“He did? Oh, fine. We just want to ask a couple of questions to get the facts straight, and we’ll be on our way,” Kottle said.
“You don’t want to look at the books?” Montagno said, somewhat relieved.
“Not unless they add detail.” Porter said.
“Ah...no, we—“
“Okay, so you were all in this together, then? Tell us about your hunting trip,” Porter said.
“It was just a day off. Had nothing to do with the business at hand,” Hermanski said. “Let’s go into the conference room. We can converse more openly there.”
~ ~ ~
“When I talked to you several days ago, you said the three of you were in this together.”
Montagno and Lacarter looked puzzled at Hermanski as if they wanted answers too.
“Ah, boss, what is going on here? I thought we agreed to—” Lacarter interrupted.
“I hope there’s no problem. We’ll keep this all confidential. However, some of the details are already public knowledge. The more facts we know, the better chance we’ll have of finding the underlying cause of this. Could lead to an award-winning news story,” Porter said.
“Oh, Christ, I feel faint,” Montagno mumbled and plunked his body into a desk chair. Hermanski and Lacarter remained standing, their mouths gaping.
“Is something wrong? When I talked to you yesterday, you said you had some bizarre incidents to tell us about,” Porter said.
“I talked to you...yesterday...oh...you’re the news guy. You’re not the state auditors?” Hermanski said, suddenly realizing the mistake. “Hah, gentlemen, we can relax. These two reporters just want to know about our hunting experience with the deer. Right?”
“Yes.”
“Huh? Hah, hah, hah,” Montagno laughed. “I’m off the hook for the moment.”
“Sorry, we were expecting a state auditor to look at the books. We’ve come up a little...ah, never mind, not important. So what do you want to know?
The three men detailed their deer hunting experience and related recent events as best they could. Montagno explained his weird sense of the world spinning out of control, his dream of being a hunted animal, and his short-lived ability to add long columns of numbers quickly in his head.
~ ~ ~
“If you need further clarification of anything, please don’t hesitate to call. I trust we’ll get to proofread anything you put in the newspaper about us, right?” Hermanski said, leading Kottle and Porter to the entrance door.
“Certainly,” Porter said.
“Oh, one more thing, a Troy police investigator came here this morning and said the blood found on our kitchen floor from the deer head had anti-bodies in it similar to the guy who was killed near West Branch.”
“You mean Lickshill?” Kottle said.
“Yes, sounds right.”
“Got a name you can share with us?” Porter asked.
“Sure, he gave me his card. Here,” Hermanski said, taking a business card from his wallet. “You can keep it; I don’t need it. Name is Josh Morris.”
A black Lincoln drove up and parked across from the door.
“Great, thanks,” Porter said, taking the card.
“Hi, I’m Deacon Biggs with the State Business Tax Bureau,” a suited man said, walking up to Hermanski.
“Hi, we’re expecting you. Please follow me,” Hermanski said, waving off Porter and Kottle.
~ ~ ~
“That was weird. What do you suppose is going on in there?” Kottle said, driving away from the building.
“I don’t know, but we sure scared the hell out of them. The government recently beefed up healthcare tax-reporting compliance. I suspect it’s sucking countless cycles out of their everyday business operations. Hey, what did you think about Montagno? I’d say he’s our connection to Lopez and Lickshill.”
“I agree. His dream about running with deer—very bizarre. Did you write down the allergy medicine he was taking? Didn’t Lopez say he was taking medicine for his asthma? Maybe a connection there.
“Let’s see,” Porter said, browsing his notes, “he called it ‘Reflexion.’ I’ll see if Dingman can sniff out some background on it.”
“He sure can be a condescending jerk.”
“Yeah, Dingman can be hard to take at times, but I’m beginning to like him. He has a very dry sense of humor, and I think he even likes you, but...ah, you...” Porter stuttered, then continued, “You want to tell me about your flashback.”
“No, not right now. I’m sure Lickshill is just a coincidental trigger into my past, nothing more.” Kottle said, keeping her eyes focused on the roadway.
