Buck Fever Read Free Page A

rolled them neatly inside out and stuffed them into his coat pocket. He cleaned the knife with some leaves and handed it back to Lacarter.
    “What should we do with these guts? Bury ‘em?” Montagno asked.
    “Naw, leave them for the locals. They deserve it. Besides the turkey vultures and other predators will have the mess cleaned up in a couple of days anyway,” Hermanski said.
    The three men took turns dragging the dead animal through the woods.
     

Chapter 4
     
    A mid-twenties newspaper reporter stretched back into his desk chair, twirling an apple with his right hand, taking determined bites, while patting his slightly disheveled blonde hair with his left. His scuffed-black loafers rested on an open file drawer to maintain balance as he leaned out his cubicle to gaze through a green-tinted window. The view from the 20th floor of the new Detroit Times building, overlooking the Detroit River, encouraged daydreaming. He had two hours left on the clock before the long Thanksgiving holiday weekend officially began. His last story went to the editing department at noon. The November sun waned behind other buildings. It would be twilight on the drive home.
    “Porter, my office, now!”
    “Yes, Chief,” Jeb Porter replied using his best movie-line mimic voice, straightening up, throwing the apple core with determined force into the file drawer, kicking it shut. He had dreamed of becoming a major-league baseball player and even won a sports scholarship to Michigan State. However, an elbow injury his sophomore year ended that notion, so he concentrated on journalism classes to become a sports writer.
    “What do you think he wants at this hour, Jeb?” Katie Kottle said, glancing over the cubical wall. “God, I hate the newspaper business. We never get a holiday or full weekend off. I was so looking to spend Thanksgiving at your place.”
    The stately auburn-haired woman brushed back several strands, revealing intense brown eyes. Katie was a junior working on the school newspaper with Jeb, a senior. A bit prissy and elitist, but he would make her into a decent middle-class woman someday. Although, just friends at the time, he vowed to get her into the news business when she graduated so he could nurture a closer relationship. She just wanted to write crime novels like her famous uncle, but she needed a job so here she was.
    Porter looked up and blew her a kiss. Office relationships were discouraged, but the two junior reporters often covered the same assignments, so they did what came naturally: shared work during the day and a bed at night.
    “I haven’t seen any breaking news come over the satellite feed. I can’t imagine he’d want us to cover anything this late in the day.” Porter stood up, put on his suit jacket and smoothed down his red-and-blue striped tie. “You think he might let me cover the big game this weekend? Or, crap, I’ll bet he couldn’t get Dingledorf to cover the parade tomorrow,” he said and walked toward an imposing frosted-glass office.
    Cronies ran the sports department and only well-seasoned writers made it into the inner circle if an existing writer died or left the company. The general local news department had openings, though, and journalism graduates started there.
    ~ ~ ~
    “Good news, Porter,” Cory Pillbock, Chief Editor, said, as Porter walked through the deep-etched glass door into the splendor of oak-covered walls and oversized leather furniture. A middle-aged man with graying hair and dramatic good looks sat behind a massive ornately carved wood desk. He wore an impeccably pressed blue-silk suit, starched-white shirt and bright-yellow tie.
    “Let me guess. I get to cover the Lion’s game tomorrow.”
    “In your dreams,” Pillbock said, looking impatient.
    “The Thanksgiving parade?”
    “You’re pushing me, boy. I already told you, Louis Dingman is covering the parade. Damn it, you don’t listen. Straighten your tie. Look sharp, man. You’re representing the