"You know something?" Kim said. "These hapless steers somehow know what's coming. They must smell death in here. They're defecating all over each other as they come down the chute. That certainly can't help the contamination.."
Kim stopped in mid-sentence. To his right and only twenty feet away was the knife-wielding stranger. Instantly he knew why the man favored knives. He was one of two people who stepped beneath the newly killed animal as it was hoisted up. With a deft flick of the wrist, he or his partner slit the throat of the animal and then jumped free of the ten-gallon shower of hot cow blood. The blood came in giant pulsating squirts as the animal's heart pumped out its life force. The blood then disappeared into a grate in the floor.
In the next second, Kim's heart leaped in his chest. Already tense from seeing his attacker so close, he overreacted when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Before he could stop himself he threw an arm up defensively.
Luckily it was Jed, and he didn't look happy. Kim's reaction had scared him as much as he had scared Kim.
"What the hell are you doing over here?" Jed shouted over the noise. The repeated concussion of the high-pressure killing instrument sounded like an evil metronome.
"I'm just trying to get oriented," Kim yelled. He shot a glance back at his attacker, but the man either hadn't seen Kim or didn't care about him. He'd stepped off to the side and was in the process of sharpening his knife with a grindstone while his partner took over the throat-slitting. Kim could see the knife clearly. It was similar to the one the man had used when he'd attacked Kim.
"Hey, I'm talking to you," Jed yelled irritably. He poked at Kim with an insistent finger. "I want you to get your ass around to where they're eviscerating. That's where the shit is, and that's where I want you to be."
Kim nodded.
"Come on, I'll show you," Jed said. He motioned for Kim to follow him.
Kim cast one last look at his attacker, who was holding up the knife to inspect its razor edge. A flash of light glinted off the blade. He didn't look in Kim's direction.
Kim shuddered and rushed after Jed.
They soon came to the moving line of carcasses. Kim was impressed by Jed's nonchalance. When he ducked through he actually pushed the bodies aside like clothes on a rack rather than waiting for a moment to dart through an opening. Kim was reluctant to touch the hot bodies. He had to hesitate like a jumper waiting to enter a jump rope that was being rapidly whipped around by two friends.
"This is where I want you," Jed yelled when Kim caught up to him. Jed made a sweeping motion with his hand. "Here's where the dirty work is done, and this is where you and your broom should hang out. Understand?"
Kim nodded reluctantly, while fighting against another wave of nausea. He was now in the area where the internal organs were being removed. Huge snakelike coils of intestines were sloshing out of the suspended carcasses onto stainless-steel tables along with quivering masses of liver, grapefruit-sized kidneys. and friable strips of pancreas.
Most of the intestines appeared to be tied off, but some weren't. Either they hadn't been tied or the tie had come loose. One way or the other, there were also a lot of cow feces on the tables and on the floor mixing with the rivers of blood.
Kim lowered the head of his broom to the floor and started pushing the slop toward one of the many grates. As he worked, he was reminded of the myth of Sisyphus and the cruel king's terrible fate. No sooner had Kim cleared an area of its filth than it became refouled with a fresh deluge of blood and offal.
Kim's only solace was the fact that his disguise must have been adequate. He was relatively confident that the man with the knife had not recognized him.
Kim tried his best to ignore the more grisly aspects of this ghostly workplace. Instead he concentrated on his immediate task at hand. For the next step in his undercover investigation, he'd wait until the lunch break.
At the window, Shanahan could see a jumbo jet laboriously lumber down the runway and then ever so hesitantly lift its nose. Seemingly going much too slowly it became airborne and headed off toward a distant destination.
Shanahan was at Gate Thirty-two on Concourse B, waiting for the flight from Chicago. It had not been easy getting there. The people at security had tried to deny him access to the concourse without a ticket. Since he'd made specific plans to meet Leutmann at the gate, Shanahan knew he had to get there. Unfortunately no amount of arguing or cajoling had swayed the security people. To solve the dilemma, Shanahan had had to purchase a ticket on a flight he didn't intend to take.
Shanahan and Derek had never met. To overcome that difficulty Shanahan had described himself so that Derek might recognize him. But to make certain Derek would identify him. Shanahan had also said he'd carry a bible. Derek had said he'd thought a bible was a nice touch. He added that he'd be carrying a black briefcase.
The door to the jetway for the Chicago flight opened and was secured by an agent. Almost immediately the passengers began disembarking. Shanahan picked up the bible and stood. He gazed at each passenger expectantly.
The tenth person looked promising, although the individual's appearance was not anything like Shanahan had expected. The man was thirtyish, slender, blond, and deeply tanned. He was dressed in a pinstriped business suit and carried a black ostrich briefcase. Sunglasses were perched on top of his carefully coiffed head. The man halted just inside the terminal and swept the area with his blue eyes. Sporting Shanahan, he walked directly over.
"Mr. O'Brian?" Derek questioned. He had a slight English accent.
"Mr. Leutmann," Shanahan said. He was taken aback. From Derek's phone voice he'd expected a dark, heavyset. physically imposing individual. The man in front of him resembled an English aristocrat more than a hired killer.
"I trust you brought the money." Derek said.
"Of course," Shanahan said.
"Would you mind handing it over," Derek said.
"Here in the terminal?" Shanahan questioned. He looked over his shoulder nervously. Shanahan had hoped to discuss the money issue in the privacy of his car in the parking garage. He was supposed to try to negotiate down both the down payment and the fee.
"Either we're in business or not," Derek said. "It's best to find out immediately to avoid hard feelings."
Shanahan removed the envelope he had in his inner jacket pocket and gave it to Derek. It contained five thousand dollars, half of the ten K the killer had demanded. There was no way Shanahan was going to try to bargain in public.
To Shanahan's horror, Derek put down his briefcase, blithely tore open the envelope, and counted the money. Shanahan anxiously looked around. Although no one appeared to be paying them any attention, Shanahan was acutely uncomfortable.
"Excellent," Derek commented, before pocketing the cash. "We're in business. What are the details you are supposed to provide me?"
"Could we at least start walking?" Shanahan managed to say despite a dry throat. Derek's nonchalance was unnerving.
"Of course," Derek said. He gestured down the concourse. "Why don't we proceed to baggage claim?"
Thankful to at least be moving, Shanahan started out. Derek stayed abreast, treading lightly on crepe-soled loafers.
"You have checked baggage?" Shanahan asked. It was something else he didn't expect.
"Of course," Derek said. "The airlines frown on firearms in the cabin. In my line of work, one has little choice."
They were walking along with a stream of other arriving passengers. To their left passed an equal number of people clutching tickets and hurrying in the opposite direction. There was no privacy.
"We have a car for you," Shanahan said.
"Excellent," Derek said. "But at the moment I'm more interested in the identity of the quarry. What's the name?"