Body Parts raca-1 Page 2

  “Well hey you two, nice to see you walking for a change.”

  Claire smiled and leaned on the counter. “Hey, Casey. I was wondering if you can solve a mystery for me?”

  “Shoot.”

  Claire looked up at Rye then back at the receptionist. “I just delivered a DOA to a doctor instead of two Mutt and Jeff’s up from the morgue, definitely not procedure.”

  Casey held up one hand to stop Claire’s inquiry. “Hold on a second.” She walked to the end of the counter, grabbed a clipboard and read over it as she walked back.

  She ran a finger along a line. “No one brought into the hospital in the past hour or through the morgue in the past two hours.” She set the clipboard down and looked up. “Anything else I can help you with?”

  Claire picked up the clipboard to see for herself. “Any new doctors on staff?”

  Before Casey could answer, the headlights and horn of their ambulance went off, indicating a call.

  Claire reluctantly put down the clipboard. “Gotta go,” she said, turning to run back to the ambulance. Rye was already ahead of her.

  He guided the ambulance out of the hospital parking lot while she tuned in the 911-call center. “Unit 88, disregard.”

  She looked over at Rye. “Good let’s go back and find that doctor.”

  Rye changed lanes so he could make a U-turn but stopped when the scanner crackled back to life. “Unit 88, code 1111, house fire, 415 Silverado Avenue.”

  Claire grabbed the microphone, then looked over at Rye. “What do you think? Let the fire department handle it?”

  He was already reaching up clicking toggle switches for lights and siren. “I don’t think so, you heard the code, could be more than one structure.”

  She slammed the mic back onto its mount on the dashboard. “What about Rusty and that phony doctor?

  “C’mon Claire, I’m sure Rusty found his way to the morgue, as for the doctor, no name tag and receiving a DOA, he’s probably new, unfamiliar with procedures. Just get me to Silverado Avenue. Alright?”

  She picked up the map, giving Rye a dirty look. “I hope you’re right, if we lose a body the county will yank our license.”

  He ignored her as he scanned the street ahead. “Are you sure of this route?”

  Claire glanced up from her map ready to snap at the question but one look at the burned out neighborhood, derelict cars, and she bit her tongue.

  A mixture of fire engine and police sirens filled the air as Rye slowed the ambulance, surveying the mayhem that blocked the street ahead.

  “To late to turn back now,” Claire said, and dialed in the 911 dispatch. “Emergency dispatch, this is unit 88. What’s the 1020 on Silverado, over?” She looked over at Rye. “Any guesses?” Before he could answer, dispatch came back on. “Meth fire. Multiple homes involved. Proceed with caution. Out.”

  Rye pulled up behind a Medford police cruiser, and looked on in horror as Claire’s door was yanked open, and she was pulled out by the hair.

  “Claire!”

  Rye reached behind his seat for the billy club as he shot out the drivers’ door, driven into a frenzied sprint by Claire’s chilling shriek.

  Her attacker towered over her by a foot, his hand firmly against her head, fingers interlaced with her hair. She dropped to one knee placing both hands on her attacker’s hand, pinning it to the top of her head, touching her chin to her knee, crimping his wrist in the process.

  “You bitch!

  She suddenly straightened up, holding the attacker’s hand in place, stretching his arm, snapping a kick to his exposed right side. The man staggered back in a furious struggle to regain his balance.

  “You’re fucking dead, bitch.” He charged her but suddenly collapsed into a heap at her feet.

  Rye dropped the club to his side and leaping over the unconscious form, grabbed Claire by the arm. “Get in,” he said, half lifting her into the ambulance.

  She scrambled in, slamming and locking the door at the same time, barely before Rye whipped the ambulance into a U-turn.

  Chapter Three

  “Oh shit! hang on.” The ambulance rocked as it clipped the rusting burned out hulk of a Chevy van and bounced onto a lawn mower. Rye then guided the two-ton rig off what used to be somebody’s front yard and into the street.

  “We’re outta here,” Rye said, as he snatched up the mic. “Emergency dispatch this is unit 88 calling in a 1044-out of service.”

