Money For Jam

By Shana J Carr

The early 1980s. The Vietnam War has been over for a decade.  The hippie sub-culture, the sexual revolution and the psychedelic era have all been noted and had their day. 

Computers, the internet, and the mobile phone were yet to become part of our everyday lives as the digital age was beginning to take hold, and would soon revolutionise life as we know it…  

This story takes place somewhere between…

An absorbing tale of the lives of ordinary men and women working on the slaughter floor of an abattoir in Southern Australia…A demanding and often turbulent environment, and not for the faint of heart… a place where rumours thrive, and resentment grows as egos collide… Where secrets are shared, and sometimes betrayed… and romantic fantasies abound… if only to mislead…

There is a killer lurking amongst them all, with his own secrets, his own misguided fixations… And with a mind that is fast unravelling, he will become hell bent on destroying all those who get in his way…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shana J Carr
• Release date: Aug 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201401559

Book preview

Chapter 1

THE FIRST THING Harvey became aware of was the excruciating pain at the back of his head, and as he went to move, still more pain radiated out from his hip causing him to wince.

Fuck me! he said between clenched teeth.

He then noticed how cold he was and that he was lying on the icy floor of the chiller. That would explain the pain in his hip, must have connected with the floor, hard.

Suddenly a dim light filtered in through the clear plastic doors and he realised someone must have flicked the lights on out on the main floor and now he could suddenly make out sides of beef hanging in rows over by the far wall of the chiller in the semi-darkness.

How did he get here? Did he slip? It was easy to slip over on these floors, he’d fallen before, but then he couldn’t remember coming into the chiller… or could he?

Emitting a groan, he reached up and gingerly placed a couple of fingers to the back of his head.

Fuck! he ground out. It felt wet, and tender to the touch.

He became aware of someone breathing heavy close by and he tried peering into the surrounding semi-darkness but could see no one. He thought perhaps he had imagined it, and for whatever reason, whoever was there, wasn’t making themselves known. Why? It was his last conscious thought as something slammed down onto his head… and all went black.

Liv tramped up the familiar stairwell to the slaughter floor, her rubber boots making a dull thud on each cemented step. She was already disgruntled that it was a Monday morning, and making her way up onto the floor for another five-day grind was not something she relished.

She hated being the first one in, still scared of the dark from when she was a kid, and so flicking the lights as soon as she could, she waited, as the fluorescent lights flickered on across the ceiling.

Not a soul was about. She looked around at the all too familiar cement flooring with its dips and drains built in to assist the runoff of water, blood, excrement, and anything else found in livestock deemed to be waste. However, there was not a spot of dirt or blood to be seen, the night cleaners having done their job well. The viscera table shone clean under the lights, the belt not running yet, nor the overhead chain that would carry the carcasses around the floor to be skinned, gutted, and bagged up for the chillers.

She sighed and thought of the many hours she spent confined to this floor in a week. It was a drudge. Good wages, but a drudge, and not particularly kind on the body, though she’d suffered no real ailments with her back or legs yet, not like some of the slaughtermen had complained about. Some of them had been doing this job for years, it was bound to wear on joints as any repetitive job did. Liv hadn’t been doing the job for long, and so luckily her only real complaint to date were her hands. No matter how much she scrubbed them, she couldn’t quite get her nails completely clean, nor could she get rid of the smell, especially if her palms became sweaty.

‘Comes with the job,’ she told herself and thought again about the money. It was a good wage after all, and probably the only reason most put up with the mess and the drudge, far better than a lot of them could earn anywhere else.

Liv’s thoughts were interrupted by a sound off to the right and she turned towards it, frowning. She tried peering around the corner towards the darkened bagging room, a pointless action considering she was rooted to the spot and hadn’t moved. But it was too dark around the corner, the bagging room having its own light switch, and so she wasn’t about to go around there on her own to flick it on. Liv didn’t bother chiding herself for being frightened of the dark, it was the way she was and that was that.

She heard another sound, this time she recognised it. It was the distinct sound of the plastic flap doors on the chiller slapping together, a sound only made by someone either entering or exiting the chiller. Liv waited for whoever it was to appear around the corner, and she cocked her head to one side expectantly. No one came.

Hey Livvy! You’re early! Wet the bed? Liv swung around, startled.

Jesus Billy, you scared the life out of me!

Billy Pudney, or Puddles as he was apt to be called, this owing to his name as well as his problem of perspiring profusely when only a little way into his job. Liv preferred to call him by his given name. She didn’t call any of them by their nickname, no rhyme or reason to it, she just didn’t. Billy didn’t seem to mind being called either, or if truth be told, Billy Pudney would probably answer to anything.

He stood there looking at her, one hand on his hip, the other resting on his knife pouch hanging over his shoulder, a folded plastic apron under his arm. Liv thought briefly that he might have been an attractive man, if it weren’t for the beer gut and the bogan attitude… as a lot of them had, she mused.

Besides, he was married… this too was something a lot of them were, she reminded herself. Standing this close to him, Liv suddenly noticed he had a few teeth missing, and what was left didn’t look very healthy either. Funny how she hadn’t noticed it before.

