Toxin (38 page)

Slowly Kim turned around. The man had proceeded to
the door but hadn't opened it. He was still staring at Kim inscrutably.

For an instant, Kim locked eyes with the stranger. Kim tried to smile as he pretended to look for paper towels. There was a dispenser but its front was ripped away and its interior was empty. Kim hazarded another glance at the stranger. His enigmatic expression had not changed. Kim's right hand sought the comfort of the gun in his pocket.

Seconds seemed like minutes to Kim. The man's cold, black impenetrable eyes remained riveted on him. The man was like a statue. It took all of Kim's self-control not to say something to break the uncomfortable silence.

To Kim's utter relief, the man suddenly broke off the confrontation, pushed open the door, and disappeared.

Kim exhaled. He'd not even been aware that he'd been holding his breath. Bending his head down, he whispered into his concealed microphone: “Good Lord, the knife-wielding madman was in one of the toilet stalls. I don't know what he heard. He stared at me but didn't say anything. Let's hope to hell he didn't recognize me.”

After splashing some cold water on his face, and replacing the earplug, Kim took a deep breath and pushed out through the bathroom door to return to the kill floor. He tried to breathe shallowly through his mouth to avoid the smell. His legs felt a little rubbery. Just in case the stranger was waiting for him, he had a hand in his pocket, gripping the snub-nosed pistol.

Jed was standing close by, obviously waiting for Kim. Kim looked for the stranger, and he thought he caught sight of him off to the side, just disappearing around the edge of a distant piece of machinery.

“You all right?” Jed shouted over the din.

Kim nodded and tried to smile.

Jed gave him a wry smile in return and handed him the long-handled, stiff-bristled broom. “You must have had more in your stomach than you thought,” he said. Then he patted Kim on the back before walking off.

Kim swallowed and shuddered to stave off another wave of nausea. He put his head down to avoid looking at the line of headless, skinless carcasses moving rapidly in front of him on their way to the cooler. Grasping the broom in both hands, he tried to concentrate on pushing the offal that covered the floor toward one of the many grates.

“I don't know if you can hear me with all this noise,” Kim said with his mouth close to his microphone. “Obviously the guy with the knife works here, which, when I think about it, doesn't surprise me. I think I better locate him.”

Kim ducked as one of the thousand-plus-pound, steaming carcasses brushed by him. By not looking where he was moving, he'd inadvertently gotten in the way of the overhead conveyer. Now his white coat had a blood stain just like everyone else's in the vast room.

Kim straightened up, and after judging the speed of the carcasses, stepped through the line. He was intent on following the route taken by the man who'd attacked him.

“Obviously I've been given the worst job in the place,” Kim commented, hoping that Tracy could hear him despite the general racket. “I'm the lowest of the low but at least it gives me the opportunity to move around. It's like an assembly line for all the other workers. They stay in the same place while the carcasses move.”

Kim moved around the monstrous piece of machinery he'd seen the stranger disappear behind. The floor in this
area of the room was relatively clean. There was only a small amount of blood that had seeped beneath the equipment. To Kim's left was a wall.

Kim continued forward. Ahead, in a darker area of the room where there were no ceiling fluorescent lights, he could see several men working. A new sound emerged from the general background noise. It was an intermittent percussive sound that made Kim think of the kind of air gun used in carpentry to shoot nails.

Kim continued to sweep with his broom although there was little debris on the floor. After another twenty feet and rounding another piece of equipment, he could see what part of the room he was in.

“I've come to where the live animals enter the building,” Kim said into his microphone. “They're funneled into single file. When the lead animal comes abreast of an elevated platform, a man presses what looks like a jackhammer against the top of its head. It sounds like a nail gun. It must shoot a bolt into their skulls because I can see brain tissue spatter out.”

Kim looked away for a moment. As a man who'd dedicated his life to saving lives, this unabated carnage made him feel weak. After a moment, he forced himself to look back.

“The cows immediately collapse onto a large rotating drum that throws them forward and upends them,” Kim continued. “Then a worker hooks them behind the Achilles tendon, and they are hoisted up onto the overhead conveyer.

“If and when we get mad-cow disease in this country, killing the animals like this will not be a good idea. It's undoubtedly sending emboli of brain tissue throughout the cow's body since the cows' hearts are still beating.”

Despite his revulsion about what he was witnessing, Kim forced himself to move forward. He now had an unobstructed view.

“You know something?” Kim said. “These hapless steers somehow know what's coming. They must smell death in here. They're defecating all over each other as they come down the chute. That certainly can't help the contamination . . .”

Kim stopped in midsentence. To his right and only twenty feet away was the knife-wielding stranger. Instantly he knew why the man favored knives. He was one of two people who stepped beneath the newly killed animal as it was hoisted up. With a deft flick of the wrist, he or his partner slit the throat of the animal and then jumped free of the ten-gallon shower of hot cow blood. The blood came in giant pulsating squirts as the animal's heart pumped out its life force. The blood then disappeared into a grate in the floor.

In the next second, Kim's heart leaped in his chest. Already tense from seeing his attacker so close, he overreacted when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Before he could stop himself he threw an arm up defensively.

Luckily it was Jed, and he didn't look happy. Kim's reaction had scared him as much as he had scared Kim.

“What the hell are you doing over here?” Jed shouted over the noise. The repeated concussion of the high-pressure killing instrument sounded like an evil metronome.

“I'm just trying to get oriented,” Kim yelled. He shot a glance back at his attacker, but the man either hadn't seen Kim or didn't care about him. He'd stepped off to the side and was in the process of sharpening his knife with a grindstone while his partner took over the
throat-slitting. Kim could see the knife clearly. It was similar to the one the man had used when he'd attacked Kim.

