re very pretty. How old are you?” the man asked.

The question surprised her. “I’m eight...eight years old,” she said, staring at the stranger. She instinctively perched her right leg on the bike pedal, ready to speed away.

“Oh, was your birthday this month? I told your mother to tell me, and I would buy you a present. She said you like Barbie Dolls.” The man moved from the driver’s seat to the passenger window as he talked. Katie leaned closer to the window to listen.

“Who are you? My birthday was last week.” Her mother told her to be wary of strangers, but this man knew about her birthday and her favorite plaything: Barbie Dolls.”

“I’m your mother’s friend. We went to school together. I sell toys to stores. I have a Ken Doll in the back seat. Want to see it?”

Ken
, she thought.
Wow, Mom wouldn’t let me have a Ken doll.

“I have to go, it’s getting late,” she said.

“Oh, you don’t like Ken? How about Miss Lindsey; do you have Miss Lindsey?”

Miss Lindsey? Oh boy, Miss Lindsey
, she thought. She would scoop Maryanne who lived next door. Maryanne had every Barbie Doll ever made: a complete collection. However, she didn’t have Miss Lindsey; it just came out.

“No...really? You got Miss Lindsey? Can I see her?”

“Well, I suppose you better get going. Your mother’s waiting,” the stranger said, backing away from the window.

No, no, wait
, she thought. “Please, let me look. I’ll be careful not to get your car dirty.”

“Okay, you can step inside and look, but make it quick, I have to go soon,” he said, opening the back door from the inside.

Katie smiled as she dropped her bike to the curb, adjusted her red shorts and tank top. She stood anxiously waiting by the open car door as the man stretched over the front seat and rummaged through several boxes on the rear seat.

“Here it is. I don’t want anyone else to see this. It will be our secret. Come inside and close the car door.”

Katie noticed the man had severe calluses on his hands. They were very dirty. The car smelled bad. The man’s blue jacket didn’t fit right; arm muscles bulged through the coat sleeves. His black hair laid slicked flat against his head, ringed with indented cap marks, an uneven beard surrounded his dark-tan face. Fierce blue eyes stared at her as he talked.

“Kaaatie, where are you?” her mother shouted, rounding the street corner, now seeing the car.

“My mother is calling me. Let’s show her,” Katie said to the man. She rolled the car window down.

“No, you little bitch. You’re mine now,” the man said, grabbing her, as he leaned over the front seat. He held on to her left forearm with his right hand and started the car.