When She Was Bad Read online

  “Have you looked at it?”

  “No. I heard talk a few days after the accident. Some of the guys at work said this Herman guy was trying to catch the company cutting corners. I don’t know if I want to know what’s on that thing.”

  While he’d talked, I’d gotten my computer and an SD card reader. “If you didn’t want to know, then why not throw it away? Or turn it in? Why bring it to me?”

  “I was afraid to turn it in. We knew each other in school. I knew you wouldn’t turn me in to the company. There was a guy when I first started. He worked on the line, cutting up meat. One day he was gone. Supposedly he worked for one of those undercover animal rights places, you know, the crazy people.” With his napkin, Chris wiped his brow and drank the rest of his Pepsi. Taking the cue, I brought him another, giving him time.

  “I was afraid the company was monitoring my computer and phone, so I looked up the guy at the library. He died when his house caught fire. I know it could be a coincidence, but it didn’t feel right, you know what I mean?”

  I nodded. I knew exactly what he meant. “Let’s see what’s on it. You’re going to feel pretty stupid if it’s his vacation pictures to Old Cowtown.”

  “Trust me, I want there to be fun pictures on that thing.”

  When the video played, I couldn’t help it—I gasped and slammed the laptop shut.

  “You don’t want to see it. Maybe you should leave.”

  Chris scooted over. “Show me, Hope.”

  In silence we watched the horror unfold. It ended with shots of Chris gassing the meat.

  “You know that gas can disguise bad meat? It will stay red up to a year.”

  He let out a sigh, running a hand through his dirty blond hair. “I know, but that’s the least of our worries. That stuff we saw, it’s way out of compliance with USDA rules. What now?”

  But it took me a few minutes to answer. I was too focused on holding the two parts of me together. What I had seen…I wanted to act. At one point we heard a worker saying there were too many “sensibles.” Meaning not all the animals were “rendered insensible” before they were processed. Chris explained there were HIMP reductions, so the USDA wasn’t around much. The company used private inspectors on the company payroll.

  “No wonder there’s an E. coli outbreak that’s impacted thirteen states. That was barbaric.”

  “I’m sorry,” Chris said. “If I’d have known what was on it…”

  We saw obviously contaminated carcasses being processed and…abuse. It was harrowing, and I struggled to hold it together.

  “Let me think, okay?” I stared at him, making him flinch. “Have you told anyone at all about the card?”

  “No. Are you kidding?”

  “Don’t. I’m going to do some research when I get home from work. I’ll let you know what I find.”

  The guy looked like he wished he’d never picked up the damn card. How I wanted to tell him that he hadn’t seen anything yet.

  “I’m leaving for work. Lock up when you’re done.”

  He shook his head but didn’t move. I understood all too well the range of emotions he was processing.

  At work I looked at my bracelet, the charms twisting and turning on my wrist. Perhaps it was time for a new bracelet, my hit man be damned. It was funny…I never got his name. Guess being threatened with losing my life made me forget my manners.

  I’d slept late but was still tired from staying up far too late researching Blesser and Gier. When the laptop needed to be recharged, I turned on the tablet and got lucky, found old undercover video of Blessing Meatpacking. It was as if someone else directed me: my fingers danced over the screen, finding video after video of the big players in the industry. What I found turned my stomach. It looked like big food thought they too were too big to fail. They were getting away with unconscionable actions.

  Stiff from sitting in one position so long, I got up and made myself a tomato sandwich. From scientific studies to conspiracy theories, I swore I’d read them all. One thing was certain: the food industry as we knew it was broken. Huge conglomerates were concerned with profits above all else. Animals had become commodities, not cute, furry little creatures. It was like big food had been given the playbook from the tobacco industry, using similar strategies to hook what they called heavy users, on food that did nothing but make them sick and fat. I eyed the bread I was eating with a sigh and took another bite.

