by Robin Lamont
“No.”
“Live alone?”
“No, I live with my mother.” He caught himself and with a hint of amusement in his eyes, added, “Don’t get the wrong impression.”
“Mr. Bisbee, in my job I meet too many unusual people to stereotype anybody.”
“Call me Howard.”
“Okay, and I’m Jude.” She held out her hand and he engulfed it in his own with a firm handshake. “Is your mother in good health?”
“For someone seventy-five and worked as hard as she did, I guess.”
Jude stayed silent, inviting him to go on.
“My mom raised three kids by herself,” said Bisbee proudly. “She mopped floors and cleaned toilets at the school right here in Bragg Falls for most of that time.”
“Are your siblings able to help out?”
He shook his head. “My younger sister died of cancer awhile back and my brother went another way entirely. He won’t get out of jail for another ten years.”
“I guess that leaves you with a lot of responsibility.”
“It does, but I don’t mind. My mom’s grandparents were sharecroppers, sons and daughters of slaves, and she still carries that with her somewhere deep. She’s got a lot of pride and I’d do just about anything to keep her off public assistance.”
“Which is why you stay at D&M,” Jude proffered.
“That’s right.”
“What do you do?”
“Right now I’m a foreman, but I used to be a sticker – nine years, not all of them here. I was in Iowa for awhile.”
“That’s a long time on the rail.”
Bisbee gazed down at her with more than a little curiosity. “You know your way around a packing plant?”
“Once, for a few weeks on the cut line. I was undercover.”
Taking this last information with equanimity, Bisbee nodded. “How was that?”
“Horrible. The worst job I’ve ever done.” Jude took a big swallow and stared at the bottle, watching a drop of condensation drip down the side. “It was a kosher slaughterhouse. They took all kinds of animals … steer, sheep, goats. It was a much smaller operation than D&M so we were right next to the kill floor. I could hear the animals bellowing and could see them convulsing on the floor. You know, in kosher slaughter, they don’t stun the animals.”
“I … I didn’t know that.”
“Unhunh. Where I worked, they drive the animal into this contraption that holds the body immobile with just the head sticking out. The animal is looking around, but it can’t move. Then they up and cut its throat and wait for the bleed out. As that goes on, the animal collapses and drops to the floor. Sometimes it’s still writhing around, choking on its own blood while they rip out the trachea and esophagus and chuck ’em in a pail. All in the name of religious … purity, I suppose.”
Normally, she tried not to recall those painful, dark days. It was the only undercover she had abandoned for emotional reasons, and the sights and sounds from that time still hunted her down in her sleep. But that was in her early years with Gordon; she had, at least in the daylight hours, toughened up since then. “Anyway…”
Bisbee was moved. He liked this girl who had tended to his wound so competently and was so straightforward. Finally, he said softly, “At D&M we try to do it humanely, but I suppose it’s not much of an improvement. I mean, you know the animals suffer, and you … you shut your emotions off. Just can’t think about it.”
“How do you do that?”
“Don’t have to try, just happens. You spend enough time on the floor and you’re killing things, one every few seconds, you develop a shield that doesn’t let you care. You go dead inside. So many guys I know they can’t switch it on and off like a light, and they go home to their families still weighed down by that shield, don’t care about nothing. And why bother trying to fix that? You just gotta wake up next morning and do the same thing, over and over again.”
Jude’s eyes brimmed with tears, but the investigator in her swallowed them back. Bisbee wanted to tell someone – needed to tell someone.
She asked, “How about you, do you always carry your shield?”
“If I didn’t, I think I’d go out of my mind.” And with that, Bisbee drained his beer and got up. He mumbled a second thanks and offering Nick a vague salute, ambled out of the bar. Watching him go, Jude found herself wondering about the shield, the one that she was carrying with her every day.
A few minutes later, Jude headed out to her car and literally collided with Emmet, who was too busy replaying the scene he’d had with his wife to watch where he was going. Alice had seemed more wounded even than Caroline, but it didn’t keep her from lashing out at him. As midnight bore down, they argued outside the house so the kids wouldn’t hear. What kind of man would be so cruel to his own daughter? I don’t know you anymore, Emmet. I don’t know if it’s the drinking or what it is, but you’re not the man I married, and I’m not sure if you’re the man I want to stay married to. He vowed an apology to his daughter in the morning; he hung his head and made a half-hearted attempt to tell Alice the kind of pressure he faced at the plant. But his fumbling explanation came out short and bitter. He resented Alice’s constant fretting about the family’s finances that always made him feel inadequate as a provider. What do we do if you quit? she demanded. Already we can’t afford a second car or to fix the boiler. We can’t afford to go anywhere as a family, even to go out for dinner. Or God forbid, take a vacation. The list of failures was too much for him. Emmet made a run for the place where he knew he could forget.
And he nearly knocked Jude over as she was coming out of the bar. For a moment they were both stunned.
Emmet took a step back, crossed his arms and said, “Oh, it’s you. I would’ve thought you’d be back in Washington with your vegetarian friends by now.”
