Buck Fever

by Robert A Rupp

  “Hmm, she has a clear view from her desk to his desk. Was the door open?”

  “I don’t know. Nora, come in here, please.”

  Nora waddled into the office holding a small hand-held music player with her right hand as she plucked small-connected plugs from her ears.

  “The officer wants to know if you heard or saw anything unusual going on in here during lunch.” Dillon pointed at the reception desk about 30 feet away.

  “I was plugged in and reading a cheap novel,” she said. “Didn’t hear or see anything. Looks like attempted suicide to me, clear and simple. The man went overboard, and probably cooked the books.”

  “Suicide? Ma’am? Do either of you have cause to consider suicide?”

  “He has been acting strange lately,” Dillon said. “It could be an accident, or someone came in here and attempted to kill him,” he continued. What am I saying? Now he’s going to think I’m a suspect.

  “And you are?” the officer asked the mail carrier.

  “I delivered a package and saw the man lying on his desk, with pencils in his neck. This guy was trying to help him as far as I know.”

  “I’ll need you all available for questioning. One of the investigators will probably come here tomorrow. Don’t leave town...know what I mean?”

  “Well, I sure as hell didn’t do it,” Nora said. “I’ll be here. I got nothing better to do with my life apparently.” She re-plugged her ears, turned the volume up on the music player and walked out.

  “Ah...no, sure. Why would we?” Dillon said. “You should know I touched the pencils, so you might find my finger prints on them.”

  “Why did you touch them?” The police officer said, eyes glaring.

  “He was trying to remove them, but I stopped him because it could make things worse,” the mail carrier said. Dillon nodded.

  “I’m taking this lunch bag as evidence,” the police officer said. “We will get in touch with you later today, or you can accompany Mr. Montagno to the hospital if you like. Does he have next of kin? Who should we contact?”

  “He has a wife, Sissy. Here’s the address and phone number,” Dillon said, jotting details on a piece of copy paper. “His wife will freak; she’s pregnant. Maybe I should go over there with you.”

  “We will contact her. I suggest you follow the ambulance over to Troy Beauford Hospital. When he wakes up, he’s going to need a recognizable face to talk to.”

  He doesn’t think I did it, or he wouldn’t have invited me to follow him to the hospital, Dillon thought. Or, maybe he wants to see if I try to finish the job. Lacarter’s mind churned, trying to decide what to do.

  “I’m going to follow the ambulance to the hospital. You hold down the fort until Jack gets back, okay?” Dillon said, as he passed Nora’s desk. She nodded and hand-signaled he should call her when he found out more.

  Chapter 31

  Katie Kottle awoke, startled by Dingman’s presence.

  “Louis? What are...where am I?” Kottle said.

  “You are in a hospital, my dear. You had, shall we say, an episode. The doctor thinks it is a reaction to something you ate for lunch.”

  “Where’s Jeb? Why isn’t he here? I need Jeb,” she said, weeping.

  “He will be in here soon, do not worry.”

  “You’re awake. How are you feeling?” a cherub-faced nurse said, entering the room.

  “Okay, I guess. What happened? I remember sitting in the restaurant eating a burger.”

  “Doctor, she says she doesn’t remember a thing,” the nurse said to a serious-looking man glancing through paperwork.

  “Hi, I’m Dr. Patterson. How do you feel? Any pain? It says here, you fell out of a car window,” the doctor said, extending his hand.

  “I feel okay. I don’t remember anything.”

  “Hmm, you’re eyes are red; the veins are dilated. I’ll give you some drops. And you are?” the doctor said, turning to Dingman.

  “Louis. Louis Dingman.”

  “He’s the father,” the nurse said.

  Kottle looked at the nurse, then Dingman. “Father? Where’s my father? My father is dead.”

  Dingman scrunched his face hoping she wouldn’t continue talking.

  “I am a co-worker of hers. We are reporters from the Detroit Times.”

  “Says here, you are the father. You can get into trouble you know,” the nurse said.

  “Calm down, we’re all adults here. Miss Kottle, if you wish Mr. Dingman to leave I will send him out,” the doctor said.