  He slammed the mic onto its hook, and accelerated down Silverado and out of the neighborhood.

  “You alright?”

  Claire slumped against the door, “Yeah, I guess so. You know, I’m always surprised at the shit we put up with. I mean what was that all about? What did that guy expect to get by attacking me?”

  She never got an answer.

  Rye suddenly sat up straight shifting the ambulance into neutral and revved the engine.

  Momentarily forgetting the attack, Claire turned in her seat. “I hear it, too.”

  “It’s not the engine or the drive train,” he said.

  She powered down her window. “Kill the scanner, it sounds like something’s scraping.”

  Rye rolled his window down as he turned the scanner off. He heard the strange noise again. “I’m pulling over.”

  He flipped on a couple flashers and eased the Beast onto the shoulder. Claire jumped out.

  “Ouch.”

  Rye was around the front of the ambulance and at Claire’s side. She had her hand on her neck.

  “What is it?”

  “I think that jerk gave me a whiplash when he grabbed my hair.”

  “Why don’t you get back in, I’ll check this out.”

  He watched Claire’s stiff movements as she stepped up into the cab. Rye shut the door and leaned in the window. “I’m filing a report on this, and you’re seeing a chiropractor tomorrow morning.”

  She gave him a weak smile and leaned back into the seat. He reached in and patted her arm. “Hand me the flashlight.”

  Rye dropped to his stomach and scanned the undercarriage, holding the light on what was left of a lawn mower jammed between the chassis and the exhaust system.

  Scrunching under the ambulance, he grabbed one of the blades and pulled. Nothing. He wiggled his way back out and stood up, met by Claire’s worried look. “What is it?”

  “I ran over a lawn mower when I hung the U-turn, we need a tow.”

  Claire picked up the mic. “Unit 88 needs 1241.”

  Rye could hear her calling in their location as he walked around the front of the ambulance. He suddenly stopped.

  She hung up the mic, puzzled when he turned on the flashlight and dropped out of sight. Claire peered through the windshield and over the hood, then got out. When she came around the front, Rye was squatting, shinning the light on the left headlight and the smashed grill. When she got to his side he was pointing the light at an ever-growing pool of antifreeze.

  “Looks like you really clipped that van,” she said.

  He just nodded.

  A few minutes later the tow truck arrived. The driver reached across and opened the passenger-side door. Rye grabbed a bar on the dashboard and pulled himself in, then reached out to give Claire a hand. It was a tight fit.

  “Man I’d hate to see the other dude’s car. That’s a helluva gash in your grill, you’re gonna need a new radiator for sure.” The driver paused to call in his destination. “And what the hell is that underneath?”

  Rye smiled. “A lawn mower.”

  The driver did a double take. “Right.”

  They rode in silence to the garage. Claire stayed in the cab of the tow truck, while Rye filled out papers and explained for the second time about the lawn mower. He watched the tow-truck driver unhitch the beast, wanting to rush over a tell him to be careful.

  Task finished, the tow-truck driver looked over at Rye and smiled. “Get in, I’ll take you and the missus home.”

  “You sure? We could call a cab,” Rye said.
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  “No problem, I’m headed down Snoop anyway.”

  Claire got out allowing Rye to sit in the middle. The shift arm would cause her to sit at an angle to keep it from going between her legs, and she didn’t think she’d be able to sit like that all the way home.

  As they stood on the darkened porch watching the tow truck pull away, Rye put his arm around Claire. “Long day, huh?” She sagged into his shoulder, wrinkled her nose.

  “You smell like grease,” she said smiling.

  “You didn’t have to sit next to the driver,” Rye said, as he fished in his pocket for the keys to the door.

  “What did the mechanic say about the Beast?”

  He fumbled with the key in the dark. “Said he’d give us a call tomorrow after he checked it out, could be a week if he has to order anything.” He jiggled the front door knob to get the key out, and shouldered the door open.

  The lights from the clock radio, computer, and the alarm dimly lighted the living room. The phone machine light was blinking. Rye disarmed the house, thumbed the switch that brought the two lamps to life and walked across the floor to check the message; Claire bee-lined it to the bathroom.

