Chapter 22
THE BODY LAY along the shoulder of Paradise Turnpike, a plump doe obligingly whacked by a fast-moving vehicle, killed instantly, and not more than a few hours dead. Bar shooed away a pack of complaining crows, gathered the deer’s hooves together, and with a smooth motion swung her into the bed of his truck.
He pulled up next to a spot about fifty feet from his trailer, an area littered with bones and tufts of hair. Grabbing the deer again by the legs, he flung the carcass away, rivaling an Olympic hammer-thrower for the distance the body flew before landing with a dull thunk on the hard ground. A stirring sound was already beginning to emanate from the thick woods that surrounded his home.
“Woooo whoooop!” Bar called out. “C’mon, my lovelies. Wooooo whoooop!”
A large black b