‘Okay, so definitely not all that attractive after all.’

Puddles really didn’t expect an answer to the question about wetting the bed, though he stood waiting for any answer anyway with that silly smile on his face. Liv sighed at the familiar saying. It was more an observation of one arriving early or even on time for those who rarely manage to, and the saying had been done to death. She simply ignored it.

So how come you’re so early? She graced him with one of her smiles, but her heart wasn’t in it, the Monday morning blues not having worn off yet.

The sudden ruckus and shouting at the bottom of the stairs caused Puddles to peer down from the top step.

He yelled down the stairwell. Might’ve thought it would be you two silly bastards!

The unmistakable, slightly high-pitched voice of Peter Landy could be heard echoing up the stairway.

Fuck me Puds, what are you doin’ ‘ere? Wet the bed did ya?

Liv rolled her eyes and sighed again.

Puddles ignored the question as well, merely grinning that toothless grin in reply. Liv was reminded again of the fact she’d never noticed his teeth before.

Dave Gillard followed closely behind. Bloody hell Puds, couldn’t see a fuckin’ thing comin’ up the stairs, that big gut of yours is blocking out the light!

The men gave a quick guffaw including Puddles. Liv tried not to smile by pursing her lips.

Peter Landy, nicknamed ‘Meggsy’ after the character Ginger Meggs due to his full head of fire-red hair, shot a barb of his own at Davo, Hey Puds, try being downwind from him comin’ up the stairs! Jeeezuz! He thumbed in Davo’s direction.

It was well known that Davo spent a good deal of time at the pub, especially on the weekends, and on Monday mornings, the smell exuding from his pores was so bad the men had often joked about who would draw the short straw and be forced to work alongside him.

Not to be outdone, Davo shot back, Yeah well it might have been better for you to walk ahead Meggsy, coulda lit the way up the bloody stairs with that fuckin’ head of yours!

They all laughed then, even Liv couldn’t help herself. Smart arse, Meggs said, but was still chuckling to himself.

The small group noticed the arrival of more men from the outside stairwell as they made their way onto the floor, these being mainly smokers who liked to finish their cigarette before entering the building and therefore walked a little further around to the next entrance. More could be heard coming up the stairwell nearby and Puddles, Davo and Meggsy, followed by Liv behind now made their way to the window of the foreman’s office to look at the roster stuck up on the inside glass and where they would be working. Most by now had their regular days on usual jobs, but they still liked to check out who they were rostered as working alongside.

Cole walked up to them. What’s the tally today boys? As an afterthought he peered down at Liv and grinned, And girls.

Liv smiled back at him. She had a lot of time for Cole, a nice bloke, no hidden agenda, and one of those who was keen to show her the ropes when she was learning the chain. Everyone liked Cole.

Twenty-seven hundred, said Meggs, Not too bad for a Monday I s’pose.

Cole raised his eyebrows, Yeah, well just been out the back, full wools and plenty of burrs, so it’s probably good that we’re not running at full tilt I reckon.

There was an audible groan amongst the small group.

At that moment, Alan Sharp went rushing by them, out of breath and looking at the clock.

Hey Sharpy! You’re running late today, so she wouldn’t let you go this morning hey? Davo laughed out loud but his laughter quickly died off as he realised his blunder and the look on Sharpy’s face.

Everyone had heard about Sharpy’s wife leaving him. Of course, the real reason for her leaving was only speculated upon and had kept the gossip mongers entertained for a good week or more once it had become known.

Sharpy ignored Davo, the latter looking suitably contrite. Sharpy glanced over at Cole and nodded, How’s it going Cole?

Yeah, not too bad Alan, not too bad. Cole sauntered off and Sharpy joined him.

Once out of earshot, Meggsy punched Davo in the arm. You can be such a bloody idiot at times mate.

Ow! Go fuck yourself traffic light! Davo rubbed his arm.

This made Meggs, Puddles and Liv laugh out loud.

Just then Mike Bennett walked past carrying his clipboard, slowing to mark a tick next to the names of the four before him as being present.

He looked up suddenly. You know they’re in the race already don’t you.

This brought their laughter to a halt as they all looked up at the clock in Mike’s office. They all spoke at once.

Really? Holy shit, are they? What time is it? Oh shit!

Mike smiled as he walked on. The sheep were only just now being herded into the race and the chain wouldn’t be starting for a good fifteen minutes yet, but he liked to have his minor pleasures.

Now glancing across at the beef chain, he saw they were already underway, and he frowned. The first couple of cows were already hanging and bleeding out as still another rolled out from the door. Mike looked up at the clock, noting they were a bit early.

He yelled out to Primer to get his attention. Primer looked up, his hard hat sitting back on his head. Mike tapped his wrist to indicate the time.

Primer could only shrug as he bent over the prostrate cow, his attention taken up with clipping the rubber around the weasand, and now satisfied he’d clamped it properly, he looked up, raising his eyebrows as a sign it wasn’t his idea to start early and thumbed towards Simon behind him who was up above in the knock box.

Mike yelled out to him, Bit bloody early isn’t it Simon? Simon shrugged and yelled back, They were getting jumpy, his voice harder to hear now as the noise began to pick up on the floor.

