“You know, Blake,” Nick began, “now that I listen to you describe what you’ve been doing, wouldn’t that be considered a violation of the Federal Meat Inspection Act? It’s just like that farmer in New York that got caught selling meat last year that wasn’t inspected, isn’t it?”
“Nick, you know what we agreed to! I’m selling you live animals, not processed meat. You don’t need a permit or inspection to sell live animals. We agreed that I would cure the meat for you as a friendly service, but you bought the live animal and that’s not a violation,” Blake said, but not as confidently as he would have liked. The truth was he didn’t know how the laws would be interpreted, and didn’t want to find out.
“Hmm...maybe you’re right, Blake. Except...I’m not sure the USDA would agree with you on that if they were to come in and ask us who we got the meat from. Oh sure, we’d probably tell them what you just said, but then again we as the restaurant wouldn’t have any culpability. The responsibility for knowing and following the law is on the one who sells the meat. That’s you, Blake. And that’s what happened to that farmer in New York who sold meat that wasn’t inspected. Let’s see he’s doing, what is it...eight years behind bars now, on top of the quarter million dollar fine they laid on him. Lost his house and his wife.”
Blake listened and thought of how to respond to Nick’s thinly veiled threat, but Nick continued.
“All I do is just write the check to you, Blake. Never checks larger than $5,000 at a time, just as you requested.”
Blake clenched his jaw.
“Of course, the authorities don’t come in and ask questions too often,” Nick said, “but you never know when someone may make an anonymous call and a health inspector will show up here or a USDA investigator will show up at your place. By the way, if the inspectors ever do visit you, where’d you get those pigs from anyway? I suspect they’d want to know about that too.”
Nick knew full well where he got those pigs, but, as if it had never dawned on him before, Blake realized that Nick had nothing to do with it other than planting the seed to germinate in the fertile soil of Blake’s greedy mind. It was Blake who had found Savannah locals to trap the descendants of Spanish pigs for him for next to nothing. They were all too happy to make some money doing it.
“Island’s overrun with them little black suckers,” they had said. Hunts were held on the island every year just to eradicate as many wild pigs as they could, most of the carcasses just lying there and going to waste. After they were captured, it was Blake himself who had hauled them to the mountains. It was Blake who had built the curing sheds. Nick had told him how, sure, but otherwise he had nothing to do with it. Most important though, Nick was right; the meat wasn’t inspected. Blake had talked to the USDA folks in Atlanta early on about getting licensed, but they said it had to be in a climate-controlled, stainless steel facility.
“That is bullshit!” Nick had said at the time. “Look Blake, if you follow all the rules then you’re playing someone else’s game and not your own. You won’t accomplish anything that way.”
“Look at this,” Nick had said, pointing to his gold watch. “This watch cost me thirty grand. I have four of them. Pocket change. You think I’ve achieved everything I have by doing what others told me to do? Friggin’ USDA! What the hell do they know about gourmet food? About tradition?”
Blake recalled how intoxicated he was at the idea of Nick’s wealth. At the idea that he, Blake, could achieve...well, if not all of it, at least some of that wealth. In Blake’s eyes, Nick could do no wrong.
“I want those hams to be from wild, black-hoofed pigs that range on acorns and are cured in the open mountain air. Just like we did it in Spain. None of these heavily salted country hams the USDA loves. I wouldn’t feed that garbage to my bulldog. Otherwise Blake, no deal.” Blake had hesitated for an instant, before Nick gave him his closing pitch. “But, if you do raise these for me,” Nick had said, “you’ll not only be richly rewarded, you’ll be a legend, Blake. It’ll be me and you together, doing something that no one else has done.”
So Blake built the sheds and hid them in the woods the way the mountain moonshiners had done successfully during prohibition. Now, Nick was squeaky clean, Blake concluded as he stood there and thought it through, and Nick had no intention of letting him stop, of letting this be a one-time deal. Blake realized that he’d have to find another way out.
Hell, I’ll just close up shop and not even tell Nick, Blake thought. Get rid of everything to the highest bidder. Ain’t a damn thing Nick can do then once I’ve shut it down. To hell with him!
“You know,” Nick continued, “come to think of it I can’t remember if we ever asked for your tax identification number or your social security number to issue you a 1099. I’ll have to check with my accountant to find out for sure. What did we pay you last year, Blake? At least a hundred grand I’d say for the fresh meat, wouldn’t you?”
Blake stared and listened, hating what he was hearing, hating how much Nick knew about him, how much he controlled him. Most of all, hating what he had been doing. Nick was right. Blake had not walked the straight and narrow. He was nowhere close to the center of the road. He had veered off, deep into the woods, and now found himself perched on the edge of a ravine with a strong wind at his back.
“And I figure we’ll owe you, what, another twenty-five, thirty grand for the shipments and deliveries this week. Broken up into checks for five grand each per usual, right Blake?”
Blake exhaled, looked at his feet.
“I wouldn’t worry about anything, though,” Nick continued, “I know you just added all the money I paid you to your tax return as the IRS requires, and that you will again this year. Besides, the IRS would have noticed if you didn’t anyway, unless...well, unless you didn’t actually deposit the checks in a bank account, but just cashed them instead. Of course you wouldn’t have done that, and even if you did I suppose the only record would be the cleared checks that I have with your signature from when you cashed them.”
Nick stopped talking and simply stared at Blake as his words hung in the air with the resonance of a jury’s verdict.
Blake had driven to The Federal full of hope. Hope for a fresh start, hope to get back on the straight and narrow and renew his vows to Angelica. Hope for the simple life that he had once scoffed at and couldn’t wait to get away from. Now it was all he wanted. Nick had just sucked that hope right out of Blake.
“Nick,” Blake whispered softly, “p-l-e-a-s-e!”
Blake composed himself.
“Please let me stop. Let me have my life back. Please Nick.”
Nick smiled, partly to calm Blake, but mainly because he knew his tactics had succeeded. He liked controlling things, owning things. Now it was clear to him that he owned Blake. He placed his hand on Blake’s shoulder.
“My friend, it will all be fine. And you’ll be handsomely rewarded, just as you wanted. Just deliver to me what you promised, when you promised. What we agreed to. We’re both men of our word, Blake. You do what’s right and I’ll do what’s right, my friend.”
Blake knew he was not Nick’s friend. And he knew there was nothing that he could do. He turned and walked away from Nick without saying another word. He continued walking through the kitchen, out the delivery door and to his truck, utterly dejected. He couldn’t imagine how his life could get any worse.
Chapter 18