Zippered Flesh 2: More Tales of Body Enhancements Gone Bad (18 page)

The ratiocinator had been quiet, and I hoped that it was engaged in deductive cogitations. Now would be a poor time for its Reichenbach circuits to be failing. We moved from the staircase onto the next floor through a pair of heavy wooden doors to find ourselves in a corridor that extended a considerable distance ahead of us. Similar sets of doors were placed at regular intervals down both sides of the corridor. Watson and I walked on, not really sure what we were looking for, but trusting our intuitions to guide us. It was when we were halfway down the passageway that the Three Talon hoodlums fell upon us. They burst from doors ahead and behind us, wielding a fiendish array of blades and cudgels. Watson fell to a blow from one of these despicable fellows, but I was not to learn of his fate at that time as I, too, was struck upon the head by a weapon that was part chain and part iron bar. I fell painfully into unconsciousness.

Equally painfully and wracked with nausea, I came to my senses some indeterminable time later. The pain of my awakening was doubled by the white glare that blazed into my eyes, as I had regained consciousness in a savagely lit room. I was bound to a chair and unable to move. A hand, its wrist tattooed with a swallow and Chinese characters, went to my forehead and put fingers to my throat, checking my vital signs.

“Unlike your Sergeant, Inspector, you are alive,” said the man, I assumed the proprietor of the establishment.

As my faculties slowly returned, I realized that I was in the most unlikely of environments. I was in a large room with the appearance of an operating theater. Indeed, on a nearby table lay a smartly dressed but otherwise nondescript European man. I could not tell if he was alive or dead. A masked surgeon and gowned assistants wheeled in a second table from an adjoining room.

“Yes, we need you alive, but only long enough to remove that interesting device from your head and place it in its new host. It will be interesting to see what information he has gleaned from the databanks of Scotland Yard. What secrets, I wonder, has M uncovered for us?”

And in that second, I was convinced I heard the cold, black chuckle of the Napoleon of Crime in my head.

THE FUTURE OF FLESH

BY JM REINBOLD

At the bar at Garibaldi’s, Mike Gambone hunched over his beer. He kept his eyes on the big screen TV. A waitress brought a bacon cheeseburger to a guy at a nearby table. The smell made Mike’s mouth water. He sipped his beer and made a face at the flat, stale taste. He’d finished off the peanuts an hour ago, but the bartender hadn’t refilled the dish. Mike checked the Absolut clock on the wall behind the bar. One minute to eight. Wait for it ... the minute hand hit the 12 ... the houselights dimmed, the sports channel switched to music videos. The glorified beer jerk turned and stared at Mike’s glass. Time to order another or move along. Mike swallowed the last of his warm beer and reached for his jacket, dreading the five-block walk back to his room in the bone-chilling February wind.

He had one arm in a sleeve when a blonde walked up to the bar, unsteady on her five-inch heels. Mike let the jacket slide off his arm and sat down. She wore a red dress so tight it looked sprayed on. The blonde turned in his direction, ghost pale with smudgy, dark eyes. She opened her mouth and ran her tongue over plump lips, glossed a shiny, shocking, wet red. Embarrassed, Mike looked away.

Man, oh, man, she was hot. Mike couldn’t stop himself sneaking another look. A guy in a sharp black suit sidled over to the blonde. A few minutes later, by the time the bartender brought their drinks, the two were chatting like old friends. The blonde sipped her drink; the guy finished his in one swallow. She smiled at him between sips. Never taking her eyes off his, she stroked his arm. The guy put his hand on her back. She moved closer.

Mike did not need to see this. He looked away and caught the bartender smirking at him. Mike glared and turned back to the couple just as the guy’s hand slid down the blonde’s back and over the curve of her ass.

Mike winced at a cramp in his chest. He clenched and unclenched his fists, but the knot only got tighter. Sweat beaded his forehead. He watched as the blonde climbed into the guy’s lap. Her dress couldn’t have been more than two inches below her crotch. The guy slid his hand up her dress. The blonde rocked her hips. Mike stared, every nerve on fire. It took a few seconds before he realized the guy was looking right at him. A flash of panic lit up his brain. He ducked his head and stared into his glass.

When he looked up again the guy and the blonde were gone. What the hell had just happened? He shoved the empty glass away and grabbed his jacket.

“Mike Gambone! How you doin’, man?”

Startled at hearing his name, Mike jumped. He turned to find the guy in the black suit standing behind him.  

“Do I know you?”

“Phil Demartini,” the guy answered with a grin. “From the old neighborhood.”

The Phil Demartini Mike knew had buck teeth that could open beer bottles and a beak like a toucan. This guy looked airbrushed perfect, like he’d stepped off the pages of GQ. Mike pulled on his jacket and dropped a quarter on the bar.

“Yeah, right,” Mike said.

“Come on, man, we were best friends back in the day.”

Mike snorted. He didn’t know who the hell this guy was or what he wanted, but him claiming to be Phil was bullshit.

“The Phil Demartini I knew never looked nothing like you.”

Phil laughed.
“Just messin’ with you, dude. I knew you wouldn’t recognize me. I had some work done.”

Mike squinted at the man claiming to be his childhood friend. “Work?” 

“Yeah, you know ... cosmetic surgery.” Phil slid onto a bar stool one away from Mike’s.

Mike stood. “I’m outta here.”

“Hold up, man. I’m telling you, it’s me. Ask me something nobody but us could know.”

Mike hesitated. He and Phil had been best buds until Mike’s dad died and his family moved back to Jersey. What could it hurt to hear what the guy had to say?

“Okay,” Mike said. “Aunt Augusta.” 

Phil chuckled.

Mike scowled. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m not laughing at you, man. I knew you’d pick Aunt Gussie, our deepest, darkest secret.” Phil leaned toward Mike and whispered in his ear.