It was no excuse, but Mike let it go and walked away shaking his head. It was too bloody early on a Monday morning, and he really couldn’t be bothered.

Just then, he spied Jo Garber walking at the back of the spray wash, and so decided to go around the other way as to give her a wide berth.

Joanne Garber. He wondered how many times his daydreams had surrounded that name, or rather the image of her.

He could go on letting her be the bane of his existence, or he could do something about it, but on letting her in he knew his life could become messy.

‘No’, he thought, ‘would become messy!’ He’d seen too many marriages take a nosedive in this place and he didn’t want his marriage to be one of them.

Mike’s thoughts were interrupted as he spied Bristol Gaines entering the office, the doorway looking like it was just that bit too small to let the tall, well-built supervisor slide through and Mike wouldn’t have been surprised if one day a couple of bits of wood would go pinging off from the framework as he entered. He pushed thoughts of Jo Garber from his mind, reminding himself it was best to keep his thoughts on his job. Mike strode across to join him.

Joanne Garber had not looked once at Mike Bennett as she’d made her way across the floor, but she knew he was there. As a matter of fact, if anyone were to ask Jo at any time of the day, she could tell you exactly where he was, who he was talking to and how long he’d been there. It had occurred to her at times that her fondness for the foreman may be bordering on the obsessive. On this, she was certain that Liv and Bella would agree with her. Especially the outgoing Bella, with her pretty face and gorgeous blonde hair, who didn’t spend more than a few hours in any man’s company.

‘So many men and so little time ladies!’ Both Liv and Jo would laugh out loud at her forthright opinions, though both knew she wasn’t as flippant as what she would like to appear.

Jo moved to her familiar position by the viscera table. It hadn’t started up yet, but looking up towards the start of the chain, she could see the first sheep hanging, and being moved slowly on their journey around the slaughter floor. Jo thought she’d better get ready. She dragged the big plastic bins in close to where she was standing, jamming them in between the chutes, each of these being for the various parts of offal to be distributed to the offal room below.

The buckets were for the lungs and Jo had hurt her shoulder in the past by having to throw them into bins placed too far away. Lungs were not fit for human consumption and so when full, were taken away to be emptied down a different chute further across the floor. This was part of the cleaner’s duties. There were three or four cleaners, each of them allotted to different parts of the slaughter floor, whose job it was to keep the floors clear and hosed down all day from the constant build-up of congealed blood, smattering of excrement or other.

At that moment, Geraldine Warner came up alongside Jo and began to set up her surrounding space in the same way.

Hi Jo. Geraldine gave Jo one of her brightest smiles, her face looking rounder with her hair tucked up under her regulation hat.

You here today as well Gerry? Jo smiled back, knowing that Gerry saw working on the viscera table as a step up from the bagging room or the spray wash.

Jo would have to agree with her about the spray wash, it was a mind-numbing job, but the bagging room? It was clean down that end, a little cold being near the chillers, but at least you got to move instead of standing in one spot all day staring at sheep entrails pass by in front of you.

Gerry was nodding. Yep, change is as good as a holiday and all that.

Jo wished she could be as upbeat as Gerry on a Monday morning. She envied her plump friend’s cheerfulness, something she was not feeling at all, but managed to nod and smile back at her.

You have a good weekend? A standard question for most to ask on a Monday, but Gerry was in fact interested in what you had to say.

Not bad, quiet I guess, just hung out at home. Apart from going out with Jo, Liv and Bella, which had been a while, Jo didn’t really get any time away from the home. How about you?

Jo didn’t miss the slightly downcast change in Gerry’s expression, but then it was gone.

Like you, not a lot, babysat my sister’s kids on Saturday night. They were going into town and staying the night. They didn’t get back until around lunchtime yesterday. I got to spend a bit of time with the kids so that was fun.

Jo frowned. It was no secret that Gerry’s sister was always getting Gerry to mind the kids. It was that or running their errands, shopping or being a taxi service for the entire family when it was called for.

"Seems you spend a lot of time minding those kids.

You’ll have to come out with us girls next time we go out."

Gerry’s eyes widened in excitement. Great! This weekend? It was clear to Jo that she’d just made Gerry’s day.

I’ll see what the girls are up to. Jo had leaned towards her; her voice low as though she were plotting some plan in secret. Gerry nodded in kind.

At that moment, Cameron Stowe walked past, nodded to both girls in greeting while winking at Gerry, which caused her to blush. It was plain he had a soft spot for Gerry, which Liv, Jo and Bella had noticed, if not Gerry.

Hey Cam, how come you don’t wink at me like that! Jo grinned, calling out to him as he passed. Cam’s step faltered slightly, and he now paused, his fingers scratching through his beard as he sought to come up with a quick response. Jo realised she’d put him in an awkward position and changed the subject. They’ll be asking you to put a hair net over that thing if it gets much longer.

Cam was grateful for the change in subject.

Yeah, I’ve already been chatted about it, thought I might have a shave tonight.

Well, that’ll please your wife anyhow. Jo was back to teasing him again, while using the opportunity to slip in a comment that he was married.

