Show Me (Thomas Prescott 4) by Nick Pirog (best ereader for textbooks .TXT) 📗

bodies. Satisfied that we hadn’t added any recording devices during the three-minute excursion, he gave the thumbs-up.

Four doors opened and David Ramsey, Chief Eccleston, Greg Mallory, and Mayor Paula Van Dixon stepped out.

Greg Mallory, the dairy farmer, was the only one who I hadn’t seen before. He was sixtyish, with shaggy gray hair and a trim goatee. His skin was leathery, a consequence of so many hours under the sun.

The eight of us arranged ourselves in a loose circle on the cracked asphalt, the faded lines of the road hardly visible. Clockwise, it was Greg Mallory, then Mayor Van Dixon, then Dolf, then David Ramsey, then Snake, then Chief Eccleston, then Wheeler, then myself.

It was a tense atmosphere, everyone exchanging quick glances, but perhaps the most strained of all glances came when Wheeler locked eyes with Greg Mallory. The look on the old farmer’s face was pained. It reminded me of when the nerve in my tooth was exposed and I took a drink of cold water.

Wheeler was a raw nerve for Greg Mallory.

“I thought you guys were bringing margaritas,” I said, attempting to break the ice.

I failed.

My four friends knew I held their fate in my hands, and there wasn’t enough Maalox in the world to quell that type of indigestion.

“A twenty-year cover-up,” I said. “I gotta hand it to you, to keep a secret that long in a small town where everybody knows what type of toothpaste you use, well, that’s something you ought to be proud of.”

For the briefest of moments, I could see a couple of them, most noticeably, Greg Mallory, give a nod in acknowledgement. He must have expected their house of cards to come tumbling down long ago.

I decided he was the most likely candidate to break down in tears and confess on his knees in the middle of the street.

Time would tell.

No one said anything for several tense moments. I had no intention of being the first one to talk. I would let them squirm in silence until morning if need be.

“You called this meeting,” Eccleston said, finally. “What exactly do you want?

“I want you guys to tell me how it all went down. I have my theory, but I want to hear it from you guys. From the players.”

“And if we do?” asked Mallory.

I shrugged.

For a long minute, no one said anything.

“Fine, you guys don’t want to talk. Then I’ll talk.” I took a breath. “So, this is how I think it all went down. It starts with Lord Vader over there,” I pointed at Ramsey, “and his constituents discovering recombinant Bovine Growth Hormone in the early nineties. Several companies were working on their own product, and he knew whoever was first to market stood to cash in. Ramsey wanted to begin testing but he wanted to do it somewhere there wasn’t a whole lot of dairy farming. He chose Tarrin because of its proximity; it was near enough to keep a close eye on, but not too close as to be in Lunhill’s backyard. Plus, there was only one dairy.

“Ramsey sold Mr. Mallory over there on the idea that by using rBGH, what he was calling Recom 6, Mallory would get twenty percent higher yields from his cows. I don’t doubt that he got some under-the-table funds as well.”

I glanced in Mallory’s direction. His hands were in his pockets and he fidgeted back and forth.

“At first, everything went smoothly,” I said. “The Recom 6 was administered, and quicker than anyone would have imagined, the cows started producing vastly higher yields of milk.” This was all according to the data that was recorded in the documents. It showed how much of the hormone was administered, then compared the yields of the seventeen cows being treated with Recom 6 to the group of control cows who were not. “But after just a few weeks, several of the cows developed mastitis, their udders growing swollen, red, and infected. Mastitis isn’t all that uncommon and Mallory called the local vet, Tom Lanningham, to come take a look.”

I unconsciously gave Wheeler a quick glance. I could see the pain in her face at the mention of her father. I desperately wanted to reach out and grab her hand, to pull her into a tight embrace, but now wasn’t the time.

I looked directly at Mallory and said, “Did you tell Dr. Lanningham what you’d been giving the cows? About the Recom 6?”

“Not at first,” he said.

“Shut up!” Eccleston shouted, glaring at the farmer. “We decided we weren’t gonna say anything.”

“Piss off, Leonard,” Mallory spat. “I’ll talk if I want to talk.” He looked at the ground, then back at me. “I didn’t tell him at first, but it was too suspicious, seven cows getting mastitis all at once. Finally, I came clean, told him about the hormone treatment.”

“What did he say?” Wheeler interrupted.

“He was furious. He told me how irresponsible I was. That I was threatening the lives of my cows for a few extra dollars.”

Wheeler nodded, appeased for the time being at her dad’s response.

“But he didn’t understand,” Mallory continued. “Only a farmer would understand. The margins are so small. If you don’t have a perfect year, if everything doesn’t go right as rain, you’re lucky to break even. Sure, I love them cows, love ‘em to death, but twenty percent higher yields, that keeps the banks away, keeps food on the table, and might even pay for one of my damn kids to go to college.” His voice started to break near the end.

“What did my father do?” Wheeler asked.

Everyone present knew Dr. Lanningham was Wheeler’s father, but the word somehow seemed underlined as it left her mouth.

Greg Mallory once again had his hands in his pockets.

“Greg!?” Wheeler shouted.

“He treated them with antibiotics and made up a salve. And he talked to them, you know, like how he did.” Mallory’s eyes were beginning to moisten.

Eccleston barked, “Get ahold of yourself, Greg! For God’s sake!” He spit on the ground. “And quit talking. You’re only gonna