When She Was Bad

by Cynthia Luhrs

  I narrowed my eyes. Will had the look of a guy who’d never worked hard for anything in his life, well educated, with too much money and not enough accountability. He and his friends were playing pool. How could they act like nothing had happened? As if the cruelty they’d committed meant nothing?

  He’d gone to the bathroom, and when he came out, he leaned on the bar next to me, slurring his words as he talked to two guys I didn’t recognize. One left, carrying two pitchers of beer, while Will and the other guy waited for the bartender to fill the other pitchers.

  “Yeah, I’m here for the rest of the summer. You should’ve seen it, stupid cows. They wouldn’t get up, so we had to wrap them in chains and drag them down the road. Dumb animals.”

  “Damn, girl, you okay?”

  I looked down to see my hand holding a broken glass filled with a red liquid. I didn’t feel the pain; the roaring inside drowned out everything as Ted wrapped my hand in a rag, and Will looked disgusted when he saw a spot of blood on the bar and on his hand.

  Ted took the glass from me, looking at the pieces. “I’m so sorry. There’s a crack and it must have given way.” He took my hand and unwrapped the rag. The cut wasn’t deep, but it was long, running from the fleshy part of my hand over the base of my thumb.

  “I’m fine. I don’t know what happened.”

  The mess cleaned up, he placed a fresh drink in front of me. “No cracks in this one.”

  I opened my wallet, but the bartender shook his head. “Drinks are on me. Least I could do after what happened.”

  “Thanks.”

  As I left, I heard one of the abusers say to Will, “See you next Friday.” He passed what looked like a joint to the golden-haired monster. “We’ll make it a real party at our place.”

  Will laughed. “You always get the best weed.”

  The night air was warm as I sat in the car. I remembered a conversation I’d had with Gramps when I was little. We were talking about a man and his cow.

  Gramps said, “According to the law, the cow belonged to Mr. Williams. But I knew what his son was doing to that poor animal. So Henry and I took that cow one night, took him far away to live with someone we knew. A place where he’ll live out the rest of his life in a sanctuary. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  And I’d gotten it, said, “I think I get it. Sometimes what the law says isn’t always the most right thing to do.”

  The law. When examined under a microscope, anyone’s life can be twisted, their credibility destroyed. I’d read what had happened to whistleblowers, like that big R&D guy with big tobacco. Fuck the law. I’d do this my way so it would be permanent. And I knew from experience how easy it was to get to someone if you put your mind to it. Justice was coming. Will and his friends better enjoy their last days on this earth.

  CHAPTER 19

  I WAS ON A BREAK at work, and it’d been raining all day, so I was sitting at the table in the break room half listening to the news until I heard them talking about food poisoning.

  The man said, “The U.S. Department of Agriculture’s Food Safety Inspection Service has recently implemented new rules to help trace raw materials used in ground beef products in the marketplace. All stores and businesses that grind raw beef are required, as of July, to maintain grinding records and list the source of the raw materials used, so in the event of an incident, authorities can trace the bacteria back to where it originated.”

  “Can you believe this? Blame the stores. Probably some worker forgot to wash their hands.” Caleb rolled his eyes and went to the small counter to pour another cup of coffee. He drank coffee all night, I don’t know how he slept when he got home. “I think everyone here has been sick except you.”

  “Really? What about Evan?”

  My manager shook his head. “He came down with it yesterday.”

  “Must be the vitamins and green smoothies.”

  “Forget the drinks. I’ve seen you drinking that sludge. What kind of vitamins do you take?”

  I told him, and before I could ask him about the day manager, the newscaster was back on.

  “Unfortunately, in the case of these outbreaks, both happened before the rule went into effect a little over a week ago, so the stores were not required to keep grinding logs. Our thoughts are with those who are sick.” He smiled into the camera. “I was out about two weeks.”

  He and the other newscaster and weatherman talked about being sick, but I tuned them out. Would the public be outraged? Riot at the Grab-and-Go? I snorted. Doubtful. As long as the public found the shelves stocked, they would go on about their lives.