Cam shrugged and side glanced at Gerry, who had stood watching him but now looked away, her face reddening once more.

Just then there was a shout from the beef chain. Come on Stowe! Get your arse over here!

And then another shout from one of the others. Hey Cam, stop sniffing around those two, we’re waitin’ on you!

They weren’t, the line of beef was still at the legging, the men up on that platform still honing their knives though getting ready to start. They joined in the banter.

Yeah come on ‘Cammy’, stop messing about and get on your job!

A few others now joined in.

Oh Cammy, can you help me with these buckets? Please Cammy!

Oh Cam, oh Cam, oh Cam, oh please!

Cam held back a chuckle at this last comment as he gave them all the finger. He mouthed the words ‘fuck you’ back at them, mindful of Bristol and Mike now peering out through the office windows to see what all the ruckus was about.

Cam shook his head, but now hurried towards the hide- puller, a grin on his face. Everybody reacted to this kind of banter in the same way. One either laughed it off or came back with a good rejoinder to shut them up, though the latter usually caused more hoots and banter in any case.

It was widely recommended that anyone working on the slaughter floor had to be thick skinned, and not to let anyone know they’d ever gotten under it. Of course, underneath this veneer, were normal hard-working men and women, with their own set of insecurities or problems, living normal lives outside of work and all with their own interests, various concerns and ambitions. Though it had also been commented on more than once in the past, that meat workers were a breed all on their own.

Bristol turned to Mike.

Bloody idiots, he mumbled, but often in the past he couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to himself at some of the remarks he’d heard in making his way around the floor. Of course, as supervisor, he couldn’t be seen to be finding humour in this sort of thing and so would have to reprimand them in getting on with their job.

And it’s only Monday morning! Mike’s wry reply, though he was smiling too.

Just then, they both became aware the men outside on the beef chain were trying to get their attention through the glass, calling out and pointing towards the hide-puller to where Cameron Stowe now stood indicating they were a man down. The hide-puller was a two-man job and one hadn’t shown up.

Bristol snatched up the clipboard from the desk and noticed there was a tick next to Harvey Miller’s name.

Harvey must be here somewhere; you’ve marked him off. Bristol’s eyebrows raised in question.

Mike shrugged, I haven’t seen him up on the floor yet, but I saw him early this morning getting his whites, and just assumed he was up here.

Every person who worked at the abattoirs were required to pick up a fresh set of regulation clothes from the laundry every morning, mainly white, with the exception being blue if you were in maintenance or brown if you worked up in the skin sheds at the back.

Bristol and Mike went out to the men.

Bristol called up to the men on the legging platform. You seen Harve this morning Briggsy?

Not this mornin’, Gary Briggs yelled down.

He’s in, I saw him in the change room, Stuart Whitcombe called down also. Stuart, or Stewie as he was wider known yelled across to Cam. So where would he be?

Cam gave an elaborate shrug, throwing his hands out, his expression one of ‘why in the fuck are you asking me!’

Down below, Bristol cursed under his breath and looked at Mike. Until we find him, who else can we put up on the hide puller?

Mike let out a loud sigh, though it was lost in the surrounding noise. I could probably pull someone from mutton for now, what about Brentley?

Bristol didn’t say anything. Mike knew that Brentley Worthington wasn’t one of Bristol’s favourite people, though Bris always strived to keep his opinion hidden. Just why the brawny supervisor didn’t like Brentley Worthington was anybody’s guess. It was rumoured that Brentley mistreated his wife, something he knew Bris didn’t like, but then half the men on the floor didn’t do right by their wives in one way or another. This was not condoned. More to the point, it was overlooked. After all, the management didn’t get involved in their employee’s personal business.

I can get the rover to fill in for Brent over on mutton and—

Okay… who’s the rover today? Bristol cut him off a little rudely, though this was not the supervisor’s intention.

Mike raised his eyebrows. Larry is, he’s flitting around somewhere, I’ll chase him up.

Thanks Mike, Bristol’s tone backed down somewhat, well aware of how he’d came across just now.

He swore to himself. Brentley Worthington was in fact, someone who Bris didn’t like. It was true. He didn’t like the way he treated his wife; he didn’t like his ‘too good for this place’ attitude or his pretentiousness. To Bris, he always had a way of looking down his nose at people.

But Bris also knew this wasn’t the only thing that bothered him about Brentley. It went much deeper than that. If he was truthful to himself, his dislike of the younger blonde man was due to Brentley’s handling of another situation, or rather, how he had treated her.

Bristol wasn’t about to dwell on this however, as there was a sudden commotion and shouts coming from the direction of the bagging room around the chillers.

‘Fuck!’ Bristol cursed to himself, and wondered just for a second, if one of the steers had jumped the race again.

In the past, one or two had gotten out, due to the stun not having been successful and when the door had opened on the knock box, the animal had gotten up and run through the slaughter floor, causing instant havoc. Each time, the animal had run towards the chillers. But no, not this time. A quick look towards the knock box, he saw there was no commotion at all. He frowned.

Another shout rang out, Get an ambulance… we need an ambulance!

