Buck Fever (31 page)

Kottle and Porter offered their hands with guarded emotion and confirmed the introduction.

Pillbock watched and waved in a paddling motion from the rear of the room as Dingman explained the storyboard approach documented so far. The pace was slow; he needed to speed it up.

“Okay, okay; here’s where we are, and where we are going,” Pillbock interrupted. “Joe and Casper have dug up great background facts, both historical fact and anecdotal evidence. The Egyptians had magic concoctions that prolonged living tissue after death. The building of the pyramids remains a mystery as to what leaps of intelligence took place to solve the complicated structural development problems. Greeks had a concoction called Kykeon. Various religious cults sprang up during the life of Christ who used potions to heal flesh, and create visions of heaven and hell. Nostradamus used a drug similar to LSD according to historians to see visions of the future. And, the Salem witches are suspected of suffering from hallucinations caused by Ergotamine poisoning. And, we know of one common food substance that connects all of this history: grain, good old wheat and rye grain. Grain has always been subject to a fungus called Ergot; and Ergot is still used today to create Lysergic Acid or LSD, thanks to Albert Hofmann. Here is the kicker; the deer that caused the recent infection were loaded with Ergotamine and subjected to a strain of Hantavirus usually found among rodents in the South. The virus created enzymes in the blood stream that apparently changed the Ergotamine into a form of LSD, thus leading to the bizarre behavior of the deer and those that ate the deer meat.”

“He knows his shit,” Jordan whispered.

“He should; he got it all from us,” Chekless whispered back.

“I found on the Internet that Jack the Ripper lived above a bakery and suffered from a Jekyll and Hyde personality. Do you think there’s a connection?” Porter said, reviewing his notes.

“Brilliant. Definitely worth pursuing,” Pillbock said.

“I’m on it,” Chekless said.

“I also had Lickshill’s brain sample that Sulkin gave us analyzed at the Detroit Crime Lab. Their sniffers definitely identified a form of Lysergic Acid plus some unidentified substances,” Dingman said.

“So, you’re saying I was tripping on acid all last week?” Kottle said.

“In a manner of speaking, maybe,” Dingman said.

“Do you think Hitler had this disease?” Kottle wondered.

“That would be stretching it. Are we going to say all bad people might have been exposed to this in their life? I say we stick with four or five occurrences that seem provable based on historical fact, otherwise, we will dilute our premise. Let people use their imagination. That feeling of underlying conspiracy that we are not telling the whole truth is what keeps them interested.”

“And, I have a name for it,” Pillbock said. “We are going to call it:
Buck Fever
.”

“Outstanding, Cory, it will make a great headline,” Dingman said, writing the phase on the storyboard.

“Hey, didn’t you give it that name? And didn’t we discuss it with Louis?” Kottle whispered to Porter.

“They’re both pompous assholes,” Porter whispered back to Kottle.

“I love it, too,” Kottle said, smiling at Porter.

“Yeah, it’s a winner. I wish I had thought of it,” Porter said.

“Winning headlines are the art of this business,” Pillbock said.

“Look and learn,” Kottle said, holding up her left hand to show her imitation wedding ring.

“Exactly. Joe and Casper will concentrate on writing the back-stories regarding early historical references. Guys, I want these written in a short-story style—you know, something with drawings and pictures that reads well in newsprint and online. Katie, you will write about your first-hand experiences with the disease. Porter, you will write about the side references such as Lickshill, the doe/child incident and the unlucky man mangled in the tree chipper. And Dingman will write about the MDCC, Dr. Grace and other patients,” Pillbock explained. “I want a factual news article built around a documentary story-telling magazine style. Everyone is doing that these days. It’s the only way to compete with the TV news media. We can even make the online version a little more mature-rated since it requires a subscription password.”

All heads nodded agreement.

“What about Father Fellorday, Sister Mary Agness and Moses Carpenter?” Porter asked.

“Casper has been on their back story while you and Louis were at the MDCC. You can add your first-hand observations. Damn, I am truly excited about this.”

“We are definitely getting one of Pillbock’s free meal cards for this one,” Porter whispered across the table. “It’s going to be big.”

Kottle nodded.

“Would you please share that with the rest of us,” Dingman said.

“Yes, please share,” Pillbock said.

