Barry flinched at his comment. He would hate to be one of the doctor’s failures.
“Sorry, but you should know this hasn’t been done too many times before—”
“What do you mean? How many times?”
The doctor coughed, embarrassed he had slipped up. After he’d let Barry in, he’d led him into the visiting office, which was directly beside the front door. The warehouse was spacious, but he had put up partitions to create an illusion there was only one office and a short hallway.
He knew someday he’d have to entertain someone unexpected and with the idea to get them out—fast. He also knew his social skills and thinking on his feet were not his best attributes, and he wasn’t happy he had slipped up.
Dr. Farkis coughed again to gain a little time to respond. “Well, of course. We need to keep trying to get this honed to perfection. The operation takes approximately thirty-two hours. Nerve endings, veins, spinal cords cut…”
Barry squirmed as he brought up a hand to the back of his neck. “I don’t care about all the facts, doctor,” he said, interrupting. “I care about living. Look at me!” Barry pinched a part of his pants, lifting one useless leg and allowed it to slam down, his calf hitting the back of the wheelchair leg bar, making a loud thud. Farkis cringed. Barry of course didn’t feel a thing.
“My body’s shutting down, doctor. I’m going to die sooner than later. I want this done.”
Barry was scared, but tried to be as menacing as he could muster. He sat up straighter and glared at Farkis before he asked his next question.
“How many operations have you performed, doctor?”
The doctor arose from his chair and walked over to a short metal filing cabinet, pouring himself some cold coffee. The machine on top of the cabinet was yellowed with age, the glass pot stained. The coffee smelled strong and dark, like it had been sitting there for hours. He didn’t offer to pour a cup for Barry.
He sat back down, sighing as he took a noisy gulp from the Styrofoam cup. He made eye contact, his hazel eyes penetrating as if he had nothing to hide. “I must insist first this is truly, and I mean truly, confidential. You understand, right? You work in the medical field yourself, so you also have an oath of confidentiality.”
“Of course,” Barry responded. He told himself he’d agree to anything to get to the next step of his plan—a new beginning with a new body.
“Believe me, if the public gets wind of this, they’ll demand a shutdown of our project. The Human Rights Campaign, Society for Human Rights, ACLU, hell, even the Farm Animal Rights Movement would get into the act. They call themselves FARM, you know. Get it?” Farkis sniggered and shook his head at the silliness of its name.
“Every organization with an acronym, an abbreviation, or an initialism will be after us in mobs. Think witch trials.” He stretched out his arms to show how encompassing this would be. He must have noticed Barry’s eyes narrowing. Farkis didn’t know Barry from Adam, and he shouldn’t have let his guard down for a crippled guy. What if he was crazy or decided to turn him in to the Ethics Committee? He didn’t need the aggravation. Not now, when they were so close to succeeding.
“Why do you say this, doctor? People should be embracing this medical miracle.”
Farkis gave a nonchalant shrug, as if other people’s opinions didn’t matter. He acted like a man who would do things his own way, no matter what happened. “Ethical versus Unethical. Bah! Nonsense! Their opinions.”
Barry didn’t flinch at the doctor’s conspiracy theories or threats of mob mentality. His eyes were unwavering, voice muted and determined. “How many times, doctor?”
Farkis sighed. He knew within the first few minutes of meeting Barry he needed this patient. Barry Thompson was his ticket to stardom. To be more exact: stardom, riches, and most important, power. After his first successful operation, he’d be famous. He’d been itching for his time to come, and he knew this first attempt had to be successful in the eyes of the public.
“We’ve done twenty-four procedures thus far,” Farkis said, reluctant. “Twenty-five, counting Japan, and the one we’re about to do next.”
“Japan? What the hell?” Barry breathed. “Why would anyone in Japan need an operation of this magnitude? Aren’t they so perfect and healthy? Don’t they eat vegetables and fish and all the good stuff?”
