Buck Fever by Robert A Rupp Read Free Book Online

really be noxious. Apparently, it has affected his brain somehow. He can barely move and when he talks, it’s all about how Einstein’s theories aren’t exactly right and gravity is not what we think. Like he’s some kind of savant,” Lacarter said.
    “West Nile is malicious. Doesn’t make you want to be out at night anymore with all those diseased mosquitoes. You don’t hear much about Lyme disease these days, though. At least it’s curable with antibiotics. West Nile affects the brain; it’s a whole different ball game,” Lacarter explained.
    “The Mad Cow disease moving into the deer herd from Canada is worse. I’d rather take my chances with West Nile then with a disease that leaves holes in your brain,” Hermanski said. “I didn’t know mosquitoes were still flying around the woods this time of year. It’s been a warm fall, though, so I suppose it’s possible.” The other men nodded.
    ~ ~ ~
    “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.