Liv and Chris Wilson were already heavily engrossed in their own brand of flirting, she was giving the impression she was unaware of his regard while he was throwing innuendos one after another at Liv, hoping she’d catch on. Both were having a good time, if that’s what you could call it, given the nature of their jobs.

Liv lifted the sheep jaw up to skin around it and was promptly rewarded with the sharp prick of another burr, this one clear through her glove into her thumb.

Ow! Shit! Bloody thing! That was the extent of Liv’s repertoire of swear words. Liv wore a mesh glove over her left hand, a rubber glove underneath. It had saved her from cutting herself many times, though she still bore the scars of past injuries.

You women and your soft hands! Chris was in his element, teasing her.

Just then he got one in his own hand, making him pull back, while causing him to turn the edge of his knife over on the jawbone, rendering it useless to do any more cutting until he sharpened it again.

Fuck that hurt! Chris’ swearing was not nearly as reined in as Liv’s. She threw back her head and laughed out loud.

My edge has gone, Chris turned back to the trough behind him and grabbed his sharpening stone. Liz was set to have a merry old time at his expense, but something made her look towards the end of the chain.

She nudged his arm. Hey, why is everyone running around down there?

Men who were in position ready to start work along the chain were now straining their necks to see what was going on.

Chris frowned. Dunno. He now moved next to Liv, both now standing with a few others looking down.

They could now see Mike Bennett hurrying towards their end and pushing his thumb in the air at the men standing around on the legging platform, this being an indication to push the stop button.

The button was pressed. The chain came to a standstill. Puddles yelled out, Hey Mike, what’s going on?

Mike didn’t appear to hear. He was already walking off in the other direction.

Just then, Meggsy came up from the other end, his red hair sticking out from under his hat. He was agitated. They crowded in around him.

They reckon Harvey’s been clocked on the head! They found him in the chiller!

Harvey? What do ya mean, clocked on the head! Puddles was all round eyes and gaping mouth.

Don’t know, that’s what I heard. Meggsy now stood, wondering what to say next as everyone looked at him for more information.

What… by who? Who did it? Jimmy from flanking. He get in a blue or somethin’? Murray, also from flanking. What do ya mean, clocked on the head? Puddles said again, his face screwed up in query.

Meggsy swore and threw out his hands. I’m tellin’you, I don’t know! They found him in the chiller, that’s all I know!

Who did?

One of the women from the baggin’ room.

Just then, Cole came sauntering up, his face one of concern as he looked at the sheep already hanging. His mind was working overtime at what could have possibly happened with Harvey, but he strived to appear calm, his words coming out almost ‘matter-of-factly’.

I s’pose we can get these sheep finished, the few that are already hanging there anyway.

Everyone now turned to Cole.

It was Puddles that spoke up. What’s going on Cole, you heard anything? But Cole gave a small shrug, Well they’re saying that Harvey is in a bad way, and that he might not make it.

What? Bullshit!

You’re kiddin’! He’s that bad? Davo now joined the throng.

Liv stood back, her arms wrapped around herself. She couldn’t believe what was going on. Who would want to hurt Harvey! He was a bit outspoken, but he was a union delegate, and delegates usually had something to say. But mostly, he was liked well enough she thought. Or at least, if anybody had a problem with him, she was sure it hadn’t been enough to do him harm. Just then she spied Jo and Gerry on the outer circle further back, and Liv weaved her way through the men towards them.

Jo, her arms tightly folded, her eyes wide and fearful, was searching about the slaughter floor for any news, for anyone to tell her what was going on! When she’d heard the shouts coming from the bagging room, and witnessed the commotion that followed, she’d been as curious as everyone else. She’d then caught a quick glimpse of Harvey and his horrific injuries as he’d been wheeled by on the gurney, and she’d been shocked.

Snatches of conversation like ‘who would have done this’ and ‘did anyone see anything?’ and the words ‘attacked’ and even worse, ‘not sure if he’ll live’ reached her ears, and she had begun to feel scared. For some reason, she felt suddenly vulnerable and ‘unsafe’.

Jo was relieved to see Liv coming towards her, and she steeled herself for any further news.

Did you hear about Harvey? What are they saying?

She was on the verge of tears. I can’t believe it. Who would do this?

Liv instinctively put her arm around Jo’s shoulders as Gerry now came up to stand with them.

Just then, Mike Bennett strode through the men huddled about at the center of the chain and Liv whispered, Don’t worry, it’ll be okay, Harve will be okay I’m sure. Liv nodded toward Mike. Maybe we’ll find something out now, I’ll be right back. She hurried back to the men.

Liv approached as Mike was speaking about the work. "…get these sheep finished. Can’t leave them here.

There’s only about twenty hanging, so we won’t need everyone. Perhaps about three or four of you could finish up… the rest of you can go down to the canteen or out for a smoke or whatever."

How’s Harve? Davo’s voice was quiet as he leant in towards Mike, though everyone heard and waited for him to answer as well.

Mike took his hard hat off and scratched his head as he thought of how much he should say. As the floor’s foreman, he knew he would have to say something, but there’d been no precedent set up for this.

