The farmer was sold. He invited Herb into the farmhouse to set up a time for his return and to sign the paperwork. The two men sat at the kitchen table and discussed the program and dates. The farmer signed the phony contract Herb gave him and reached into his drawer to pull out a checkbook.
Herb stopped the farmer. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Ellard,” Herb said, “I don’t do business that way. You don’t pay until we’ve completed the training for you and you are fully satisfied with the results.”
“Fair enough,” said the farmer.
Having gained the trust of the farmer now, Herb wanted to see if he could get some much needed information from him. Herb opened his notebook and showed the farmer a list of farms in the area.
“Mr. Ellard,” Herb asked the farmer. “You’ve seen what our methods can do here. Can you think of some other farmers on this list who might be interested in learning our techniques?”
The man looked over the list. “I think Callway farms would be up for it.” Mr. Ellard said, “I’ve known Allen for years and he’s a pretty practical guy. I can get you an introduction. Same with Three Forks and Terrini, I can call those guys for you too.”
Ellard continued to run his index finger down the list. Herb hoped he’d get him an intro to the farmers who were the trustees of FasCorp, the Haltons. Ellard’s finger stopped just short of the Haltons on the list.
“Perrin Family Farm.” Ellard’s voice grew sad when he read the name of the farm. “Mr. Parks, I’d kindly ask that you leave these folks alone for the time being. They’ve had a terrible tragedy, and I’m afraid your presence on their farm will just bring about more grief for them.”
“Sure Mr. Ellard.” Herb said, “What happened?”
“Mr. Parks,” the farmer started, “I’ve known the Perrin family for as long as I can remember. Went to church with them, saw when their daughter Cindy came into the world, was at her wedding when she married the Ulrich boy after he came home from college. You could not have known a finer family, or people who were more respected in these parts.”
As Herb listened, he was moved by the sadness in the farmer’s voice. He liked this man. He wished his cover wasn’t just some ruse and that he’d be able to meet him again.
“When Cindy’s father died suddenly,” Ellard went on, “Cindy and Bill Ulrich had to take over the farm. She’s got twin boys so it wasn’t easy. Bill was busy in his law practice, but he helped out where he could. I guess it was his lack of experience handling pigs that did him in.”
“What do you mean?” asked Herb, keenly aware that he, too, had a ‘lack of experience.’ He wondered, thoughtfully, if he too could be ‘done in.’
“Yeah, what do you mean?” Chimed an annoyed Steve loudly. He was standing at the kitchen sink trying to wash the filth off his face and hands. The farmer’s comment reminded him that he’d just put his life in jeopardy by confronting an angry sow.
“Bill must’ve fallen one night when he was feeding his stock inside their pen, just before going to bed.” The old man explained. “Cindy slept through the night and didn’t notice Bill was gone. I guess the pigs had gotten agitated by something while he was in the pen and he couldn’t get out. By the morning he’d been picked clean. Nothing but bone left. Cindy found him, poor girl.”
“Good God, that’s horrible.” Remarked Herb.
“Yeah, that’s horrible.” Repeated Steve who had grown pale from the description.
“I’m very sorry to hear that, Mr. Ellard,” Herb said, “We’ll leave her in peace as you’ve requested so she can do her grieving.”
Then Herb said, “Mr. Ellard, the next farm on this list, Millicent and Jeremiah Halton’s farm, they’re next door to the Perrin farm. Do you think they’d be interested in our certification program?”
Ellard scowled a little. “I don’t know. I’d stay away, I think. Those people keep to themselves a lot. Pretty unfriendly folk if you ask me. I never liked them and I’m not sure I’d trust them, either. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if…”
The farmer stopped himself.
“If what?” Herb asked.
“Nothing.” Replied the farmer. “I’ll leave it at that. It’s getting late and you have a lot of farms to visit on this list. I’ll give the calls I promised, I just ask one thing.”
“Sure anything,” Herb replied.
“When you visit the friends I’ve referred you to on this list, kindly keep this clown out of their yard.” The farmer pointed to Steve, who was standing at the sink drying his hands. Steve was frozen by the comment and began to look flush. “I don’t think they’ll take too kindly to his phony “Farmer Joe” outfit, his filthy language or his hundred-dollar last name.”
“Will do,” said Herb, “I understand. I apologize for my colleague’s language. He’s new to our company and I think he got caught up in the moment.”
Herb and Steve walked out to the car and said their good-byes. As they drove down the long dirt road leading out of the farm, Herb felt immense pride in his performance and was grinning from ear to ear. Steve, on the other hand, started ranting and swearing the minute they were outside of the farmer’s earshot.
“What the ****?!” He shouted. “You almost killed me back there! You are certifiably insane. What. The. ****!!!”
Herb reached into his pocket for a pack of smokes and tapped the pack on the steering wheel. He was euphoric and he wasn’t paying much attention to Steve’s ongoing rant. He had done something fairly amazing, and for the first time in his life he had done it sober. He’d calmed an uncalmable pig, convinced a veteran farmer that he was expert on farming, and walked away with some interesting and valuable leads.
Herb sped down the road, producing a cloud of dust as he steered the car with his knees. He lit his ceremonial cigarette while simultaneously reaching for the CD case he had brought with him. He could barely hear the distant rambling of Steve who was now commenting frantically on his driving as he gripped the dash tightly in front of him. Herb looked down at the CD he chose and smiled: Aqualung.
As Herb turned the corner onto the main highway, he shifted the car into second, floored the accelerator and fishtailed out onto the paved road. His car had thrown up rocks and dirt in its wake, and now the engine was whining as he slammed it into third. The afternoon sun was casting a long, orange hue down the road that lay ahead of him. Herb inserted the CD, shifted into fourth gear, and cranked Hymn 43 loud enough to drown out the rest of what little he was hearing of Steve.