Deadly Donations Part II
My name is Henry James and I’m a writer for Dark Sides of the Truth Magazine.
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Conclusion
After four days of cruising the back roads of Oklahoma and Kansas I stumbled upon what I first thought was going to be pretty decent story. Seems as if a grandma named Harriett kept hearing ghouls screaming at her.
Turns out both of her hearing aid batteries died at the same time.
Okay, not all the stuff I find is story material. Unless you’re interested in the shelf life of hearing aid batteries.
If you are give Harriett a call. Maybe she’ll hear the phone ring. Maybe not.
I decided to take FM 4 through Nortonville and me and Willie were doing a duet on Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain when my car’s Bluetooth system notified me of an incoming call.
Love this technology crap. Didn’t even have to put my Slim Jim down.
“This is Henry.”
“Henry were are you?”
“Hey Rick. I’m in my car. Where are you? Please don’t tell me you’re in the shower or on the john. I don’t think I can stand the visual.”
“James, save your wise cracks for somebody who gives a shit. I need you back here like yesterday.”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Sunny.”
I find it amazing two simple words can evoke a case of very sudden and completely horrifying panic. Although the shoulder of the road was narrow, I pulled my car over and slammed on the brakes.
“What happened to her?”
“We don’t know Henry. That’s the problem. This morning her mother called Dark Sides. They put her through to me. Evidently Shaundrika stays in close contact with her family. Her mother told me Sunny calls her every day just to chat.”
“When was the last time she spoke to her?”
“Four days ago.”
“Rick. I spoke with her just before I left town. She pretty much shut me down. Said something about stuff she needed to do before she left.”
“Shit, she did it anyway. Goddammit it all to hell.”
“Did what?”
“Listen Henry. This is not something I want to discuss over the phone. Just get your ass back. I want you in my office tomorrow morning seven AM sharp you got it?”
“Damn Rick that’s like a ten and half hour drive. I probably won’t get in until three in the freaking morning.”
“Then you’ll get at least three hours of sleep. You have a problem with that?”
“On my way.”
Rick was wrong about the sleep thing. It was more like an hour and a half nap.
I figured I’d work some brownie points into the equation and stopped at my favored drive in for a pair of sausage biscuits and two coffees. When I got to the office, Rick was already there.
I placed the corrugated cup carrier and the bag of sandwiches on his desk, then pulled out my share and sat down.
“Damn man you ever leave this place?”
“You always talk with your mouth full of food?”
I swallowed, took a sip then nodded.
“So what’s the deal with Sunny, Rick?”
“That argument we had? It was about a piece she wanted to do. Shaundrika got a tip on some serious shit going on. Said she wanted to go under cover and do the piece.”
“And you pulled the plug on her?”
“You damned right I did. What do you know about black market organ harvesting Henry?”
“Not much.”
“Here’s the deal. These organ brokers usually have deals going on with broker friendly hospitals. They also have deals with funeral homes where death certificates and consent forms are forged so they can get the organs before burials or cremations.”
“For real?”
“Yes, but funeral homes aren’t their only source. These brokers are predators Henry. Think human trafficking where they hold people against their will until they have a buyer. Trust me they very seldom hold them long.”
“Seller’s market right?”
“You have no idea. The estimate is hundreds of thousands need some kind of transplant each year. At least eighteen people die every day waiting for an organ. For the rich, money is no object when it comes to snagging a vital body part.”
“So what’s the number Rick? How much money are we talking about?”
“The going market for a single kidney is somewhere in the neighborhood of one hundred and fifty thousand. The buyers are wealthy and desperate and these barracudas know it, often jacking the price up if they get a whale on the line.”
Even though I suck at running numbers in my head I knew ten pops in one week would make somebody a millionaire.
“Damn. So how did Sunny get a lead on this?”
“Sunny’s got several contacts in the medical industry. I guess it stands to reason.”
“How so?”
“I would have thought you two would have shared your life stories already. You seem to be inseparable.”
I gritted my teeth and kept quiet. I wasn’t about to give the man an opportunity to tear into my ass again about me and Sunny working a story against his direct order. He didn’t seem like he wanted to let that go anytime soon.
Rick reached into the bag on his desk and pulled the sandwich out. We both sat in silence for a few minutes while he consumed half the sandwich then took a long pull on his coffee. He pointed to the sandwich and the coffee.
“Brownie points?”
“Yeah. Working?”
“Nope.”
“Damn. So what’s the play Rick? Sunny’s gone off the grid either of her own choosing or someone else’s. Shouldn’t we get the police involved?”
“Henry, if she’s alive I want to keep her that way. The minute these brokers start feeling the heat they’re going to cut their losses and melt into the shadows. At that point Sunny becomes an expendable liability.”
“So you want me to snoop around and try to find her?”
“Actually, I want you to write the story.”
“That’s pretty cold Rick.”
I watched him scribble something on a note pad. Then he tore off the sheet and stretched across the desk.
“This is Sunny’s home address. It’s where you start. Do the shit you know how to do best James. You find the story you’ll find Sunny.”
READ ON — DEADLY DONATIONS PART III
Let’s keep in touch: [email protected]