“Whatever,” Porter said, shrugging his shoulders.
Chapter 19
George Montagno sniffed the brisk November air trying to clear his stuffed nose and continued to breathe through his mouth. He pounded on the back door of their brick-ranch home with its newly built addition sprouting out the roof at one end. Sissy Montagno wanted to expand their family room into a spectacular vaulted ceiling at the other end, but they were denied a permit. The building inspector said it violated the Troy big-foot house ordinance for their neighborhood of smaller homes.
At least we have a bedroom for the baby, he thought.
“You got those steaks defrosted and ready to go?” he asked, as Sissy opened the door.
“Wow, rough day? You look completely drained,” she said. “Here’s a beer. Can we do these on the grill? It would keep the smell out of the house.”
“It’s a little cold. Besides, my head is already stuffed. Standing near the smoky grill in the backyard will make it worse.”
“Okay, but you’ll have to cut up and fry the onions. I’m having a hard time with odors lately. Cooking smells make me nauseous.”
“No problem. I just need to take an allergy pill and I’m ready to go.”
“You said the doctor told you to stop taking them.”
“I can’t breathe and feel like shit. The dizziness I can live with.” George fumbled with a pill bottle, extracted a white lump and popped it into his mouth followed by a chug of beer.
“You shouldn’t take those with alcohol.”
“I’m a big boy. Let’s get those venison steaks into the frying pan.”
“Do these look okay to you,” Sissy said, holding up two bright-red venison steaks.
“They look like they just came out of the deer. Now that’s fresh meat. They look fine.”
“Maybe a little too good, almost artificial.” Sissy flipped the steaks into a frying pan and switched on high heat. Sizzling air screeched from under the meat. “Eee, sounds like a dying animal crying for help.”
“A little grease should stop that,” George said, lobbing a hunk of butter into the pan followed by fresh slices of onion. The whining noise stopped immediately. “There. Umm, umm, smells good.”
~ ~ ~
“I’m stuffed. One more beer ought to make this meal perfect,” George said, opening the refrigerator.
“I’m surprised how sweet the meat tasted,” Sissy said, dabbing a slice of bread into the remaining juices on her plate.
“Our son’s going to grow up to be a mighty hunter now that he’s got a taste of venison.” George reached around Sissy from behind and rubbed her abdomen.
“He? Don’t you mean: she?”
“I’d be satisfied with either. No, it’s a he...I...I can feel it.” George continued to rub her stomach.
“Okay, you’ve made your point, now stop before you make me throw up.”
“I...I...I...”
“George, you okay,” Sissy said. George Montagno wavered, then fell to the floor. “George! Oh, my God.” She sprang off her chair and leaned down to hold his hand.
“Whoa, here we gooooo,” George said, grabbing her leg. “I’m flying.”
“Those damn pills. I knew you shouldn’t be taking those pills with alcohol.”
George flipped back and forth while holding Sissy’s legs.
“Stop, you’r
e scaring me. Are you all right?”
His body made one last flip toward the refrigerator. He let go, rolling several feet, stopping on his back.
“Wow, what a ride, and, oh, what a headache,” George said, slowly raising his upper body off the floor. “Hmm, I’m not dizzy anymore. Just have a damn headache.”
“You scared me. Promise you won’t take any more pills. Come on...promise.”
“I promise,” he said, now standing, shaking off the previous feeling. “Hey, I forgot to tell you. Two reporters from the Detroit Times visited us at work today. They wanted to know more about the hunting trip. They were apparently following up on the story about the Port Huron man who got sick and left his dead buck in the woods. They are pretty sure it’s the one we found.”
“Did you tell them about your stupid stunt with carrying the deer downstairs into Jack’s basement? And sit down, you look like you are going to faint.”
“Yes, and Jack also told them about the strange incident with his dog and the deer head in the house.”
“They’re not going to publish that story I hope. You guys will come off like real buffoons.”
