“Could you give me an idea?” Daryl asked.
“Kind of punk,” Jed said, trying to think how his fourteen-year-old son would describe the man. “Bleached hair, earring, tattoos, leather pants.”
“Is he a fairly big guy?” Daryl asked.
“Yeah, over six feet for sure.”
“And he has some stitches on his face?”
“Yeah, he did,” Jed said. “How did you know that, sir?”
“Did he say where he was living?” Daryl asked.
“No, and I didn’t ask,” Jed said. “I have to say he’s been quite appreciative of getting the work. He’s even agreed to work a shift and a half.”
“You mean he’s working tonight?” Daryl asked. “As part of the cleanup crew?”
“Yup,” Jed said. “We had someone call in sick just this morning.”
“That’s good,” Daryl said. “That’s very good. Good job, Jed.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jed said. “Is there something you’d like me to do or to say to Mr. Ramerez?”
“No, nothing at all,” Daryl said. “In fact, keep this conversation of ours confidential. Can I count on you for that?”
“Absolutely, sir,” Jed said.
Jed recoiled when he heard the line disconnected. It had been so precipitous. He looked quizzically at the phone for a second before hanging up.
Not wanting to be caught in the head-boning room where there was nothing to sweep, Kim had retreated back to the main kill floor. He still had no clue as to what Marsha was talking about when she mentioned that last head now that he’d followed the trail through most of the plant. The only unknown was what happened to the heads after disappearing down the black hole.
Kim went back to the evisceration area and reswept parts of the floor he’d already cleaned several times. The frustrating part was that in certain areas, it only took about fifteen minutes to look like he’d never been there.
Despite his earplugs, he suddenly could hear a sustained raucous buzz. He straightened up from his work and looked around. He immediately saw that the cattle had been halted in the chute. No more animals were being killed. The pitiable cows close to the executioner had been given a momentary reprieve. The executioner had put aside his tool and was in the process of coiling the high-pressure hose.
The animals that had already been killed advanced through the line until the final one had been eviscerated. At that point the line was stopped, and the tremendous din was replaced by an eerie silence.
It took Kim a few moments to realize that part of the silence was due to his earplugs. When he took them out, he heard the noises of the power tools being stowed and a buzz of animated conversation. Workers started swinging down from the catwalks, while others used stairs and ladders.
Kim stopped one of the workers and asked him what was going on.
“No speak English,” the worker said, before hurrying off.
Kim stopped another. “Do you speak English?” he asked.
“A little,” the man said.
“What’s happening?” Kim asked.
“Lunch break,” the man said, before hurrying after the first.
Kim watched as the hundred or so workers streamed from the catwalks and lined up to pass through the fire door. They were en route to the lunchroom and the locker area. An equal number of employees came from the main boning room via the head-boning room. Despite the pall of death and the stench, the camaraderie was evident. There was much laughter and friendly jostling.
“How anyone could eat is beyond me,” Kim said into his microphone.
Kim saw the man who’d attacked him, along with his partner. They walked by without a glance to join the ever-lengthening queue. Kim felt even more confident about his disguise.
Kim stopped one of the eviscerators whose damp white coat had become variegated with shades of pink and red. He asked the man how to get to the basement. In return, Kim got a look that suggested he was crazy.
“Do you speak English?” Kim inquired.
“Sure, man, I speak English,” the eviscerator said.
“I want to go below,” Kim said. “How do I get there?”
“You don’t want to go downstairs,” the man said. “But if you did, you’d go through that door.” He pointed to an unmarked door with an automatic closer mounted on its upper edge.