Body Parts (Rye & Claire 1)

by Crumb, Kit

“There’s a problem. I’ve got to leave Medford General. The assistant director is getting suspicious. Why didn’t you call, what happened to last week’s batch that I was supposed to work on?”

  Simms pressed the phone against his body and took a deep calming breath.

  “STDs, drugs and turndowns, but Rosie assures me that this next batch will be better. Look Frank, give notice and come on up, I’ll put you in one of the productions again and you can see the batch for yourself.”

  “God, I just don’t know.”

  Simms wondered, was Frank getting cold feet? Did I expose too much of the operation too soon? “You didn’t seem to mind that blonde in the last production,” he said.

  “Yeah, and where is she now?”

  “Thanks to a background we somehow missed, she’s back at her old job, hooking in Seattle. We can’t risk discovery Frank. I’m sorry I snapped, it’s just that Brazil’s new territory and the televised link-up cost a fortune. Come on out and stay at my place, think about it there. It’s important that you leave the hospital now, before there’s a problem. What do you say?”

  The phone was silent, “Frank, you there?”

  “I’ll be in touch, Peter.”

  Simms slammed down the handset. There was no time for this; he didn’t need another doctor. After all, Mason wasn’t his choice. He’d have to talk to his partner about this.

  Simms walked down the hall to the changing room to get out of his scrubs, then headed for his office located on the north side of the tiny clinic. He hesitated when he opened the door and saw that someone was in his office.

  In his chair, feet propped up on his desk, sat a busty brunette. His eyes moved slowly up from her long, stockinged legs to her barely covered, narrow hips. When the door opened, she dropped her legs to the floor and pivoted forward, her large breasts nearly vaulting out of her blouse.

  Eyebrows arched, blood red lips puckered, Rosie Rehnquist blew Simms a kiss.

  “Well this is an unexpected visit. How are things at Lewd and Lascivious?” Simms asked.

  “I thought I’d surprise you, see how my vice president in charge of operations is getting along.” Rosie chuckled at the pun.

  Simms closed the door as he entered. Rosie stood as he stepped around the desk to greet her. The two embraced in a long kiss. When he pulled away, Rosie dropped down into the plush chair, he returned to the front of the desk.

  “How are things, my love?” Rosie asked.

  “Well, I have good news and a problem. First, the good. I’ve closed the sale on a kidney with Gomez in Brazil. He just watched a procedure on live TV. A hundred grand will move into our off shore account…” Simms looked at his watch, “… in forty minutes. Once the money shows up in the account, I’ll send off the kidney, which will be in his hands in twenty-four hours. Looks like live TV will be a great sales tool, at least for overseas. I went out on a limb to get the money for the satellite feed, though.” Simms broke eye contact with Rosie and glanced around the room. “I took $100,000 for a liver I don’t have. I just couldn’t wait the seven days for the next batch of girls to come up to the mansion.”

  Rosie sat quietly for a minute. “When is the delivery date?”

  “Day after tomorrow, do you have somebody in mind?”

  “Maybe so. I have an Italian stallion who’s driving the women off. Actually, he’s the reason I’m here. This next batch will be a slim one because of him.”

  Simms knew that Rosie had few scruples.

  “Is there any way you could get a hypodermic into him?” Simms asked.

  “I could figure something out.”

  Simms began rummaging around in the top left drawer of his desk, finally pulling out a brown oblong box.

  “You’d have to do it tomorrow morning at the latest. I’d have to have him by noon. If you get him up here on time, Clouse will extract, I’ll transport to L & L and you can take it to San Francisco day after tomorrow, midnight.

  Simms slid the box across the desk.

  “It’s an empty syringe; all you have to do is pump some air into an artery. The neck would be good.”

  “Consider it done. Now, you said you’re having a problem?”

  “It’s that Doctor Mason from Medford General. The idiot’s getting cold feet. Right now we barely have enough donors to keep me busy. How did you find him, anyway?”

  Rosie licked her lips and made a slight thrust with her hips. Simms didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

  “Hubble can handle him and we’ll send Derrick along to help,” Rosie said.

  “Tell Hubble that Mason’s a reluctant donor,” she said as she got up to leave; she had to get back to Medford, a four-hour trip from Denton on the coast. The mansion and the clinic were an additional half-hour of winding roads above the coastal town.

  “One question,” Simms said, “how are you going to get this Italian stallion to let you stick him with a needle?”

  Rosie gave him a scandalously delicious smile. “You might say I’ll just love him to death.” She turned and left the office.

  Simms didn’t attempt to imagine what she might mean by that. Or what Rosie had meant when she said that he should tell Hubble that Mason was a reluctant donor. Hubble had been Rosie’s attorney and strong arm ever since he’d known her. The guy had always given him the creeps.

  Simms pressed the speed dial button under the letter H.

  “Hubble here,” said a deep, gravely voice.

  “This is Simms. Where are you now?”

  “On the road”

  “Good. I’ve got a couple of problems in Medford that need taking care of. I was down there earlier to pick up a blonde scheduled for extraction and that damn director wanted me to wait. I had to hurry back to the clinic so I left empty handed. I want you to grab the blonde. Her name’s Crystal Cassidy. Bring her up here, and keep her in the dark.”

