The Jigsaw Man (7 page)

the sole reason for it. The driver leaned over and prac

tically had to scream in my ear.

"Relax, buddy, we've got a good three, three and a

half hour drive ahead of us."

He gave me a little wink and then turned his full atten

tion back on the road. Those were the only words I would

hear for the entire trip, which only ended up taking two

hours and fifty minutes according to the digital clock on

the dash. God knows where we were. Somewhere south

of Buffalo I guess* probably close to the southern border

of Western New York. I'd seen a sign saying we were near

Allegheny State Park and some small town named Mill-

haven, wherever that was. When the driver finally turned

down the music to inform us we were almost "home," as

he put it, I let out a nervous sigh of relief and stretched

my legs and back like an awakening cat.

Sure enough, within minutes the big white limo

pulled off onto a paved road marked PRIVATE and through

the trees in the distance I could just make out a huge

redbrick building. The road twisted and turned through

the trees for perhaps a mile until breaking dear of the

forest and: giving me my first good look at Nathan Mar

shall's estate.

I was disappointed, to tell the truth. It was a dirty

four-story rectangular building with what looked like a

tower room on the front left corner, A U.S. flag flew on

the peak of the tower, looking a bit tattered, like it hadn't

been lowered in twenty years. The rest of the building

was in disrepair also, looking more like a crumbling me

dieval castle than any state-of-the-art medical research

center I'd ever seen. Mind you, I'd never seen a state-of-

the-art medical research center so what did I know? I'm

not sure what I'd been expecting, but this ugly build

ing, this architectural monstrosity, sure wasn't it.

"Not very pretty, is it?" I said to the driver.

"You got that right, buddy, but don't let it fool you.

Doc Marshall is a hell of a surgeon and this place is

equipped with nothing but the best. You've heard that

expression, you ean't judge a book by its cover? Well,

that fits this place. You'll see."

The linvx pulled up to the huge double front doors

and we stopped behind it. .

"Everybody out," the driver said. "Oh, you two in

the back just hold on a sec and I'll get your chairs." He

gave me a slap on the arm and said, "Can you give me a

hand with their wheelchairs?"

"Ah, sure, I guess."

We went to the back of the van, removed two rickety

old chairs, and helped the two bearded guys into them.

I was shocked to see that both were missing one of their

legs, although not the same one. I hadn't noticed that

"when I'd climbed into the van. I had to ask.

"Jesus, guys, don't take this the wrong way, but both

of you have already lost a leg. Don't you need both of

your arms to get around?"

"Yeah," the red bearded guy missing his left leg an

swered. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, everything. If you're already in a wheelchair,

how can you sell your arm? You won't be able to push

yourself around. Not very easily anyway."

I had a brief image of a frustrated one-armed/one-

legged man trying to cross a street in his wheelchair, go

ing nowhere but around and around in circles.

" Whatareya talMngabout,mister? "the brown-bearded

man said. "I'm here to sell my left leg, not my arm. Like

you said, I need my arms."

"Me too," Red Beard said. "Only I'm selling my right

leg. I don't got no use for it anyway. May as well take the

cash, right?"

Wait a minute, Mike. What's going on here?

I turned to the other man standing quietly over by the

front door. "What about you? What are you selling?"

"My left arm. That's what I thought you guys were

selling too. It doesn't matter though, as long as we all

get our money."

I guess he was right. It didn't really matter. It just

caught me off guard for a moment, that's all

"I suppose. It's just a bit of a surprise," I said. "Two arms

and two legs. I mean; I know this place
looks
like Fran

kenstein's castle but nobody told me we were here to sup

ply the parts for Dr, Marshall to build a body."

It was an attempted joke but looking around at each

other, this creepy place we were in, and thinking about

what I'd just said, nobody laughed—nobody at all.

Jesus H Christ!

What was I getting myself into?

PART THREE

T H E CASTLE

C H A P T E R S E V E N

Drake opened the massive door leading into the medi

cal center, and hurried the four of us inside. I helped

push Red Beard's chair, while the limo driver aided the

other wheelchair-bound man. Once we were all inside

the building and clear of the door, Drake told us to stay

put while he checked to see if they were ready for us.

The moment he walked around the corner, the Hmo

driver hurriedly said good-bye and exited through the

front door, leaving us alone.

There was n o t h i n g to do except stare at each other

and wait for Drake to come back. The hallway we were

in was made entirely of concrete;, including the floor,

with a set of stairs leading up to our left. The ceiling

towered fifteen feet above our heads and even though

sound would probably echo quite well in here, no one

said a word and it was as quiet as a tomb. So quiet, irwas

making me nervous, so I took the initiative and intro¬

duced myself.

"The name's Smith " the other nondisabled man said—

the man donating his left arm. "William Smith, but I'd

rather you call me Bill."

"Hey, imagine that, I'm a Bill too," said the brownbearded man missing his right leg. "Bill Tucker. Just so we

don't get confused, most people back home called me

Wheels, on account of this chair and all."

We all agreed W h e e l s would do just fine.

Red Beard's name was Sinclair Anderson. I think I

preferred calling him Red Beard and when I jokingly

mentioned this to him he smiled and said that was all

right with him.

"Lot's of people call me Red. You can t o o , M i k e , if

you'd like."