“No, they’re looking for clues for what has prompted a series of events up in West Branch. You remember me telling you about the guy who was gored by something in the woods and another guy caught in a wood chipper. Well, they think there might be something related to those events and the strange way the deer acted up there.”
“Makes no sense to me. Did you tell them what a wizard you’ve become at adding numbers?” Sissy maneuvered a chair under George’s body as he wobbled into a sitting position.
“They were somewhat interested because of the Port Huron guy and his weird ability to question Einstein’s theories. However, I don’t seem to be able to add numbers anymore. The doctor gave me a book. It’s full of number games.”
“You mean the Sudoku book I found on your dresser? I love those puzzles. I’ve been working on one all afternoon, but can’t seem to crack the code. Are you sure, you’re okay? You’re trembling.”
“Yes, just a little disoriented. Where’s that book? Maybe I’ll try to solve it. It’ll take my mind off the audit.”
“So, you guys uncovered the problem with the petty-cash expense. Did Jack say what he did with the money or who might have taken it?”
“Nope, he thinks Nora took it to pay off a gambling debt.”
“That sleazy bitch, why doesn’t he fire her?”
“She’s family, being Lacarter’s sister makes it tough.”
“Then Lacarter should come up with the ten grand.”
“Yeah, well, Nora would never admit to it, and Lacarter is going to back her up all the way. What are we to do? It’s basically Jack’s problem anyway.”
“I guess,” Sissy said, handing George the Sudoku book.
“How do these work? Oh, never mind, I get it. You need a three here, a four here and a nine here, then repeat this backwards in the next grid and rotate back by one number in each successive grid.”
“What the...how did you do that?”
“It’s really simple. It just popped out at me. Hey, this is crazy.” George grabbed a pen off the kitchen table and filled in the missing numbers into four more puzzles, each within one minute.
“Okay, Mr. Genius, please tell me what’s happening in your head.”
“I don’t know. The doctor said if I’m able to complete these puzzles in less than five minutes to give him a call. I’ll call him tomorrow. Maybe the pills are doing this again, but it doesn’t happen every time I take them.”
~ ~ ~
“Shit, my head is killing me. I probably shouldn’t have tried to complete all of these,” George said, throwing the book on the table.
“You’re done with the whole book in less than an hour? That can’t be possible,” Sissy said, walking into the kitchen from the family room. “I struggled all morning on just one puzzle. You make me feel like a complete idiot.”
“I don’t know, but I’m entirely washed out and ready for bed.”
“It’s only half-past nine. You never go to bed early.”
“I’m probably stressed from today’s audit. My head feels like it’s going to split open.” George lifted his tired body away from the kitchen table and trudged toward the bedroom.
“I’ll catch up with you in about an hour. Are you going to be okay? I hope you don’t have more of those weird dreams where you think you’re running with deer and get shot at.”
“If I dream about deer again, you’ll know about it. Please wake me if I thrash.”
~ ~ ~
“George, George, wake up you’re tossing around like a monkey,” Sissy said, sitting in bed, poking her husband’s side.
“What?”
“You’re thrashing again. Bad dream?”
“Not really. I was thinking about our boy. He was a year old and had this strange red mark on his head like...like antlers painted on his head. We thought it was cute, though, not weird. The damn deer must be getting to me again.”
“A boy? I’m telling you it’s a girl. I’m not feeling well and going to lie on the couch. My stomach is upset,” Sissy said, getting out of bed.
“Okay,” George said, rolling over.
~ ~ ~
Sissy lay back on the family-room sofa, rubbing her stomach. A night light in the corner next to the fireplace cast an eerie glow vaguely reflecting off a wall hanging made of dried leaves and twigs. Rising heat from an air duct below caused the leaves to wiggle. Her eyes focused on dancing shadows as thoughts of a possible miscarriage leaked into her consciousness.
Please let my little girl live this time. Or boy, it’s okay if it’s a boy, she thought, trying not to jinx her prayer.
