Buck Fever (6 page)

~ ~ ~

“Ah, feels a lot better. At least the rash is fading,” Montagno said, after taking a shower and donning clothes from the bag he brought with him.

Hermanski finished packaging the meat and marked the wrappers as to contents and owner.

“Are you going to mount the head? How about the hide, getting it tanned?” Lacarter asked.

“No, I’m just going to saw off the antlers and keep them. The rest goes into the garbage, unless you gents want it.”

“Not me. I’ve had enough fun for one year.”

“I don’t want it. Sissy wouldn’t stand to have it in the house,” Montagno chimed in.

Hermanski detached the antlers from the skull and put them into the sink. He took the head, skin, legs and remaining discarded meat, wrapped it in newspapers and carefully stuffed it into an oversized garbage bag. He then carefully removed his rubber gloves, pulling them inside out and placed them into the sink with the others.

He put his labeled meat into a freezer by the furnace. The other men collected their meat into paper bags and declared a successful end to hunting for this year.

Chapter 8

“I
bet you won’t soon forget that experience. You two really married?” Sanguini asked, as his Cadillac turned into the driveway of his remodeled office building.

“Huh? Ah, well...” Kottle hesitated, waiting for Porter to clarify.

“Look and learn,” Sanguini said, holding up his left hand.

“You know about Pillbock’s trivial maxims?” Porter said.

“Hah, you’ve been had by the best. Bet you’re wondering how a seemingly tactless man made it big in this business.”

“The thought had occurred to me. He called me a ‘girl.’ I couldn’t believe it,” Kottle said, shaking her head.

“You only
think
he called you a ‘girl.’ You need to look and learn.”

“Excuse me, I’m confused,” Kottle said.

“He’s trying to keep you off guard by batting at your sensitivities. It’s the primary area of failure for a junior reporter. As for the ring, you don’t really think he cares about your off-hours activities, do you?”

Kottle’s face turned red. Porter winced.

“He just wants you two to think hard before you get further involved—make you feel married. You know, he’s divorced. He married a junior reporter when he began his career in LA. She couldn’t handle his dedication to the business. He’s a hell of an investigative reporter ‘in his own write,’ as they say. He moved up the ranks quickly and became a city editor after two years. I began my career at the LA Times as well. He taught me everything I know. When the position at the Detroit Times opened up, he jumped at the chance to return to Michigan. I came back as well, but decided to get involved in a smaller paper and away from the big city.”

“Fascinating, but I feel like telling him off when we get back on Monday,” Kottle said.

“No, don’t. You have to play his game. He’ll respect you more.”

“What do you mean?” Porter asked, now seemingly confused as well.

“Look for ways to show you understand. Look and learn. Did you ever wonder what the hand-carved sign means, hanging on the wall by his desk?”

“You mean the one with the initials: BTDT? I thought it might be a story he worked on, or an award.”

“Hah, it’s a play on the famous sign in the LA Times newsroom: GOYA/KOD. Get off your ass/knock on doors. BTDT means: Been there, done that.”

Kottle nodded and laughed. She twisted the ring on her finger, attempting to remove it, then stopped and held out her hand.

“Nope, I’m leaving it on as a reminder. Look and learn.”

“Speaking of ‘look and learn,’ is there a chance we could talk to the Medical Examiner about Lickshill?” Porter queried.

“Actually, Lickshill’s body is at the funeral home next door, waiting to be embalmed.”

“Maybe we can look at it and garner more insight into what happened.”

“Let’s go, I know the Funeral Director; he helps the Medical Examiner do autopsies,” Sanguini said, stepping out of the Cadillac.

~ ~ ~

The three walked toward the funeral home and up the front walkway. Sanguini knocked on the entrance door. A woman cracked the door open and pointed to the back door. At the back door, a balding mid-fifties man, wearing a bloodstained smock and rubber gloves greeted them.

“We’re here to ask a few questions about Lickshill. Do you mind?”

“Hey Bob, come on in. I was wondering when you were coming to see Lickshill. I have another hour with an accident victim before I do more work on him. You can examine him if you wish. I’ll try to answer your questions, but I’ve got to get this other guy sewed together.”

“No problem. This is Katie Kottle and Jeb Porter from the Detroit Times. We just returned from a harrowing experience in the woods out on Cook Road. I’ll tell you later. We’d like a quick look, that’s all,” Sanguini said.

