Body Parts raca-1

by Kit Crumb

  Holding her candle out in front and cupping her hand around it to protect the flame, Claire made her way up next to Crystal and saw immediately that the tunnel split about fifty feet ahead. Crystal held her candle up so that she could see Claire’s face. “Which way?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s try the right first, I guess.”

  The closer they got to the fork in the tunnel the more their candles flickered. As they stood at the split, they detected a slight breeze and had to protect the tentative candle flames with their hands.

  “I think the decision has been made for us,” Claire said, nodding towards the right.

  As the candles burned down into the wax, the flames produced less and less light. Soon the women were walking side by side holding the candles next to each other, in an attempt to get as much light out of them as they could. Claire kept one shoulder on the wall as she walked, to provide a guide as the candles gave out just enough light to show where they were stepping.

  “Stop for a minute and take the candles, I’m going to get the penlight out while I still have enough light to see what I’m doing.”

  “Tell me again why we’re in here,” Crystal said.

  “Looking for a place to hide until nightfall,” Claire said, stuffing the penlight into her hip pocket.

  “What time is it? Seems like we’ve been walking for at least an hour.”

  Claire pressed the button on her watch illuminating the face. “Not a chance. Only about thirty minutes.”

  When they started walking again, Crystal took the lead crouching to hold the candles low so they could see their feet, and dragging her shoulder on the tunnel wall. Claire hovered at her shoulder, staring at the ever-shrinking halo around their feet. Then, with a gasp, the light was gone.

  “Crystal?” Claire waved her hands in an attempt to find her.

  “It’s OK, I think I’m in a room of some kind, but there must be bats in here, cause something sure stinks.”

  “Just stay where you are.”

  “Could you hurry up with the flashlight? I’m starting to get creeped out.”

  “I’m going to use the lighter instead of the flashlight to find you and see if I can light the candles again.”

  “Fine, please just hurry up.”

  Claire spun the wheel on the lighter causing sparks and a small flame by which she could just see what appeared to be an oval opening to a small room about six feet high. She had just made out Crystal’s long hair, when the flame went out.

  “Shit.” She shook the lighter for the sound of fluid.

  Again she spun the wheel. Spark, but no flame. And again. Same result. With each flash of spark she’d take another step into the room, and with each spark she would catch sight of Crystal’s long hair. But something was wrong, her hair was dangling, she must be laying down, not on the floor but on a ledge.

  “Crystal, you OK?”

  “Yeah fine, you’ve got about ten feet to go.”

  Her voice didn’t come from the direction Claire had been following. Puzzled, she put the lighter in her hip pocket and took out the pen light, pointed it in the direction she’d been going and turned it on.

  Suddenly the room came alive with dangling hair—long hair, short hair—all hanging from heads in every state of decay. Bare shoulders, breasts, nude bodies. And with every shudder that passed through Claire, the light she was holding moved and the heads danced until Crystal’s scream jolted her into pointing the light at the ground, but it was too late. Crystal in her haste to escape barreled into Claire, knocking her to the ground as she ran from the room.

  As she fell, the penlight flew from her hand. Confused, she lay against the tunnel wall where she’d fallen, listening to Crystal’s screams fade into the darkness. It was when they abruptly stopped that she began feeling around the floor for the penlight, finding instead what she thought was a rock until she found a wire leading in from one side. She depressed the top of the rock. Suddenly the room lit up like daylight. Claire got to her feet in a state of shock. Stacked from the floor to what must have been an eight-foot ceiling were bodies. Each had its own shelf, and each was face up with the head at the outside edge of the shelf, hair dangling. There were no labels, numbers or names. The room reminded Claire of the catacombs below some of the ancient churches in Rome.

  The light came from four large spotlights mounted onto a metal crossbeam bolted to the ceiling. As she turned to scan the walls of corpses, one of the bodies caught her attention. It was on the rear wall, fourth shelf from the bottom. She noticed something tiny sticking up from between the breasts.

  Extracting a pair of surgical gloves from her butt pack, Claire gingerly grasped the body just under the shoulders and slid it out a few inches. There in the middle of the chest were sutures, several sticking up just enough to catch the light. She’d seen this before. The body had undergone some kind of heart surgery. Moving from body to body it soon became apparent that each had undergone major surgery on an organ. She shuddered as she realized that even in death these were young, attractive women, and that some of the bodies were hardly a week old. The glint off her little silver penlight broke her concentration and reminded her that Crystal was out in the mine somewhere. After retrieving her flashlight, she stepped on the floor switch sending the room into darkness, as though the bodies had never existed.

