"All right," Kim said. He opened the door, took Tracy 's keys, and returned to the house. A few minutes later, he climbed back into the car and handed the keys to Tracy.
Tracy started the car and was about to back up.
"Wait a sec," Kim said. "There's something else."
Tracy turned the ignition key. The engine coughed and died. With a confused expression, she faced around at Kim. "What now?" she asked.
Kim was staring up at the house. "I was just thinking about that creep being in my house when we arrived last night," Kim said. "I don't want to be surprised like that again. It's not entirely inconceivable that they could trace me here."
"What do you propose?" Tracy asked with a shudder.
"Are any of your neighbors particularly nosy?" Kim asked. "These houses are all pretty close together."
"There's Mrs. English across the street," Tracy said. "She's an elderly widow who I swear must spend the whole day looking out the window."
"That's a start," Kim said. "Let's ask her to keep an eye out until we get back. Would you mind?"
"Not at all," Tracy said.
"But that's not enough," Kim said. "We got to have backups. It's got to be one-hundred-percent sure. How many doors into the house?"
"Just the usual front door and back door," Tracy said.
"What about the basement?" Kim asked.
"The only way into the basement is through the house," Tracy said.
"The guy last night came through the back sliders," Kim said, while thinking out loud.
"This house has no sliders," Tracy said.
"Good." He got out of the car. Tracy did the same.
"Why not do something to the doors so we'd know if they'd been opened," Tracy suggested. "I mean for someone to get in, they'd have to break a window or go through one of the doors. When we get back we can cheek."
"That's a good idea," Kim said. "But then what would we do?"
"Well, we sure as hell won't go in the house," Tracy said.
"Where would we go?" Kim asked. "We wouldn't want to be followed."
Tracy shrugged. "A motel, I guess."
"I know what we'll do," Kim said. "On the way out to Higgins and Hancock, we'll stop by the bank. We'll pull out our savings as a fallback. If we're really worried about being followed, credit cards aren't the best idea."
"Wow, you really are thinking ahead," Tracy said. "In that case, we might as well grab our passports too."
"Listen, I'm being serious," Kim complained.
"So am I," Tracy said. "If it gets to the point that we're that worried, I want the option of going far away."
"Fair enough," Kim said. "Let's do it."
It took them a half hour to do everything they had in mind around the house and another half hour to stop at the bank. They used separate tellers to speed things up, but it didn't work. Kim's teller had been nonplussed by his appearance and had to go back to a manager to get the signature authenticated.
"I feel a little like a bank robber," Tracy said as they walked out to the car. "I've never carried this much cash."
"I was afraid they weren't going to give me my money," Kim said. "Maybe I've overdone it a little with this disguise"
"The fact that they didn't recognize you is the important point," Tracy said.
It was mid-morning by the time they got on the freeway en route to Higgins and Hancock. The day that had started out so clear was already becoming veiled with high cirrus clouds. Midwestern winter weather rarely saw long periods of sunlight.
"What did you say to Mrs. English?" Kim asked from the backseat.
"I didn't have to say much," Tracy said. "She was delighted with the task. It's nasty to say, but I think we've given her life new meaning."
"When did you say you'd be back?" Kim asked.
"I didn't," Tracy said.
"Let's review our high school Spanish," Kim said out of the blue.
Surprised at this suggestion, Tracy glanced at Kim's reflection in the rearview mirror. In the last twenty-four hours she couldn't tell when he was kidding and when he was being serious.
"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.