  “Hey, Caleb? What’s a grinding log?”

  He was chewing. His wife always sent great meals. Looked like a roast beef sandwich.

  “That sandwich must be six inches tall. Your wife rocks.”

  “With fresh horseradish and mustard.” He wiped his mouth and put his feet up on the chair next to me. “It’s an amalgam of various grades of meat from different parts of the cows, and from a bunch of slaughterhouses, not only across the U.S. but from other countries too. That’s a grinding log, and what makes up hamburger. It’s all regulated and perfectly safe…well, most of the time. Outbreaks are rare.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  He wolfed down the rest of his sandwich and poured another cup of coffee. “See you out there.”

  I checked my phone. “Seven more minutes.” So basically the federal government was taking risks with consumers’ food. The E. coli outbreak had probably originated in the slaughterhouse, where feces contaminated the meat. Knowing I only had a few minutes, I scrolled through the stories and found the huge slaughterhouses had agreements with companies prohibiting them from testing the meat for E. coli—at least not until it had been mixed together with shipments from other places, thereby insulating them from recalls. Not to mention preventing anyone being able to trace the E. coli back to its source. Ignorance was bliss and all that crap.

  I’d been eating hamburger and hadn’t gotten sick, but then again, I bought my meat from the farmer I rented from. Guessed I liked that his cows were happy and it wasn’t some huge production facility. Was that why I hadn’t gotten sick? Maybe small, family-run farms took more care?

  Anger flared. The government was supposed look out for its citizens, yet it seemed to be on the side of big food, only concerned with protecting their interests and making money. I shook my head. This wouldn’t do, and just like the cruelty cases, there really wasn’t any teeth behind what was being done to offenders. But how did I punish the guilty without him finding out? I hoped he would lose interest and I could go back to helping those without a voice, but until I was sure, I couldn’t do anything unless I wanted to die. One chance. He wouldn’t give a second.

  I’d woken early, with just enough time to make it to the museum and back. There was a Chihuly exhibit I’d been wanting to see. The undulating shapes on the website reminded me of exotic coral hidden away in the depths of the ocean. I’d seen a few of the glass chandeliers in hotels, but not an exhibit like the museum promised.

  Maddy was in school, or I would have taken her with me. She’d love a road trip. When I was little, kids had the whole summer off, things were different now. My grandparents hated to fly. I remembered when they came to get me in Florida all those years ago, how on that trip home from Florida to Kansas, I’d fallen in love with road trips. We took lots of trips to so many different places. I’d flown a few times but hated it. In my own car, I controlled where I went and what I did. When I stopped and where I ate. My schedule was mine and mine alone. And that was how I found myself spending the day wandering through the museum, melting into the darkness even as I was drawn to the glass shapes that seemed to be lit from within. There was one room that talked about how Chihuly had taken the reject pieces and put them at the bottom of his swimming pool, and then covered it with Plexiglas. It would be like swimming over a colorful reef. There was another room where the glass was in the ceiling above my hea
d, and it was like rainbows falling on me.

  I had hoped that by taking this trip, I could figure out how to punish Will and his friends without ending up dead myself. While I hadn’t seen the Maserati, I couldn’t shake the feeling he was watching me. I’d become one of those crazy, paranoid people.

  It was bad enough I had stopped helping those who needed me, even though I was doing what I could behind the scenes, using the money Gram had left me. But it wasn’t the same; justice wasn’t served unless I was pulling the trigger. I didn’t believe people should live after torturing a helpless animal, and I found myself constantly battling the thing within every day. I had hoped it would get easier as time passed, but it hadn’t. I couldn’t reconcile the two halves. It wasn’t that I was afraid to die, but if I was gone then who would help those who needed me most?

  As I drove home, my phone rang.

  “Hey, Maddy. I saw the best exhibit.”

  Someone cleared their throat, and the voice that spoke was raspy—a lifelong smoker. “This is Betty Spencer, Madeline’s momma. I know how much she likes you and I know you brought groceries when I…was away.” A fit of coughing interrupted her, yet I heard the sound of a lighter, the inhale of a cigarette. “My baby girl is in the hospital.”