  The mirror fogged up as she adjusted the water as hot as she could stand it, attempting to work the knots out of her neck and shoulders. She desperately wanted to wash her hair but found her scalp too sensitive.

  “Damn, we need a bigger hot water heater,” she yelled, practically leaping from the shower as the water turned cold. She dried off, then wrapped only in a towel walked to the bedroom, noting that Rye was on the phone. When she emerged barefoot, in jeans and a T-shirt, he was just hanging up.

  “Long phone call.”

  Rye grimaced. “Jeff Olden. Better sit down for this.”

  She plopped into her favorite chair, tucking her legs under her. “OK, you have my attention.”

  Rye sat on the couch across from her. “You were right.”

  She sat puzzled for just a heartbeat. “Oh shit. It’s Rusty isn’t it? Somebody came to claim the body and he wasn’t there.”

  “Something like that. Olden has reduced our status until Rusty shows up.”

  Claire was on her feet. “Great, we’ll be answering every midnight call until they find him.” She folded her arms. “The doctor broke procedure, Olden knows we can’t argue with hospital staff.” She turned an accusing eye on Rye. “Did you tell him about the doctor?”

  He stood, took a step extending his arms. “Claire I…”

  She spun out of his intended embrace re-crossing her arms over her chest. “That asshole!” She could feel hot tears running down her cheeks. “Goddamn it, what was I supposed to do? What do we do now?”

  Chapter Four

  Erin von seagram looked down at the storyboard for the tenth time, then up at the couple on the lawn by the pool. The positions were right: man astride woman who was on all fours. But the couple seemed cardboard and moving in slow motion.

  Camera one had the long shot, which was too long, making the couple appear too small, their activity indefinable. Camera two was the front shot, but was too tight, cutting off the woman’s breasts so you could hardly see that she had any. The forward thrusting motion and the head-and-shoulder shot of the man looked more like a college wrestler trying for a take down than two people having sex.

  Von Seagram shook his head. This was supposed to be pornography, damn it. “This, this is a joke,” he said, slamming down the storyboard. Picking up the loud hailer, he yelled, “Cut. Everyone back on the set in one hour.”

  Billy Spanning extracted himself and walked over to admire the pool. As if in shock, his co-star lay still for a full minute then slowly climbed to her feet, head down, shoulders slumped, not even trying to cover herself.

  The production assistant strode across the lawn carrying two towels and two terrycloth robes. Billy snatched the towel and robe. “Thanks, Jerry.”

  Jerry approached the woman, leering at her breasts. When she grabbed for the towel he pulled it just out of reach.

  Von Seagram was watching. “Goddamn it Jerry, give her the towel.”

  The woman grabbed the towel and robe. “Fuck you, Jerry.”

  Crystal Cassidy was incensed and embarrassed. Putting on the robe, she pulled it tight, and stormed across the set to her tiny trailer, slamming the door behind her as she entered.

  How had she come to this? Jan had never mentioned how debasing it was, all she had to do was stand nude in a swimming pool.

  Crystal raged, clenching and unclenching her jaw. Her stomach churned as she let the terrycloth robe puddle around her ankles. Tears streamed down her face as she walked into the bathroom, adjusted the shower temperature, and stepped in. The steaming water pounded against the fiberglass walls of the tiny stall as she scrubbed with the harsh loofa brush. When she had scraped her skin pink, Crystal squatted down in the bottom of the tub, letting the shower envelope her. She pulled her knees tight against her chest, and remembered.

  It had all started out so innocently, moving to Hollywood to escape her tiny hometown of Garland, Iowa. She’d teamed up with a friend, Jan Eckert. An acquaintance really, she met in her senior year. They shared the same ideas. The two of them thought they were so tough, so worldly. They’d combined cars and cash, united in the goal of fleeing their hometown as soon as they graduated. They were going to move to Los Angeles and break into show business.

  The turning point came when Jan returned to their seedy L.A. apartment with the news that she’d been fired. She turned, shut and locked the door, dropped her purse on the floor, oblivious to the sounds of the pinball machines coming up through the floor from the Pizza Haven restaurant located directly below.

