Kit Crumb: Body Parts

The big man began to talk about his sick father as though he were telling a fairy tale to a child. The tone of his voice changed, but he showed no emotion.

“My ol’ man died and the doctor said it was the transplanted liver. Contaminated. In such bad shape, even if he had survived the operation he wouldn’t have lived out the day.”

Rye figured he had nothing to lose and maybe, if he could get this guy talking, it might somehow aid in his release… or escape.

“How did you figure it was Lewd and Lascivious?” Rye asked.

“Same as you. Off the label of one of their tapes. When I picked up the liver, it was in an ice chest in a cardboard box. Vince here delivered the ice chest to the doctor and said he found a couple videotapes inside it. I watched one. It was pretty good—for porn. Then I get a call that my papa’s dead and that the liver was no good. I shoulda known sumpin’ was rotten. The bitch what made the delivery was really up tight, nervous even. Wouldn’t let me look at the liver.”

Rye adjusted his sitting position so he was leaning against the back door; the move wasn’t lost on his captors. As long as they thought that he could help them find the woman who sold them the liver, Rye figured they’d keep him alive.

“So, how can I help you find the woman?” Rye said.

Vince handed the other guy Rye’s wallet he’d removed during the pat down.

“Well, Mr. Rye, I see that you do have a last name.” He paused to read the driver’s license. “Now I know where you live. Both of us want the same thing, so I’ll give you three days, then I’ll contact you. If you come through with the details I want, you never see me again.”

They drove to an empty lot, gave Rye directions for finding his car and a number he was to call with information. Vince leaned over Rye and opened the back doors. Rock was waiting.

It felt good to stand up, and as he stood up straight, he turned to face his captor. Rock smiled and snapped off a kick catching Rye in the groin. “No offense, Mr. Rye. You know, an eye for an eye and all that.”

Rye lay curled in a fetal position trying to look up at Rock.

“Good hunting, Mr. Rye. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

When he caught his breath and knew he wouldn’t puke, he stood up again, slowly. The SUV was gone.

Three hours later, Rye was experiencing the most uncomfortable ride of his life, pondering all that had happened from the coach seat of a 737 headed north. Another three hours and he was home reading the note Claire left him.

“Hello, uh, this is Rye”

The voice on the other end of the phone came alive with recognition, much to Rye’s relief.

“Mr. Rye, glad to hear from you, I didn’t expect to get a call so soon. What can you tell me?”

“20415 Pericolo Lane, Denton Beach, Oregon.”

“How did you get this information?”

“I didn’t, my wife did. Apparently she traced the license plate number from the van I saw the blonde get into. There’s just one thing, my wife is already there.”

Rye was clenching and unclenching his fist, his mind filling with B-footage from a gangster movie where mobsters sprayed a room with bullets killing everyone in order to get revenge on just one person.

“Rest assured that your wife will probably not be hobnobbing’ with the same people we’ll be doin’ business with. But I suggest that you get up there as soon as possible and get her out. Is there anything else you want to tell me, Mr. Rye?”

“No nothing. Ah, maybe yes there is. I want to wish you good luck; these people are scum.”

“Yeah, we know that. Thanks. Good-bye, Mr. Rye.”

He stood holding the phone to his ear for a minute, listening to the dial tone.

Rye stepped to the door of the garage looking at his VW bus and the ambulance, thinking of the four-hour drive to Denton Beach. It was the image of Vince and Rock getting there first that made up his mind. Twenty minutes later, he was heading north on I-5, doing ninety, sirens and lights howling and spinning.

Rosie brooded as she drove through the Marin headlands, her midnight transaction already out of mind. Moonless night drives often triggered her mood swings. This time it was the argument she had with Simms about bringing in the South American black market contingency, how he was sure it was too soon for such a big move. She was deep in thought when an SUV traveling at about twice her speed, tailgating her with highbeams glaring, honked. She quickly moved into the slow lane, shoving a fist out the window with one finger extended.

She was still fuming over her argument with Simms. Granted, she’d arranged for the visit without first consulting him, but she figured this way he had no choice. If she’d talked to him first it would have been a flat out no.

“What do you mean he wants to visit the facility… and bring what, five, ten, fifteen people?” Simms had said. “C’mon, Rosie, you know how it has to be.” He spun in his chair to the right and pulled open the top drawer and extracted a day planner. “You know it’s an issue of security.” He laid the planner on the desk blotter, and then pulled up the calendar on his computer. “It could jeopardize everything, plus we have a new group of women coming.” He looked from his computer to the day planner. “In five days, we’ll be swamped. Taping the operations, I control what they see.”

Rosie sat stonefaced, letting Simms rant. She ran a thumb inside her blouse adjusting her bra, uncrossed and re-crossed her legs.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, I’ve already made the arrangements. Peter, these men represent most of the South American organ black market. This could mean millions.”

“It could also mean the end,” Simms dropped his day planner in the drawer and slammed it shut. “Look what happened with Mason. You recruited him and he almost ruined everything.”

Rosie was quickly losing her composure and began to raise her voice. “But he didn’t, did he? And he became a donor and got the mob off your back.”

Simms suddenly grew pale. “God, don’t tell me you gave them his liver.”

“What does it matter?”

“You were supposed to bring up that Italian stallion so Clouse could pull his liver for them. Look, maybe you’re right and it doesn’t matter, and they can’t track us down. That’s not the point. I can’t trust you, anymore. You recruited Mason without consulting me and he nearly gave us away. What’d you do, recruit him with a good fuck? If it weren’t for me you’d just be a nymphomaniac running a pornographic film company so you could fuck all the actors. And the actresses for all I know. Shit.”

Rosie stood, placing both hands on the desk. “That’s not fair, you know about my condition. Sometimes I can’t help myself. Besides, you’re nothing but a doctor who lost his license for fondling a patient. My film company gave you the chance to step back into the operating room.”

Now Simms was on his feet. “You need me, Rosie. Anybody can do pornography but where are you going to find another surgeon?”

“You get more for one extraction than you made in the first five years of medical practice,” Rosie yelled. She spun on her heel and marched out of the room. Just past the door, she turned and leaned on the door jam.

“Oh, and Peter, Cecil Vinci and his contingent will arrive tomorrow evening expecting to sit in on the extraction of a liver… don’t disappoint him!”

Her ears were ringing and her head throbbed. She moved just the fingers of her right hand, then her wrist. There was no feeling in her right leg, and her left leg felt like it was hanging in space. As she came fully conscious, she opened her eyes to total darkness but was afraid to move her head. The vision of Jan’s body, and all the others, came flooding in. She closed her eyes.