Authors: Gord Rollo
Tags: #Suspense, #Horror, #Fiction, #Occult & Supernatural, #Thrillers, #Organ donors
tiling that mattered to guys like him. Speaking of money,
they knew I was homeless and didn't have a nickel-*-
making me rich probably meant forking over two or
three thousand bucks. That wouldn't do me any good.
Wouldn't do my daughter any good, either. Sure, I
could live it up for a few months, but then it would be
right back to where I was now. And what about that
helping the doctor out with his research part? What
the hell did that mean? Did they want to sign me on as
a human guinea pig? Maybe inject my balls with radio
active soap bubbles to see how big testicles can swell
before exploding? N o , I didn't like the way this was
shaping up one bit but I'd come this far. I may as well
hear the rest.
"And what does Dr. Marshall want from me, exactly?"
Drake set his scotch down again and looked me
straight in the eye. In a hushed tone, almost a whisper,
he said, "He wants your right arm."
For a second, I thought he was joking again, but some
thing in his eyes and the set of his shoulders and jaw
tipped me off that he was indeed serious.
"He wants
WHAT}"
I screamed, suddenly angry
with myself for getting involved in this nonsense. "Stop
the car, Drake. IVe heard enough of your bullshit. You
can tell Dr. Bigbucks he can go straight to Hell. Just
because I'm homeless, dirty, and sometimes eat out of
trash cans, it doesn't make me an animal he can play
with in his sick twisted little experiments. Fuck bim,
and for that matter, fuck you too. You come down to
the slums in this fancy car looking for an easy mark.
Well, start looking elsewhere because I'm out of here.
Now stop the goddamned car!"
I wasn't in much of a position to be making threats
and I was worried I'd gone too far. There was no doubt
this huge man could easily snap my spine in two like
a twigbut screw it, I was mad. Fortunately, I>rake re
mained perfectly calm throughout my little tirade, wait
ing patiently until I was finished before responding.
"Whatever, Mike. I told you from the start the choice
was yours and you weren't under any obligation what
soever,"
He made the same tapping gesture on the glass di
vider as earlier and the limousine driver pulled over to
the gravel shoulder and stopped the car. Drake reached
over and opened the door for me, then sat back to allow
me passage.
"You sure about this, Mike?" he asked. "You're toss
ing away a lot of money."
"I'm sure all right. He wants my
arm?
You've got to
be out of your mind! Where's the other two hundred
bucks you promised me for listening to this crap?"
Drake gave me a coy little smirk, meaning either he
was laughing at me or perhaps respecting my pathetic
display of bravado. Either way, he reached for his bill
fold and peeled off two more hundreds. He crumpled
them up in a ball like garbage-—chump change he'd called
it—and slapped them into my hand. Pocketing the
money, I quickly shuffled across the seat, headed for
the door.
I fully expected Drake to stop me before I made it
out of the car. His large baseball mitt of a hand would
roughly grab me by the shoulder and he'd yank me back
ward onto the floor. Hovering above me, he'd scream,
"You're not going anywhere, mister. We want your arm
and I damn well mean to take it right here, right now!"
Drake would then put his shiny size-twelve dress shoes
onto the center of my chest and rip my arm off with his
bare hands.
Nbne
to shake die image of my blood spraying all over the nice
new carpet until I was safely clear of the limo and stand
ing on the sidewalk. Having paid no attention to where
the driver had taken us, I wasn't exactly sure where I was,
but it was no big deal. I could just walk until I came to a
main intersection, one I recognized, and then find my
way back to Carver Street easy enough.
Already trying to put this nasty episode behind me, I
started planning how Blue J and I could go out on the
town tonight first class with the fburbig bills in my
pocket. If all went well, Fd be wined, dined, and drunk
out of my mind just in time to play chicken with my
freight train returning from Rochester in about eleven
and a half hours. My feet had just started heading for
home when Drake stuck his massive head out of the
limousine's door and said something that stopped me
before I'd taken my fourth step.
"No hard feelings, Mike?" he said. "Believe it or not,
I give you a lot of credit. It's not every day you meet a
guy with enough balls to just get up and walk away
from two million dollars."
Two million dollars?
Two
MILLION dollars?
Had I really heard Drake say that? No way, it had to
be a mistake, or possibly another joke. Then again,
Drake had said his employer was filthy rich. Maybe—
TWO, MILLION, DOLLARS?
The number was so staggeringly immense, when I
tried to visualize it, all the zeroes kept ricocheting
painfully back and forth through my brain like the metal
spheres in an arcade pinball machine. I was rooted to
the sidewalk, unable to resume walking, but deathly
afraid to turn back around. Instinctively, I sensed that
if I"turned around to listen to any more of this mad
ness, I'd be sunk for sure.