"Sure," I said. "We're in this crazy adventure to¬

gether, and who better to have on an adventure than a

pirate, huh? Red Beard it is."

Together, we laughed and it seemed to break the ten¬

sion a little. Everyone was uptight and nervous about

what we were getting into, but at least we were approach¬

ing it properly, with a sense of humor. It felt good to

laugh; we needed it. Soon we were kidding each other

about what we should do with all the money once this

was over. I also learned that I'd been right with my

original assumption: all four of us
had
been living on

the street before accepting Drake's offer.

Only for a moment did I pause to wonder how this

Dr. Marshall could possibly be willing to shell out eight

million dollars to us four misfits of society. Didn't that

sound like a little
too
much money to just toss away?

Maybe—

My mind started to think things through, but then

Drake reappeared and yelled at us to get a move on. I

might have continued with my train of thought but

when we followed him around the corner, what lay ahead

made me gasp out loud and forget all about any linger¬

ing doubts I may have been harboring.

The featureless concrete hallway opened up into a lav¬

ishly decorated four-story, glass-roofed atrium. A highly

polished emerald-green marble floor spread out across

the grand expanse of a room measuring seventy-five

feet aeross, and what had to be damn near sixty feet

high. To our left was a long cherrywood reception

desk, a stunning depiction of a flock of doves skillfully

hand-carved along its length. Luxurious black-leather

couches and chairs were artistically spaced out around

the room, along with several glass display cases filled

with statues, paintings, and other valuable treasures.

My eye was particularly drawn to a display of jewelencrusted swords lying on a carpet of ancient gold coins.

All the seating and displays faced the north wall,

drawing my eyes to where a massive ten-foot-high fire¬

place was cut into the colorful fieldstone wall. On ei¬

ther side of the fireplace, twin fifty-foot-high tapestries

were hung, both gloriously depicting the rising sun

majestically suspended over the tips of two godlike

outstretched hands.

I'd never been in a room quite like it. It was simply

incredible—breathtaking in its beauty compared to the

building's shabby, crumbling exterior. Earlier, I'd com¬

pared this place to a medieval castle rather than a med¬

ical center; seeing this immense fireplace and the

exquisitely woven twin tapestries only intensified my

initial impression.

What would all this extravagance cost? This doctor must

be loaded!

This room alone would have cost a fortune. Maybe

eight million for us losers wasn't as big a deal as I'd

originally thought.

Drake led us through the atrium, past the reception

desk, and into a smaller room, which at first glance I

mistook for a movie theater. There were five rows of

ten high-backed seats arranged in a semicircle sloping

down toward a large white projection screen. Beside

the screen, on the right-hand side, was a raised wooden

pulpit with an attached silver microphone available

for someone to address a crowd. This room was obvi-ously a conference room of sorts, where m e e t i n g s ,

media interviews, and video presentations could be

held.

"Everyone grab a seat," Drake barked. "Dr. Mar¬

shall will be here in a minute to go over everything

with you. If you have questions, this will be the time to

ask them. There's room for the wheelchairs at the end

of each row. You other t w o , sit anywhere you'd like."

I helped Red Beard get settled at the end of the third

row of seats, then plopped down in the same row a

couple of chairs in. Wheels rolled down the wheelchair

ramp to the first row, while Bill Smith took a seat at the

back on the far side of the aisle.

"Good enough," Drake said. He peeked out into the

atrium, smiled, waved at somebody, then walked down

the wheelchair ramp to the front of the room. "Well,

no big fanfare or anything, 'causeI'm no good at speeches,

but it's time you guys met the man responsible for

bringing you here today. It's my pleasure to introduce

you to the most brilliant man I've ever known. Treat

him right or I'll break your heads. Anyway" he ges¬

tured to the doorway, "Dr. N a t h a n Marshall."

Drake was right; he certainly wasn't much of a

speechmaker, but I suppose that introduction was as

good as any. I turned, as did everyone, just as N a t h a n

Marshall entered the room. I doubt I was the only one

surprised to see a man sitting comfortably in a blue

metal wheelchair with shiny chrome wheels, his legs

concealed beneath a thin yellow wool blanket. Taking a

quick glance at Bill, Red Beard, and W h e e l s , it was ob¬

vious none of us had known the good doctor was dis¬

abled. N o t that it really mattered—it just wasn't how I'd

pictured him in my mind.

He was just as handsome as Drake had alluded, with

thick wavy black hair crowning his thin, regal-looking

face. He had to be at least sixty years of age, but looked

remarkably younger if you didn't study him too close. It

was his eyes, I think—powerful, piercing blue eyes that

glimmered with just a hint of green. His skin was quite

pale but not from sickness; it was probably because he

spent so much time indoors.

He was casually dressed in a dark blue pullover

sweater with the sleeves bunched up around his elbows.

The yellow blanket hid his legs, but below that he was

wearing brand-new white Adidas runners. His legs ap¬

peared to be thin and somewhat wasted away, but his

upper body was very well developed. Dr. Marshall obvi¬

ously spent countless hours in the gym despite his dis¬

abilities. All eyes were on him as he slowly made his way

down to the podium.

"Good m o r n i n g , gentlemen " Dr. Marshall said when

he finally positioned himself on the raised platform. He

ignored the microphone and just spoke to us in a strong