The doctor laced his hands behind his head and responded. “They want a new body for the same reasons you do. Believe me,” Farkis smirked, “everyone thinks their desperation is unique.” He giggled, the sound high and manic. “I’m going to make this operation so common, anyone will be able to choose a perfect body from a catalog, and have surgery done the next day.”
Barry was silent. He was beginning to not care for this mad scientist of a doctor, but he wouldn’t stop now. This was his quest. He was desperate. “How many were successful?” His voice cracked again at the end of his question, nervous to hear the outcome. Farkis wasn’t beating around the bush for nothing.
“They were well documented. Everything was sterile, thirty-two hours, a team of twenty-six…” he mumbled, his face void of expression. “Success? Every one of them contributed to the success of knowing more, learning, working towards the goal of someday—”
Barry slammed his fist on the doctor’s desk. Farkis jumped and some of his coffee splashed onto his wrinkled, off-white lab coat. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose, his lips pursed as he dropped the cup of coffee into the nearby wastebasket.
“How many have lived, damn it! I demand to know!” Barry’s forehead beaded with sweat. He hadn’t come this far to not know. Farkis could do all the Zen breathing shit he wanted, but not until Barry got some answers.
“Zero.” Dr. Farkis held up his right hand with his fingers curled to form a circle.
The doctor’s frank admission wouldn’t deter Barry. He was as determined as ever. He would live.
“Doctor, I want this operation. I will be the first one to survive. I will live! I promise I will live!” Barry choked back a sob. What was happening to him? I’ve turned into a sniveling dork! But as this thought went racing through his head, he couldn’t stop it.
When Barry had been in high school, he could have had any girl he wanted. His friends called him “Team Jock” because he went out with almost every girl on every cheerleading squad: football, baseball, swimming, and wrestling. He even hit up a few guys while he was at it. He was a monster back then.
But that was then and this was now. Now, I’m a pathetic freak! He had to get out of this predicament, out of this pathetic, nonfunctioning body of his. He wanted to show the world the monster now. Show everyone what he was made of. Show how much he wanted this. How much he needed this.
Dr. Farkis shook his head in disappointment, as if he were reprimanding a bad-mannered eight-year-old throwing a tantrum. “We’re not ready to go public yet.”
Farkis’ tone of voice wasn’t typical for a doctor. It wasn’t in any way a caring one, but a matter-of-fact, to the point, no-nonsense voice. This power-hungry, egotistical physician didn’t care. He would never have a caring bedside manner, no matter how hard he tried, Barry decided. He only cared about himself. Bastard!
Barry’s face flushed when he realized this. He breathed deep through his nose and his lips trembled. Heat ran through his upper body like an electric current as his hands gripped the wheelchair’s arm rests.
During his childhood, no one had ever denied him. Not his father, his mother, his nanny, his private tutor, or his grandfather. He would not be denied now either. Not when he was so desperate for a new, MD-free body. He wanted to be a man. He deserved to become a man again, and no one was going to stop him!
After he took a few deep breaths, his voice didn’t betray the inner turmoil raging inside of him, causing veins in his neck to pulsate. “Doc, I know what you do now. What’s stopping me from telling everything you want to keep secret, hmm?”
The doctor’s eyes narrowed, as if he suspected Barry w
as about to erupt like a volcano at any moment. Barry’s eyes were wild and Farkis fidgeted in his chair. He was discreet as he pressed a button located underneath his desk. A buzzer in the back room would sound and bring in his security guards.
He pulled out the bottom drawer in case he needed to grab his gun in an instant.
“Listen, Barry, calm down.” He nodded to the opened drawer. “Shooting someone today was the last thing on my mind, of course. But if a crazy guy forces his way into my warehouse and comes after me, well…” He continued when he noticed Barry wasn’t planning to back down.
“We can both come out of this on top of our games. You, healed. Me, recognition. Don’t you want to be healed, Barry? Don’t you want a body free of disease, a body able to walk?” He hesitated and instinct told him where to strike next. “A body a woman would love to hold?”