Just walk away Mike. Get out of here,
I warned myself,
but I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. How could I justify
leaving behind that kind of money? Think of every
thing I could buy. The places I could visit and the things
I could do with a stash like that—right arm or no right
arm. Think about Arlene. Man, that twenty-five grand
insurance policy was nothing compared to this. If I
played my cards right, maybe I could get back together
with her, actually be a part of her life again.
Easy fella. Don't get carried away. It'll never happen.
Still, it
could
happen. Couldn't it? What's that old
saying? Damned if I do and damned if I don't. That
pretty much summed up how I felt.
Eventually I did turn to face the limo again. If I was,
going to be damned,.I may as well be rich, right? Drake
was trying his best not to let his Cheshire-cat grin out
of the bag, but tactfulness obviously wasn't one of his
strong traits. He knew he had me right where he wanted,
playing the fool, thinking about the money.
"You heard me right,
Mihz.
Two million for your right
arm. If you'll just listen for a second, it's nowhere near as
sinister as it sounds. Nathan Marshall isn't some B-movie
mad scientist performing, as you so colorfully put it^ sick
twisted little experiments. He's a highly respected physi
cian for God's sake, a renowned medical researcher and
neurosurgeon. What did you think he was going to do,
chop off your arm with an axe while I held you down?"
As if from a great distance, I heard myself say, "I'm
not sure—" but my brain felt detached from my mouth,
drifting elsewhere in a vision of me lying comfortably
in a lush green meadow, relaxing on a bed of two mil
lion one--dollar-bill blades of grass.
It felt strange, really weird, and so unlike me to day
dream like this. Drake was speaking to me again.
"What?" I asked.
"I said, come on back into the limo and let me explain
exactly how this deal would work. Come have another
drink, listen to
xhefull
story* then make your decision.
At the very least, we can give you a lift back home."
I didn't need a lift back home. What I needed was to
run far away from here as fast as my legs could carry
me, ibut damned if my feet didn't take a couple steps
back toward the open car door
Don't da it, Mike,
my practical side silently scolded.
Don't he a fool. Take the money you've already pocketed and
bead for the bills. Go out and live it up with Blue J like you'd
planned, and forget all about this crazy offer. He's talking
about cutting off.your arm, your motherfucking arm, man!
Wake up and get out of here\
But hey, Fox, think about all that money,
the greedy
part of my conscience shot back.
Think ofeverything you
could have with that kind of dough, not the least of which is
your daughter maybe loving you again. The possibilities,
Fox> just think of the possibilities!
And I was.
There was no use denying it. No matter how hard I
tried, and no matter how fueked up this whole scenario
was, I couldn't stop thinking about how much money
was at stake.
Visions of sprawling houses, cobalt blue pools, tennis
courts, luxury cars, vacations in Europe, and beautiful
long-legged women all flashed before my eyes. Before I
could stop myself, I was climbing into the backseat of
the limo for a second time and accepting another glass>
of single malt scotch;
Drake tapped on the divider and the driver had us on
our way again. "Good man," he applauded me.
"Now let me explain this properly, so it's not so much
of a shock. It*s true Dr. Marshall wants to remove your
right arm, but he won't just hack it off Like I said earlier,
he's a world-class surgeon. He's working on damaged
nerve regeneration. Don't ask me to go into the specifics
because I haven?t got a clue. Dr. Marshall will explain ev
erything when you meet him. All I can say is that a long
time ago, he progressed as far as he could go in his re
search, using test animals and computer simulations. He
needs to test out his advanced theories using Hve human
subjects. Themedical community would never allow this
type of thing, of course, which is precisely the reason Dr.
Marshall funds his own research. Although this might be
frowned upon, that doesn't make it illegal You have every
right to donate your arm to medical science, just as he has
every right to compensate you for your trouble. People do
it all the time. All over the country people are selling part
of their livers, or one of their kidneys, and they're getting
compensated for it. Why shouldn't you?"
I sat rigid as a stone, not even sipping my expensive
scotch. I'd heard the stories of people selling their kid
neys for big bucks but hadn't really thought much about
it. This wasn't that much different, was it? I wasn't com
pletely convinced it was legal, but who really cared? Dr.
Marshall wouldn't be calling the cops to report me;
that was for sure. By the time anyone found out, if ever,
Arlene and I'd be nestled away on some warm tropical
island somewhere.
"Where and when would all this happen, if, and I do
mean
if
I decided to go through with it?"
"This weekend. You'll be brought to his private medi
cal center about three hours from here, where you'll
meet Dr. Marshall and his top-notch medical staff. You'll
get a tour of the facility and have a chance to ask any and
all questions you have before giving your final consent.
The money will be wired into a bank account for you
and you'll receive confirmation of its deposit before the
operation begins. The operation itself I'm told is simple,
a couple of hours, tops. You won't feel a thing.
"After it's over^ you'll be eared for and pampered for
as long as it takes your wound to properly heal. About
the worst thing you have to worry about will be fevers
and the risk of infection, but the doctors and nurses will