“They think setting up a cattle operation is a carrot?”
“Better than working all day in the hot sun tending chili peppers.”
“But chili peppers and tomatoes and whatever else you’re growing die in the winter. Not much to do except prepare the land for planting in the spring.”
“We already have two hydroponic facilities set up under canvas and expect to have a couple of temporary hothouses before our first heavy frost, so there’ll be even more to do this winter. It would seem there’s a mystique about working with animals, especially large animals, that attracts the men. Better than digging in dirt or wading in muddy water.”
Eleanor sat across from Ernest Portree at his desk—a broad slab of walnut that had been made in a prison woodworking shop. At least she supposed it had—everything else had. If so, the men who built it were craftsmen who should have no problem finding honest jobs on the outside.
“I’ve been doing some reading, Ernest. What Raoul Torres calls his ‘dummy’s guide to psychopaths.’ He’s been a real godsend. He told me I can call him any hour of the day or night if I have a problem. Okay, with those criteria you mentioned, I’m willing to work with the men selected, with a couple of stipulations. First, no arsonists.”
Portree nodded.
“Second, no one with a record of animal abuse.”
“Of course. Why no arsonists?”
“Because they often progress to violence toward animals. Besides, barns are full of inflammable material. I’d rather not have prisoners who like to start fires.”
“You have been doing your homework. How do you feel about murderers?”
“I read that several of the governors used to staff their mansions exclusively with murderers. They were the least likely to commit another crime—unless, I guess, the circumstances of the first one were duplicated. Anyway, I won’t know.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Raoul suggested that I not read their charge sheets or their prison records so I won’t be looking for trouble. I won’t know the drug dealers and pimps from the guys who embezzled from the mortgage company. They’ll all start with a clean slate. I also want to be able to toss anyone off my team for cause, but I won’t do it without reviewing my reasons with you first.”
“Agreed. All moved into your new cottage?”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “I’m still unpacking, and a good deal of my stuff will have to stay in storage, but at least I can sleep there tonight.”
“Keep your pager beside your bed.”
“Oh, that makes me feel really safe.”
“You’re probably safer in that cottage than you are anywhere in town. But do it, anyway.”
Eleanor stood. “So when do I meet my guys?”
“Tomorrow morning okay?”
“Fine. Early. Right after breakfast. That old barn is going to have to be dug out to the clay and rebedded before we can bring in any stock. It’s knee-deep in rotted manure from twenty years ago when the penal farm shut down. The first day I’ll stick with the guys. Then, until they’re finished, I’ll delegate that to the CO in charge and check on their progress as often and for as long as I can. That way I can still work at the clinic part-time. Once the cows arrive, I may need space to do classroom instruction, as well as the hands-on stuff. Is that possible?”
“Yes, if you don’t think the office in the barn is large enough. I’ve assigned a CO to you. He should be able to keep the men working.”
“But not drive them into the ground?”
“That’s entirely up to you. The guards take orders from you, and it’ll be up to you to monitor them.”
“Fine.”
“J. K. Sanders going to help you pick out the cows?”
“Monday. We should have our first cows in our pasture that afternoon.”
“Good luck. Keep me abreast of your progress.”
“Thanks, Ernest, I will.” She hesitated. “I need one more thing. I don’t know how many changes of uniform the men have, but each man needs a spare set from underwear out that will be kept in the office at the barn.”
“Why? They normally have three. One dirty, one clean and one they’re wearing. You want a fourth?”
“I’m afraid so. There are going to be times when they’ll be in the barn all night without being able to leave. If someone falls in the pond, say, or we have to mend a fence in a driving rainstorm, they’ve got to have a change of clothes available. I, personally, carry two sets in my truck, along with a spare pair of boots and a set of surgical greens for emergencies.”
Ernest rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. That’s an extra expense that’s not in the budget.”
“It’s a very minor expense when you put it against the hospital costs of caring for a prisoner with pneumonia.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks.”
“In exchange, we get all that rotted manure for our hydroponics.” He grinned. “Unless you have a better use for it.”
She smiled back “Agreed. We’ll pile it, you move it out.”
She left him working through a stack of paperwork inches high. She nodded cheerfully at his secretary, Yvonne Linden, as she went by. If they knew how terrified she was, they’d fire her before she even got started.
DR. RICK HAZARD CAUGHT ELEANOR on her way into the large-animal area of the clinic late that afternoon and pulled her into his office for one of his “chats.” Eleanor hoped this one wouldn’t take long.
“I’ve heard prisoners can scent fear,” Rick said. “You sure you want to take this job? I’m having second thoughts about recommending you.”
“Not you, too?”
“Come on, Eleanor. You’re finally completely back to top-notch form professionally. I’d hate to see you get too stressed-out.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll still be available to take up the slack here at the clinic. And as to scenting fear, well, so can an angry terrier.”
“The terrier can do a real number on your ankles. A 250-pound man can do a number on your life, just like a lion or tiger. Better make sure you carry your whip and chair.”
