Buckular Dystrophy

by Joseph Heywood

  “No, sir, no problem I know of.”

  “We found a carcass dumped on state land. That’s illegal disposal, littering.”

  “Wasn’t me put nothing nowhere.”

  “You don’t even know where I’m talking about.”

  “I mean to say, I din’t dump no deer carcass nowheres.”

  “It’s got your tag on it. How do you think it got there?”

  “Lefty, I guess.”

  “Lefty?”

  “Lawrence Hugelyn, but everybody just calls him Lefty, eh.”

  “Hugelyn lives here in Rock?”

  “No; he’s up M-35 east of McFarland.”

  Service explained where they had found the carcass.

  “There you go. That’s not two, three miles from Lefty’s place,” Goldmanenmooi said.

  “You took the deer to him for processing?”

  “Didn’t have to; he come and got it. My work schedule’s kinda crazy right now. Thing is, I don’t got no meat back yet and it’s been two weeks.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Metz Propane, here in Rock.”

  “No game processors here in Rock?”

  “There used to be an old fart, but he’s up with the droolers in the Jacobetti Home in Marquette now. Lefty does this for fun and for some of the meat. Don’t cost me nothing, not even gas, and I’m all over that, sayin’.”

  “Do me a favor,” Service said. “Don’t call Lefty. If you do, I’m going to figure you’re lying to me and up to something, in which case we will be back.”

  “No, sir; I won’t call him.”

  • • •

  Hugelyn lived in a dilapidated farmhouse with a broken-down barn and a row of low buildings that might once have housed poultry. Even in the cold, the entire area stank. There were cats everywhere—all colors, all sizes, most of them carrying on, hissing and growling, crying and caterwauling. Service pounded the door while Limpy made a quick tour of the grounds.

  The man who answered the door had gray hair in a bushy ponytail. He wore an unbuttoned, faded yellow plaid shirt over bare skin. It looked like he’d thrown on the shirt to come to the door. His jeans were unzipped and unsnapped. He had a neck tattoo of a large buck deer. “Sir,” the barefoot man greeted him.

  “Mr. Hugelyn?”

  “Lefty.”

  “Do you process deer, Lefty?”

  “No, sir, I do not. I used to but not anymore.”

  “A friend of yours says differently.”

  “He’s mistaken.”

  “He says you pick up deer and process them for some of the meat as payment.”

  “I don’t know why somebody would say that, sir. What’s this all about?”

  Three or four cats scooted in and two came out. The man seemed oblivious to them.

  A tall, naked woman with unkempt hair came into view in the kitchen behind him and said, “Lawrence, where are your manners? Let that officer come inside. You’re lettin’ them damn cats in and all the heat out; you know I hate your stinky old cats, and heat costs us money. Please come in, Mr. DNR. Excuse Larry. Like, his mind is elsewhere at the moment, ya know?”

  Hugelyn stepped aside and Service walked in. The place was filthy and smelled sulfureous.

  “Did he come to pick up meat?” the woman asked Lefty.

  Hugelyn made a growling sound. “There ain’t no meat.”

  “There ain’t?” the woman said. She seemed to ponder this and finally said, very slowly, “Right, no meat. Now I remember. That was my last boyfriend, the one with the—”

  Hugelyn cut her off. “Put some clothes on. You look like a tramp.”

  “You know I don’t like clothes, Lefty. You know that. Nude’s nice, am I right, Mr. DNR?”

  Oh boy.“Yes, ma’am, nude can be nice.”

  “Was real nice when you come a knockin’ on the door, cause our bed was a-rockin’ and donchyouse knows I was sittin’ atop Larry at that very moment. See, Larry, this nice officer thinks I have a fine body, don’t you, sir?”

  “I do, ma’am, yes.” She did indeed.

  “Stop looking at my woman,” Lefty said. “She ain’t no public show.”

  “Tell me about meat processing,” Service said to the man.

  “Nothing to tell. She’s just confused. You heard her.”

  “You hunt?”

  “Both of us do, don’t we, Star?” Lefty looked back at the woman.

  “Sure, we both hunt,” she said, taking one small step forward.

