Why Don't We Do It In The Road

I had been looking forward to the first day of rifle deer season much as I used to look forward to Christmas when I was a kid. It always falls on the first Monday after Thanksgiving in Pennsylvania and is a bit of a state holiday. Many schools close because a large number of students from junior high up, as well as many teachers, will be in Penn's Woods that Monday and not in the class room.

At the last minute a client from California pretty much insisted that I be available Monday to go over his account. I tried putting him off and even carefully felt him out about having a different company representative meet with him. The account meant a lot to the company, which in turn made it very important to me. For the first time since I was twelve, I spent the first day of deer season inside. I accepted that I would have to go to our hunting camp Monday evening, thus missing all the camaraderie we hunters enjoyed the day prior to hunting. That meant I would be behind in beer consumption and money lost at poker. With luck, I would be able to catch up on most of that lost time, beer, and money on Monday evening.

To that end, I packed my hunting gear into my pick-up truck, tossed a case of beer in the back and hit the road for the three hour trip to our hunting camp in Bradford County. My wife, Barb, had left a note telling me she was going to be out with a couple of her girl friends and wishing me luck on my hunting trip. I wasn't fooled. I knew most wives were more than happy to have us guys away from home for the first week of deer season. It was like a small vacation for them.

I was an hour away from home just as twilight turned to darkness. As I followed the twists and turns of Route 6, I saw the service van in front of me smack a beautiful buck and bounce it back to the side of the road. Even as I braked, I saw another deer, a doe, bounce off the side of the van to drop near the buck. I pulled onto the shoulder of the road and, using the headlights of my truck, I looked at the unfortunate animals. The buck had a beautiful eight point rack with a span of almost two feet. The doe was considerably smaller. Both were dead as last year's dandelions.

I made my decision immediately. I pulled my tags out of my hunting jacket and filled them both out and put them on the deer. Then I loaded them in my truck and turned and headed for home. I had to get them someplace where I could field dress them before their bodies became too cold. The process would only get more difficult and far more noxious, the longer I waited.

I stopped at a buddy's old barn about two miles from home and proceeded to turn on some outside lights. Then I field dressed both deer. As I worked on the buck, I admired his antlers. He was far and away the nicest buck I had ever tagged. It occurred to me that I had an excellent opportunity to win the big buck pool at my hunting club. I debated the moral issue that could arise over the fact that it was actually road kill and not taken during the hunt. I quickly dismissed any qualms that crept into my consciousness.

The rule was the biggest rack on a legally tagged buck. I qualified. Besides, I had never come close to winning the pool before. This was my time!

I decided to return the few miles to my house to clean up and change my clothes. No matter how many times I worked on deer, I couldn't do it without getting blood on my shirt and jeans. I tossed the deer into the truck and headed home. My tags were full and I suddenly had no reason to be in a hurry to get to camp. It would be too late for much beer drinking or card playing by the time I pulled into the camp.

At least I had secured my tags properly on the game animals, I thought as I pulled onto the dead end road that led to my house. I had seen a friend of mine fined big time because his tag had fallen off the deer. The local district justice refused to accept that the deer had been properly tagged and that fate had intervened to blow the tag off the animal.

The judge's name was Ray Parker and he took pride in being known around our town as the "hanging judge". He only handled petty legal stuff and law suits amounting to less than ten thousand dollars, but he was a pompous ass. Barb was on fairly friendly terms with the asshole's sister. Still, I knew better than to think that would do me any good if I found myself in front of the prick for some hunting or traffic violation.

It was after eleven when I pressed my remote to open my garage door. The house was totally dark, so I assumed that Barb was already in bed and probably asleep. I was surprised to see that I couldn't pull into my bay. There was a new Lincoln sitting in my spot! Barb's Jeep was in her usual place. As I walked around the Lincoln, I felt the hood and it was cool to the touch. The car had to have been parked there for some time. The keys were in the ignition.

I quietly entered my house. I stood still and listened. The house was dark and very quiet. With more than a small amount of dread, I climbed the stairs that led to the bedroom area. As I approached the master bedroom, I heard loud snoring. I had been sleeping with Barb for twenty-five years and she had never snored. My gut started knotting up.