“Yeah, it’s me,” replied Jude tersely, brushing herself off as a symbolic gesture. “And don’t worry, I was just leaving.”
She started to walk away, but he stopped her. “Where’s Tonto?”
“Tonto?” She turned.
“Your furry sidekick.”
“What, you think I’m the Lone Ranger?”
“Might as well be.”
“For your information, I may be here in Bragg Falls by myself. But I am not alone in this. There are thousands, no, millions of people who understand that animals are beings that feel pain, have emotions, and are not just assembly-line widgets.”
“Millions, hunh.” Emmet turned his back and this time it was Jude who called after him.
“Do you know why the Lone Ranger used silver bullets? They were to remind him that life is precious and like his bullets, not to be wasted or thrown away.”
He walked back to where she stood, her breath coming out in misty puffs. The evening had turned cold and she had on just a light jacket zipped up to her chin. The reflection of the bar’s neon sign made the loose braid slung over her shoulder gleam like copper, and Emmet imagined that if he touched it, it might burn. There was that challenge in her eyes that had haunted him all day.
“Is that some kind of animal rights slogan or are you trying to tell me something?” he asked.
“Just thought if you’re going to speak in innuendo, I’d do the same.”
“Miss Brannock, I don’t know much about you, but I do know that speaking in innuendo is not your style.”
Jude had to smile. “You’re right. I don’t think it’s your style, either.”
“Shit, I’m not even sure what innuendo means.”
At that they both laughed, and Jude was taken aback at how his diffident, easy grin transformed him, making him look boyish and approachable. They both looked down at the ground and there was an uncomfortable pause. Jude finally broke it, saying, “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Don’t push your luck,” Emme
t counseled with another broad smile. But she had gone only a few steps when his resolve failed. “Don’t go,” he called out. “Let me ... I’ll buy you a beer.”
Against her better judgment, Jude walked back into the Lazy Cat, letting him hold the door for her.
Jude really didn’t want another beer, but when Emmet brought two Buds over to the table, she didn’t say anything, in uncharted territory as it was. She felt drawn to him and wasn’t sure why. He embodied something that infuriated her more than animal cruelty itself – the stubborn, defensive unwillingness to acknowledge it. But she didn’t think he was a cruel man and she latched onto the scar that cut across his cheekbone as a visible sign that whatever his activities at D&M, he had not escaped unwounded.
“Aren’t you worried that someone from the plant will see us together?” she asked, although the bar was practically empty.
“I’ll just say I was interrogating you.”
“What do you want to know?”
He eyed her for a moment before asking, “So you think animals should have the same rights as people?”
“That’s a philosophical question that quite honestly I don’t spend much time on. I think that debate should take a back seat to the more immediate and ongoing calamity, which is that animals are suffering terribly and unnecessarily for the sake of our fashion, entertainment, and yes, food.”
“Some folks wouldn’t agree with you, or just don’t care.”
“Of course. But I know that many more do care and would be horrified to know, for example, how pigs are raised. The sows kept in metal crates on concrete floors their entire lives, unable to turn around or engage in a single natural behavior. These are smart, feeling creatures and the confinement drives them insane. Three-week-old piglets snatched away from their mothers and castrated and tail-docked without anesthesia, or the ones too sick to make it, body slammed against a concrete floor until they’re dead … if they’re lucky … some of them just get thrown into the garbage while they’re still alive. You know as well as I do that it’s all standard industry practice. But most people have no idea what’s going on and that’s the way Marshfield and the rest of them want to keep it.”
“There are laws,” protested Emmet. “Humane Slaughter Act, for one.”
“Which is useless as long as it relies on profit-seeking companies to self-monitor.”
“We have USDA personnel at the plant.”
“Who, as much as the workers, rely on the good will of plant management to move up the ranks.”
Emmet thought about the times, especially in the last few weeks, he’d seen Frank Cimino reading the newspaper in his office while hogs were getting kicked, beaten … and worse. He passed a hand over his mouth as if to wipe away this discussion. “Didn’t really want to get into that,” he said. “I’d rather talk about you.”
“Well, this is me. This is what I care about.”
“And being you is a full time job, eh?”
“Pretty much.”
“You have a family?’ he asked, glancing at her left hand for a ring.
“Not the kind most people have,” Jude replied. “And no, I’m not married.”
“Parents?”
“None that would matter.” Registering his surprise at her curt answer, she echoed, “Didn’t really want to get into that. Suffice it to say, I was a ward of New York State.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right. I learned quite a bit about life during that time.”
“Is that how you got to be so tough?”
“I’m not that tough, trust me.”
“But you’re very single minded,” said Emmet, looking at her curiously. “We don’t see eye to eye on this animal thing, but you’re passionate about it. You’ve got a dream, a commitment, and I … I admire that.”
Jude lifted her eyebrows. “Don’t you? Have a dream, I mean?” When he took refuge in his beer, she pressed, “Seriously, if you weren’t working at D&M, what would you be doing? What would you want to do?”
“I don’t know...” He looked decidedly ill at ease with the question. But Jude drew her foot up to her seat, clasping her knee with her hands, and settled back to let him know that she wasn’t going anywhere until she had an answer.