He knew Harvey wasn’t good. Mike had seen him firsthand, and it looked like whoever had done this to him, had hit him more than once, though what with, he wasn’t sure, at least not sure enough to say much at the moment. He didn’t know much of anything really. He’d thought the same as Bristol, that he’d come a cropper in the chiller, those floors could be bloody slippery but when it became apparent that Harvey had actually been attacked, he was as dumbfounded and shocked as everyone else.

To the men around him now, he said, Not sure, time will tell I guess.

Mike spied Jo Garber through the group, looking a bit the worse for wear. He edged in her direction.

But who did this, do you know? Somebody must know! Davo was pressing him.

Mike shook his head. We don’t know, no one appears to know much of anything yet. I do know that the police are on their way here, Mike shrugged. Who knows, they may even want to speak to a few of you.

What for? Davo looked affronted. What would I know!

For fuck’s sake mate, I don’t know! I said they may want to, or maybe they won’t!

Cole stepped forward to diffuse the situation. Come on Dave, let’s get these sheep done… Puds? Jim?

Jim nodded, as did the other two. Mike gave Cole a thankful look.

The rest of the men started walking away in smaller groups, talking amongst themselves. Liv made her way back to Jo and Gerry, and spied Mike already there talking to Jo. He had his hand on her shoulder and Liv didn’t miss the slight rub he gave it. He whispered something only for her ears and walked off quickly. Jo looked a little bewildered as Gerry was standing slightly apart and looking around as though she didn’t quite know what to do.

You girls okay? Liv asked. They nodded. Gerry frowned. "Hey where’s Bella?’

As though summoned, Bella came walking up quickly, though without the usual bounce to her step.

Have you heard? she said to none of the girls in particular, all of whom now stood huddled close together in a semi-circle. They all nodded.

Do you know anything? This from Jo.

Bella gave a slight shake of the head. Not much. It was Sue who found him, and only by chance. She was going into the storeroom to get the bags ready, said she opened the doors to see which of the chillers was empty, you know, to see which chiller we would be filling up first and said she saw him lying there. The girls all nodded. She said she almost missed him, coz it was so dim in there.

Liv suddenly thought of when she had arrived up on the floor, remembering that she’d wondered if someone was around by the chillers… didn’t she hear the doors flap?

Felt sorry for Camilla though, she was crying and wanting to hang onto him. Bella was still talking.

The other three, not having given Harvey’s wife a thought, all started talking at once.

Oh shit, I forgot about Camilla! said Liv. I feel terrible! This from Gerry.

Yeah me too! joined in Jo.

Oh and the kids! Oh the poor things! Gerry’s face now one of sympathy.

Camilla worked down in the offal room. She’d been informed as soon as the ambulance had been called and she’d run upstairs to the slaughter floor, dissolving into tears when she’d seen her husband, kneeling next to him on the chiller floor, mindless of the icy surface beneath her or the damp seeping into her trousers.

A couple of women had helped her to her feet as the ambulance had arrived and as Harvey had been carried out on the barouche, she’d been hanging onto her husband’s hand and weeping as they’d left the floor. Mike Bennett, he was ashamed to say, was glad she’d been allowed to go with them. A distraught woman was not something he could deal with on top of everything else today.

The girls now looked towards the end where the chillers were, as most people were doing, milling around in groups of threes and fours, all talking amongst themselves, the morning’s events taking precedence in their conversation over anything else.

Standing back a bit from the throng of people milling around the front office, he watched all the goings on and the emotional reactions to what had happened. He’d stood close by as they’d wheeled Harvey out past him, even receiving a nod from the ambo as he’d stepped out of the way to let them through.

He was appalled at what he’d done and even a little in shock himself. He told himself it was a moment of madness, that’s all it had been. He’d followed Harvey through the back stairs and up through the back of the chillers, meaning only to talk to him, find some things out, have it out with him, but the familiar rage had suddenly overtaken him. And then, before he knew what he was doing, he’d picked up the steel beef track runner lying on the floor and swung it across Harvey’s head.

He could still hear the sickening crunch it had made, his skin now prickling at the memory. He hadn’t meant it to do such damage. But then, what had he meant to do? And what had been his excuse for hitting him again? All he’d been aware of was blind rage.

It was something that had become more frequent in recent weeks, and each time more intense. He knew he needed help… and he would get it… he would, really, he would. But first he had to find out how Harvey was. He hoped like hell that Harvey would be okay. He really hadn’t intended to go that far. Lord knows, he felt Harvey had it coming to him… well, at least something coming to him… but now that he’d reined in his anger once more, he thought, ‘perhaps not that.’

And then, as the police stepped up onto the floor, he moved away.

Bristol’s head was pounding, which he thought unusual for him, as he usually didn’t suffer from headaches. Then again, he reasoned that nothing had been usual about this morning at all.

He and Mike just spent half hour or more with a detective by the name of Joseph Pratt, a man of stocky build who gave the impression he would be more at home dressed in shorts and a singlet, rather than his current attire of suit and tie. He fiddled with his tie constantly, often running a finger around inside the collar of his shirt in an effort to pull it away from his neck.

