The Jigsaw Man (6 page)

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."

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 drink 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

a new life with my family again. I hated lying to my

only friend, but I just didn't feel right about telling

him the truth. Maybe I thought he'd laugh and call me

a fool, or maybe I thought he'd want to come along. I

don't know. My plan was to come back and get him once

I had my money. He deserved better than this. Puck-

man, on the other hand, I told nothing, not even good

riddance. I wouldn't be coming back to his rescue.

Fuck him.

The sound of an approaching car caught my atten

tion and I looked to my right to see the white limo

headed my way. A maroon-colored van followed closely

behind it and I was surprised to see both vehicles pull

over and stop near me. The passenger door at the back

of the limousine opened and I walked around the car

ready to climb in. Drake stepped out of the car, holding

his hand out to stop me. He looked bigger than I re-

membered* meaner, and far more like the hired muscle

he really was, wearing an all-black jogging suit with

white running shoes.

"Whoa there, Mike," he growled. "Where doyou think

you're going?"

I was confused. "I'm coming with you, aren't I?"

"Not in the limo you're not. Why should you get

special treatment? Get in the van. You can ride to Dr.

Marshall's estate with the other guys."

• Other guys?

I looked back at the maroon van parked ten feet away,

but the windows were tinted dark enough I couldn't

make out anyone inside. I looked back at Drake.

"What do you mean, ride with the other guys?
Other

people are selling their arms, too?"

"When did I say you were the only one?"

"I don't know? I guess I just pre—"

"Look, Mike, I don't have time to explain all this.

We're already late, so get in the van. Dr. Marshall will

explain everything when we get there, okay?"

Drake climbed back into the limo and slammed the

door. I Was about to re-open it and ask another craes-

tion, but I heard the door locks engage, putting an end

to that idea. I was still confused, but I didn't have much

choice except walk to the van and do what I was told.

It was a fairly new Dodge Caravan, and the big slid

ing rear passenger door opened just as I was reaching

for the handle. I took One last look at the Carver Street

Bridge and the hovel of a place I'd called home sitting

below, steeled my nerves then climbed into the van.

Ther6 were four other people inside; one driver and

three nervous scruffy-looking dudes sitting in the back.

The driver, a black man in a gray pinstripe suit and dark

sunglasses, was probably employed by Nathan Marshall,

which meant there would be four of us going under the

knife. Looking at the guys in the back was like looking

in the mirror: allwhite guys in their thirties dressed in

clean but obviously hand-me-down clothes. Every one

of them also had a littlebeat-up suitcase or knapsack sit

ting beside him. We all looked different of course; two

guys had beards, but we were basically the same—bums.

From just one glance I could tell they were also home

less, or, if not already Out on the street, they weren't far

from it. That made sense, though. It would have to be a

guy down on his luck to accept such an offer.

"Come on, fella," the driver told me. "Grab a seat,

the limo's already pulling away."

"Yeah, okay," I said, and since no one was sitting up

front in the passenger seat, I dropped my suitcase and

climbed up beside the driver. "Mind if I sit up here?"

"Don't mind at all. Hold onto your hat, though, 'cause

it's my ass if I lose track of the limo."

That said, he floored the pedal and we rocketed off

in pursuit of the rapidly fading limousine. He cranked

on the stereo and really loud jazz blasted out of the

speakers. The music was good, but way too loud for my

tastes. Conversation would be almost impossible, but

then again, that was probably a good thing and maybe