“Hey, I'm talking to you,” Jed yelled irritably. He poked at Kim with an insistent finger. “I want you to get your ass around to where they're eviscerating. That's where the shit is, and that's where I want you to be.”

Kim nodded.

“Come on, I'll show you,” Jed said. He motioned for Kim to follow him.

Kim cast one last look at his attacker, who was holding up the knife to inspect its razor edge. A flash of light glinted off the blade. He didn't look in Kim's direction.

Kim shuddered and rushed after Jed.

They soon came to the moving line of carcasses. Kim was impressed by Jed's nonchalance. When he ducked through he actually pushed the bodies aside like clothes on a rack rather than waiting for a moment to dart through an opening. Kim was reluctant to touch the hot bodies. He had to hesitate like a jumper waiting to enter a jump rope that was being rapidly whipped around by two friends.

“This is where I want you,” Jed yelled when Kim caught up to him. Jed made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Here's where the dirty work is done, and this is where you and your broom should hang out. Understand?”

Kim nodded reluctantly, while fighting against another wave of nausea. He was now in the area where the internal organs were being removed. Huge snakelike coils of intestines were sloshing out of the suspended carcasses onto stainless-steel tables along with quivering masses of liver, grapefruit-sized kidneys, and friable strips of pancreas.

Most of the intestines appeared to be tied off, but
some weren't. Either they hadn't been tied or the tie had come loose. One way or the other, there were also a lot of cow feces on the tables and on the floor mixing with the rivers of blood.

Kim lowered the head of his broom to the floor and started pushing the slop toward one of the many grates. As he worked, he was reminded of the myth of Sisyphus and the cruel king's terrible fate. No sooner had Kim cleared an area of its filth than it became refouled with a fresh deluge of blood and offal.

Kim's only solace was the fact that his disguise must have been adequate. He was relatively confident that the man with the knife had not recognized him.

Kim tried his best to ignore the more grisly aspects of this ghostly workplace. Instead he concentrated on his immediate task at hand. For the next step in his undercover investigation, he'd wait until the lunch break.

 

O
ut the window, Shanahan could see a jumbo jet laboriously lumber down the runway and then ever so hesitantly lift its nose. Seemingly going much too slowly it became airborne and headed off toward a distant destination.

Shanahan was at Gate Thirty-two on Concourse B, waiting for the flight from Chicago. It had not been easy getting there. The people at security had tried to deny him access to the concourse without a ticket. Since he'd made specific plans to meet Leutmann at the gate, Shanahan knew he had to get there. Unfortunately no amount of arguing or cajoling had swayed the security people. To solve the dilemma, Shanahan had had to purchase a ticket on a flight he didn't intend to take.

Shanahan and Derek had never met. To overcome that difficulty Shanahan had described himself so that Derek might recognize him. But to make certain Derek would identify him, Shanahan had also said he'd carry a bible. Derek had said he'd thought a bible was a nice touch. He added that he'd be carrying a black briefcase.

The door to the jetway for the Chicago flight opened and was secured by an agent. Almost immediately the passengers began disembarking. Shanahan picked up the bible and stood. He gazed at each passenger expectantly.

The tenth person looked promising, although the individual's appearance was not anything like Shanahan had expected. The man was thirtyish, slender, blond, and deeply tanned. He was dressed in a pinstriped business suit and carried a black ostrich briefcase. Sunglasses were perched on top of his carefully coiffed head. The man halted just inside the terminal and swept the area with his blue eyes. Spotting Shanahan, he walked directly over.

“Mr. O'Brian?” Derek questioned. He had a slight English accent.

“Mr. Leutmann,” Shanahan said. He was taken aback. From Derek's phone voice he'd expected a dark, heavyset, physically imposing individual. The man in front of him resembled an English aristocrat more than a hired killer.

“I trust you brought the money,” Derek said.

“Of course,” Shanahan said.

“Would you mind handing it over,” Derek said.

“Here in the terminal?” Shanahan questioned. He looked over his shoulder nervously. Shanahan had hoped to discuss the money issue in the privacy of his car in the parking garage. He was supposed to try to negotiate down both the down payment and the fee.

“Either we're in business or not,” Derek said. “It's best to find out immediately to avoid hard feelings.”

Shanahan removed the envelope he had in his inner jacket pocket and gave it to Derek. It contained five thousand dollars, half of the ten K the killer had demanded. There was no way Shanahan was going to try to bargain in public.

To Shanahan's horror, Derek put down his briefcase, blithely tore open the envelope, and counted the money. Shanahan anxiously looked around. Although no one appeared to be paying them any attention, Shanahan was acutely uncomfortable.

“Excellent,” Derek commented, before pocketing the cash. “We're in business. What are the details you are supposed to provide me?”

“Could we at least start walking?” Shanahan managed to say despite a dry throat. Derek's nonchalance was unnerving.

“Of course,” Derek said. He gestured down the concourse. “Why don't we proceed to baggage claim?”

Thankful to at least be moving, Shanahan started out. Derek stayed abreast, treading lightly on crepe-soled loafers.

“You have checked baggage?” Shanahan asked. It was something else he didn't expect.

“Of course,” Derek said. “The airlines frown on firearms in the cabin. In my line of work, one has little choice.”

They were walking along with a stream of other arriving passengers. To their left passed an equal number of people clutching tickets and hurrying in the opposite direction. There was no privacy.

“We have a car for you,” Shanahan said.

“Excellent,” Derek said. “But at the moment I'm more interested in the identity of the quarry. What's the name?”