“You ready for this?” Porter whispered into Kottle’s ear.

“I spent two weeks at the Wayne County morgue, so I can’t imagine this being any worse. Besides, I need the experience.” Kottle glanced at her feet, waiting for them to react.

The three followed Sulkin into a darkened room. Several gurneys holding covered bodies appeared near a window. A severely damaged corpse lay on an operating table in the center of the room. A series of metal-clad storage compartments lined the back wall. Formaldehyde mixed with indescribable odors filled the air.

“Oh, God, what happened?” Kottle said, holding her mouth. She peered at the chewed up remains on the operating table. The torso lay separated from its arms and legs. The head completely mashed, eyes popped out of their sockets.

“Damnedest thing. The man worked in his yard stuffing tree branches into a truck-sized woodchipper. His wife watched him through the kitchen window and everything was fine. She looked away for several minutes, then glanced back and watched helplessly as her husband was sucked into the machine. She ran outside to help, but it was too late. Here’s the bizarre part. She encountered a deer standing next to the machine, peering into the intake shoot. It turned and snorted toward her; nodded its head, then ran off. She freaked, called the police and ended up in the hospital with a heart attack.”

“Can you describe the deer? Was it a limping doe, by chance?” Porter asked, taking notes.

“Hah, I see where you’re going. It’d be a heck of a coincidence,” Sanguini said.

“I don’t know; it’s not in the report. So what’s this all about?” Sulkin asked, appearing interested, but hurried.

Sanguini described the recent run-in with the doe and child.

“Amazing. Makes you wonder if the deer are finally getting smart enough to fight back. Who knows, maybe their DNA is evolving after hundreds of years of being slaughtered. I’ll try to find more about the deer, but I don’t think the man’s wife is going to talk for a long time. Let’s look at Lickshill. State Police say it’s foul play, probably murder one, but you folks think a buck gored him?”

“We’re not ruling it out,” Porter said.

“Typical reporter; anything’s possible,” Sulkin said, leading the group to a body storage unit.

~ ~ ~

He pulled the sliding metal platform forward revealing a loaded body bag and gently yanked on a zipper exposing a corpse. “Hmm, I thought I put his arms down.”

“Excuse me?” Kottle said, staring at the blue-faced cadaver. His mouth and cheeks appeared twisted in pain. His arms positioned behind his head. Eyes closed.

“Nothing important. Julia, my assistant, must have placed his arms by his head this morning. I left them by his side. Obviously,
he
didn’t do it.”

Sanguini stepped up to the right side of the body with Sulkin. Kottle and Porter stepped up to the left. Sulkin held back the zippered flaps exposing Lickshill’s bare chest and eight bright-red perforations.

“Whoa, why are they so red? I’d think the holes would be blue like the rest of the body?” Sanguini remarked.

“Yeah, damnedest thing. Apparently, an infection is eating away at the skin keeping it alive. Once he gets embalmed it should stop.”

“Get him off me! Get him off me!” Kottle shouted and screamed.

Lickshill’s left hand grasped onto Kottle’s right arm for several seconds, then let go and flapped down onto his chest.

“Eeeha, Jesus, is he alive?” Porter flinched.

Kottle jerked backward, looking terrified as she examined her arm.

“Bloody hell,” Sulkin said, reaching over the body to inspect Lickshill’s arm and hand. “You’ve witnessed a strong muscular reflex, but…ah, nothing to worry about. You okay? Please tell me you’re okay.” He waited for Kottle to answer.

“I...I think so. God, my heart’s pounding like crazy.”

“Maybe this infection is also keeping a portion of his brain alive,” Sanguini mused.

“You mean the walking-dead syndrome?” Sulkin said.

“He’s becoming a
Zombie
?” Porter asked.

“Not quite, folks, don’t go overboard with this. It’s just a reflex reaction. I think I’m going to do an exploratory on his brain, though. You might want to look at this. Who or what killed this poor schmuck really had it in for him big time.” Sulkin lowered the zippered flap further, exposing Lickshill’s groin area.

“Ooh...God, gross. Who would do such a thing?” Kottle stepped back, but kept her eyes fixed.

Sulkin revealed two enlarged red testicles nestled below a bird’s nest of pubic hair, but missing a penis.