Mike gaped. No one except Phil knew the truth about Aunt Gussie. About what they’d done.

“Well, Mikey, did I pass?”

Wide-eyed, Mike stared at Phil. “What the hell happened to you? Your voice doesn’t even sound the same.”

“I told you, man, cosmetic surgery and a little nick on the cords. Changed my life.”

“No kidding,” Mike said. “That smokin’ hot blonde, she your girlfriend?”

“Nah, we’re just friends. Her name’s Star. She’s something, isn’t she?”

Mike licked his lips. “Oh, yeah.”

Phil chuckled. “When we go out we play this game sometimes, like we’re strangers. You know what I mean?”

“Man,” Mike said, “you are one lucky jabroni.”

“What’re you drinking, bro?” Phil asked.

“Lucky’s.”

“Jesus,” Phil said. “They serve that shit here?”

Phil caught the bartender’s eye, waved him over and ordered a couple of expensive lagers.

Mike sipped the lager, savoring it. The liquid felt heavy on his tongue. Compared to this, the stuff he’d been drinking tasted like warm water. He licked the foam from his lips. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure, Mikey.” Phil took a long swallow. “How’s your mom doing?”

“Gone.”

“You mean ...”

Mike nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear that, man.”

The lump in Mike’s throat made him choke on his next swallow of beer. Phil waved at a waitress and pointed at the empty peanut bowl.  She smiled and tossed her hair as she swung by.

“How about an upgrade?” She slid a basket of wings with dipping sauce in front of Phil.

“Thanks, babe!” Phil flashed Hollywood-bright teeth. He watched as she ducked and dodged through the crowd, her tray held high above her head. He sighed and passed the wings to Mike.

“Hey, thanks!” Mike grabbed a fat wing. He ignored the sauce, tearing the meat off the bones with his teeth.

“No problem, bro. So, how long you been in Delaware?”

Mike bit into one wing after another. He answered Phil between mouthfuls.

“Came here for a job a couple months ago. It sounded like a sure thing. Then I meet the guy and all of sudden there ain’t no job. I pick up some one-shot day work in construction here and there, so I stuck around, but if I don’t get something permanent soon, I’m gonna be sleeping at the mission.”

Phil didn’t say anything for a minute or two, then asked, “Can you drive a delivery truck?”

Mike shrugged. “Sure. I got my CDL. But I can’t get nothing.”

“I’ll see what I can do. I might be able to get you something with my company.”

Caught of guard, Mike couldn’t help but look surprised. The last time he’d heard anything about Phil, he’d been working at some crummy pizza joint for minimum wage. “You have a company?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I don’t own it. But I’m the regional manager. Surgical supplies.” Phil winked at Mike. “That’s how I met Star. She’s a surgical nurse in a private hospital. You seeing anyone?”

Mike narrowed his eyes and gave Phil the look. The one his grandmother called il malocchio.

“Whoa!” Phil said leaning away from Mike. “What’s that for?” He crossed himself. “God bless me.”

“What do you think? I look like an ape and you ask me if I’m seeing anyone? Did they take out your brain when they fixed your face?”

Phil sucked air through his teeth. “No need for talk like that. Get a little work done.”

“A little work? Are you kidding me? No offense, man, but you look like you had a whole fucking body transplant.”
Must have cost millions
, Mike muttered under his breath.

“Hey,” Phil said, “take it easy.”

“So, how much did it cost you?”

“It cost me nada.”

“Now I know you’re shitting me.”

“No, man.” Phil said, shaking his head. “I know a guy.”

“And he does this for free? How does that work?”

Phil shrugged. “I help him out from time to time. And ... I let him try out some new stuff on me.”

“What ... like ... experimental?

“The doc is always coming up with new procedures and he has to test them.”

“You let him use you like a lab rat?”

Phil ignored the question, answering brusquely as if Mike had offended him. “He’s a professional, man. Worst case scenario, you don’t turn out quite right and you look a little funky until you heal enough for him to go back and make adjustments. No big deal.”

“So, who is this guy?”

“Dr. Fleischman. He’s in the industrial park over by the B&O Lanes.”

“Industrial park? You gotta be kidding me.”

“No, man ...”

Mike waved Phil away. What the fuck? How could that be legit? 

Phil stood up. He pulled a card from his inside pocket and pushed it over to Mike. “It was good seeing you again, Mikey. Keep in touch, okay?”

Mike nodded. “You got it.”

“Listen. You change your mind and you want me to hook you up with the doc, let me know.” Phil clapped Mike on the shoulder and headed for the door.

Mike stared at Phil’s card. There it was in black and white: Philip Demartini, Regional Manager, TSR Surgical and Hospital Supply, business and cell numbers.

Phil looked like a million bucks. And Star ... Star ... saliva pooled in Mike’s mouth. It sounded crazy. It was crazy. But, what if Phil’s “guy” could fix him? If Mike could look like Phil, there’d be no more being treated like a retard. No more “disappearing” jobs. No faces twisting in revulsion. No stench of desperation on him.

If he turned out even half as good as Phil, he could get a girl like Star. Shit, he could
get any woman he wanted.
So what if the guy
experimented on him. Could he look any worse? Mike’s whole life could change, like Phil’s had. Wouldn’t it be worth it? The bottom line was: What did he have to lose? The answer was easy: Nothing.

It had taken a while, but Mike finally found Dr. Fleischman’s office in the last building at the back of the industrial park. It just figured. And the door was locked. He jabbed a finger at the doorbell. While he waited for someone to let him in, he saw a Rolls-Royce pull up to the front of the warehouse. The security doors rumbled up. The car drove in and the doors rumbled down. He was about to push the bell again when the lock clicked and the door opened.