“I want to try to speak with a Spanish accent,” Kim explained. “Marsha said that a lot of the slaughterhouse workers are Hispanic, mostly Mexican.”
For the next few minutes, they counted in Spanish and constructed simple sentences. Neither could remember much vocabulary. They soon fell silent.
“Let me ask you something,” Tracy said after they’d driven for a few miles without conversation.
“Shoot,” Kim said.
“If all goes well,” Tracy said. “and we succeed in getting Kelly Anderson to cover the story and make it a big expose, what would you hope would happen?”
“I’d like to see no market for the twenty-five billion pounds of ground meat produced each year,” Kim said.
“And then what?” Tracy asked.
“Well,” Kim said while he put his thoughts in order. “I’d want the public to demand that meat and poultry inspection plus farm-animal feed approval be taken away from the USDA. It would be better if it were given to the FDA. which doesn’t have a conflict of interest. Or better still. I’d like to see the system privatized so that there’d be a true competitive incentive for finding and eliminating contamination.”
“You don’t put much stock in this new meat irradiation movement?” Tracy asked.
“Hell, no,” Kim said. “That’s just the industry’s way of copping out. Allowing meat irradiation is just an invitation for the industry to allow that much more contamination to get in during processing in the hopes it will all be killed with the gamma rays at the end. You’ll notice even with irradiation the industry insists the onus is on the consumers to handle and cook the meat in a way the industry considers proper.”
“That was Kathleen Morgan’s position as well,” Tracy said.
“It should be any thinking person’s position,” Kim said. “We’ve got to get the media to make people understand that contamination must not be tolerated even if it means the product will cost a little more.”
“This is all a very tall order,” Tracy commented.
“Hey, we might as well aim high,” Kim said. “And it’s not impossible. After all, meat and poultry weren’t always contaminated. It’s a relatively recent phenomenon.”
In the distance, stockyards came into view. Consistent with its being a workday, herds of cattle could be seen milling about the muddy enclosure.
“It’s kinda sad,” Tracy said, looking out over the sea of animals. “It’s like they’re all facing the death penalty.”
Tracy turned into the Higgins and Hancock parking lot. In contrast with their visit the previous morning, it was mostly full. A large proportion of the vehicles were aged pickup trucks.
“How about dropping me off near the front entrance,” Kim said. “Then I suggest you drive over to the end of the building. You won’t be so noticeable there and the entire plant will be well within two hundred yards.”
Tracy pulled over to the curb. She and Kim looked at the building. The record-room window that Kim had broken was unboarded, and its missing glass and mullions were apparent. Standing in the flowerbed in front of the window was a man in overalls and a red plaid shirt, taking measurements.
“I feel like I should offer to help,” Kim said.
“Don’t be silly,” Tracy said.
The front door opened. Tracy and Kim instinctively slid down low in their seats. Two men came out of the front door, engrossed in conversation. Then the pair walked away. The plant was obviously in operation.
Tracy and Kim straightened up. They looked at each other and smiled nervously.
“We’re acting like a couple of teenagers preparing to pull off a prank,” Kim said.
“Maybe we should talk this over some more,” Tracy said.
“Time for talk is over,” Kim said. He leaned toward Tracy and gave her a kiss. It was the first time they’d kissed for a longer time than either cared to remember. “Wish me luck,” Kim added.
“I don’t know why I agreed to all this,” Tracy said. She looked out at the slaughterhouse with misgivings.
“You agreed out of civic responsibility,” Kim said with an impish smile. “Hell, if we can pull this off, we’ll be saving a million times more lives than I could with a lifetime of surgery.”