"If change was considered desirable by those in power," Kim added.

"True," Marsha agreed.

"Putting this all in perspective," Kim said, "we're talking about an industry that exploits its workforce and feels no compunction about killing hundreds of kids a year." Kim shook his head in disbelief. "You know, the total lack of ethics that this represents makes me worry even more about you.

"How do you mean?" Marsha asked.

"I'm talking about your going off right now to visit Higgins and Hancock essentially under false pretenses," Kim said. "By using your USDA I.D., you'll be suggesting you're there on official business."

"Obviously," Marsha said. "That's the only way I could get in."

"Well, as security-minded as they are," Kim said, "won't you be taking a risk? And I'm not talking about your job security."

"I see what you mean," Marsha said. "Thank you for being concerned, but I'm not worried about my well-being. The worst that could happen is that they'd complain to my boss, like Jack Cartwright has threatened to do."

"Are you sure?" Kim asked. "If there were any danger, I wouldn't want you to go. To tell you the truth, after the episode in Mercer Meats, I feel uncomfortable about you doing any more on my behalf. Maybe you should just let me do what I can. If you go out there tonight, I'll be nervous the entire time."

"I'm flattered by your concern," Marsha said. "But I think I should just go and see what I can. I'm not going to get hurt or in any more trouble than I already am. I might not even get in. And as I said, you wouldn't be able to do anything on your own because you certainly wouldn't be able to get in."

"Maybe I could get a job," Kim said. "Like you suggested."

"Hey, I was only kidding," Marsha said. "I was just trying to make a point."

"I'm willing to do what I have to do," Kim said.

"Listen," Marsha said, "what if I take my cellular phone with me and call you every fifteen or twenty minutes? Then you won't have to worry, and I can keep you posted about what I'm finding. How's that?"

"It's something, I guess," Kim said without a lot of enthusiasm. But the more he thought of the idea, the better it began to sound. The concept of his getting a job in a slaughterhouse was far from appealing. But most important was Marsha's adamant assurances about the lack of risk.

"I'll tell you what," Marsha added. 'This visit won't take me that long, and after I'm done, I'll come back and have that drink you offered. That is, if the invitation is still open."

"Of course," Kim said. He nodded as he went over the plan one last time. Then he gave Marsha's forearm a quick squeeze before getting out of the car. Instead of closing the door, he leaned back in. "You better take my phone number," he said.

"Good thinking," Marsha said. She fumbled for a pen and a piece of paper.

Kim gave her the number. "I'm going to be waiting right by the phone, so you'd better call."

"No need to worry," Marsha said.

"Good luck," Kim said.

"I'll be talking with you soon," Marsha said.

Kim slammed the car door. He watched as she backed up, turned, and accelerated down the street. He watched until the red taillights and their reflection in the rain-slicked street were swallowed by the night.

Kim turned and looked up at his dark, deserted house. Not a single light relieved its somber silhouette. He shuddered. Suddenly left by himself, the reality of Becky's loss descended. The crushing melancholy he'd felt earlier flooded back. Kim shook his head in despair at how tenuous his world had been. His family and his career had seemed so substantial, and yet within a relative blink of the eye, it had all disintegrated.

…

Bobby Bo Mason's house was lit up like a Las Vegas casino. To provide the proper gala atmosphere for his inaugural dinner celebration, he'd retained a theatrical lighting specialist to do the job. And to make the scene even more festive, he'd hired a mariachi band to play under a tent on the front lawn. A little rain certainly wasn't going to dampen his affair.

Bobby Bo was one of the largest cattle barons in the country. In keeping with his image of himself as well as his position in the industry, he'd built a house whose flamboyant style was a monument to Roman Empire kitsch. Columned porticos stretched off in bewildering directions. Plaster-cast, life-sized, imitation Roman and Greek statues dotted the grounds. Some were even painted in realistic skin tones.

Liveried valet parkers lined up at the head of the circular drive to await the arrival of the guests. Six-foot-high torches bordering the drive sputtered in the light rain.

Everett Sorenson's Mercedes beat Daryl Webster's Lexus but only by less than a minute. It was as if they'd planned it. As they exited their cars they embraced as did their wives.

The cars were whisked away by the valets, while other staff protected the guests with large golf umbrellas. The foursome started up the grand staircase leading to the double front doors.

"I trust you called your security," Everett said.

"The moment after I spoke with you," Daryl said.

"Good," Everett said. "We can't be too careful, especially now that the beef business is back to being relatively healthy."

They reached the front door and rang. While they waited, Gladys reached over and straightened Everett 's clip-on tie.

The double doors were whisked open. The light from within was enough to make the newly arrived guests squint as it reflected off the white marble foyer. In front of them stood Bobby Bo framed by the massive granite jambs and lintel.

Bobby Bo was heavyset, similar to Everett and Daryl, and, like his colleagues, he believed in his product enough to eat staggeringly large steaks. He had a lantern jaw and a barrel chest. He was impressively attired in a custom-tailored tuxedo, a hand-tied bowtie edged with gold thread, and diamond studs and cuff links. His fashion idol had been the "Dapper Don" prior to his conviction and incarceration.

"Welcome, folks," Bobby Bo beamed. His smile revealed several gold molars. "Coats to the little lady and please help yourself to champagne."

Music and gay laughter floated out from the living room; the Sorensons and the Websters were not the first to arrive. In contrast to the outside mariachis, the inside music was more restrained and emanated from a string quartet.

After the coats had been taken, Gladys and Hazel strolled arm in arm into the thick of the party. Bobby Bo held back Everett and Daryl.

"Sterling Henderson's the only one not here yet," Bobby Bo said. "As soon as he is, we'll have a short meeting in my library. Everyone else has been alerted."

"Jack Cartwright's a bit delayed as well," Everett said. "I'd like him to sit in on it."

"Fine by me," Bobby Bo said. "Guess who else is here?"

Everett looked at Daryl. Neither one wanted to guess.

"Carl Stahl," Bobby Bo said triumphantly.

A shadow of fear fell over Everett and Daryl.

"That makes me feel uncomfortable," Everett said.

"I'd have to say the same," Daryl said.

"Come on, you guys," Bobby Bo teased. "All he can do is fire you." He laughed.

"I don't think getting fired is something I want to joke about," Daryl said.

"Nor I," Everett said. "But thinking about it is all the more reason we have to nip this current problem in the bud."