Free Buck Fever by Robert A Rupp

it.”
    “Me, too,” Kottle said.
    Greppleton gave a half nod, waiting for Lopez’ agreement.
    “If I have another brain fart, you’ll be the first to know. Maybe we can do tacos and talk about it.”
    Kottle blinked, trying not to react.
    Greppleton chuckled.
    “Sorry, just a dumb Mexican talking.” Lopez laughed and waved as the two reporters walked out.
    ~ ~ ~
    Kottle scowled. “Was he mocking us or just trying to be funny?”
    “If he didn’t explain earlier, I’d thought he was just some Mexican migrant worker doing some mediocre job. Live and learn...er, look and learn. These two could become suspects in Lickshill’s death, since they talked about wiping blood off the antlers,” Porter said, opening the car door for Kottle.
    “Yeah, I almost croaked when Greppleton mentioned it. Maybe they got into a fight over the deer. Perhaps how Lopez cut his hand. Naw, can’t be. These two guys are so sweet and innocent looking. Just can’t be. Why would they tell us about the bloodstains? Doesn’t make sense. I’m thinking the buck killed Lickshill in some wild rage to protect itself.”
    “Could be. Either way, it’s bizarre. The license plate has me baffled, too. Could the doe really have scratched out ‘I4I’ as if she saw it on the back of the car as they drove out of the woods? Unbelievable. You coming back to my place, or do you want me to drop you off at yours?”
    “Tomorrow’s Sunday. I’d like to go to church and then clean my apartment. It’s such a mess. I haven’t been there in two weeks.”
    “Suit yourself. I’m going to put these notes into the computer tonight and maybe watch the game on TV tomorrow and stuff my face with beer and pretzels, and write the story of the century,” Porter said, as they drove off.
    “Why bother, Dingman’s probably already sent his in and got approval from Pillbock.”
    “Pillbock wouldn’t print his story without first proofing ours...I don’t think. Shit, now you have me worried. I’ll send you a draft later tonight. Let’s discuss and agree on it, and I’ll send it forward.”
    “Okay, but I get a chance to edit it, right?”
    “Sure, no problem,” Porter said, rubbing his eyes.
     

Chapter 12
     
    “I ncredible, George. I think you should stop taking the allergy medicine,” Hermanski said to Montagno on the phone in his home office. “Hey, I talked with the guy who shot the deer mentioned in the Detroit Times. He described the place in the woods. I’m positive it was his deer. I gave him a cooler of meat. He sure was appreciative. His hunting partner is still in the hospital getting over his asthma attack.”
    “I hope you kept some meat for yourself, or give me the rest if you don’t want it,” Montagno said.
    “No, I’m keeping the best cuts for Mandi; she loves the stuff. You know me, I prefer my Angus steaks. So, what did you find in the books, anything suspicious?”
    “I’ve totaled the numbers three times and there are mistakes. It’s weird; I can add them up in my head without a calculator. This allergy medicine might be giving me nightmares, but it’s also making me smarter.”
    “Your brain could be playing tricks on you. If you do find errors, I think we’ll have to fire Warner. He doesn’t seem to be cutting it. We don’t need a Sarbanes-Oxley incident.”
    “I agree.”
    “Hey, Rusty, come here, boy. Give me that. Come on. Give it to me.”
    “What?”
    “Uh oh, the dog’s got one of my rubber gloves from downstairs. He must’ve been snooping around the sink. I have to go and take it away from him before he messes up the place. I forgot to wash them out the other night. Talk to you later,” Hermanski said and hung up the phone.
    “Woof, weef, warf,” the young Cocker Spaniel barked. He repeated the series of barks, then whined.
    “Come here, boy. What’s the matter? You want to go out?”
    The dog dropped the glove, folded his legs, flopped down on the wood floor, and whined loudly.
    “What the hell.