I walked through the open doorway to the bedroom. There was enough moonlight to make out two human forms on my bed. Then I wondered why the hell I was sneaking around my own goddamn house! I reached over and flicked on the light and waited for the shit-storm that would follow. Neither person even flinched. Barb was sleeping naked with her hand on a man's prick. He had a round beer belly and a lot of hair on his stomach and chest. I reached down and pulled the pillow off his face.

It was the fucking hanging judge himself! Ray Parker was sleeping in my bed with my wife's left tit in his soft little hand! It's funny what goes through a man's mind at times like this. I found myself outraged that my wife had welcomed such a miserable asshole into her bed. Shit, she and I both knew a lot of guys that I would have preferred to have ripping off a piece of her ass from time to time!

Then I saw the empty wine bottles on the nightstand. Small wonder turning the bedroom light on had bothered them not at all. They must have drunk and fucked themselves into a stupor!

I went downstairs to get my deer rifle. The next time that fucker woke up, he'd be dead! As I dug around my truck for my rifle and shells, I started thinking about my situation. The husband is always the primary suspect. Hell, if someone else shot the prick, I would probably still be convicted for the murder, simply because I had such strong motive. I needed to be smarter than that.

Then I noticed the antlers protruding above the side of my truck. I sure as hell didn't want to go to jail before I showed the other guys my buck, and won the pool. Parker wasn't worth missing that once in a lifetime pleasure. Barb and I hadn't been getting along very well lately, anyway. Why allow the bitch to ruin my life? I quickly hatched plan B and proceeded to carry it out.

I removed my tag from the doe that was in my truck and carefully placed it in the large trunk of the Lincoln. Then I dug out the old sawed-off double barrel 12 gauge shotgun I had bought from an old drunk a few weeks before he died, almost twenty years ago. I never told anyone I even had it. It was an extremely lethal and illegal weapon. I wiped it down with an old rag, so there were no finger prints on it and placed it in the trunk with the deer. I even found a relatively new pillow and tossed it into the trunk, after I ripped off that damn tag that warned that it was a federal crime to remove the fucking thing.

Then I went into the house and filled a tea pot with very hot tap water. I dug out our turkey baster and returned to the doe in the trunk of the Lincoln. I poured some of the hot water into the cavity of the deer and allowed it to sit there for a minute or so. Then I used the turkey baster to suck a fair amount of the bloody water from the corpse and squeezed it into a bowl. Then I refilled the baster from the deer body. I had already parked my truck around the side of the house.

I dug out my son's hockey mask and put it on and went back up to my rather noisy bedroom. When Barb drank, she was almost impossible to wake up. My plan would work better if she remained asleep, but I was ready to wing it if it became necessary.

I removed Parker's clothes from the chair in the bedroom and hid them in a closet. I noticed his cell phone was still on his belt. Then I placed the bowl and turkey baster on the nightstand.

I climbed onto the bed with a knee on either side of Barb. Achieving this position caused me to jostle Parker slightly, but he kept snoring. I pulled the buck's heart out of the baggy in which I had placed it when I dressed the deer. Sometimes the guys at the camp like to pickle them and have them with beer and crackers. I had never developed a taste for that particular organ.

I opened the leather snap that held my hunting knife in place and unsheathed my blade. Then I poured the blood from the bowl on the sheets and on Barb's tits. It's amazing how little blood it takes to make it look like a crime scene. Barb reached up and sort of rubbed her left tit a little as the liquid quickly dried. Then dropped her hand back down to her side.

I emptied the bowl and placed it back on the table and picked up the turkey baster. I pointed it at Parker's face and moved it to about four inches from his snoring mouth. While holding the heart in one hand, I squeezed really hard and squirted the bloody water all over Parker, with some of it entering his mouth and forcing him to choke. I quickly put the baster down and picked the knife up and began running the point over the heart in my left hand.

I watched Parker out of the corner of my eye as I cackled like the wicked witch of the North. He sputtered and suddenly sat bolt upright. He looked at the heart in my hand and then at Barb's bloody chest as he coughed up and spit out the blood he had ingested. He let out a gasp. Then I swung my mask covered face to look at him.