  “He can stay, but I really want Jeb in here. Where’s Jeb?”

  “He is in the lobby. I will send him in if it is okay with you, Doctor,” Dingman said.

  “Fine. I’d like to have a word with you in the hall, first.”

  “Sure.” Dingman followed the doctor out.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Has Miss Kottle been taking any anti-depressants you know of? Does she...ah...experiment with drugs perhaps?”

  “You are asking the wrong person, but I can say since I have known her, she has walked the straight and narrow path of good virtue. She is a ‘good Christian woman’—her words. Why do you ask?”

  “Just following up on observations made earlier by the nurses. Doctor/patient privilege for now.”

  “Right. I will send Jeb Porter your way. He is her acknowledged boyfriend. Perhaps he can shed some light on this, eh?” Dingman continued down the hall as the doctor stroked his chin, searching for answers.

  Chapter 32

  Dillon Lacarter approached Jack Hermanski, standing by a beverage machine in the Troy Beauford Hospital hallway near the emergency entrance.

  “Jack? Why are you here? You’re not going to believe what happened at work. Montagno flipped out.”

  “Huh? What? Didn’t Nora tell you? I had a crisis at home. It’s Mandi, she’s...ah, she’s not herself. Suffering from some kind of food or drug reaction. She’s in there,” Hermanski said, pointing to a room off the hallway.

  “George is in there,” Lacarter said, pointing at the room across from Mandi’s room. “Unbelievable.”

  “What’s wrong with Georgey boy?” Hermanski said, his eyes widening. “Is he—?”

  “I don’t know. It appears he stabbed himself in the neck with two pencils. Punctured his larynx with one, and just missed a major artery with the other. I asked him this morning about going out to lunch, but he refused and said he needed to make some numbers add up. He carried his lunch today.”

  “Do you know what he ate? Was it deer meat?”

  “Don’t know. The Troy Police took his lunch bag for tests.”

  “Hmm, I need to talk to the doctor. I have a hunch there’s a connection with Mandi, George, and the deer meat.”

  “Would you be Dillon Lacarter?” Dr. Grace asked, walking out of Montagno’s hospital room. He flipped through notes on a clipboard and shook his head.

  “Yes, is he going to be okay?”

  “He’s a business partner of ours, by the way,” Hermanski said. “We three own a company in Troy.”

  “Would he have been part of your hunting excursion last week by chance?”

  “Yes,” Hermanski and Lacarter replied.

  “Does he have a local doctor I can contact?”

  Hermanski supplied the information as Lacarter briefly described the dizzy spells Montagno was having and his strange professed ability to add up numbers. Although, both men admitted not having witnessed the phenomenon directly.

  “Who is involved in this? Are there others who might have eaten the deer meat?”

  “There are two men I already told you about: John Greppleton and Harry Lopez.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Probably Montagno’s wife. I think she had some of the deer meat too. The police were going to call her about George. She should be here soon.” Lacarter said.

  “Either of you eat the meat?” the doctor asked.

  “Not me, but our dog, Rusty, came in contact with it along with a couple
of stray neighborhood dogs. That’s what started this mess with Mandi and the furniture,” Hermanski said.

  “Stray dogs?”

  “Sorry, it’s a pretty confusing mess. Here’s what happened from the day we drove the deer home from West Branch...” Hermanski continued to explain the various bizarre encounters with the dogs and Rusty’s odd behavior.

  “Do you have a copy of the Detroit Times article about the two men?”

  “Not with me, but I do have a card from a Detroit Times reporter who was trying to develop a follow-up story.” Hermanski took a business card from his wallet. “Katie...Katie Kottle. She was with another reporter, but I don’t remember his name. Do you, Dillon?”

  “Nope, she held my full interest,” Lacarter said, winking.

  The doctor, hesitated, smiled briefly, and decided to return to Montagno’s room.

  “I need to prep for emergency surgery. Talk to you gents later. If Mr. Montagno’s wife shows up, direct her to the main desk so she can sign the appropriate forms. If she becomes distraught, have the receiving nurse notify me immediately.”