As managing partner and the man whose wife and father-in-law had invested a large part of the money to open Creature Comfort, Rick Hazard’s priorities were his clinic first and the remainder of the world a distant second. “I worry that you won’t have time to spend here once your program at the farm gets into gear.”
“I should have guessed that was the real problem. Come on, Rick, how much time can a small herd take once it’s up and going? I’ve never let you or Sarah down yet, have I? I owe you, Rick. If it weren’t for you, I’d never have gotten my nerve back after Jerry died. A year ago I couldn’t have faced all the responsibility alone. I couldn’t decide what shirt to wear.”
Rick slumped in his desk chair and propped his knee on his desk. “You were just worn out.”
“I was exhausted all right. I just didn’t know how badly. Two years of watching Jerry getting sicker and sicker, trying to keep the practice going with interns, arguing with the pharmaceutical companies, losing client after client. I’m a good vet, but Jerry was the shining light in the practice. He was the guy all the old ladies wanted when Muffy had a sore throat or their stallion needed a blood test.
“After he died, I was stupid enough to think it was all over. It took a whole year of fighting with the IRS, the insurance companies, the hospitals about the bills for Jerry’s treatment, and finally losing everything we’d dreamed of in a bankruptcy auction. I suppose it’s no wonder I lost my nerve. It was as if everything I touched went wrong. I’ve been a widow two years, Rick. Sometimes it seems like a lifetime, and others it seems like a heartbeat.” She flashed him a smile. “Anyway, thanks for having enough faith in my professional comeback to recommend me for this job.”
“No good deed goes unpunished as someone once said.”
Rick was not as tall as Mac Thorn nor as handsome, but despite his reputation as being something of a fussbudget about t
he clinic, he was a formidable administrator and manager when faced with a crisis. He was also a darned good veterinarian, though he also preferred small animals to cows and horses.
“What does Sarah say?” he asked.
“She’s all for it. She’s going with J. K. Sanders and me Monday to pick our herd. She’s promised to help me get set up. And, Rick, remember the clinic will get all the business from the farm as long as I’m there. Plus a ready source of semitrained brawn on work release. Think of it as a win-win situation.”
“Yeah. If you say so.” He didn’t sound convinced. “You planning to take drugs with you? I’ll bet a bunch of those guys would just love to get their hands on some Ketamine or Winstrol.”
“I’ll only carry the bare essentials for emergencies double-locked in my vet cabinet in the back of my truck. They won’t even know I have them. My truck should be in view at the barn nearly all the time—either I’ll be able to see it or one of the COs will.”
“How many of those guys you think can pop a car lock and pick the lock on your cabinet within twenty seconds?”
“Probably all of them. The COs are supposed to keep that from happening.”
“Is the anxiety worth the money you’ll be making? Don’t try to tell me you’re not anxious.”
“Of course I’m anxious, but I’m also excited. It’s the first time since Jerry died that I’ve had the guts to try something new on my own. I don’t expect to do it for more than a couple of years. By that time I should have enough money to buy a partnership in a good practice somewhere, maybe even here, if you have room and I can afford the cost. I can’t go on working part-time forever. I have to build some sort of a life.”
“You picked one hell of a way to do it.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay, but if I see a problem, I’ll let you know.”
“I would expect that. Thanks. You won’t be sorry.”
He stood up and pulled the top of his surgical greens down over his stomach. “Man, I’ve got to go on a diet. Margot feeds me too well. You have time to help me in surgery?”
“A couple of hours. What’ve you got?”
“Skin graft on that silky terrier that got burned. Floor furnaces should be outlawed.”
She followed him out of his office and down the hall, stopping at the storage cabinet to pick up a set of greens. Nancy Mayfield would have everything else ready, including the surgical packs. As she caught up to him at the door of the surgical theater, he asked, “What breed of cattle you getting?”
“Beefmaster.”
“Good God, woman, you pick the biggest breed of beef cattle in the world?”
“They want publicity, as well as a prize herd. J. K. Sanders and I figured Beefmaster would give them that.”
“You’re crazy.”
“You said that before.”
So far nobody except Sarah Scott’s new husband, Mark, who looked after the financial end of the clinic as part of his duties as CFO of Buchanan Enterprises, had encouraged her. He alone saw the financial gains she could make in a short time.
Anyone who thought bankruptcy was a quick and easy way to get out of paying bills had never tried it, but after Jerry’s death, there had been no other way out for Eleanor. Their practice had been liquidated to cover the cost of Jerry’s medical bills, but she had still felt like Sisyphus, sentenced to push a heavy rock to the top of a hill, only to have it slide back to the bottom again and again.
With the help of her friends at the clinic, she could pull off this new job. With Sarah pregnant, she’d have to shoulder more of the inevitable responsibilities at Creature Comfort. Good thing she’d gotten used to making do with little sleep during Jerry’s illness and after.
“MAN, I DIDN’T TAKE THIS JOB to shovel cow manure. I already broke two nails,” Sweet Daddy grumbled. Sweet Daddy worked hard to keep his small hands smooth, his fingernails long. One day shoveling aged cow manure from the old barn, unused for more than twenty years, would destroy his manicure and leave him with blisters.
