Bill pondered the idea, trying to wrap his head around the notion.
“But why don’t he just put the wire on top of the ground? Wouldn’t that be a lot easier?”
“It would definitely be easier. But rabbits like to dig. They normally live in holes beneath the ground, and seek shelter there in bad weather. That’s where they have their babies too.
“This way they can dig their burrows like they normally would. Only when they go three feet down they’ll hit the wire and have to go sideways instead of deeper.”
“I don’t get it. Why not just let them dig as far as they want?”
“Because they might dig their way out of the yard and all run away.”
“Oh. Okay. I guess I’ll help him. It sounds like a lot of digging, and he probably can’t do it without my help. On account of I’m such a good digger and all.”
“Good for you, Bill, for wanting to help him.”
“I still wanna know where baby rabbits come from.”
-32-
Sometime later Scarlett and Bill were hunkered down in a stand of shrubbery overlooking a vast clearing.
Scarlett had been to this clearing two dozen times before and had almost always been rewarded with a rabbit or two.
Scarlett spoke in a low voice. She told Bill to do the same.
“But shouldn’t we whisper?” he asked.
“No. Don’t whisper but don’t talk loud either. Did your mom ever tell you to use your ‘inside voice’?”
“Yes, she did.”
“Okay. Rabbits don’t spook as much as some other animals. So if you use your inside voice and don’t jerk or move too fast we’ll be fine.
“Now, do you know which way the wind is blowing?”
“No. Why? Is that important?”
“Well, not really. Not today. Rabbits won’t run if they sense a human nearby. But someday you’ll be hunting a deer, and I want you to get used to using the wind. I want you to always position yourself to where the wind is blowing away from the animals you’re hunting and toward you. Okay?”
“Um… okay. But why?”
“Because if it’s blowing past you and toward a deer he’ll smell you, even if he can’t see you. And he’ll run.”
“Seriously? Because I don’t smell that bad, on account of I washed up in the sink this morning.”
“I know, Bill, and I appreciate that. But it doesn’t matter. Any time you go hunting, you need to stay downwind from the animals we’re hunting. That way it’ll become a habit for you. It’s called staying downwind, and it’s very important.”
“Okay.”
“Now then, look toward the field where we’re hunting the rabbits.”
“Okay…”
“Feel the breeze against your face?”
“Yes.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
He hesitated, afraid of getting the answer wrong and disappointing her.
“A… good thing?”
He winced, hoping against hope he was right.
She smiled.
He beamed.
“That’s right Bill. Do you know why it’s a good thing?”
“Because… the animals we’re hunting can’t smell us and run?”
She patted his shoulder.
“That’s right, Bill. I told you you weren’t dumb. Don’t you ever tell me or anyone else you’re dumb again, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And if anybody tells you you’re dumb or stupid or retarded you let me know and I’ll deal with them. Okay?”
He smiled.
“Okay, Miss Scarlett. I will.”
They sat for several minutes in dead silence, Bill focusing his gaze on the landscape in front of them. He was certain a thousand rabbits would surely come his way.
Then, “Miss Scarlett, I have a question.”
“What is it, Bill?”
“What if he’s running so fast I miss him? Do I shoot again or just give up?”
She smiled.
“Well, first of all, you’re not going to shoot at him while he’s running. If you do you’ll miss him for sure and waste a bullet.”
“Oh.”
“Rabbits tend to move a little bit and then stop. And then move a little bit more and stop again. The only time they really run a long distance is when they’re spooked.”
“What’s spooked?”
“Scared.”
“Oh, okay.”
The silence returned, but for only a minute.
Then, as though on cue, a good-sized rabbit appeared and hopped lazily into the clearing toward them.
She calmly told Bill, “Okay. Now get down into the prone position like I told you.”
She did too, watching the muzzle of the weapon to make sure he remembered not to wave it around.
“Okay. Now get the weapon ready, but keep your finger off the trigger. We’ll let him move again and see if he comes any closer.”
Their target was about sixty yards away when he first entered the clearing.
When he moved he came about ten yards closer.
“Can I shoot him now?”
“Not yet. Let’s wait and see where he goes.”
He moved again, and was slightly farther away.
“Okay, Bill. I don’t think he’s coming any closer. Do you think you can make the shot?”
“Yes ma’am.”
He seemed calmer than she imagined he would be.
“Okay. Release the safety and place the pad of your finger on the trigger, just like I showed you.”
She watched closely as he followed her instructions to the letter.
“Okay. Now line up your sights and place them on the rabbit’s chest. Now, the rabbit has a small heart, so you need to make sure not to take the shot until you’re sure you can hit him in the center of the chest. Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Once you have the sights lined up, take half a breath and hold it. Then pull your finger straight back. Don’t squeeze the trigger. Just pull it.”