  I slammed on the brakes, pulling over to the side of the road. “What happened?”

  “She got the sickness going around. Couldn’t stop pooping and throwing up. I had to take her to the hospital. Kid shit and puked all over my man’s car.”

  I didn’t scream at her, even though I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle the poor excuse for a mother. “What did the doctor say?”

  “They’ll get her better. I gotta go.”

  I made it back to town in record time, called Caleb, and asked if one of the daytime cashiers could stay an hour longer so I could go see Maddy. He said yes as I parked and ran inside.

  “Where’s Maddy Spencer?”

  The nurse at the desk looked tired. “You’re the new gal, works at the Grab-and-Go, right?”

  “Yes. Please, can I see her?”

  She looked at her screen. There was a tiny sculpture that said Florida, and above the words was a smiling alligator next to a palm tree. Her souvenir was a sign.

  “Her momma said Madeline insisted you be put on the list. She’s in room 113. Down the hall to your left.”

  The doctor was leaving the room when I arrived.

  “How is Maddy?”

  “I wish the mother would have brought her in sooner. She’s suffering from hemolytic uremic syndrome. We’re giving her fluids, she’s had a transfusion, and it’s only temporary, but she’ll require dialysis.” The woman looked tired.

  “But she’ll be okay?”

  The doctor patted my shoulder. “Pray.”

  I got home from work that morning as the storm rolled across the meadow, trees bent over as rain lashed against the windows. The sliding glass door was open, the curtains billowing as thunder cracked and lightning arced across the sky. Dressed in a t-shirt and underwear, unable to sleep, I sat in the middle of the floor, hugging my knees, rocking back and forth as the storm raged around and within me.

  When I woke, the sun was shining and Midnight was drinking out of one of the puddles on the floor. My t-shirt was already dry, the curtains had damp spots here and there, but the heat and sun were doing their job. I gave Midnight a can of his favorite cat food and cleaned up the puddles, opening the windows to help everything dry out.

  Maddy was the final straw. I would risk his wrath to find out who was behind the outbreaks and punish the guilty. And I had a starting point: Will and his cruel buddies. After wiping off the patio furniture, I ate my lunch sitting in the sun, but I was cold. Empty and hollow inside.

  Caleb called as I stood in the doorway to the bedroom.

  “You feeling better? Please tell me you haven’t come down with whatever’s going around.”

  I swore I meant to say I was fine, but the words came out differently. “I feel awful. Maybe it’s the stomach flu, at least I hope that’s all it is. I’m real sorry.”

  He wished me a quick recovery, and while I felt a little guilty, I couldn’t let work get in the way of what I needed to do. Most folks recovered in two weeks, it would have to be enough time. I took a deep breath and knelt in front of the hope chest, hands on the top. A deep sigh escaped, and I accepted my choice as I opened the lid.

  Gramps had made it for Mama when she married. The scent of cedar filled my nose as I lifted the lid. Sweaters came out, followed by cozy crocheted scarves. Faded color took up the rest of the space. The quilt Gram made her to start a new life with my daddy. I pulled it out, sat down cross-legged, and ran my hands over the lines. Seeing the worn fabric brought forth a picture of Gram sewing, the scent of her ever-present caramel candies so strong that I could almost taste them. There was always a chipped pitcher full of fresh flowers on the windowsill surrounded by red and white gingham curtains. And her perfume. White Shoulders. The scent filled the air around me and a lump formed in my throat. When I took the quilt out, it felt heavy.

  But it wasn’t my guns I found. They were gone. In their place was a plain brown paper package with a note on top. Opening the note, I read, When the day comes and you can no longer resist, use these. Figured you could pick your own colors. Inside the package was a beautiful scarf wrapped around two guns. But not my guns with the nail polish dots to differentiate them. He’d made fun of the colors before, asked if I had bedazzled them. Who knew an assassin would know about bedazzling?