  I’d come across one article that made me wonder about the outbreaks. The waste and manure from livestock operations wasn’t treated; instead, all the waste from factory farms was stored in lagoons or manure pits and later applied as fertilizer to the fields. The article also talked about residential drinking wells contaminated with dangerous bacteria that made people sick from the runoff of this so-called fertilizer.

  But no matter how much I searched and how many articles I read, I kept coming up against the same thing: the charges always mysteriously disappeared or were so minor they were laughable. The same names popped up over and over again. In one case, Hinkle Foods was cited for horrible cruelty. The people in charge of the farm they owned had left after they’d been fined twenty-five dollars each and given one year unsupervised probation. There was one brief mention of an undercover animal rights activist who was caught filming at a farm owned by another conglomerate. The activist was fined $500 and spent a month in county jail.

  All thanks to the Farm Animal and Field Crop and Research Facilities Protection Act, which activists called an ag gag bill. The article went on to quote a woman with the Farm Bureau who said videos were easily edited and twisted to paint a negative picture. Her argument was that the companies weren’t trying to hide anything, but that people who came onto the property were trespassing and could possibly introduce disease, as they weren’t properly suited up. The woman went on to say the law had nothing to do with protecting abuse; it was about keeping the operations, the employees, and the animals safe. I called bullshit, and the monster within raged and scratched at the locked door, demanding to be released. Key in hand, I walked forward.

  CHAPTER 17

  “HOW ARE YOU, SON?” AUGUSTUS heard wind blowing in the background.

  “I’m good, Dad. Learning a great deal about our operations.”

  “You’ve done well. You’ve got, what, another month out there?” Augustus boarded the plane, handing his briefcase to the waiting attendant.

  “Can I get you a glass of champagne, Mr. Gier?”

  He nodded at her and took his seat on the private jet.

  “Three weeks. I was hoping after that, I could start my position in the corporate office?”

  He accepted the glass of champagne from the beautiful attendant, who met his eyes and said, in a low voice so as not to disturb his call, “Wheels up in ten, sir.”

  Too bad he was a married man. With a nod, he turned his attention back to his son.

  “We agreed these rotations were to ensure you learned the company inside and out.” Augustus sipped the champagne and tried not to grin. He could hear the impatience in his son’s voice. It was time to bring him home.

  “When your time is up there, you can come back. I want you to rotate through several of the VP positions. You’ll start as the new vice president of marketing, spending six months in each role. When you’re done with the rotations, you’ll take your place as my right hand.”

  His son launched into ideas, but Augustus cut him off. “There will be plenty of time to discuss ideas and strategy. Never forget: you’re my only son, so you have to work harder than everyone else, show them you’re better, that you’ve earned your position. With things the way they are with your mother, I’ve decided…five more years. That’s it, then I’m retiring and you’ll take over as CEO.”

  His only son, his pride and joy, yelled into the phone.

  “I won’t let you down, Dad. I’ll make you and Mom so proud.”

  “I know you will, son. Listen, I’m off to India and then China. Call Lori if you need
anything, otherwise I’ll call on the way back.”

  “Dad? How’s Mom doing?”

  He looked out the window and took a deep breath. “About the same. She’ll be happy to see you.”

  Finally things were getting back to normal at the Grab-and-Go—well, other than the whole people getting sick thing. I’d offered to stay on the night shift, and Caleb was so happy that I thought he was going to burst into song. He gave me two nights off with the promise of a longer break soon. My shoes hurt my feet when I ran, a sign I needed a new pair. They were only good for 350 miles and then I tossed them. Wanting to drive, I’d ended up near Gram’s old place. Three pairs of sneakers later, my shopping done, I was headed home when I passed a strip mall with one of those chain massage places.

  I pushed through the door, and the soothing music washed over me, the scent of sage filled the air, and the cool tones of green and gray made me let out a breath.

  “Welcome.”

  “I don’t have an appointment, but I’d really like to get a massage.”

  The girl consulted the computer screen. “You’re in luck—we have an opening in about ten minutes. Will that work?”