“I remember.”
It was time for her to be quiet and let him do his thing. She couldn’t help herself and crossed her fingers.
A shot rang out, spooking the birds from a nearby tree, and the rabbit fell over.
“Okay, Put the safety on and remember to be careful how you carry the weapon. Let’s go.”
As they approached the rabbit Scarlett could tell it wasn’t a clean shot. The bullet had gone through both the creature’s lungs but missed the heart completely.
He was writhing around in pain.
Bill was beside himself.
This wasn’t what he expected to see.
“He’s hurting. What do we do?”
He started to cry.
Scarlett raised her own weapon and brought the butt down on the rabbit’s head, crushing its skull and stilling it immediately.
She held Bill, who was beside himself.
“I didn’t mean to hurt him, Miss Scarlett. I just wanted to kill him.”
His words would have sounded ludicrous under other circumstances.
But Scarlett knew exactly what he meant.
“I’m not sure I want to do this anymore,” he said between sobs.
“Bill, I’ll tell you what. If you want you can let me take the rest of the shots today. You’ve accomplished what we set out to do today. You killed your first rabbit. You should be very proud that you did something many people couldn’t bring themselves to do. And even if we don’t take any more today you’ll still eat well tonight.
“It’ll get easier as time goes on for a couple of reasons. First, because you’ll get better and in time you’ll be able to kill your animal immediately so he doesn’t suffer.
“Also, because believe it or not, doing what we just did gets easier as you do it more and more often.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now, we’ll go back to the brush and I’ll show you how to dress your kill.”
-33-
R.J Salinas was doing a bang-up business in the Victoria Courts housing project.
Word had spread quickly he was offering free jerky.
Some had gotten the word the jerky was made of rat meat.
Some backed away from the opportunity.
But most were willing to at least try it. Word on the street was it was good. Very good.
And starving people tend to do things in desperation they’d never see themselves doing under other circumstances.
After all, eating rat must certainly be better than dying a slow and miserable death.
Business was so good R.J. couldn’t keep up with the demand. He hired two helpers with the blessing of the city, who went out each day to trap rats for him.
That allowed R.J. to spend most of his time at his apartment.
His days followed a regular routine now.
In the morning, he’d fire up three massive barbeque grills on his patio and load them with rat meat he’d culled from the previous day’s kill.
For two hours the meat would cook, slowly so it retained most of its tenderness.
Then he’d turn down the heat for two additional hours to dry out the meat and turn it into jerky.
It wasn’t his preferred way of preparing the meat. He’d have rather used a smoker and taken several more hours per batch.
But at the rate the citizenry was clamoring for his product he simply had no time.
He had to get started early, so he could get three full batches done and finish before dark.
For he knew that any meat left on the grills after dark wouldn’t be there when he went back for it.
The city had hooked him up with a 2,000 watt diesel generator and a refrigerator. The refrigerator was essential for keeping the meat from spoiling.
At least he told the city it was.
In reality he used the refrigerator for storing beer.
The first time his friend John Castro asked him about it he explained.
“I’ve been a chef for many years. I’ve tried many recipes. I’ve kept some, modified others to suit my needs, and thrown out many others.
“Over the course of those years I’ve learned some tricks of the trade that have served me well.
“One of those is to prepare the meat immediately when it comes through the doors. The good thing about cooking and drying the jerky on low temperatures is that it doesn’t require constant attention. It’s not like cooking ribs on the grill and having to watch them constantly to keep them from burning.
“The jerky is cooked at a high enough constant temperature to kill all the bacteria, but low enough to cook it through and through thoroughly…”
“Boy, that’s a mouthful.”
“What?”
“’Through and through thoroughly.’”
“Yeah, yeah. You wanna hear this or not?”
“Sorry. Go ahead.”
“My point is, since it’s cooking at low temperatures it doesn’t have to be watched constantly. So as the rats are brought in throughout the day I can come into the apartment and prepare the meat.”
“And just how do you prepare it so it doesn’t require refrigeration until it’s cooked?”
“I marinate it in a vinegar-based marinade.”
“That’s all?”
“No, bonehead, that not all. I said vinegar-based. It has lots of other stuff in it. Spices and crushed pecans and diced peppers and onions.
“But the main part of the marinade is vinegar.”
“And that’s important why, exactly?”
“Because vinegar is an excellent natural preservative. The meat will sit in the marinade absorbing the flavors for several hours without going bad. As long as I don’t let it sit too long it’s not in danger of spoiling.
“And vinegar does that?”
“Yes. I can’t go too crazy, but I know after all these years how long I can let it marinate at room temperature without the meat spoiling.”
John looked skeptical.