His presence seemed to dominate the space in the office, even though neither Bristol nor Mike was small in stature or build, Bristol clearing the detective’s height by a good five inches. Perhaps it was merely due to the significance of this morning’s event that seemed to fill the small, cluttered office. Pratt half-leaned, half-sat against the countertop of the built-in cupboards that lined one wall as he fired questions at the two men. Both Bristol and Mike were attempting to answer questions they really had no answer to.

How well did either of you know Harvey Miller?

Do you know when he arrived on the premises this morning?

Who are his known associates?

Do either of you know of anyone who had recently argued with Mr Miller?

Do either of you know of any grudges held against him, either in the capacity of his work, or personal life?

I believe Mr Miller was a union delegate, do either of you think there was anything connected to that?

Mike had shaken his head to most of the questions, not much help at all, and apart from mentioning he’d seen Harvey around seven that morning in the vicinity of the laundry, he couldn’t contribute much else. Bristol couldn’t really add anything either, though he’d done the best he could.

I know Harvey through his job here, that’s all really.

The answers to the rest were a series of ‘no’ or ‘I don’t know,’ with Bristol becoming steadily more agitated and wanting to scream at the detective in the end, ‘I don’t fucking know!’ But he managed to keep his head.

Instead, he said as quiet and as polite as he could, Look uh… detective, sometimes we’ve got up to a couple of hundred workers up here most days. I don’t keep tabs on when they arrive or what they do outside of work or anything else, apart from the hours they put in on the job and how they do that job.

The detective had then changed the subject, looking around the floor. You know this is the first time I’ve ever been up on a slaughter floor, wouldn’t mind seeing it in full operation. He nodded toward the workers milling about outside the small office. He was quiet for a while as he watched them.

Bristol and Mike exchanged a quick glance. Pratt suddenly began talking again.

In a place like this, I would’ve thought if a person wanted to do someone in, you’d think a knife would be the most likely weapon to have been used.

Bristol raised his eyebrows, not sure on what point Pratt was trying to make.

So, you’re saying that it was someone who might not use a knife? Or...? Bristol let the question hang in the air.

Detective Pratt merely shrugged. Just an observation, that’s all. You know it could even have been an accident of sorts and someone doesn’t want to own up to it.

But Pratt’s face reflected that this more than likely wasn’t the case. He went back to the knives. You have quite a number of workers out there with knives strapped to their hips. Any altercations in the past where someone has used their knife?

Both Bristol and Mike were already shaking his heads before Pratt had finished asking his question.

No, never. It’s taboo around here. Sure, there have been a couple of punch-ups in the past, nothing serious, sometimes a couple of hotheads losing their cool but never, ever, has a knife been used to settle anything up here.

Mike chimed in. It’s considered a definite no-no even to threaten with a knife… and they know it would mean their instant dismissal.

Detective Pratt had seemed satisfied with this and merely nodded.

Thanks guys, you’ve both been very helpful. We will probably talk again soon.

With that he was gone, thankfully taking most of the tension from the room along with him, and Mike let out an enormous sigh of relief as Bristol massaged his temples.

I gotta get some air Mike.

Just then they both spied Terry Cobler, supervisor from the boning room, step up onto the floor and they both let out a frustrated sigh.

‘Cob’ was what Bristol and Mike called him, ‘Cob the Knob’ was what he was more commonly nicknamed amongst the workers, though this, of course, was never said to his face. Bristol or Mike were both aware of the nickname, and while both never called him that, even when no one was about, both secretly thought it to be an apt name for him.

Terry Cobler side-stepped the departing detective, nodding in greeting at him as he passed and was now walking around outside the office amongst the workers, puffing his chest out with self-deluded importance, this mainly for the benefit of the women nearby, though had he realised, this only caused to accentuate his beer belly.

‘Never miss an opportunity do you Knobbo!’ Thought Bristol.

It was clear by the look on Mike’s face he was thinking much the same.

Terry spied the two men standing just inside the office and instantly stopped his strutting about and hurried towards them.

Hey, not a good start to the week I reckon?

Both Bristol and Mike nodded. Terry took off his hard hat, instantly running his hand through his hair across the top of his head in an effort to hide his baldness. Though why he did this was anybody’s guess, nobody cared that he was bald on top, and the comb-over didn’t help things at all.

Bristol’s headache was getting worse. Tom back from the city yet?

Bristol had called down to the main office as soon as he’d been able, but Tom Granger, the plant manager, was in the city at a meeting.

Terry shrugged. I don’t think so, but I’m sure he’ll make his way up here as soon as he is.

Bristol nodded. Got a headache, I’m going out the back to get some air. He went to walk off.

Terry nodded and fell in alongside.

This left Mike standing there on the steps of the office. He wondered what he could do to keep himself busy inside the office. He knew as soon as he went outside, he would be pounced on for answers, though he couldn’t blame them of course.

Word of Harvey’s attack had spread through the plant like a grass fire in a stiff wind, and workers from other departments downstairs now started filtering up to nosey around, each wanting to see if there was anything more to be found out, but the police had blocked entry to the chillers, this in itself adding fuel to the gossip as one amongst the group could be heard saying, … so they’re treating it as an actual crime scene!