“Shut up and shovel,” said Mike Newman, known to the inmates and the other COs as “Lard Ass Newman.” He was a bully and a sadist. If his authority was questioned or he felt any personal slight, payback was vicious. Steve had only come into contact with him a couple of times before today, but he’d been warned to avoid even a hint of arrogance.
“When’s this bitch coming?” Sweet Daddy asked.
“Use that word near her and you’ll be walking around with those pretty hands in casts,” Newman snarled.
“Might be worth it,” Sweet Daddy whispered. “Oooh-eee, what have we here? Yo, mama.” He grinned at something over Steve’s shoulder.
“Good morning, gentlemen. I am Dr. Eleanor Grayson. We’re going to be working together.”
Steve hadn’t been called a gentleman in years, and probably nobody had ever called any of the others gentlemen. He rested on the handle of his pitchfork and turned toward the voice. The others had stopped work, as well.
It was that woman he’d seen with the other one—the beautiful black woman who worked with the GED program—the day he arrived at the farm.
This woman was taller, with brown hair pulled back severely, revealing her strong bone structure. Almost no makeup. Oversize sweater and jeans.
Bet she thought that sweater would hide her womanly charms. Not from these guys. Three years without a woman gave a guy X-ray vision and one hell of a fantasy life.
Steve glanced at Sweet Daddy. The little man’s eyes were burning into her, stripping her in his mind with professional skill. From the way he licked his lips, Steve knew that he was assessing Dr. Grayson as if she were one of his women.
Steve loathed Sweet Daddy’s attitude toward women. He longed to smash the pimp’s face, but that would give Newman a chance to smash his in return, probably kick him off this team and maybe out of this facility. He concealed his anger and kept his face blank.
“At the moment there are only six of you on my team. I know you feel as though you are getting the dirty end, having to clean out this place, but I’ll be driving a tractor with a front loader and scraper blade for you. That should make things go smoother and faster. Also, when we do need additional personnel, those of you who make the grade will remain as supervisors of the new people. You’re getting in on the ground floor, no pun intended. Tomorrow we’re bringing in painters and carpenters to repair everything that needs repairing. The plumbing and electricity have already been done, or redone. There’s hot water in the shower room and on the wash racks. Monday of next week I’m bringing in our first cows. Any questions so far?”
“Yeah.” Sweet Daddy raised his hand. Steve could already see the blisters on his palms beginning to pucker.
“Yes, Doctor,” Newman said with menace.
“Right, yeah. So, Doctor, do we get first choice on the steaks?”
Everybody but Newman laughed. He snarled and started to move forward. The vet stopped him.
“Good question. Not for a long time. It takes time to build a herd, especially a show herd like this one. But I promise you if you’re still here when we slaughter our first cow, you guys will definitely get steaks.”
Everybody cheered.
“Anybody here know how to ride a horse?”
Steve raised his hand. So did a couple of other men whose names he didn’t know.
“What kind?”
“Just horses,” Steve said. “Nothing special.” The last thing he wanted was for these guys to know he’d played polo.
One of the others admitted to riding horses as a child, and another had ridden occasionally many years earlier.
“Okay. The horses you will be riding—” she waited until they’d settled down “—are cutting horses. I guarantee they are smarter and can move faster on a cow than you can think. You will fall off. A lot. You’ll also learn how to take care of horses. That should give you a skill that will be readily usable in this area, given the number of horses we have and the lack of knowledgeable stable help. Yo
u won’t be doing much riding until we get set up, and then just straightforward riding, and not much herding. Learning to stay on a cutting horse when he starts ducking from side to side to work a cow will take some time.”
She rubbed her hands together. “Now, how about we go over names? I have a list, but if I go strictly by that, I’ll never keep you straight. If you introduce yourselves, I probably won’t remember your name right away, but I’ll try. Let’s start with you.” She pointed to the giant. Steve had sat behind him on the bus and beside him at meals, but he had never heard him speak.
The big man hunched his shoulders and shook his head.
“I’ll start,” Steve said. The giant gave him a grateful look. “Steve Chadwick. I’m here for—”
“No. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know what you did. I only care what you do from this point on. Clear?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Clear.”
She nodded and pointed to the man at Steve’s left, instead of back to the giant, who stood at Steve’s right.
“Elroy Long, at your service. Call me Sweet Daddy.” The wiry little black man sketched a deep bow and grinned at her and then at the others. They snickered.
She moved on.
“Joseph Jasper, ma’am—uh, Doctor. They call me Slow Rise. I ain’t young, but I’m strong. Grew up on a farm. Worked cattle most of my life. Rode some years ago. Had my own place.”
“Wonderful.”
The fourth man was completely bald. Like the rest of them, he wore jeans and a work shirt, but all the visible skin, pate included, was covered with elaborate tattoos. Most were prison tattoos. Steve could tell from the black and blue ink and the lack of skill. Some, however, were colorful and beautifully done. A red-and-yellow dragon curled from the back of his right hand all the way up his arm, or at least as far as the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt allowed Steve to see.
The Payback Man Page 3