  Hermanski and Lacarter nodded, and walked into Mandi’s room for a brief look, then walked back to the waiting room.

  ~ ~ ~

  A woman, wrestling windbreaker flaps on a long overcoat, exited a police vehicle and walked toward the emergency entrance. Both hands sheltered her stomach as she pushed the glass door open with her shoulder.

  “It’s Sissy,” Hermanski said, quickly escaping from an uncomfortable chair. Lacarter followed.

  She lunged forward into Hermanski’s arms, crying.

  “Is he...going...to be...okay?” she said, her eyes closed.

  “He’s doing fine. Just an accident. I think he tripped and fell forward on his desk and caught a couple of pencils sticking up from a cup,” Lacarter explained. Sissy opened her eyes as Lacarter pointed at two entry spots in his neck. Hermanski gave her a reassuring glance. The statement, although not what Lacarter told him earlier, sounded plausible.

  “Pencils? I feel sick. Where is he? Where’s my Georgey?” She pushed herself away from Hermanski and surveyed the waiting room.

  “He’s being prepped for surgery; the doctor said you need to sign some forms.”

  “Are you Sissy Montagno?” the receiving nurse asked, entering the lobby.

  “Yes, where is my husband? I need to see my husband.”

  “He’s in good hands. We just need your signature so Dr. Grace can continue the procedure to remove the objects from your husband’s neck.” The nurse handed Sissy a clipboard and pen.

  “What does this say? I can’t read the small print”

  “It’s a standard hospital release form should, ah...anything go wrong. I don’t think you need to worry,” Hermanski said, consoling her.

  “Oh...okay,” she said, and scribbled her name.

  “Thank you; please have a seat in the waiting room. Dr. Grace will brief you soon.” The nurse walked briskly through a corridor to the left and disappeared.

  Sissy loosened her coat revealing a heavy-flannel nightgown. “I was napping when the police arrived. I don’t want to lose the baby. I’ve been having these horrible dreams. George has had them too,” she said, sitting down.

  “Dreams, like flashbacks?” Hermanski asked.

  “Yes, sort of. They started the night we ate the deer meat. I was lying on the couch...” she began and related the dream where Montagno was trying to kill the baby. “And, George has had these weird dreams where he thinks he’s running with the deer, and he has dizzy spells all the time. His doctor thinks allergy pills might cause it. God, I can’t see very well; do my eyes look puffy and red to you?”

  Hermanski leaned over for a closer look.

  “They’re inflamed. I suspect the doctor will want to examine them. Might be pinkeye.”

  “Or maybe—” Lacarter said.

  “An allergy or stress,” Hermanski said, interrupting. He glanced at Lacarter and shook his head briefly.

  “I appreciate both of you coming here to watch over George. He’ll be grateful.”

  “Actually, I’m here for a different reason. Mandi became ill this morning. The doctor thinks it’s something she ate. She’s in the room across from George.”

  “What? Are you kidding? Is she okay?” Sissy stood up. “Can I go see her? Oh, my God, when it rains it pours.”

  “Don’t see why not,” Hermanski said, and escorted her to Mandi’s room.

  ~ ~ ~

  “She’s sleeping so peacefully. I can’t believe she would destroy the furniture and cut up the drapes. What would drive her to do that? She’s always been a rock. Whenever I needed to confide in someone, she was always there for me,” Sissy said, slightly leaning over the bed, staring at Mandi’s closed eyes.

  “Really, I didn’t know you two were close. I thought you didn’t get along.

  “You witch, what are you trying to do, kill me?” Mandi suddenly opening her eyes. Her hands jutted from beneath the covers and grasped Sissy’s neck.

  “Ack, you’re choking me!”

  “You...are...carrying...the...devil’s...baby. I...can...feel...it,” Mandi said, slowly.

  “Jesus, Mandi, what’s going on in your brain?” Jack Hermanski said, uncoupling her hands from Sissy’s neck.

  “God, look at her eyes. The veins are bulging.” Sissy stroked her bruised neck and backed away as Jack wrestled Mandi’s hands and arms onto the covers. Mandi became limp and lapsed into a deep sleep.