  Simms paused, waiting to see if Hubble had any questions, even though he didn’t really expect any.

  “Rosie said that you could help me with Doctor Frank Mason. He’s at Medford General. She said to tell you that he was a reluctant donor. Oh and Hubble, I want that blonde delivered untouched.”

  “That will mean two trips.”

  “The doctor is the priority. Now just do it.”

  No response, no nothing, just dial tone.

  It drove Simms crazy that Hubble was so unresponsive sometimes, but it really didn’t matter, he always got the job done.

  Chapter Eleven

  Frank mason was careful to make his rounds avoiding contact with other doctors and staff as much as possible. He was exhausted as he exited the last room, his last patient, and headed for the surgeon’s lounge and his locker. He glanced at the large wall clock and moaned.

  “Two a.m. Jesus.”

  He thought about Simms’s offer to drive up and be in another one of his movies. One more late night and he wouldn’t be able to drive home, let alone up the Oregon coast.

  Wearily, Mason pulled his coat from his locker and put it on. He grabbed his keys, dropped them into the right-hand pocket and shut the locker. He was too tired to worry about bumping into any of the staff; besides, at two in the morning, the hospital was operating with a skeleton crew.

  He got in his metal flake blue Fiat spider convertible at the far end of the parking lot, turned the key and the little engine roared to life. He hung a U-turn so tight that it made the tires squeal as he sped out of the lot onto the Lawrence Expressway.

  Taking the Hillsboro exit, the Fiat began to climb the narrow, winding road that led into the hills and eventually to Mason’s hilltop home.

  He enjoyed this part of the drive; most of the turns banked just right. He knew the road by heart, where he could straighten out a curve and where the bl
ind spots dictated he stay in his lane.

  It was while accelerating through the first set of turns that he caught a glimpse of a reddish light ahead. He cut his speed coming out of the last curve at the sight of flares and a van half on the shoulder, half in the road.

  Probably just spun out of control; regardless he’d better stop.

  Cupping his hands around his mouth Mason gave a shout. “Hello in the van.”

  As he walked toward it, he saw it was an old ambulance. He continued walking to the front and peeked in the window but the driver and passenger seats were empty, although the keys were in the ignition. A quick look told him that the vehicle wasn’t over the edge, the front tires were clearly on the dirt shoulder and there didn’t appear to be any damage to the front grill or bumper.

  “Hello,” Mason shouted again.

  He came around the rear of the old ambulance, again no damage. When he reached for the door handle the rear double doors suddenly flew open and two men reached out and grabbed him by the arms and shoulders, half lifting, half dragging him into the back.

  He was so surprised that he didn’t resist. Before he could speak, they slammed him onto a gurney and while one of the men strapped him down another placed a cloth over his mouth and nose, and Dr. Frank Mason’s world blurred to black.

  With surgical precision, they ripped away his shirt and painted his chest with an antibiotic wash. One of the men palpated for the liver, then with a black marker drew several lines and an oval. The second man leaned over Mason’s inert form and began a series of incisions.

  The anesthesia was only a local and Mason began to moan, driven to consciousness by the pain. The man paused in his cutting, picked up a syringe and drove the needle into the young doctor’s chest, penetrating the heart. He then pushed the plunger emptying its entire contents in a matter of seconds. The doctor’s body arched as his heart seized, his eyes flew open as he gasped and just for a split second, Dr. Frank Mason thought he was having a heart attack.

  The first man handed over a cooler lined with ice bags and placed it on the floor across from the second man, who handed him the liver. He placed it in the cooler, gently sat a bag of ice on top of the organ and closed the top, flipping the latches that sealed it shut.

  The newly harvested organ was contaminated but the new owner wouldn’t figure it out until it was too late.

  The two men then ran Mason’s body, still on the gurney, out the back of the ambulance and along the road until they were next to the Fiat. They unstrapped him, placed his body behind the wheel, fastened his seat belt, started the engine, placed it in neutral and rolled the sports car over the embankment.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was a hollow echo of a voice that drifted up out of the depths of the well.

  “I’ve found her, I’m going to need a second line.”

  Paul dropped to the edge of the well and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Is she alright?”

  “She seems fine, drop me that line.”

  A child’s toneless humming drifted down to Claire as she watched a weighted line descend, and began to sing along.

  “And if that horse and cart fall down, you’ll still be the sweetest little baby in town.”

  When she turned to glance at Amy, the little hand was reaching for the rope again.

  Claire lurched forward. “Amy, no!” Thrusting her arm out as she shot her feet against the opposite wall, she propelled herself toward the child.

  Amy’s bottom slipped to the edge of the ledge as she stretched for the rope. As if in slow motion, the ledge crumbled and the little girl seemed to hang in thin air as if waiting for Claire to rescue her.

  Fingers that had thrown a thousand punches, connected to hands that had done a hundred pushups, wrapped around a pudgy little wrist and with one yank a cold and scared little six year old was pulled to Claire’s chest. With two muddy arms wrapped around her neck, Claire encircled Amy’s waist with her other hand and for just a minute they swung back and forth at the end of the rope.