  It was easy to follow Crystal, even with the dim penlight. Instead of going back the way they’d come, she’d continued up the tunnel leaving footprints. As Claire followed her progress down the tunnel, the image of the bodies haunted her, but instead of blocking them from her mind, she re-examined each one, until she stopped in her tracks and began to count on her fingers.

  Each one has a major scar, she thought holding up one finger, and each one was young, none looked over twenty-five. Another finger went up. And they were all beautiful, at least in life. Another finger.

  That’s when she made the connection. My God, she thought, anyone of those women could have been a porn star and every one of them had been eviscerated.

  Claire’s head began to swim at the realization that these women weren’t murdered for some petty fracture of a rule, or for money, or an adulterous act. They were all hired like Crystal and her friend, for a single purpose, and it wasn’t to perform sex. These women weren’t hired for their youthful beauty, but for the value of their organs.

  “Oh God. When I illuminated the room with my penlight Crystal must have seen her friend,” she said in a whisper.

  She was sickened at what she’d discovered, then a rush of panic washed over her at the thought of Crystal running blindly through the mine with no light at all, just the mental image of her friend’s lifeless body.

  Claire looked down the mineshaft and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Crystal,” she yelled. Then louder, “Crystal!” Her only answer was a faint echo.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The inside of the suv was like a dark oven. With all the windows tinted except the windshield, the interior was oppressively hot. Rye’s captors seemed not to notice. The one called Vince climbed across the folded seats, sat behind the steering wheel and started the engine.

  “Just relax, Mr. Rye. I’m afraid Lewd and Lascivious is located in a rather rough neighborhood. Another ten minutes and somebody might steal my tires.”

  Rye was surprised that the mob—he was sure these guys were mob—would have a problem with looters. At first he tried to count the times the SUV turned a corner, but he lost track. Then he attempted to establish landmarks through the windshield, but from the back all he could see was sky and the occasional top of a telephone pole. He finally squirmed into the back corner of the SUV and settled in for the ride.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Rye, that we’re taking you for a ride. Well, you’re right.” His captor began to laugh. “Dude, you been watchin’ too many movies. We’re driving to a safe location where we won’t be disturbed.”

  The big man began to talk about his sick father as thou
gh 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.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  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!”

  Chapter Thirty

  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.

  She didn’t know how much time had passed when she opened her eyes again. Her right breast ached clear up into her shoulder. There was still only darkness, and in that void Crystal remembered how Claire’s little penlight illuminated stacks of bodies, how they were everywhere and seemed to come alive in the light. Claire. Where was Claire? She open
ed her mouth to call out, and realized it was already open. She tasted dirt.

  * * *

  Claire walked bent over holding the penlight in an attempt to track Crystal down the tunnel. Her footprints seemed staggered; first, close together, then far apart. Was she running? Claire crawled on her hands and knees, getting the last of the illumination the little light had to offer. Then the prints stopped. Claire backed up, maybe Crystal had turned, but the last set of prints pointed straight ahead.

  The little light glowed a dim yellow, Claire turned it off. She didn’t move, not wanting to erase one of the prints. When she turned the light on, shining it ahead, she gasped and fell back onto her haunches at what she saw. She was less than a foot from a vertical shaft.

  She calmed herself, turned the light off and crawled on her stomach to the edge. Extending her arm to its full length, she again turned on the penlight. Nothing. Claire rolled onto her back placing the flashlight back in her pocket and pulled out her lighter. Spinning the wheel on the lighter Claire leaned into the tunnel, “Crystal can you hear me?” To her total amazement, the flame caught and flared. “Can you make a noise?” She slowly waved the lighter back and forth praying the flame wouldn’t go out.

  From deep within the abyss came a clicking sound.

  “Crystal! Hang on. I’m coming to get you.”

  Claire held the lighter out in front of her until she got her bearings then snapped it shut. Making her way to the tunnel wall, she stumbled back to the room with the bodies and found the floor switch. Stepping down on it the room came to life with light from the four floodlights mounted in the ceiling. Once she found the heavy electrical cable that supplied power, she followed it down the wall, then along where the wall descended to the floor, out of the room and down the tunnel. When she came to what looked like an electrical box she began to twist the cable where it attached until it came loose and once again she was cast into darkness. Then came the task of pulling the cable up as she went, following it back to the room.