He drew in a long breath. “I suppose I’d work for myself,” he said. “I’m pretty good with my hands. Me and Frank did his whole roof a few years back. I started out as a carpenter’s apprentice.”
She could see it. His hands were strong with long fingers – competent hands that could build things and fix them if they broke.
“Why’d you stop?”
Emmet chuckled, “You’re relentless, you know that? Damn, you remind me of Caroline … I’ll tell you a story about her. When I was still doing carpentry, one day she begs me to teach her how to hammer. She was six years old. Over my wife’s objections, I set her up with some boards, nails and a hammer and showed her how.” Tenderness softened the lines around his eyes as he remembered. “She was this tiny thing with a pony-tail; I remember she had on a yellow t-shirt with pictures of fish on it. She marches out with this fierce expression on her face and goes at it with that hammer. Like, Grrrr. And she’d get so mad when the nails bent over, but she never gives up. After awhile I pop a beer, sit back and watch. She was so determined. Kind of like you, I think.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, but you didn’t answer my question. Why did you stop carpentry-ing?”
“Money, what else?” said Emmet, shifting in his seat. “The work wasn’t steady, and I had a wife and kid to think about. Caroline was starting school and we were trying to have another baby… We can’t all follow our passion, you know.”
“Maybe not. But whatever you’re doing, you can stand up and fight for what’s decent and moral.”
A weary sadness came over him. “It’s easy for you to say. I try to speak up, but there’s only so much you can do. Look at Frank, he was always fighting with management and all it did was crush him. Toe the line with Warshauer and still keep the respect of the guys on the floor, it’ll squeeze you so bad you can’t breathe.” He looked at her evenly for a moment. “Maybe you think we enjoy hurting animals. Okay, every once in a while you get some crazy like Tim Vernon, but most of us don’t want the hogs to suffer. We don’t have the tools or the time to do it any different. If Marshfield wants to make a profit, they’ve got to hit the numbers – turn out so many head every day, keep up with the competition. Managers like me have to keep the line moving to do what the big bosses want, and the men on the floor have to do whatever it takes to keep the managers happy. That’s just the way it is. And I’ll be honest with you, I’ve done some bad things myself to those hogs.”
Jude let his confession hang between them for a moment. She’d felt compassion towards Bisbee, but didn’t want to let Emmet off the hook and wasn’t sure why. Finally she asked, “Are you looking for forgiveness?”
Emmet put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. “I don’t know, but I get the feeling I’m not gonna get it from you.”
“It’s not mine to give,” she said. In an effort to keep him engaged she put her hand lightly on his arm. Quickly she pulled it back, knowing they both felt it more intensely than the single touch of encouragement she’d intended. “Change is always possible,” she went on. “And the first thing is to tell the truth, let customers see what’s really going on at D&M so they can decide if that’s what they want. I happen to believe that if people knew, most of them wouldn’t stand for it. Frank also believed that; that’s why he made the tape.”
Looking up bleary-eyed, Emmet was torn. He wanted an end to this conversation, but more, he wanted the feel of her hand on his skin again.
“You were his best friend,” said Jude. “You must have known something about it.”
“Have you heard a word I said?” asked Emmet, digging in a back pocket f
or his wallet, along with the courage to push her away. “I don’t know about what Frank did and I don’t want to know. I’ve got a family and bills to pay. Besides, it’s too late. I grew up in this town. My parents are buried in the same cemetery as Frank. My whole life is here, and I don’t have any choice but to ride it out. Don’t you know by now? Nothing stops the chain.”
Chapter 19
Carpeting soaked up the murmuring voices and the clink of silverware in the executive dining room. Seldon Marshfield and Richard Hillman sat away from the others at the CEO’s reserved table overlooking the sculpture garden where the midday sun played on modernistic granite forms.
“How’s the sole today, Jimmy?” asked Marshfield, perusing the leather-bound menu.
“Very fresh today, sir. I would recommend it,” answered the waiter.
“Then that’s what I’ll have.” With a broad smile, Marshfield patted his stomach. “Nothing to start. I’m watching my weight.”
Because he didn’t want to take up his boss’s time ordering a more extensive meal, Hillman said he’d have the same. But he knew a little piece of fish wouldn’t satisfy and dug into the bread basket as the waiter took their menus.
Marshfield checked his watch, then asked, “What do you hear from our friend in Bucharest?”
“It’s all taken care of,” replied Hillman. “He knows someone who works directly with the Minister of Agriculture and says he can get quick approval for the new facility in Prahova. The environmental regulations won’t slow our expansion.”
“How much is this going to cost?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
“Fine. Launder it however you think best. And what about Bragg Falls?”
On this subject Hillman was less confident, but tried not to let it show. “All in all, that’s going as planned. The girl doesn’t appear to have a copy of the tape. My guy, who has good tech skills, checked her computer, backup materials and handwritten notes. He made it look like a routine burglary at her hotel room.”
“I don’t understand why she’s still hanging around,” said Marshfield with a frown.