  “Perfect.”

  The girl led me down a softly lit corridor to a plush changing room.

  “There’s water on the table and you’ll find a robe and slippers in the closet. Your masseuse will be in shortly.”

  The room was cozy, the lights dim, a candle smelled like citrus, and the music almost put me to sleep. It was like being enveloped in a circle of warmth. I undressed, leaving my underwear on, and lay facedown on the table, the sheet over me. The door opened with a soft click.

  “Hi, I’m Violet. Have you been here before?”

  “No, it’s my first time.”

  A girl with huge blue eyes sat down, asking me questions about what I did for a living—so not going there—and where I felt tense. Did “everywhere” count? I kept it simple and told her I was on my feet all day at the grocery.

  “Okay, I’m going to spend extra time on your shoulders and back. You’ve got a lot of tension.”

  As she worked, the tension slowly left my body.

  “I love the tattoo of the alligator on your hip and the raven on your shoulder. I’ve got a hedgehog on my ankle.”

  “Thanks. I’ve been thinking about getting a third.”

  She looked to be in her mid-twenties. how did she decide she wanted to be a masseuse? The girl pushed up her sleeve, showing off a quote about books.

  “After the first two, you’ll find yourself wanting lots more. I have thirteen tattoos.”

  The girl went back to work, and I drifted, letting the music soothe me, my body finally letting go. Violet had me turn over, and a bit later she took my hand, working out the kinks, stretching each finger as tears slid into my hair.

  Human contact, touch, was something I hadn’t realized how much I missed. There was no one close. Maddy was a kid; it was different. To have Violet touch me, even knowing it was only intended to heal, not titillate or seduce, was almost more than I could bear as she rubbed lotion into my skin. Touch, to be close to another human being. I wanted to weep. From the moment I first pulled the trigger, I’d given up ever thinking I’d be close to anyone again.

  With great effort, I willed the tumultuous emotion back in a box and curled up outside the door where it was sleeping.

  “I think we got most of the knots out. It was a good session.” She handed me a tissue, not saying a word about the tears, which made me think it must happen more often than I thought, some kind of release, not just tension but clogged up old emotions.

  “If you can, take it easy the rest of the day. Drink lots of water and try to find the time for a nap. You’ll probably be sleepy from the amount of work we did today.”

  I thanked her and dressed quickly. At the checkout desk, I made a decision. “I think I’ll buy a package. I feel better than I have in months, and I have a feeling the next few months are going to be stressful.”

  The meetings in India had gone well, and Augustus was pleased as the jet taxied down the tarmac. On the way back, they had made a stop to refuel and to pick up three guests. Titans in their own right, though in a different industry, one he hoped to have a long partnership with going forward.

  Dean sat across from him. “I hear the E. coli and salmonella outbreaks are bigger than we thought. Thirty-seven states, twenty-two thousand sick, and thirty-nine dead.”

  “It happens every so often. I’m sure this outbreak has been a boost for all of your bottom lines. That payment was sufficient?” He met each of their eyes, and one by one the men nodded. “Remember to return the favor in the future.”

  Dean nodded, and the talk turned to Operation Domino. These men hadn’t attended the meetings; this was more of a subcommittee. Arthur Hinkle had come up with the idea, and he and Augustus were keeping this outside of the larger group. If they pulled off the plan, there would be enough money in their coffers so the next ten generations would never have to work a day in their lives if they didn’t wish to. At least, that was what Arthur hoped for. Him? Every cent went to finding a cure. Not for ordinary cancer—there was already a cure for that, sitting locked up tight in a lab, waiting until the players had a plan in place and decided they could afford to release it. No, this damnable rare cancer didn’t have a cure. Not yet. He was running out of time, could feel the days growing shorter as his wife slipped further and further away. He needed to move faster, do whatever it took to save her, even if he had to sacrifice every man, woman, and child on the planet.