That was all it took! He was out of the bed and down the hall like a rocket, I had all I could do to reach the garage as he was opening the door to his car, stark naked.

"You're next, Mother Fucker!" I yelled as he slammed the door and peeled out my garage door.

I went back up stairs and placed Parker's clothes back on the chair. I did remove his cell phone and dropped it into my pocket. I took the time to dig Barb's phone from her pocketbook and slid that into my pocket as well. Then I took the bowl and the baster down and put them in the dish washer with the rest of the dirty dishes. I turned the dish washer on and went out to my truck, after turning off all lights and closing the garage door.

I was only a few miles down the road when I noticed a big Lincoln sitting along the shoulder. It occurred to me that there must be some truth in the old theory that a pound or two of sugar in an automobile's gas tank would have disastrous results. Half a mile beyond the disabled car, I spotted what appeared to be a naked man trotting down the highway. As I got closer, he turned and sprinted over the bank and out of sight.

What sort of sick, crazy bastard would be running around naked in late November in northern Pennsylvania? I clearly saw my duty. I picked up Parker's cell phone and dialed 911 and reported the disturbing sight I had just witnessed. I neglected to leave my name. They would have to rely on caller ID to determine just who made that call.

Less than an hour later, I drove by the location where I had seen the two deer killed earlier that evening. I picked up Parker's cell phone and dialed my home number.

The call went to the answering machine the first time I called. I hung up and rang my number again. Barb picked up on the fourth ring this time.

"Hello? Is something wrong," asked Barb with a normal amount of concern when you get a call in the small hours of the morning.

"Turn on the light and look at what's left of lover-boy!" I hissed into the phone.

I waited about ten seconds and then I heard a primal scream. Barb must have seen the blood and found the heart next to her in bed. At least, that was the only thing I could thing of that would upset her so badly.

"You crazy bastard!" yelled Barb into the phone. "You killed Ray! You'll never get away with this! I'm calling the cops."

The phone went dead in my ear. A grin washed over my face as I thought about the story Barb would be telling the police at that very moment. I pulled into the hunting camp around four AM. I hung my buck on the pole we had for that very purpose. I noticed a couple smaller bucks already hanging and chuckled to myself as I wandered into the cabin.

Old Dan McGraw was already making breakfast as I entered. He was hired to cook for the group. Then he could go hunting until the next meal was due. He slid a plate of bacon, eggs, and hash browns in front of me and I dug in.

Tom Burton climbed out of his bed and stepped outside to check the weather. He was gone a minute or so and then burst back through the door.

"Where the hell did you get that buck, Dave?" he demanded. "That's the biggest one I've ever seen."

That question caused a mass migration out the front door. Few things give more hope to a hunter than seeing a beautiful buck taken by someone. It renews their hope and fires their imagination. I explained how I had stopped at a friend's around dusk the previous day. I had gone out into the thickest stand of brush and mountain laurel I could find and jumped the big boy. Then as he ran full speed through the dense growth, I had pulled down on him and fired once. The rest was history.

As the other guys pulled on their warm clothes and put on their insulated boots, I undressed and climbed between the sheets in my bunk and fell into a deep sleep. A few hours later, something caused me to awaken. I opened one eye. There in front of me, was a head with a state police hat on top of it.

"Mr. Reed? I truly hate to interrupt your hunting, but I have a few questions for you," he stated calmly, but with no effort to conceal his sarcasm.

I looked at him for a few seconds and then sat up and itched all the places a man has to scratch when he first wakes up. Then I pulled my pants and shirt on and headed for the coffee pot.

"That's a nice buck out there with your tag on it," he began. "Where and when did you get him?"

"On a friend's property. The time is on the tag," I responded slowly. "Are state troopers doing game commission work now?"

"Let's cut to the chase, Mr. Reed. The police in Springville received a call from your wife this morning. She stated that you had killed her lover, who happened to be District Justice Ray Parker. She said you cut out his heart and left it next to her on your bed."