Barry’s eyes teared up. “If only you knew, doc. I’m not playing games here.” He laughed scornfully. “What do you want me to do, beg? I’ll beg, bastard! I’ll beg!” He pivoted his wheelchair and threw himself out of it. He landed face-first on the Persian wool carpet. Dr. Farkis jumped up from his chair, surprised at Barry’s upper body strength. Barry used his strong arms to drag his disease-ridden body over to where he stood. When he reached the doctor’s feet, Barry grabbed onto his polished shoes and kissed them. He lay his head down on them, sobbing, smearing snot and tears over them.
“Damn it!” Farkis leaned back against the desk to get some leverage as he tried to get his feet out from under Barry’s frantic hold. He didn’t spend over $500 to have a nutcase slobber all over his shoes.
The office door slammed open and two beefy security guards ran into the room in response to the doctor pressing the call button. One plunged a syringe into Barry’s ass cheek before he knew what hit him.
Chapter 11
Aiko Buys a Body - Tokyo
After working out the financial side of the transaction, they bowed to one another and, once again, sat at the desk in Tanaka’s cave office.
“Is this guaranteed?” Lines of concern showed on Aiko’s forehead. He was a man of integrity, and once committed, had to go through with the transaction. But something nagged at him, making him want to ask more questions.
“You’re having second thoughts, Uncle?” Tanaka was disappointed. Without giving Aiko time to answer, Tanaka pulled out a laptop from the top drawer of the desk. Since the room was underground, every sound was amplified: the desk drawer sliding open, the startup indication tone on the laptop, Tanaka’s tapping on the keyboard. Aiko even heard Tanaka’s foot beating a rhythm on the concrete floor.
Tanaka swiveled the laptop around so Aiko could see what was on the screen, making a screeching sound on the metal desk. The computer monitor showed a middle-aged woman holding a clipboard, and Kaneko answering the questions asked of her. She is smart, Aiko thought, proud of his daughter.
“Our psychological testing is very thorough,” Tanaka said. “Miss Betty is a top-notch expert in her field. A psychiatrist with many awards.” He fast-forwarded through the next twenty minutes of testing with Miss Betty asking Kaneko questions from a checklist, making notes and flipping pages.
They watched as Kaneko finished the oral test and walked into a public shower, carrying a neat stack of clothing with white slippers on top. Miss Betty told her to shower and undress. Kaneko had learned not to question authority, so she had no trouble following her instructions. Aiko could see she was a little shaky, but he again felt proud she was doing so well under such mysterious circumstances.
Before stepping behind the white plastic curtain of the shower, which was a bucket of water with a rope, Miss Betty asked Kaneko to stand, while naked, and face the camera. This is where Tanaka tapped the space bar and froze the screen. He did not have an old man's perverted stare. His gaze was more like a general practitioner’s scrutiny during a physical. Kaneko’s father was not embarrassed either as they had an open-door policy at home. He was more ashamed of the way her body appeared.
Tanaka took a pen from the penholder and touched the tip to the computer’s frozen screen. “Notice your daughter’s rolls on the sides of her body,” Tanaka reported clinically, sounding as if he were blaming Kaneko’s father for being too soft with her. He made a circle with the pen almost touching the screen. “Too many sweets! Her thighs, like a man’s. We can fix this. Watch.”
Tanaka split the monitor screen with a few keystrokes. A young adult woman’s slim body with flawless, milky-white skin, a taut stomach, and firm upper arms and breasts showed on the screen. He transposed this new body under Kaneko’s neck, lining the segments together as if he’d had a lot of practice.
Aiko nodded, seeing his daughter’s miracle body. He liked what he saw and his eyes lit up with renewed hope.
“Now, this is a young woman who will catch a husband,” Tanaka said. He acted as if he were the miracle worker who will give her this body instead of only being the messenger.
“Are the terms the same?”
Tanaka sighed. He assumed everyone knew once they received the invoice, there would be no changes. They were simple numbers, and numbers didn’t lie. However, not everyone grasped this concept, Tanaka realized as he tried to be patient. Tanaka was an accountant by trade. Even though his family had worked in the rice fields for decades, he had gone to college to study for a better life. He found numbers were in his blood.