Ooh, it hurts. She raised her pajama top to reveal a plump round belly. How can it be this big already? It doesn’t make sense. A stream of alarming thoughts passed through her mind followed by a rationalization: Probably just a lot of gas; onions always give me gas.
Ooh, there it goes again, something poking from inside. I can feel it. Oh, my God, it’s moving. My baby is moving. A positive flow of emotion overtook her.
A human form suddenly appeared at the living room doorway.
“George? What’s the matter? Come here and feel the baby. It tickles.” She stared at the doorway waiting for a reaction.
“We must rid ourselves of this evil,” George said. “It carries the sign of the devil.” His head was slightly cocked backward forcing him to squint, appearing distraught. He held up a Bible in his right hand.
“George! My God, have you lost your mind? You’re scaring the life out of me. God, it hurts. You’re making it hurt. I’m going to lose it.”
“It carries the sign of the beast. Don’t you get it; the red marks are antlers—the sign of the beast.” George kept his head cocked back while slowly walked forward, clomping his feet. “Must rid ourselves of evil,” he repeated with each slow step. His actions mimicked walking in slow motion.
Sissy rose up from the sofa, not knowing what to expect.
“You’re sleepwalking. Look at you. This isn’t normal. You’re sleepwalking. Wake up.”
“I have broken the code of Sudoku. The book tells of the coming of the anti-Christ. The numbers are substitutions for verses and words in the Bible.” He stopped, offering her the Bible. “Here, I’ve marked all the pages and words. See for yourself.” He waited for her response.
“What in hell are you talking about? You’ve never looked at a Bible in your life. This was my mother’s. I hope you didn’t ruin it.” She grabbed the Bible from his hand and flipped through it. “It’s fine. See, you didn’t mark it up.” She held the book out revealing clean unmarked pages in the soft light.
“It must be done,” George said, revealing a large kitchen knife in his left hand.
Sissy fell back on the sofa revealing her stomach.
“God, what is happening? I’m going to lose it,” she rubbed her belly while glancing at the knife.
“God!” she screamed. “It’s trying to get out.”
Two symmetrical sets of four points about an inch apart poked up through the belly breaking the skin.
“See, the sign of the beast. We must rid ourselves of the beast. The great Sudoku has spoken,” George said, steadily lowering the knife.
“Ahh, it’s breaking through.” Eight bloody stick-like objects burst through the skin just below her belly button.
“The antlers are poking through. It’s a sign. We must stop it now,” George said, lunging toward her.
Chapter 20
Katie Kottle stood in front of the restroom mirror, clutching an open purse as she combed her frazzled hair. She had a tendency to finger-twist it while concentrating on meeting discussions.
Dingman, she thought, tugging on several unforgiving strands. Ugh, I can’t get him out of my mind. She ripped a knot out, causing pain.
“Ouch, shit,” she said, causing a woman in the stall behind her to yelp in surprise. “Oh, sorry, I just pulled a bad snarl out of my hair,” she explained, feeling embarrassed. She pushed the comb deep into her purse, straightened her skirt and puffed her blouse before leaving the restroom to join Dingman and Porter for dinner.
~ ~ ~
“They’re ready to seat us,” Porter said, as she walked to the front of the new Detroit Chalet restaurant on the top floor of the Detroit Times building.
“It’s ten o’clock. I don’t feel like eating dinner now. My appetite passed hours ago,” she complained.
“Long days and late meals are standard operating procedure in this business, my dear. Better get used to it,” Dingman said, tugging his tie to tighten his collar, as they walked to their table. “There, tell me this is not the grandest view you’ve seen in a long time.”
The private-eating area jutted out on a granite slab, surrounded by glass on three sides, overhead and partially beneath, sheltering a round table nestled in a wrap-around booth. A large shipping vessel, pushed by a tug, churned water on the Detroit River two hundred feet below. The Windsor skyline and streetlights danced on the water. A few stars dotted the sky overhead; an unseen full moon provided a warm glow enriching the view.
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