Chekless complied. “He said that we would all get a free meal card for a month.”

Jackass
, Porter thought.

“Ooh, sorry, we no longer do that,” Pillbock said. “The company is cutting back, but I will take you all out for dinner. Now let’s get to work.” Pillbock smiled and retreated into his office.

“Crap. Every time I get close to a perk, they take it away,” Porter said.

“I didn’t think the food was all that great at the Chalet upstairs anyway,” Kottle said.

“See, I told you only Canadians get these,” Dingman said, showing his card.

“Deer haven’t been involved in all the historical references for Ergotamine poisoning, so why call it:
Buck Fever
?” Jordan asked.

“Pillbock likes it, and it is current, so we are going with it,” Dingman said. “It also has good
bokeh
, eh?”

“
Bokeh?
” both men echoed from across the table.

“Yes, that fuzzy, out-of-focus part of a photograph that you try to make sense of with your imagination,” Porter said.

“Yeah, we knew that, right Casper?” Chekless said.

Jordan nodded as both men wrote the term in their notebooks.

Chapter 66

“I
s there any Christmas shopping you would like me to do while you’re in here?” Jack Hermanski said, standing next to George Montagno’s hospital bed in the Troy Beauford Hospital.

“Could you buy a nice sweater for Sissy? I’d appreciate that, and, thanks for helping her put up the tree. It means a lot to me,” Montagno said in a raspy voice. He lightly adjusted a bandage on his neck, which covered the two pencil holes. “I’ll be glad to get out of here and on with my life. Any word on the whereabouts of Lacarter?”

“He’s long gone. The police assume he’s left the State. Probably went back to Vegas. You worried that he might come back?”

“I really don’t know if he did it. I suppose I could have done it to myself, considering the shape I was in that day.”

“Possibly, but the location of those pencils is too much of a coincidence.”

“In seven months, I’ll be a daddy and that’s all I care about right now.”

“Okay, gotta run. I will let you know what I find in the way of a sweater. Mandi should be able to find something. She knows what Sissy likes.”

“How is Mandi doing; any odd behavior lately?”

“No, none, and she gets along with Rusty now, too. Sometimes he growls at her for no reason, but he’s getting over it. See you later, guy.”

“Thanks, man,” George said, waving as Hermanski left.

Chapter 67

M
ort Sulkin peaked out the window of his divorced brother’s small two-bedroom ranch home near Jackson, Michigan. He carried a string of Christmas tree lights in his right hand.

“Can you get that? I’m busy,” Sulkin’s brother said from the kitchen, reacting to a loud rap on the front door.

“It’s two cops. Are you expecting them?” Sulkin asked.

“What the...no?” Sulkin’s brother said, entering the room. “Open the door and see what they want. We’ve got nothing to hide.”

Mort Sulkin cracked open the door. The two uniformed officers pushed the door back and entered the home.

“Hey, lighten up. What’s this about?”

“Are you Mort Sulkin?”

“Yes, what is this—?”

“Sir, you have the right to remain silent and...” the officer said, telling Sulkin his rights. “Please turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“You are under arrest for the desecration of the body of Gordon Lickshill.”

“I didn’t know the man. I don’t remember anything about that. How can I go to jail for something I don’t remember doing?”

“We’ll let the courts decide. We have orders to take you back to West Branch.”

“Can I come too? I’m his brother.”

“Did you know Gordon Lickshill?”

“No, I only read about it in the newspapers. My brother is innocent. He doesn’t remember.”

“I suggest you stay here and arrange for a lawyer.”

“It’s okay. I’ll finish the tree and have you back home in time for Christmas,” Sulkin’s brother said, taking the string of lights from Mort Sulkin’s hand. His eyes teared as the two officers escorted him out of the house.

Chapter 68

L
ight, from an overhead chandelier, reflected off the smooth silver knife blade in Lopez’ right hand.

“See this? I could kill you with one swift jab to the neck,” Harry Lopez said, waving the hunting instrument by his wife’s face.

Lucinda screamed. “What is wrong? You go crazy on me.” She backed away and spewed a mouthful of Spanish expletives.

Harry stood by the Christmas tree, examining a lone branch sticking through a layer of plastic rain. He carefully cut the branch, held it over his head with his left hand and let it drop to the floor.