Tanaka answered in a condescending way, his attempt at patience forgotten.
“Yes,” he said, “¥133.5 million. Not much for a new future, right Uncle?” Noticing Aiko’s brow crease upon hearing this large amount, Tanaka continued. "The price of one meaty tuna in 2013 was a whopping ¥155.4 million. A record,” he allowed a tentative smile, “google it.”
“You should be proud. Your daughter is worth almost as much as a high-quality Bluefin. And like the Bluefin’s otoro, your daughter’s underbelly will soon be worth much more—enough to get a wealthy husband.”
Aiko did not smile at Tanaka’s crude joke. He stared at the six-page agreement and the invoice that were placed on the cold metal desk in front of him. He grabbed one of the pens, his grip tight. He didn’t need to read it. He signed the last page of the agreement with a quick flick of his wrist.
There, it was set. His daughter would soon get a new body. For over one hundred and thirty-five million yen, his wife had better allow him to sleep in the house tonight—and every night, for that matter—until he was dead and cold, and frolicking with his ancestors.
He stood, clipping the pen into his left top jacket pocket. He figured he could keep a memento after paying millions for a new body for his daughter. He left without saying goodbye.
Chapter 12
Poster Boy - California
“It’s about time you morons got here,” the doctor said with disdain. He wasn’t ready for a leak about his business here, so he couldn’t fire these thugs. Timing was everything in this game of playing God.
“Sorry, boss. We had to take care of some trespassers,” said one.
“Shush!” said the other. He jabbed his fellow security guard in the ribs with his elbow and glanced at the doctor. He didn’t want the doctor to know they had shot at a couple poking around. He needed this job. “The doctor has enough on his mind.”
“Guys, guys, I don’t care how you keep people away, don’t kill ‘em, alright? God, you people….” The doctor shook his head. How was he supposed to think, prepare and research, orchestrate life-altering operations in this circus? How he wished he were doing an operation for fame instead of the twenty-fifth one for research. It will only take one to succeed, he assured himself. Would this next surgery be the one?
He took a deep breath. Everything in time. Soon, the public will know his name. He had daydreams it’d be in lights, and he’d be famous. Dr. Stefan Farkis, Creator and Inventor, Genius Doctor Performs First Successful Head Transplant in World Famous Surgery.
He smiled, calmed once again. He’d get away soon. At lea
st when he got to Japan, everything would be calmer. He loved those people. They were unassuming, intelligent, and they didn’t have a need to ask a million stupid questions. Or worse, beg. They were too proud to beg. He couldn’t wait to get back for his next patient. Farkis glanced at his desk calendar. The surgery is a week from today. He could leave tomorrow to prepare.
The doctor stepped over the unconscious man as he left the room, the drug, efficient and quick-acting. “Let him sleep it off outside,” he told the guards. He doubted a handicapped man would be much of a nuisance. In any event, Barry had told him he worked at the hospital, and the last thing he wanted was to get into a mess with somebody from the hospital.
Keeping the grant money flowing was paramount for his continued medical advancement and research at the hospital. Of course, his team of scientists didn’t know about his extracurricular activities at the warehouse. That must be a secret until he was ready to announce a success. He wouldn’t allow a chance to grow, learn, and cultivate his resources to slip through his fingers. He’d worked too hard for this coming moment.
A scene flashed through his mind like a flicker of an old film. His family had recently moved to the United States and the new house was enormous, with a huge basement he claimed for his own playroom. His parents had never bothered to come down to see what he was doing. They were always working or going out to parties and gatherings.
A combination of circumstances is where all this began; this was the beginning of who he is. He’d learned to forgive himself for his past, and to always be forward thinking. He had to fight to work through his adversaries and the naysayers.
He shook his head to clear these thoughts from his mind. That was a long time ago, but he was proud he was smarter than anyone else he knew back then. He was the star of his own one-man show, and had always been. He had never turned his back on his passion—becoming an esteemed, sought after doctor.
Heads Will Roll Page 4
