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<rf thatiiappened, of course, but I couldn't seem
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."
CHAPTER FIVE
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,
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.
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
be monitoring you closely. They won't release you from
the hospital until you've been given a one hundred per
cent clean bill of health and you're free of pain. Hell,
they'll even give you a rehabilitation course to help you
cope with getting by using only one arm. Luckily you're
left-handed, so that should make things-—"
"How do you know that?" I interrupted liim, more
than a little shocked that these strangers knew so much
about me. I was in fact left-handed, as he'd said.
"What? Oh, well that's easy. You're holding your
drink in your left: hand,"
I screwed up my face and started to protest but Drake
immediately started laughing.
"I'm kidding, Mike. I'm a little more professional
than that. I asked around, found out your name, and
then anything and everything about you can be found.
I checked all your records. You name it—financial, med
ical, educational. I checked them all.
"When are you going to realize this is the real deal
here, Mike? We're not just fucking around, wasting
time. Dr. Marshall is a very important man who's will
ing to make you rich if you'll help him. Obviously, los
ing a limb will be hard on you for a while, I know that,
and he knows that. That's why he's willing to give you
so much money. It's a huge sacrifice you'd be making.
Huge, but I'm willing to bet within a year you'll be
mighty happy you met me.
"Just say yes and show'Tip. Meet Dr. Marshall and ask
him anything you/ want. Spend a few months in the
hospital and bang, you're a multimillionaire. It's up to
you, Mike. What do you say?"
It was a good question. One I didn't have an answer
for yet. To stall for time I started taking sip after sip of
my drink, giving myself time to think. Drake sat back
with his own scotch and left me alone.
Fact one: I hated my current lifestyle and earlier had
been fully prepared and more than willing to kill my
self to escape it.
Fact two: I didn't want to lose my right arm. Self-
explanatory, what can I say? After thirty-nine years, I was
rather attached to my limb—literally and figuratively.
Fact three: I believed every thing -Drake was telling
me. I might be a fool,but that was my gut feeling.
Fact four: I badly wanted the money. It was absurd,
but the four hundred in my pocket was already starting
to feel like the chump change Drake described it as.
Even if Arlene never loved me again, I could still set the
both of us up for life.
I sat sipping my scotch, going over and over these
points, trying my best to sort everything out. Maybe I
should just flip a coin? Christ, I was confused. It was
almost inconceivable that I was considering this ridicu
lous offer. I couldn't let someone cut off my arm, could
I? No, when it came right down to it, probably not-
That's right, Mike, now you're thinking straight. I know
the money's te?npting, but just forget it. You've got the four
hundred, enjoy it, but get out of this car, and don't look back.
Stick to plan A.
Almost as if the limo driver had a direct link to my
brain and could hear my thoughts, the car suddenly
pulled to a stop. I looked out the window and was mildly
surprised to see we were back to where we'd started.
From my comfortable soft leather seat, I could easily
see our rusty Dumpster beneath the Carver Street Rail
way Bridge and Puckman sitting outside of it still sav
agely biting red juicy chunks out of his disgusting
supper.
I was free to make my escape, just open the door and
walk away. Why wasn't I halfway out the door, then?
After all, I'd already made up my mind, right? I couldn't
go through with it, right? I took one more look at the
life of poverty and humiliation waiting for me outside
the window. Made up my mind? Yeah, I guess I had.
"Sign me up, Drake," I said. -I'm in."
CHAPTER SIX
Feeling like a dorky little kid waiting impatiently for
the school bus, I stood on the side of Carver Street
bundled up in my blue bomber jacket with my ratty
suitcase in my hand, ready for Drake to come pick me
up in the white limb. He'd told me to be ready by 7:30
A.M. but I don't own a watch, so I'd been standing here
since just after sunrise to be sure I didn't miss my ride.
The last three days had swept past in a blur. It's
funny, I never noticed before how time slowed down to
a crawl, becoming basically irrelevant when you're a
homeless man. When there's absolutely no schedule to
follow, no job to go to, no calls to make, no mail to open,
no bills to pay, no appointments to keep, and no family
to interact with, what did it matter what time it was?
Or what day of the week, month, or year it was, for
that matter? Every minute of every day was the same
old static waste of life. Ever since agreeing to Drake's
bizarre offer, though, time, or perhaps the lack of it,
had suddenly become important to me again.
I couldn't stop thinking about my right arm, and how
soon it would be gone. Every time I used that arm to
pick something up, or d
rink a glass of water, or scratch
my ass, I'd be thinking, Hey, you're not gonna be able to do
this anymore, Mike. Never, ever, again.
I tried to stop thinking about it, but it was next to im
possible. What about shoes? You're not going to be able to wear
shoes with laces anymore because you won't be able to tie them
by yourself The list of things I'd never be able to do
again was-endless. How was I going to manage?
Fortunately, two million dollars has a heck of a way
of making a guy feel optimistic about almost anything
and deep down I believed I'd get used to whatever hard
ships lay ahead. I'd still have my good arm—my left—to
use, and if it Was busy I could always hire someone to
scratch my ass, right?
Gallows humor; it's good for the soul.
"Come on, Drake, hurry up before I change my
mind."
I had no intention of doing any such thing, but say
ing it out loud helped channel my thoughts away from
my arm.
The four hundred dollars Drake had given me was
gone. Blue J and I went out on the town Wednesday,
getting a suite in the swanky Four Seasons hotel up
town. We really lived it up too, compared to our usual
standards anyway. Our room was huge, with separate
areas for sitting and for sleeping. The sitting room
came complete with leather couch, chairs, rolltop oak
desk, and a complete home theater set up with stereo,
surround-sound speakers and big-screen satellite televi
sion. The bedroom had a four-post king-size canopy
bed with shiny satin sheets and a balcony overlooking
nearby Lake Erie.
The best part was our bathroom, which had a four-
person hot tub and enough free soaps, shampoos, and
bubble baths to clean an army. Blue J and I ordered
steak and wine, then later on, pizza, chicken wings, and
beer, and spent almost the whole night partying in the
tub. Unfortunately, four hundred bucks doesn't go very
far in a high-class hotel, so first thing Thursday morn
ing we were out on the street and back in our Dump-
ster again. Oh, well, it was fun while it lasted.
For some reason, I .couldn't tell Blue J what I was
about to do. I said the money for the hotel binge had
come from my wife's sister, Gloria, who had tracked
me down and invited me to visit her and Arlene for a
couple months. Blue J believed me, and we sat talking
about how I might be able to get back on my feet, start