  “Any luck?”

  “Up till you knocked on the door, Lawrence was gettin’ real lucky, weren’t you, Larry?”

  “Shut up, Star.”

  Service was at a loss for words.

  “Don’t be no sourpuss, Larry. We do it all the time. What’s one teensy interruption?”

  “One too damn many,” Lefty complained.

  Service suddenly felt invisible as they began to go back and forth at each other.

  “I told you not to go so slow,” she said. “I don’t mind a break. In fact, it’ll just make it better when we get back to it.”

  “Shut your mouth, Star. You like being interrupted?”

  “It’s just you and me, no biggie. Been my old boyfriend, I’da minded a whole lot.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Wrong with me?” The woman stepped closer. “I shot a six-point,” she said, “just the other day.”

  “Where is it?” Service asked.

  “Or was it an eight-point? I can’t remember what Larry told me to say to the DNRs.”

  “Larry tells you what you shot?”

  “Don’t listen to her.”

  “It’s the man’s job,” Star said.

  Oh boy. “Did Larry say what he shot?”

  “Well he was right on the verge with me, when you come knocking.”

  “Deer, I mean.”

  “Honestly,” she said, “I just don’t remember. I sort of remember yesterday, and we were, you know, getting it on all afternoon. I just pushed all that stuff right out of my head, and I guess it ain’t come back yet.”

  “She’s not right in the head,” Hugelyn offered. “Her dipstick don’t reach oil.”

  The woman said caustically, “Your dipstick don’t reach much neither.”

  “She seems all right to me,” Service said. This was a very, very approximate statement of reality.

  “You’re blinded by her tits and stuff.”

  “Hardly.”

  The kitchen door opened and Allerdyce looked inside. He chortled and said, “Looking good, girlie.”

  Star said, “Why thank you, sir.”

  Limpy said hoarsely. “Shed outten back got an open door. You need take look, Sonny.”

  Hugelyn followed them, chirping. “You cannot just come onto my property.”

  Service stopped and faced the man. “We’re on a complaint, Lefty, and if the door to your shed is open, then anything we can see inside can be used by us. You processed a deer and didn’t give the client any meat. You tossed the carcass on state land.”

  “It’s fuckin’ biodegradable, man.”

  “It’s also illegal for you to put it there.”

  “Where the fuck my ’pose to put ’em?”

  “Them? You have more than one?”

  “I got the ones Star and me shot.”

  “Let’s see those, and your driver’s license too.”

  Allerdyce pointed at the shed.

  “I didn’t know I couldn’t dump deer on state land. Of course I’ll clean it up, sir. An honest mistake.”

  “No need. It’s in the back of my truck. I thought you said you don’t process game?”

  “Cool, thanks.” Hugelyn ignored the question.

  Service shone his Surefire into the shed and saw three deer hanging and some parts on a dirt floor. “What’s this in here? Is there a light?”

  “You need a warrant.”

  “You’re not listening to me, Lefty. The door’s wide open. All ri
ghts to privacy are null and void when the door is open.”

  “I never leave no doors open.”

  Allerdyce said, “Youse leave da kitchen door wide open when youse follow us out ’ere.”

  Service went into the shed. “Get a light on in here, Lefty, and do it now.”

  “There ain’t one.”

  “You don’t want to go down that road, Lefty. Find the light, partner.” Lights came on almost immediately. Three buck heads on the floor; three legless deer hanging, not yet butchered; two more carcasses on the dirt floor, seven or eight feet back.

  “Yours or customers?”

  The man held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Star and me, we’re a little tight on money. This gets us meat. Even poor folk gotta eat.”

  “You got paperwork? If you process, you have to keep a log. You don’t need a state license, like a taxidermist, but you do need a log so we can look at it when we come around.”

  “I got their tags is all.”

  “I don’t see any tags on any of these deer.”

  “Don’t got to be. I’m processing ’em, right?”

  “Wrong.”

  Service asked, “Who shot these?”

  “No idea,” Hugelyn said.

  Service took Dux Goldmanenmooi’s cell phone number out of his pocket and tapped it in.

