Buck Fever by Robert A Rupp Page A

blood. The number crunching ability...I suppose an allergic reaction could have triggered some native ability locked up since birth. Ever do Sudoku?” The doctor handed Montagno a book from his desk.
    “Number puzzles? No, I’ve seen people doing them on airplanes. How do you do it?” Montagno took the book and flipped through it.
    “You need to fill in the missing numbers from one through nine in the rows and columns. I do it in my spare time. I can usually complete one in ten minutes or so. Let’s see what you can do.”
    Montagno stared at the first puzzle grid of half-filled numbers waiting for inspiration. He struggled to find two missing numbers, then gave up.
    “Not my game. I’m clearly not good at this.”
    “Hmm, whatever savant activity was going on in your brain seems to be gone now. You can keep the book. If, by chance, you are able to suddenly solve these puzzles in five minutes or less, call me immediately.”
    “Okay, sounds harmless enough.” Montagno stuffed the book in his jacket pocket.
    “Take these pills four times a day. They should help relieve the pressure in your ear. Also, I’d stay away from any deer meat as a precaution.”
    “You really think so? I was looking forward to having some tonight.”
    “It’s an outside hunch, but you can do what you want. If you do get a reaction, let me know immediately and for sure, don’t eat more.”
    “A hunch? Is that a new medical approach?” Montagno said, grinning.
    “Yes, we are allowed to guess now and then. Doctoring is an art and a science you know. What we can’t prove or doesn’t work is art. What we can and works is science.”
    “Gotchya,” Montagno acknowledged the doctor’s attempt at humor, shook hands and left his office.
    ~ ~ ~
    “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” George Montagno said, as Sissy walked off the elevator in the building lobby, her face beaming.
    “We’re pregnant and...” Sissy hesitated and pursed her lips, forcing an uneasy smile.
    “And?”
    “We’re eight weeks along. It’s already four inches.”
    “What? I don’t get it. You were only two weeks late.”
    “I lied. I wanted to make sure. You know how the miscarriage last year screwed up my mind. The doctor thinks we’re out of the rough and on the green now.”
    “Sounds like your GYN spends most of his time on the golf course,” George said, hugging Sissy gently and patting her stomach.
    “He said to eat lots of protein. Maybe a good reason to make those deer chops you brought home last week.”
    “Maybe. My doctor said I might be allergic to deer meat. Could be the cause of my dizziness. He thinks there might be something in the blood that got up my nose.”
    “You’re talking about raw blood. I doubt if cooked meat would be a problem. My mother was allergic to uncooked chicken. She’d break out in a rash every time she made it, but she had no problem eating it when properly cooked.”
    “Yeah, what the hell, let’s pan fry a couple steaks smothered in onions. Damn, I can taste it already. He gave me these pills to replace the other ones. They’re diuretic. I might have too much fluid pressure in my inner ear. Mensair or Menswear Disease, he called it.”
    “Menswear Disease? Are your pants too tight? I’ve heard of Meniere’s Disease.”
    “Sounds right. Whoa, hold on to me I’m dizzy.”
    ~ ~ ~
    “When should I pick you up?” Sissy asked out the car window, as George stepped onto the entrance sidewalk to the HMM Design Company building.
    “No need. I’ll have Jack or Dillon take me home, probably around six o’clock. Have those deer steaks thawed and ready to go. I have extra bookwork to finish after dinner.
    A plain black car with government license plates sat next to the curb.
    Shit, Internal Revenue , Montagno thought, stumbling slightly in the revolving entrance door. Now I’m in trouble.
    ~ ~ ~
    Jack Hermanski shook his head as a balding man in an aging blue suit flipped through pages of a handheld report. Dillon