It was just after 6 a.m. Vera finished her first Pall Mall of the last eight hours as she slid her tall, lanky form behind the wheel, then immediately fired up another as she pulled out of the lot on this early Wednesday morning in Madison. Smoking was not permitted inside the giant meat packing plant. It wasn’t until she’d driven around the state capitol square that she cranked open a car window. Even after three years in the bologna packaging division of the huge facility, Vera hadn’t gotten used to the powerful odor of processed meat that pervaded the neighborhood near the Mayer factory. Vera was tired. She never wore makeup at work, or did much more to her straight, dirty blond hair than just pin it up so it would fit under the plastic caps the Oscar Mayer workers were required to wear. Fatigue showed on her face, the result of a couple of sleepless afternoons—her normal bed time—and the strain of the fight she’d had last night with Jimbo Murray.