  The man answered, “Yes?”

  “We’re at your friend Lefty’s. He denies cutting meat, says you don’t have a deal with him.”

  “Oh?” Dux said.

  “Did you shoot the deer we found, Dux? Don’t lie. This is your chance.”

  “No, sir. I gave my license to Lefty. I don’t got no time to hunt this fall, and I need the meat.”

  “You loaned your license to him?”

  Service held the cell phone out so Hugelyn could hear. “Yes, sir, and I ain’t the only one does it, neither’.”

  Allerdyce was examining various deer carcasses. “Dere’s more deer back ’ere in dark, Sonny.”

  “Check them.”

  “No more bullshitting, Hugelyn. We have been dog-paddling in shit for two damn weeks and we’re sick of it. I want the truth, and I want it now.”

  “Yes, all right, I admit it. I shot everything here and the one you found. Star don’t hunt. Hell, she don’t even cook. I gotta do almost everything around this pigsty.”

  “You use other people’s licenses and give them most of the meat?”

  “When I have time, but not until the season’s over. Otherwise, I have to hunt.”

  “Dere’s nice ten-point hid under tarp in back,” Allerdyce announced from the darkness.

  “Please don’t take that. It’s the only nice buck this season.”

  Service got the woman’s ID and ran both the man and her through the truck’s computer. Neither had ever bought a license, and neither had priors. Just one more example of the secret, underground violating that went down everywhere and nobody spoke of. Service passed on writing tickets but took Lefty’s rifle and all the untagged deer they could find and left the man with a receipt for seized property. “I’ll be writing a complaint, and a warrant will be issued and then a ticket.”

  “What we ’pose to eat?” Hugelyn asked.

  Allerdyce said, “Youse got bloody cats everywhere. Coyotes like eat dose.”

  “That’s disgusting. It’s a crime to mistreat animals.”

  Service went back to the house and the woman asked him, “Am I going to jail?”

  “No, ma’am, not right now, but the law says an illegal deer carries mandatory jail time.”

  Star said, “Well, I wish you would hurry and do whatever you got to do, ’cause I’m sick of eating damn venison.” She arched an eyebrow. “Can a girl, you know, like poke her way out of the pokey?”

  “No,” Service said.“There’s a first time for everything,” the woman said. “Call me the eternal optimist.”

  The partners got back into the Silverado, and Service looked at his watch. “An hour past legal shooting.”

  “Don’t mean nothing,” Allerdyce said. “We ain’t in Kalamazoo no more.”

  “Kalamazoo?”

  “You know dat flick wit Judy Garland and her dog, Tokyo?”

  Service started laughing.

  “You t’ink we set record for seized deers?”

  “No idea. Does it feel like a record to you?”

  “Not even close for me,” the old man said deadpan, and Service stared at him.

  “In da old days, Sonny; in old days, not no more.”

  ACT 5: SEASON IN THE BOOKS

  Everything stinks till it’s finished.

  —Dr. Seuss, Green Eggs and Ham

  CHAPTER 49

  Lansing, Ingham County

  THURSDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2009

  Grady Service was on the fifth floor of the Mason Building in central Lansing, in Chief Eddie Waco’s office. The DNR’s chief legal counsel, a dork named Stone, was with him. The summons had come yesterday as a text. “My office, 10:00, 12/3/09. Chief Waco. Bring truck, badge, all state-issued weapons.”

  He had a pretty good idea of what was ahead, but not why. Something to do with Tavolacci, or T-Rex and Buckshow? The season had been long and complex, and he wasn’t sure that without his notes he could even remember some of the mountain of crap they had collided with.

  He drove the Silverado, and Allerdyce followed in his personal truck.

  “You gettin’ canned or somepin?” the old violator asked as they got ready to leave.

  “We’ll see.”

  “Ain’t no way treat people, send some note on demm phone t’ing.”

  • • •

  The chief’s secretary/assistant met him in the lobby and rode up with him in the elevator.

  The chief pointed at a chair.

  “No thank you, sir. Firing squads shoot standing men,” Service said. “I work on my feet, not on my ass.”