  CHAPTER 18

  IT WAS A FIFTEEN-MINUTE drive out to the Blesser Cattle Feeding Company. There was an old barn, looking ready to collapse at any moment, and I pulled in on the side, where I could see but not be seen.

  The operation was enormous, a veritable sea of cows. The feedlot held a whopping seventy-five thousand animals, around a hundred in each pen, surrounded by metal fences without any shade or shelter. Sweat trickled down my neck as the sun beat down. I had to breathe through my mouth, the smell was so awful. As I leaned against the car, looking through binoculars, I saw a truck pull up. I’d passed the Blesser Meatpacking Company on my way—the two companies were within minutes of each other, which made sense from what I’d read about transporting the cattle fast and keeping the animals calm. Apparently, the more stressed the animal was, the lower the quality of the meat.

  What was I looking for? I wasn’t sure as I scanned the lot, taking breaks to give my eyes a rest. It happened around dusk: in a sea of brown and black, it was the golden hair that stood out. A guy was bobbing up and down like a demented bobble-head doll. I took a few steps forward, straining to see, and a cry escaped as what was left of my patched-up heart shredded.

  It wasn’t a bale of hay the guy and three others were jumping on, it was two cows. The sounds emanating from those animals was something I’d never forget. Not sure if it would work, I held my phone up between my eye and the binoculars and prayed, not to God, but to the darkness within, that I could capture on video what I was witnessing.

  The cries came again, a terrified animal in pain, and the chains on the locked door groaned and then broke, clanking to the floor as the door splintered into a thousand pieces, leaving a cloud of dust and red eyes within the darkness.

  It took every ounce of willpower, summoned from the depths of my soul, to hold the thing within back.

  “Not yet,” I whispered. Not without a plan. The thing inside me roared in anger, and as much I wanted to get closer, take pictures for evidence, I had to go. A pickup had left the feedlot and was on the only road out, the one that would pass me. Had I been spotted?

  I jumped into the Hyundai and left before the pickup reached the old barn. When I hit the intersection, I turned left and forced myself to slow down as if I were going about my business. The pickup was behind me. It followed until I turned into the gas station, and when it passed, the driver not looking my way, I let go of the wheel, my hands shaking
.

  I bought a large soda, filling the cup full of ice, and went back out to the car. Windows down, I watched people coming and going as I planned, discarded ideas, and came up with new ones, until I had a solution. It was getting dark and no one had paid attention to me; they either knew me or were too absorbed in their own lives to pay me any mind. Another hour passed and I saw a beat-up truck followed by an Audi, the telltale golden hair visible through the open window.

  I pulled out behind them and followed them all the way to the outskirts of town, to a hole-in-the-wall bar. The guy in the Audi must be slumming tonight.

  While I sat in the car, I smoothed my hair and fixed my makeup where the mascara had run down my cheeks. Dressed in jeans and a blouse, I wouldn’t stand out, though there were plenty of folks who knew me—the downside to living in a small town.

  I sat at the bar, noticing many of the patrons looked like workers from the feedlot and meatpacking company. They had a similar look, and there was an odd odor that surrounded them. I thought they smelled like death.

  “Hey, Hope, you have the night off?”

  The bartender, I thought his name was Ted, refilled the peanuts in front of me.

  “Sure do. How about—”

  “An Old Fashioned. I remember.”

  Ted moved on, taking orders as the bar filled up and music played. A local band came on at eleven. The blond guy and his three buddies were doing shots. I caught Ted’s eye and he brought me another drink, frowning at the group.

  “Watch out for Will. Works at Blesser and acts like he owns the joint.”

  I took a sip of the drink, letting it dull the sharp edges. “He sure is throwing money around. Shots aren’t cheap.” A cloud of purple and black hung over the bar, coating certain men, those who were cruel. So many choices. One thing I’d learned? To trust my instincts.

  “He does that on weekends, wants the guys to like him. Rumor is he’s from the corporate office, looking to make cost-cutting improvements.”