“It’s got teeth marks around what’s left. Not human, though. An animal, maybe a deer. Damnedest thing. My guess is he was relieving himself at the time he was killed, laid on the ground exposed, and some animal came and...you can imagine the rest.”

“This is too much for my Christian mind. Oh no...you’re not...you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking,” Kottle said, watching Porter draw a body with a deer standing over it in this notebook.

“Did cross my mind. Maybe we need to take a look in the doe’s stomach in the woods,” Porter said.

“You’re sick.” Kottle shook her head and winced.

“What do you folks have in mind?” Sulkin queried, not sure what was discussed. “You think some deer took its revenge on Lickshill? Highly unlikely. Deer do not like the human smell and will avoid humans without question. Of course, any animal when cornered or threatened with no egress will defend itself, which I think is what the doe you saw earlier was trying to do, nothing more.”

“Gotchya. Thanks, Mr. Sulkhill, I think we’ve seen enough,” Porter said, looking up from his notes.

“It’s Sulkin: S-u-l-k-i-n.”

“Okay, thanks.” Porter said, writing the name in his notebook.

“If you have any other questions let me know. My apologies for not having more information about Lickshill.”

Sulkin escorted the three reporters to the back door and waved them out.

~ ~ ~

“Thanks for all of your help, Bob. We’re going to head back tonight. I want to write this up for the morning edition if possible,” Porter said, shaking Sanguini’s hand by the hallway door to his office. “How are you going to handle this for your newspaper? I guess we should align our facts.”

“I originally thought we had a front page story, but I’m having second thoughts about sensationalizing this. Stick with the basic facts. I’m going to handle Lickshill’s death as a possible accident, but not rule out violence. The child and the doe is a tough one. I’m leaning towards calling it a lost child story in relation to Lickshill’s accident, and leaving the doe out of it. As for the guy being sucked into the chipper, I’d say it’s a clear accident. And the guy’s wife saying a deer witnessed the incident, no one will believe it or care.”

“Wow, you’re leaving out the best parts of the story. Why play it down, this is great stuff,” Kottle said.

“I think Pillbock will agree with me. You have two major problems to deal with. If you sensationalize the idea that deer are getting possible revenge and display human characteristics, then your story will spark interest among the new age and religious community, and you’ll get a firestorm of unwanted attention from them. If you sensationalize these as negative hunting incidents, then you’ll get the NRA riled up.”

“I think we’ve just wasted the day. We should just take what you write and print it.”

“Don’t be discouraged. Pillbock sent you up here for a reason: Uncover the underlying thesis or baseline truth of the events, and see if you can solve some greater mystery. Truth, not conjecture sells the story.”

“I’m looking and learning, but I still don’t get it,” Kottle said.

“Solve the mystery. Look for clues throughout history relating to these incidents. Have there been similar deer-related occurrences like this? Investigate seemingly disparate stories in other local newspapers having the same general theme. Then put it all together and solve an unsolved ambiguity. People will read it and think they’ve uncovered the truth for all ages. You know, expose the conspiracy, and get to the truth. The truth will always matter and make you into notable reporters.”

“Do
you
get it? Disparate stories that are related; isn’t that an oxymoron?” Kottle asked Porter, as he jotted more notes into his notebook.

“I’m hoping a revelation of inspiration will hit me soon,” he said, smiling.

“Ask questions, gather facts, check the facts, build relationships, get scientific support for your suppositions and write the story. It’ll all make sense as your journey continues to discover more details in the next two or three weeks.”

~ ~ ~

Sanguini escorted the two young reporters to the front door, giving them his last bit of advice.

“Remember, look and learn. Or another way to say it: look to learn and learn to look.”

Porter gave thumbs up. Kottle held up her left hand, wiggling her ring finger.

Chapter 9

I’
m hungry, so damn hungry
, Montagno thought, becoming motionless.
Is something moving up there?
A small fawn and doe stood beside him, ears up. The fawn, distracted by a bug crawling beneath it, leaned forward to investigate.
Don’t move, don’t move
. Montagno cocked his head slightly sideways, looking up into the oak tree next to him.
Another one; they’re everywhere today. Run, get away. I don’t like the scent. I will kill you like the other.
He turned to the fawn and doe, letting out a slight clicking sound.
Run straight away, now! I will run behind the tree and wait for it to come down. Then I will kill it.
The doe jumped forward, the fawn followed.