“Be my guest,” Benton said. “There’s hose right over there against the wall.”
Willy went to get the hose while Bart opened the gate to the pen. Trying to be careful where he put his feet, Bart gave the cow a few swats on its rump. Reluctantly it rose to its feet and tottered.
Willy came back with the hose and squirted the cow until it looked relatively clean. Then he and Bart got behind the cow and coaxed it out of the pen. With added help from Benton they got the animal outside and into the van. Willy closed the truck’s back door.
“What’d ya got in there – about four head?” Benton asked.
“Yup,” Willy said. “All four dead this morning. There’s some kind of infection over at the Silverton Farm.”
“Criminy,” Benton said with alarm. He slapped a few wrinkled greenbacks into Bart’s palm. “Get them the hell off my spread.”
Bart and Willy both spat as they rounded their respective sides of the truck. The tired engine let out a belch of black smoke before propelling the vehicle out of the farm.
As was their habit Bart and Willy didn’t speak again until the truck reached the pavement of the county road. Bart accelerated and finally got the van into fourth gear.
“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Bart asked.
“I imagine,” Willy said. “That Cow didn’t look half bad after we hosed her down. Hell, it looks a mite better’n that one we sold to the slaughterhouse last week.”
“And it can stand and even walk a little,” Bart said.
Willy glanced at his watch. “Just about the right time too.”
The 4-D men did not speak again until they pulled off the county road onto the track that ran around a low-slung, almost windowless, large commercial building. A billboard-sized sign said: HIGGINS AND HANCOCK. At the rear of the building was an empty stockyard that was a sea of trampled mud.
“You wait here’ Bart said, as he pulled to a stop near the chute that lead from the stockyard into the factory.
Bart got out of the van and disappeared down the chute. Willy got out and leaned up against the van’s rear door. Five minutes later Bart reappeared with two burly men dressed in bloodstained long white coats, yellow plastic construction helmets, and yellow mid-calf rubber boots. Both sported a nametag. The heavier man’s nametag said: JED STREET, SUPERVISOR. The other man’s said: SALVATORE MORANO, QUALITY CONTROL. Jed had a clipboard.
Bart gestured to Willy, and Willy unlatched the van’s rear door and opened it. Salvatore and Jed covered their noses and peered inside. The sick cow raised its head.
Jed turned to Bart. “Can the animal stand?”
“Sure can. She can even walk a little.”
Jed looked at Salvatore. “What do you think, Sal?”
“Where’s the SME inspector?” Salvatore asked.
“Where do you think?” Jed said. “He’s in the locker room, where he goes as soon as he thinks the last animal has come through.”
Salvatore lifted the tail of his white coat to get at a two-way radio attached to his belt. He switched it on and held it up to his lips. “Gary, did that last combo bin that’s going to Mercer Meats get filled?”
The answer came back accompanied by static: “Almost.”
“Okay,” Salvatore said into the radio. “We’re sending in one more animal. That will more than do it.”
Salvatore switched off his radio and looked at Jed. “Let’s do it.”
Jed nodded and turned to Bart. “Looks like you got a deal, but as I said, we’ll only pay fifty bucks.”
Bart nodded. “Fifty bucks is okay.”
While Bart and Willy climbed into the back of the van, Salvatore walked back down the chute. From his pocket he pulled out a couple of earplugs that he put in his ears. As he entered the slaughterhouse, his mind was no longer concerned about the sick cow. He was concerned about the myriad forms he still had to fill out before he could think of going home,
With his earplugs in place, Salvatore wasn’t troubled by the noise as he traversed the kill-floor area of the slaughterhouse. He approached Mark Watson, the line supervisor, and got his attention.