"To compound the situation, Parker's car was found abandoned about a mile from your house. A search of the automobile revealed a dead deer and a sawed-off shotgun in his trunk. There was also a pillow there with the tag removed," added the trooper as an afterthought.

"Ray Parker's body has not been found, yet. It's only a matter of time, Mr. Reed. Why don't you make this easy and tell us where you put Parker's body?" insisted the trooper.

"Wow! You guys are good," I chuckled. "Skip all the CSI bullshit and get some dumb asshole to confess to a murder when you don't even have a body, a motive, or a weapon."

The trooper held up my hunting knife, which was in a plastic bag, and waved it at me as he spoke, "I think I have the murder weapon right here, Mr. Reed. Jealousy is the oldest motive there is. Not many men are very happy when they learn their wife is a round-heeled slut. All we need is Parker's body and we'll have all we need to send you to prison for a long time."

"I'm more than a little disappointed in the various law enforcement agencies dealing with this situation," I chuckled to the surprised trooper. "You make a flawed conclusion and then try to prove that it happened. Then you try to get a confession about what really didn't happen, rather than finding out what actually happened and following the clues to wherever they lead."

"The last I saw of Ray Parker, he was running out through the woods naked. I'm not sure why. It could be that my ritual of thanking the hunting gods for granting me a trophy buck made him a bit queasy. That and seeing me in the very room in which he was sleeping with my slut wife might have sparked some sort of irrational, guilt driven fear, which in turn caused him to run naked out of the room," I surmised.

"If Parker is still alive, why was there a heart in your bed," quizzed the cop.

"As I stated, I have a ritual I go through when I am blessed with the taking of a large buck. I kneel in my bed and hold the deer's heart up in thanks. Then I place the heart in my place in bed as a sign of appreciation and respect for the hunting gods," I added with reverence.

The trooper's walkie-talkie phone thing made a ringing noise at that moment. He stepped outside and spoke in hushed tones for a few minutes. Then he came back inside.

"Ray Parker was found a half hour ago, wandering naked through the woods. A couple of hunters found him and pointed him toward the road. I guess once they realized who he was, they refused to give him any clothes or guide him out of the woods. They told him they were there to hunt, not to pack fudge," grinned the trooper.

I thanked the officer as he returned my knife. He asked me to stop in at the local police station and give a statement. I promised him that I would as soon as I finished my week's hunting. I crawled back into my bunk.

Friday afternoon I stopped at police headquarters. They were some pissed that I waited that long to make my statement, but that was no skin off my ass. It seems that Ray Parker accused me of making him believe that I had cut Barb's heart out. He further asserted that I had planted the deer and shotgun in his trunk and I had even gone so far as to ruin his Lincoln.

"I have the right to practice worshipping the gods of the hunt in my home," I told the cop asking me questions. "If he isn't comfortable with my rituals, he really should stay the fuck out of my bed. Then he wouldn't come into contact with them. As far as the deer and the illegal gun are concerned, I've sat in his courtroom and heard him tell people that they were caught red-handed, and that anyone would lie to avoid taking responsibilities for their actions. It's time this dumb shit stepped to the plate and took his medicine like a man. I know nothing about any deer, gun, or his fucking ruined car. He has hundreds of enemies. Didn't the trooper tell me that he had a pillow with the tag removed, too? That's a federal crime. Check into it."

Friday night found me sleeping in my own bed at home. I felt the bed stir and woke up to find Barb sitting on the edge of the bed near me. She hadn't been around when I had gone to bed.

"I guess you know that I called our kids and told them to lock their doors? I told them you had gone berserk and killed my lover and they had to call the police if you showed up at their door," began Barb.

"I did hear something about that, now that you mention it," I admitted slowly.

"Perhaps you've even heard the rumor that I called the police and told them that you had cut Ray's heart out and left it lying in our bed," continued Barb as I nodded in agreement.

"I guess you heard that Ray is being charged with some sort of firearms law violation and has been ticketed for transporting an illegal deer, and for hunting without a license," continued Barb. "The assistant DA even tried to get him for removing the tag from a pillow, but I guess that's legal once the pillow has been sold."