Page 11 of Long Pig

That made Dale smile. “There were a few that were on the up and up. I learned from one of the best. He hated the old-school crap about the wild west. Not the real wild west, but theso-called rural counties and their atrocities that haven’t stopped. In my book, city police are only one step up.”

“Why did you go into law enforcement?” Willow asked. She’d wanted to know the answer for a long time.

He grimaced. “When I say it, don’t laugh.”

She nodded.

“I wanted to help people.”

“Why would I laugh at that?” she questioned.

“Because it’s what every wet behind the ears cadet says at the police academy. Sadly, I helped very few.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I did my best. After an arrest, the attorneys get hold of it and turn people’s lives into a money game. If you have the money, you can easily get out of a DUI up here. If you don’t, you lose your license. Hire a city attorney, and they clean the officer’s plate in court because we’re unused to intelligence when it comes to trying a case.”

“So that was your reasoning? You wanted to help people?” she asked, refusing to let it go.

“I grew up poor. My dad left my mom when I was young, and we never had enough money for things like food. I couldn’t afford to go to college, so I joined the Army. Did my minimum before leaving and needed something to go into where I could earn money quickly. Out here, if you’re twenty-one with no criminal record, you can be an officer even if you shouldn’t.”

“I don’t care what you say, you were a good deputy and I know you helped people. You helped me.”

She saw his expression change, but he didn’t say anything more on the subject.

Dale would die thinking he failed her grandmother.

Chapter Six

The Bloody Divide

Larry

At age ten, Larry learned to separate flesh from bone on his first carcass. The pig was ready for consumption. Like humans, animals developed rigor mortis after death. You couldn’t butcher an animal in this stage, or the meat would be too tough. His father hung the bodies in cold storage for three days. He loved teaching Larry and proudly explained his system.

“They say you only need twelve hours to release the rigor, but not always. Most butchers use the eighteen-hour method, and it can go up to four days. Three days works best, and that’s why we have tender cuts that keep our customers returning for more.”

Larry hung on each word. There wasn’t a smarter man on earth.

“Always wear your rubber apron and gloves,” his father continued. “Yeah, I know, I forget my gloves all the time, but if you put them on from the very beginning, it won’t happen to you. It’s important that you greet the customers without blood stains on your hands and clothes. If you forget, you need to wash quickly in the sink. More importantly, wear a pristine whiteapron so they don’t think about what happens in the processing room.”

The pig was laid out on the table. Larry watched as his father showed him how to use the bandsaw. The low, rhythmic whir sliced through the spine, precisely halving the carcass into two symmetrical sides. The air filled with the faint mist of bone dust as his father worked. Larry had watched him do it enough times that it looked easy. When his father handed over the saw so Larry could try, he did a decent job, but lacked the same precision as his hero.

Next, Larry was handed a heavy cleaver and given further instructions. He slammed it down with a thud, not quite severing the head like his father did in one swipe, but close. The repeated impact echoed in the quiet room.

His father brought out a smaller, more precise set of knives. Larry had watched him wield them with an economy of motion, his hands working with the grace of a surgeon. Larry’s work wasn’t as graceful, and his father laughed when he chided himself.

“You will learn,” his father said with pride. “If it were easy, the women would be doing this work.”

Larry continued slicing with the knife's blade, which was honed to a razor's edge. He cut along the natural seams of muscle and bone at the guidance of his father. With a clean, wet schlick, the large shoulders were finally separated from the torso.

“You did good, son, now the hind legs.”

Those separated easier because he was getting a feel for the blade. He then peeled away the skin and thick layers of fat from the muscles with an almost hypnotic rhythm, revealing the deep red and pink meat beneath. The carcass was now a collection of smaller cuts, but each had to be refined further.

“You must deftly navigate the contours of the meat,” his father said. “The boning knife is your friend, and will allow you to carefully work around joints and bones of the shoulders and legs.”

With intense concentration, Larry followed his instructions, and to his father’s delight, managed to free the entire muscle in a single piece.