R.J. continued.
“That’s the reason you could keep mustard, ketchup and pickles on your kitchen counter. Before the world went to hell, I mean.”
“No. Mustard and ketchup and pickles had to go in the fridge.”
“Wrong. Most people believed that. But because of their high vinegar content they didn’t have to be refrigerated. They could sit on the kitchen counter at room temperature and not go bad. Eventually, after many months, the pickles might get soft, but that was from old age and not temperatures. They’d have gotten soft in the fridge as well.”
“I never knew that. I hated cold ketchup. So I could have left it out all that time and never knew it?”
“Exactly.”
“So, that’s how you’re able to cook three batches in a day?”
“Exactly. The meat I put in the marinade in the evening goes on the grill first thing in the morning. It’s the first batch. The rats that come in in the morning while the first batch is cooking becomes the second batch. The rats that come in while the second batch is cooking become the third batch.
“Of course, the second and third batches don’t taste quite as good because they can’t marinate as long. So I just over-season them with black pepper and some other things and they’re good enough to eat.”
“So why did you tell the city you needed the fridge and the generator?”
“I didn’t. But when they came by offering it to me I wasn’t about to turn it down. I’m not that crazy.”
In the evenings, after his work in the kitchen was done, R.J. entertained many of the people from the neighborhood. By bartering jerky to a local prepper, he obtained a large-screen television and DVD player, which were set up in the courtyard outside his apartment.
The rest of the courtyard was filled with couches and easy chairs from abandoned apartments.
Every evening he showed a movie double-feature.
The beer had to be rationed, two beers per person. But every day someone brought three or four more cases from an area liquor store or beer delivery truck to replenish what was used.
It seemed there was nothing better than a cold beer and a movie to help the city’s most desperate residents forget their troubles, even for a short time.
R.J. Salinas had become the hero of the inner city.
He was an amazing chef and an amazing host.
He was also a friendly sort, and perhaps a bit naïve to the ways of the world.
For though he had vast knowledge of his craft, he knew precious little about human nature or the inner workings on the human mind.
It just never dawned on him that while most of the people who drifted over to his apartment to watch movies and drink cold beer each night were friendly, not all of them were.
Some of them were jealous of the things he had that they didn’t.
Some of them coveted his operation.
Some of them might mean him harm in the weeks and months ahead.
-34-
Toni came rushing into Rose’s hotel room, almost knocking John Castro over as she brushed by him.
“What do you mean, ‘she’s not here?’ she said with a gasp.
She desperately looked around, tossed the mattresses off the two king-sized beds and inspected the empty box frames beneath them. She opened the small closet. Looked into the bathroom.
There were no other places to search.
It was, after all, merely a hotel room.
John looked at her, sympathetic to her desperate need to find her friend, yet unable to provide her anything else.
He repeated his words, this time in a softer tone.
“She’s not here,” he said in a tone barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
“But where could he have taken her? She would have screamed, fought every step of the way. Unless she was…”
John was thinking the same thing.
She couldn’t utter the word she was thinking of. And John sure wasn’t going to help her.
Someone in the
hallway said, “No. She can’t be dead. She just can’t be.”
Rose was obviously loved by all who knew her.
John stood from the spot he was inspecting the possible drop of blood and was tempted to ask Toni to leave.
After all, it was a crime scene.
But he’d gone through the room before she did and had found scant little evidence, other than a lot of clutter. There were clothes and empty food containers everywhere.
Three compartmented styrofoam.
The kind the city used to pass out free food to the desperate a few blocks away on Alamo Square.
He went back to Big Boi’s body and searched his pockets.
There he found not only a driver’s license for Lamar Taylor, but also three others.
One belonged to Rose.
He finally had a face to attach to her name.
The other two belonged to Nancy Fontenot and Mary Graves. Both women were in their fifties, according to their licenses, and both lived not far away.
He passed them around to the people assembled at the scene.
“Does anyone know these women?”
No one did.
John went back into the hotel room and grabbed a spare sheet, then asked one of the men to help him wrap Big Boi’s body.
“Would you mind helping me carry him to the street? I’ll have the fire department burn his body when the wind dies down a little bit.”
“If you ask me that’s better than he deserves,” the man responded. He should be tossed into a dumpster with the other garbage.”
John held his tongue, but got the sense the others were thinking the same thing he was.
That Rose’s body would more than likely be found among the mountain of garbage piled in all the alley ways, nooks and crannies in the the area.
The dumpsters, despite the man’s suggestion, were all filled months before. Most of them could no longer be seen, as more and more sacks of garbage had been piled upon them.
Toni tapped him on the shoulder and asked to speak to him in private.
He walked down the hall a bit, away from the others.
An Acquired Taste Page 12