Kim suddenly caught sight of Jed Street nosing around the eviscerating tables and sinks. Kim recommenced his sweeping with his push broom. He moved away from Jed in a counterclockwise direction and soon found himself in the decapitation area. The beheading was done by another saw only slightly less appalling than the saw used to cut the carcasses in two. Just before the spine was completely severed by the man wielding the saw, another man caught the hundred-plus-pound head with a hook dangling from the head conveyer rail. It was a process that required coordination and teamwork.
Continuing his cleaning efforts, Kim followed the line of the skinned heads. With their lids gone the lifeless eyes gave the heads a curiously surprised look as they clanked along.
Kim followed the head conveyer to a point where it disappeared through an aperture into an adjoining room. Kim immediately recognized the room as the place where he'd been attacked Saturday night.
Glancing over his shoulder, he looked for Jed. When he didn't see him in the pandemonium, Kim took a chance that Jed wouldn't miss him and walked through the doorless opening into the head-boning room.
"I've come into the room where the heads go," Kim said into his microphone. "This is potentially important in how Becky happened to get sick. Marsha had found something in the paperwork about the head of the last animal on the day the meat for Becky's hamburger might have been slaughtered. She said it was 'revolting', which I now find curious, since I find the whole process revolting."
Kim watched for a moment as the head conveyer dumped a head every twelve seconds onto a table where it was attacked by a team of butchers. Knives similar to the ones used to slit the animals' throats quickly cut out the huge cheek muscles and the tongues. The workers took this meat and tossed it into a two-thousand-pound combo bin similar to those Kim had seen at Mercer Meats.
"I'm learning something every minute," Kim said. "There must be a lot of cow cheeks in hamburger."
Kim noticed that after the cheeks and tongues were removed, the cow heads were pushed onto a flat conveyer belt that dumped them ignominiously into a black hole that presumably led to the basement.
"I think I might have to visit the basement," Kim said reluctantly. He had the sense that his childhood fear of basements would be put to the test.
So far it had been a good day as far as Jed Street was concerned, despite its being Monday. He'd had a great breakfast that morning, had gotten to work early enough to sit and have a second cup of coffee with several of the other supervisors, and had had to face fewer absenteeisms than usual. Finding and keeping decent help was Jed's biggest headache.
With none of his key day employees having called in sick, Jed was confident that his team would have processed close to two thousand head by the lunch break.
That made Jed happy because he knew it would make his immediate boss, Lenny Striker, happy.
Jed slipped out of his white coat and hung it up. Wanting to catch up on his paperwork, he'd retreated to his office with his third cup of coffee of the day. He walked around his desk and sat down. Pen in hand, he went to work. He had a considerable number of forms that had to be filled out each and every day.
Jed hadn't been working long when his phone rang. He reached for his coffee before picking up the receiver. He was relatively unconcerned about getting a call so late in the morning and could not imagine it would be particularly serious. At the same time he knew there was always a chance. Being in charge of something as potentially dangerous as a kill floor, he knew that disaster was never far away.
"Hello," Jed said, overemphasizing the first syllable. He took a sip of coffee.
" Jed Street, this is Daryl Webster. Do you have a moment to speak with me?"
Jed spat out his coffee, then scrambled to wipe the brew off his forms. "Of course, Mr. Webster," Jed sputtered. He'd worked for Higgins and Hancock for fourteen years, and during that time the real boss had never called him.
"I got a call from one of Bobby Bo's people," Daryl explained. "He told me that we've employed a new slop boy just today."
"That's correct," Jed said. He felt his face heat up. Hiring illegal aliens was tacitly condoned while the official policy was that it was forbidden. Jed hoped to God he wasn't going to end up being a scapegoat.
"What's this man's name?" Daryl asked.
Jed frantically searched through the papers on his desk. He'd written the name down, although not on any employment forms. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found it.
"José Ramerez, sir!" Jed said.
"Did he show you any identification?" Daryl asked.
"Not that I recall," Jed said evasively.
"What did he look like?"
"He is a little strange-looking," Jed said. Jed was confused. He couldn't fathom what difference it made what the man looked like.
"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.