  Jack raised his hands to his forehead and moaned.

  “Why is this happening?” he said, then turned to Sissy. “You okay. Did she hurt you? I’m so sorry. You know this is not the real Mandi. She’s—I hate to say it—acting insane.”

  “Whew, I need air,” Sissy said, waving her hands by her face. “I’m getting a strange feeling about the baby. In my dream, George said the baby had the mark of the devil, a tiny set of antlers painted on its forehead. What do make of that? Isn’t that the lamest thing you’ve ever heard?”

  “I was going to let the doctor tell you, but he thinks something in the deer meat is causing this.”

  “We ate some for the first time two days ago, but George has had weird dreams before that.”

  “George was exposed to the deer’s blood when the carcass fell on him in the basement. Mandi had a venison steak for breakfast this morning. His eyes are red like yours and Mandi’s.”

  Jack Hermanski held Sissy’s arm as they walked out and back into the waiting room.

  Chapter 33

  The stranger stepped outside the Detroit casino entrance and hailed a taxi. Moses Carpenter, dressed in a faded-blue parka, approached and put his right hand forward.

  “Sir,” he said, “I need another quarter to buy food at the church. I have three quarter to give you if you can just share me a dollar.” Carpenter flashed three quarters near the man’s stomach. The man tried backing away, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh dollar bill. He handed it to Carpenter and waved him off without taking the coins. “Thank you, thank you, sir,” he said, exposing several chipped and blackened teeth. He removed a battered wool cap from his cornbraided hair, put the dollar into it and pulled it back over his head.

  Hah, works every time. Other homeless people would beg for money and get little, but he knew to make money you had to prove you already had it. Raging emotions surfaced as he thought about the black Lincoln he once drove around Detroit showing real estate property. He had it made: a beautiful wife and a brick house in a reviving mixed neighborhood in Oak Park. Until the casinos opened five years before, craps was new to him. He understood blackjack and had played it in Atlantic City. A potential land buyer coaxed him into a night of casino craps in Greektown. He played the pass line for five straight wins, each time doubling his bet. Later, his client insisted they visit a small Detroit bar several blocks away and discuss the land purchase. He took his winnings to the bar and did not return home that night or the next five nights. He ma
naged to bounce between the casino, the bar and a cheap hotel until the money was gone. He also picked up a new habit: snorting cocaine.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Moses, please come help,” Father Fellorday said, adjusting a white monk’s robe over his plump body near the church entrance across the street from the casino. A truck with two deer carcasses strapped in the bed idled by the curb. A man, wearing a bright orange hunting parka and camouflaged pants, waited patiently nearby. He offered one of the animals, a doe, to the Father; the other, a small two-point buck, he would keep.

  “Are we gettin’ fresh deer meat to eat?” Carpenter asked, his eyes dancing with excitement.

  “Yes, this kind man has chosen to share God’s bounty with us.”

  Father Fellorday struggled financially to keep the church doors open, while offering a refuge for select homeless people. Only the downtrodden with unique skills could sleep and eat in the church basement. Others were turned away to wander the streets seeking help from other Detroit churches and city-social services. Moses Carpenter had a unique way of making ordinary food taste good. The Father delighted in receiving free meat to be prepared into a variety of culinary pleasures. Carpenter had trained as a chef at an upscale Detroit eatery. When the real estate boom hit, he left to pursue a more lucrative sales career.

  “Come, my son, help this gracious man move one of these precious animals to the basement,” the Father said. Carpenter acknowledged, clapped and crossed the street.

  ~ ~ ~

  The Michigan deer herd grew at a rapid rate, almost doubling within two years. Hunters were encouraged to help thin the numbers and donate the meat to the needy. A statewide lottery offered special permits, allowing one person to tag two bucks and two does for the hunting season. The State Health Department became concerned about improperly handled meat, but the Detroit mayor won over the hearts of the community with several TV ads declaring the donated meat as fundamental nourishment to restart lives of those down on their luck. Next year was an election year.