“Gravity. Did you see that? Gravity pushed it to the floor. I’m a fucking genius.” His red eyes flared when he saw his reflection in the shiny blade. “What the...” He dropped the knife, walked to his favorite chair, sat down and held his head. “What is happening to me? I need to get back to school. I can’t stand my useless life any longer. Pack your things, we’re leaving tonight.” He pointed at Lucinda to go to the bedroom.

“Harry, you scare me. I don’t want to leave now. It will be Christmas soon,” she said.

“Go now!” he said, picking up the knife and flashing it at her. Lucinda ran into the bedroom, crying.

“I will kill them one by one, anyone who gets in my way. An eye for an eye,” he said, lightly touching the sharp point of the knife against his right eyelid.

Chapter 69

B
right sun streamed through curtain slots into Katie Kottle’s eyes. She batted at the dust-filled rays, rolled over in bed and spooned against Jeb Porter’s nude body.

“Are you awake? It’s almost eight. The paper should be here any minute. I can’t wait,” Kottle said. “We did it. Just think, we may have written the most important story of this decade.”

“Mummf...what? Go back to sleep; I’m beat,” Porter said, waking from a sound sleep.

Porter’s apartment door vibrated as the Sunday edition of the Detroit Times thumped against it.

“Woohoo, it’s here.” Kottle hopped out of bed, grabbed a short robe from a chair and pranced to the door.

“The biggest day of my life and all I want to do is sleep.” Porter sat up in bed, yawning, rubbing his eyes.

Other footsteps sounded in the apartment hallway, followed by a door slammed shut.

“It’s gone; where is it? Did that lady next door take it again?” Kottle said, cracking the door open.

“That old bitch,” Porter said, slipping out of bed. He donned his long blue robe and darted out the door into the hallway. Kottle followed.

~ ~ ~

Kottle leaned her head against old lady Purdle’s apartment door. “I don’t hear anyone.”

“I know you took the paper. Please return it now. I will let you read it later.” Porter wrapped lightly on the door. “God dammit, Mrs. Purdle, give us the paper,” he whispered.

“
Buck Fever
. I told you it was Buck Fever. I knew those rat bastards had Buck Fever,” she said from inside her apartment.

“What is she talking about?” Kottle asked.

“Nothing. Come on, please give us the paper.”

“Not until you apologize. I told you they all had Buck Fever and you wouldn’t believe me. You rat bastards think that an old woman doesn’t know these things.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. You were right.”

“I’m totally confused,” Kottle said.

Purdle opened her door several inches and slipped the newspaper into Porter’s hands.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, but you know this is my newspaper.”

“Rat bastard,” she said, slamming her door.

~ ~ ~

“What’s that about?” Kottle asked as they retreated into Porter’s apartment.

“Remember back in November when you were here and I told you that I wrestled the paper away from her that morning? Well, she read Dingman’s story and said the men, Lopez and Greppleton, probably had Buck Fever, and—”

“So, it wasn’t your idea? You stole it from that old lady?” Kottle said, slamming her fist into Porter’s arm.

“Ouch, what’s the big deal?”

“You bitched about Dingman and Pillbock stealing your headline, and it wasn’t even yours, and oh, wow...” Kottle lifted the paper and saw the headline and her name in the byline. “
Buck Fever
by Katherine Kottle, Jebediah Porter and Louis Dingman. Contributing articles by Joe Chekless and Casper Jordan. At least we have top billing.” She kept reading. “Pillbock didn’t cut a thing that I can see.” She paged through several continuation pages in the next section. “It’s all here. Wow, look at these drawings of the Egyptian Pyramids and the old man, and the Salem witches and—”

“Okay, my turn,” Porter said, grabbing the front page from her left hand.

“Do you think this makes me sound stupid? This whole thing about Rachel and Reno, and that man they arrested with the blonde girl. It gives me the creeps.”

“No, it’s all part of the story. Dingman sure knows his stuff; I have to give him that. Look at this; he’s dredged up references to the Bible and seven prophets all living around the time of Christ. He’s suggested they may have used some extract of Ergotamine to perform their miracles. That should throw the religious right into a hissy fit. I’ll bet we get more email about that, than the story as a whole.”