  “Claire, can you hear me? What’s going on?” Rye shouted.

  “I have her, pull me up.”

  With adrenaline born of success the two men began to pull, reeling Claire and Amy toward freedom. With inches to go, Paul fell to his stomach at the edge of the well.

  “Daddy!” Two little arms shot up, fingers clenching open and closed. “Daddy!”

  Paul grabbed his daughter in both arms and pulled her to him as he rolled away from the edge.

  Claire reached a shaky hand up and over the edge. Rye came to her aid, grabbing her arm and reaching down for the back of the harness, then pulling her up with a grunt. The two fell to the ground.

  Claire pushed up to her hands and knees and crawled away from the well, shaking and retching.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rosie drove onto the film site at six the next morning; she liked to watch the production day begin. The catering truck was just arriving; the driver got out and opened the side. Climbing into the back he started the coffee and put out a dozen doughnuts along with some yogurt and orange juice chilled in ice. He noticed Rosie watching.

  “Good morning, Miss Rehnquist. Get you anything?

  She hired the driver as an extra once and was tempted, but thought better of it. She had other business to attend to.

  She gave a friendly wave. “No thanks, Mario.”

  Everything from the truck was free; it was part of Rosie’s plan to keep her actors happy.

  She sat in the director’s chair and watched the cameramen set up, and then checked her watch. She still had some time before the actors started arriving.

  The stage manager and two gofers started putting together the sets, assembling three-sided bedrooms, arranging furniture in the living rooms according to the storyboards. Watching all the activity that went into just getting ready for a production always fascinated Rosie even though she’d seen it a thousand times. This morning though, she was on the set to solve a problem.

  It had started with notes from the director that one of the male actors was abusing the women during the shoot, several of whom had quit. Rosie had never seen the problem actor; she’d enjoyed watching the sex when both actors were enjoying it. That happened seldom enough, there always seemed to be some kind of complication that involved multiple takes, something everyone hated.

  The actors provided valuable revenue to the other part of the business, and she had to retain as many as possible. Most of them had no connections with the structured world, no friends outside the industry. Most were estranged from their families.

  Simms had followed up on yesterday’s meeting, calling to make sure that Rosie had arrived on the set to take care of their “Italian problem.” But Rosie had her own plans.

  It was her practice to work with the director and make sure that all scenes were scripted and shot based on a storyboard. There was no gratuitous sex, only as much or as little as the story demanded, or the director instructed.

  It was easy for the man to get carried away while the woman was in a submissive position. During almost every sexual encounter, the man experienced orgasm while the woman didn’t. But Rosie knew that the men didn’t have it so easy either. They were required to retain an erection through several takes, surrounded by cameramen and lighting technicians.

  Director Erin Von Seagram adjusted his headset. “Camera two zoom out and get a wide shot of Clovis undressing, we’ll use it for B-roll later.”

  As director, he took it upon himself to keep track of personality conflicts that might interrupt the production. Shading his eyes, he scanned the sky. “Not a cloud in sight, perfect day for the outdoor shots,” he said. Occasionally, the actors didn’t want to follow the script and sometimes their suggestions were better, and he incorporated them into the scene.

  Looking
at the roster for the upcoming scene, Von Seagram knew there was probably going to be a problem.

  Having just had a fight with his wife, Michael Lambrosco would enter the apartment of his mistress and they would then engage in vigorous sex. It was a simple scene. Von Seagram had double-checked the camera angles the night before. That’s when he noticed Michael would be the male lead, and decided to call the owner of Lewd and Lascivious. She was usually around the set, but he hadn’t seen her in a couple of days. When she didn’t answer her phone, he left a message.

  He set up the cameras in preparation for the potentially volatile scene. The woman would be on all fours and Michael would enter her from behind.

  “Alright, listen up. Camera one, camera two, this is to be a simple scene. Camera one, you’re looking the woman in the face; two, you’re on the profile. The scene will open with the mistress answering the door.”

  As Von Seagram readied for the take, checking lighting and calling for quiet on the set, he quickly glanced around for Rosie, but she was nowhere in sight.

  He picked up the loudhailer.“Quiet on the set…and…action!”

  Looking through the viewfinder of the tracking lens that allowed him to see what the camera was seeing, he watched Michael enter the set and undress. The woman playing the part of the mistress was already nude and on the bed.

  Rosie stepped out of the shadows to stand next to the director.

  “I got your message,” she whispered in the director’s ear. “Is that him?”

  Von Seagram nodded.

  “Let me see the storyboard.”

  He reached over to the clipboard sitting on a stool, looking at it as he handed it to Rosie.

  “Calls for an all-fours, plain and simple, no ad-libs. She knows that and so does he,” said Von Seagram. He nodded toward the nude female on the set. “Most of the time I like the guys to ad-lib, the girls know that and go along with whatever the guy does. But not this time, not with this guy.”

  Rosie took a minute to scan the various scenes on the storyboard. Looking up at the scene, the man was just entering the young brunette.

  “Is that Michael?” Rosie said.