  Chief Waco said, “I talked to Special Agent Neutre. She says you are one hell of a fine officer. A great officer. Do you have any idea why you are here?”

  “I’m guessing it’s not for a medal.”

  “This is not the time for your lame jokes,” his boss and friend said. “You employed a felon as a partner for the entire deer season.”

  “I consider him an unpaid consultant. He knows more about this business than most of us.”

  “Nevertheless, the governor has just learned about this and is beside himself. He wants all state law enforcement personnel to live and serve in an exemplary manner. He has ordered you suspended without pay for an indefinite period, at least into spring, at which time there will be a formal hearing regarding your future.”

  “You’re onboard with this crap, Eddie?”

  “Chain of command, Grady. You know that.”

  “Yes, sir, I do. Understood, sir.”

  “Got anything to say for yourself?”

  “I’d do it again. Have you looked at what we accomplished this season?”

  “Means are not justified by ends, Grady.”

  “Whatever, sir. Are we done here? This place has always made it hard for me to breathe.”

  “Badge, ID, firearms, keys, gear.”

  Service put his badge and the other items on the chief’s desk. “Everything else is in the truck down in the lot.”

  “This isn’t over,” the chief said.

  “Easy for you to say, sitting here in your office. Can I go?”

  “You’re dismissed.” Service stood, gave a crisp military salute, pivoted, and departed with no further words. He felt all eyes on him as he passed through office rows and desks, and only as he got into the elevator with tears in his eyes did he hear it. Is that applause? Not loud, but definitely hands clapping ever so quietly.

  “Jesus, they’re all glad I’m gone?” he thought, stepped into the elevator, and punched the button to take him down to the ground. It felt like stepping out of an aircraft, only this time he didn’t feel silk on his back or see it overhead, only the void ahead and unexpect
ed reality rushing up to meet him.

  CHAPTER 50

  Slippery Creek Camp

  THURSDAY, DECEMBER 24

  Christmas Eve, fresh snow falling, the house filled with pleasant scents, presents under a tall, tricked-out tree. Friends and family in close: Tuesday and Shigun; Karylanne and Maridly; his friend Treebone and his wife, Kalina; Allerdyce; Newf and Cat. Plentiful libations for all; piles and mounds of food and sweets.

  “Why do Indi’ns got a white Santy Claus?” Maridly asked Allerdyce.

  “Onaccount injuns ain’t all dat bright, girlie.”

  “That’s mean.”

  Allerdyce shrugged, rubbed Shigun’s shoulder, turned to Service.

  “Smokin’ lamp lit?”

  “Porch.”

  Treebone said, “Me makes three.”

  Outside in the falling snow, Tree said, “You haven’t said shit about the suspension.”

  “What’s to say? Is what it is.”

  “McKower told me you went in and wrote all your complaints and reports for deer season.”

  “Had to be done.”

  “Not by you it didn’t.”

  “My cases, my paperwork.”

  “I would have told them to fuck off.”

  “No you wouldn’t. You’re just like me.”

  “Yah?”

  “Pink inside.”

  “That’s lame.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I thinked up pome,” Allerdyce announced.

  “God save us,” Treebone said.

  “God got nuttin’ do wiff dis. Here goes: Dere’s skinny fine line ’tween what calls laws and calls sins, and even when youse lose, sometimes youse win.” The old man looked at the other men. “Look me. I go prison, now all youse pipples frien’s now. Youse know, oot der my worl’ pipples say, even whin youse know youse gone die, it ain’t right to not make no fight.”

  “That’s something my old man used to say,” Service said, smiling. He slowly raised one of his massive fists in a gesture of defiance and Tree fistbumped him, as did the old violator.

  “Wah!” Limpy Allerdyce said.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Enter the Clown. It’s Time for a Jig and an Accounting

  Had this been an Elizabethan production filled with pithy iambic pentameter, we would now be to the point in the festivities where the cast clown would hop out on stage to entertain you with a jig, some songs, jokes, and clever repartee. But here I am, minus the dance, songs, and jokes. However, I do have a few observations to share about the cases Grady Service ran into in that very strange deer season of 2009.