  She walked to her friend’s side, nervously chewing her gum. “Jan, what’s wrong?”

  Crystal had seen her friend in many moods but dejection was not among them. Throughout their adventure Jan had always been the optimistic one.

  They’d been answering cattle calls for everything from commercials to sitcoms, even getting to appear in a few crowd scenes. But the money just wasn’t coming in fast enough.

  “I got fired,” Jan said, tears running down her face. “The manager wanted me to sleep with him.”

  “Hey, good riddance, I say. Come on, Starbucks isn’t a job worth crying over.”

  “It’s not the job or even getting hit on, our money’s running out. This is the beginning of the end. I’m taking a bath,” Jan sobbed, stripping as she walked to the bathroom.

  Crystal shouted over her shoulder as she opened the refrigerator door. “You get settled in the tub, I’ll bring a beer. I’ve got something to read to you.”

  She took two Rainmakers from the fridge and set them on the counter, then began rummaging through a drawer, looking for a bottle opener. She parked her gum on the edge of the kitchen sink and grabbed the want ads section of the newspaper.

  When she got to the bathroom, Jan was just stepping into the tub. Crystal waited for her to settle in and for the water to stop sloshing, then handed her a beer.

  She eagerly took it, taking a first drink as though she’d just crossed the desert. “I hope you brought the comics, cause I could use a laugh.”

  “Better than that,” Crystal said, taking a swig of her beer, then setting the bottle between her feet as she sat on the toilet seat. “You ready for some good news?”

  “Read on,” Jan said, taking another long drink.

  Crystal took a deep breath. “‘Wanted: Aspiring actresses. Must have beauty to match talent and not be afraid of their bodies. High paying with many perks for the right women.’”

  “And get this,” Crystal said, pausing to retrieve her beer for a quick drink, “‘Call to qualify for an interview.’ Sounds like a cattle call to me, whattaya think?”

  “That’s a cattle call alright, but not the kind you think.”

  “How many kinds of cattle calls are there?”

  “Crystal,” Jan said drawing out her friend’s name, “that’s a cattl
e call for a porn movie.”

  “Is not, and how would you know?”

  “In all the ads we’ve answered for commercials, and all the real cattle calls, how many have cared about our personal regard for our bodies? None!”

  “Well if you’re right, and I don’t think you are, and this is the beginning of the end, and I don’t think it is, shouldn’t we be considering every angle?”

  “C’mon, how are you going to feel lying naked in front of technicians and cameramen, not to mention some total stranger probing your every orifice?”

  “I’m not as naïve as you think, I’ve had a lot of lovers,” she said.

  Jan turned her head and looked directly at Crystal. “For crying out loud, these won’t be lovers.”

  “I guess you’d be an expert on those things,” Crystal said, sticking out her lower lip.

  “I did my share of experimenting in school just like you,” Jan said, crossing her arms across her chest.

  Crystal was looking directly at her friend, surprise mixed with shock. “I knew it, I was right. I figured you for the school slut.”

  “You what?”

  “Sorry, no offense.” “It’s just that the whole school had you pegged as a math nerd, so I figured sure you were using that image as a cover.” Crystal put down her empty beer bottle and nervously thrust two folded sticks of black jack licorice gum into her mouth, chewing vigorously before speaking again. “We haven’t exactly shared secrets, never double dated, you know.” A mischievous smile crossed her face. “Tell me about the first time.”

  “I was never the school slut,” Jan said reaching over the edge of the tub to set her empty beer bottle on the floor. “I always figured it was either you or Linda Neville, rumor was she kept a rubber tucked in her boot. But you had the biggest tits hands down, always showing cleavage and chewing that damn gum.”

  Crystal stuck out her lower lip again. “OK, I deserve that, but now I want to hear about your first time even more.”

  “Jesus, don’t you ever quit?” Jan said.

  “I’ll tell you my first time if you tell me yours,” Crystal said, handing Jan a robe and falling in behind her, ignoring the empty beer bottles.