Mike Bennett was close by, and they’d looked at him, perhaps for confirmation, he wasn’t sure, but he simply looked in the other direction, his face not giving anything away.

He spied the circle of girls still near the viscera table, Jo Garber amongst them, and he wondered how she was. She seemed okay now, better than earlier. He reasoned that probably the best people to be with now were her friends. Geraldine Warner, though quiet and a bit shy, was a caring person, and Arabella Kean could be the same, regardless of any extracurricular activities that she’d often been rumoured to have. And then there was Olivia Clarke, the only resident slaughter woman, who, he knew, had gone the extra mile to prove herself in order to be taken seriously among the men when she’d first got her spot on the chain.

Mike nodded, now satisfied they would all look after Jo should it be needed, and then chided himself that he’d thought of her before anyone else. He looked around at the small groups of men here and there, and still more now, milling about outside on the landing. Mike reasoned that if the chain wasn’t going to be started again today, which he assumed it wouldn’t, there was no point in the workers remaining behind. He probably should talk to Bristol.

But right now, looking over at the growing number of morbid busybodies straining their necks to get a look inside the chiller, for what, he didn’t know, there was nothing to be seen, Mike decided to go and disperse them all back to their own departments. They were really beginning to piss him off. And then he would see Bristol, see what he wanted to do about sending everyone home.

Chapter 2

IT WAS FRIDAY, and it had been an odd week all round. When the workers had arrived on Tuesday morning, they’d gone on with their jobs as though nothing had happened the day before. Though throughout the days that had followed, there had been a somewhat dispiriting cloud that seemed to have descended over all on the floor.

In part this was due to Harvey, who by all accounts was still in hospital, now on the mend though slow going and sleeping a lot, but getting better nonetheless. Of course, what else was playing on people’s minds was the identity of who had done that to Harvey. No one seemed to be any closer to solving the mystery.

On Wednesday, Bristol had looked in on Harvey early in the morning before going to work, steeling himself against bumping into any of his family. Bristol wasn’t a ‘meet the family’ kind of bloke, especially under these circumstances. Thankfully, no one had been there, but he didn’t get a chance to speak to Harvey either.

Harve was asleep. Bristol had watched him for a few minutes, taking in the reddened swelling around his eyes, which was now beginning to turn black by the looks of things, and Bristol surmised it was going to look worse as Harvey got better as bruising usually did.

The top of Harvey’s head had been covered, and he was connected to a monitor at his side. Bristol didn’t really understand the readings of what was on the screen, but he knew it was to monitor his vitals. Harvey seemed to be breathing okay on his own and had been moved to a ward, no longer in the ICU, which must be a good sign… right? If he had been on death’s door, he imagined that his family wouldn’t have left him alone.

He had stared at him for a bit longer. ‘Jeez.’ The sight of Harvey lying there had brought it home to Bristol just how close he had come to losing his life, or at least, being left brain damaged. Bristol wondered if he was out of the woods yet on that score and had gone in search of a nurse, but all they had told him was that he was resting comfortably, that he’d had a good night, and that any news would be given to the immediate family first.

The rumour mill had ground faster than it ever had throughout the plant, to the point that even when the workers from the slaughter floor went down to the canteen among people from other departments, they could feel themselves being watched or assessed for any signs that one of them had committed such a violent act.

By Thursday, it had come to a head, with Puddles declaring loudly in the canteen to Davo so that all could hear.

Why in the fuck does everyone think it was someone from the floor! Just because it happened in our chillers, doesn’t mean it was someone from our department! We get a lot of fuckwits wandering upstairs all the time! He glared about him at those unfortunate enough to be nearby.

Davo looked a little nonplussed, for once not really knowing what he could say.

Yeah mate, was all he could muster while nodding in agreement.

Puddles’ angry outburst had prompted a visit by Tom Granger to the floor to see Bristol. The canteen manager, Sybil, had passed it on to her good friend Barbara who sat at main office reception who gossiped to Stevie the clerk who sat in the pay office window, who in turn told Alan Brown, the paymaster, who mentioned it in passing to Tom. Eventually, everything reached Tom Granger through one avenue or another, though Tom noticed this one had come to him quicker than most.

Tom now stood in the slaughter floor office wearing his familiar white dust coat which he always wore whilst out visiting the departments. At the moment he was looking out over the slaughter floor, peering out through the office windows, having to bend his wiry frame due to his height to do so.

Well, at least we know it wasn’t Billy Pudney. His comment not being aimed at anybody in particular.

Mike and Bristol were leaning on the desk side by side, both with their arms folded. The Manager’s presence on the slaughter floor spiked the interest of those workers who could see him through the glass from where they were working. Most thought that perhaps he was up on the floor to give news about Harvey!

Never thought it was Pudney anyway. Bristol said. Though he did all but tell everyone to go fuck themselves down in the canteen!

When Bristol had heard of Puddles’ outburst, he’d laughed out loud. After all, he too had been fed up with the narrowmindedness of those who thought that anyone working outside the slaughter floor was exempt.

He