  By the note, I knew they had to be ghost guns, guns with no serial numbers, untraceable. Most made their way into the country via the Philippines.

  The others are gone, along with your old life. These will keep you hidden from law enforcement, not from me. My promise stands.

  Well, that was kind of like a dentist giving kids candy then fussing about cavities. The guns were .38s, five shots, no shell casings to be left behind. My favorite. The cold, dark metal called out to me like a beautiful piece of jewelry.

  When I picked them up, the weight felt good in my hand. I wrapped the scarf around my ponytail, letting the ends trail down my back.

  A gun in each hand, I padded to the armoire in the living room. There were three narrow drawers on the right-hand side, and in one of them I kept my nail polish. The coral and purple called out to me, and the smell filled the air as I painted a perfect dot on each one. It was the only way to tell them apart, and I might need to alternate them. As I left them on the coffee table to dry, the sun hit them, turning the black metal iridescent.

  Lindsey Stirling played softly in the background, and the scent of the meadow and grass drifted through the house as the voice whispered words up my ribcage and across my breasts, before caressing my lips and climbing into my mouth.

  Let me turn the fields red with their blood.

  I gave the darkness free rein.

  CHAPTER 20

  AUGUSTUS STRETCHED OUT ON THE sofa in his hotel suite and listened to his food scientists via videoconference. They’d been busy, collaborated with folks from big tobacco at a secure off-site location, and they’d come back with ideas on flavorings and other sensory issues they’d been struggling with.

  One of the scientists discussed how formulations of two troublesome beverages and a new cracker could be adjusted. Each tiny adjustment was made with the sole purpose of targeting the emotional needs of consumers. But when another scientist mentioned changing the salt content, Augustus stopped him, had him go through in detail what it would mean. Without any salt, focus groups said the crackers felt like twigs, chewed like Styrofoam, and had no taste whatsoever. The same thing had happened when they’d adjusted the salt in soups and breads. Take more than a little of one of the trifecta out of processed food and what was left was a bitter, unpalatable taste. The magic was in combining fat, sugar, and salt in such a way to annihilate the competition and keep consumers coming back for more.

  He listened to them t
alking about a new development, what they called hollow sugar. It reduced the sugar content by forty percent and tasted just as sweet. The particles dissolved faster, delivering a rush to the consumer, and with a few tweaks they could make the heavy users want more and more. It was going to push Gier into the number one spot.

  While they talked, he let room service in and settled down to enjoy a midnight snack.

  “We found in ninety-three percent of focus groups over the past month, based on the tweaks we made to the formula, the consumer was actually hungrier after eating our cookie, and wanted more. Marketing will present the additional flavor recommendations and corresponding campaign.”

  Augustus finished chewing. “Good. I don’t want those bastards at Hinkle getting wind of this.” If his VP of food science wasn’t so bloody good at his job, Augustus would’ve moved him to strategic development a long time ago.

  “How’s it going there?”

  “Excellent. I expect the deal to be signed tomorrow. The further we can penetrate into the world, convert consumers to heavy users, we will crush the competition.” He stared into the screen. “You know what I always say.”

  They answered as one: “Get them at the cradle and keep them to the grave.”

  And it was true. Between Grier and his closest competitors, they had cornered breakfast. From bagels and orange juice to yogurt and sugary cereals. Not to mention frozen breakfast meals, and there was even precooked bacon the consumer could keep in the pantry. Lunch was locked down as well. With hotdogs, chips, and soda on offer, there wasn’t a vegetable in sight. Many kids didn’t have a clue a carrot grew in the dirt.

  And dinners? Parents were busier than ever, relying on frozen dinners, prepared meals picked up from the grocery store, fast and easy. Heat it up and serve. Even macaroni and cheese had gotten a makeover. It had been genius to mix rehydrated tiny pieces of broccoli into the mac and cheese. The best part: it was the bits that had fallen off fresh broccoli and would have been swept into the trash. Gier purchased those bits for practically nothing and were able to claim a full serving of vegetables in every box of macaroni and cheese.