Rupture Read online

  Eli stepped inside and wedged himself between two wooden support posts where he had a clear view of the stage below. The young girl, Marisa, had been placed on the operating table. She was naked, with safety straps across her thighs. Bennie and Tongue hovered over her.

  Eli heard movement to his left. He eased forward to see Tsarina in a seat next to the far wall. In her arms was an infant whom she held against her left breast. The baby was not moving. It appeared rigid, as though preserved, and Eli immediately knew that it was dead.

  Tsarina positioned the frozen mouth of the child over her left nipple. She bounced the baby gently and leaned close to the banister to have an unobstructed view of the proceedings beneath her.

  Eli turned away from the sight of Tsarina with the dead child and watched Tongue as he wheeled in another body. It was a young man lying on a stretcher and hooked to a ventilator. Eli recognized the boy, the soft, innocent features of his face. Just as Eli had seen Henry’s roommate at Green Hills State Home, it was evident now, the body curled in a fetal position beneath the sheets.

  Jimmy.

  Tongue pulled the gurney while Bennie carefully rolled the anesthesia machine forward, which hissed and clicked with every breath delivered. Accompanying them were two hired hands in security guard uniforms. Each carried a holstered pistol on his belt.

  Tongue and Bennie positioned Jimmy parallel to Marisa’s table, only three feet between them, but with Jimmy’s head adjacent to the dead girl’s feet. The two men waited a moment while looking toward the door from which they had come. And then, wearing a gown and gloves but no mask, Korinsky entered.

  Eli thought of the night, earlier in the week, although it seemed like months ago, when he was called in to assist Korinsky. Everything had been downhill since then. He had been chewed out by his chairman, questioned as a murder suspect, and, after being fired, was the primary surgeon to oversee the long, painful hospitalization of the son of one of the richest, most influential men in the mid-South. He wanted to blame Korinsky for it all.

  Bennie exited briefly and returned with a man Eli had not seen in surgical garb before. The man had always worn a white coat stretched over broadly humped shoulders, or a business suit that made him look more like a high-ranking mobster than chairman of surgery at a major medical center.

  Karl Fisher walked on stage. Korinsky and the others stood at attention. It was obvious that Fisher was in charge.

  How can this be? Eli further concealed himself by sliding behind the wooden columns.I was fired for consorting with the biopharmaceutical devil, and here is Fisher leading the whole ghoulish pack.

  “How’s the boy?” Fisher asked, nodding to Jimmy, whose only sign of life was an occasional breath from the ventilator.

  “He’s stable,” Korinsky answered.

  Fisher stopped at Marisa’s side and looked her over. “Damn shame.”

  Then, he became trance-like, eyes lingering on her body.

  Bennie looked at Korinsky for direction as the awkwardness continued. Korinsky held up one finger and they all waited for Fisher to come out of it.

  “His young age should make this a good run,” Fisher said at last, referring to Jimmy. “Let’s get started.”

  Bennie removed the drape from the side table to reveal a set of surgical instruments. Even from his elevated position, Eli could discern the collection. Vascular clamps, a Bookwalter retractor, all of the instruments needed for a major abdominal operation.

  What the hell are they planning?

  It made no sense. A dead girl and a young, institutionalized mental patient?

  Fisher moved to the right side of Jimmy’s table and Korinsky stood between the two tables. Since they were right-handed surgeons, they were both in position to make an incision.

  Bennie handed a scalpel to Fisher and one to Korinsky. Both held their scalpels poised over the abdomen, Fisher over the young boy, Jimmy, Korinsky over Marisa.

  “Okay, start the timer.”

  A digital clock was inset high on the wall, large red numbers displaying twelve minutes. The countdown started and it changed to eleven minutes, fifty-nine seconds.

  In synchrony, each surgeon cut a long and deep abdominal incision. Old dark blood oozed from Marisa’s incision, but Jimmy’s entire abdominal surface was flooded with bright red spurting blood. Remarkably, Jimmy had not been anesthetized and the pain of the incision racked his body and he rose up flailing.

  “Damn it, Korinsky,” Fisher yelled. “He’s not under.”

  Korinsky laid his scalpel on Marisa’s abdomen and turned to help, but Jimmy grabbed Fisher’s hand and yanked it violently.

  “Open the gas, I can’t control him.” Bennie and Tongue pushed Jimmy’s shoulders and slammed him against the bed. The force jerked Fisher’s hand, and his scalpel sliced a hole in the anesthesia tubing. Korinsky twisted the purple cylinder to the full position and halothane gas escaped through the open conduit.

  As he watched the scene deteriorate, Eli moved from between the posts and now stood out in the open. Because his natural response was to move toward the scene of a medical disaster, he ran unthinkingly down the stairs toward the stage.

  The anesthesia machine emitted a loud signal to warn that a break in the circuit had occurred. A second warning signal started, this one a loud shrill that indicated a life-threatening change in ventilation. The pressure had escaped the tubing and the ventilator could no longer breathe for Jimmy. His pulse was dropping rapidly.

  Eli ran down the stairs now, pointing at the anesthesia machine. “You’ve got to bag him, he’s going to code.”

  Everyone froze. Korinsky stared at Eli with his mouth open.

  Fisher appeared disgusted. “How did he find us?”

  Korinsky pointed at Eli to alert the guards. “Stop that son of a bitch.”

  With hands on their guns, the guards sprinted toward Eli, who stopped at the base of the stairs. He continued to focus on Jimmy. “You’re killing him.”

  “We all die,” Fisher yelled as Jimmy writhed in an anoxic struggle. “This is no concern of yours, Branch.”

  Eli backpedaled up the stairs and pointed at Jimmy. “That boy lives with my brother.” As he said this, Eli was struck with the thought that if they had access to Jimmy, they had access to Henry. He turned and ran up the stairs, the guards a few steps behind. When he reached the top, he could feel them on his back, about to lunge. From behind the glass column, Tsarina stepped in front of the guards and they collided. Tsarina twisted sideways but remained on her feet. The guards stopped and were shocked to see a bundled infant knocked from her arms and sliding across the floor.

  Eli ran through the foyer straight for the stairwell. Tsarina’s diversion had created a much-needed gap from his pursuers. He wondered why, if she was part of this travesty, she had done this for him.

  In the stairwell, Eli could hear their voices behind him. Taking three steps at a time, he burst onto the loading dock.

  “Yes,” he said when he saw his fortunate timing. An empty body cart was seconds before the U-turn. Without slowing, Eli leapt from the platform and landed feet first in the cart. It shook wildly. He crouched low in the cart just as it made the turn.

  “There he is,” one of the guards shouted as they ran to the edge. The cart accelerated and began its descent into the tunnel.

  Seeing both men take aim, Eli flattened himself in the cart. A two-inch layer of water in the bottom smelled like sewage. The first shot missed the cart but it made Eli plunge his face into the putrid water. The second shot was more accurate. It ripped through the side of the cart inches above Eli’s head. He lifted his face out of the water and could no longer see the bright light from the receiving area. The cart descended into darkness.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  DOWNTOWN MEMPHIS

  9:35 P.M.

  Detective Lipsky punched the numbers to Police Headquarters into his cell phone.

  “Forensics please,” he told the operator. Since Basetti was usually the onl
y one there, he answered the call with, “You got him.”

  “You won’t believe where I am.”

  Basetti thought and hesitated a second. “Sounds like you’re in the bottom of a toilet.”

  Lipsky looked at the sides of the cart, illuminated only by the soft glow from his cell phone. The seat of his trousers was wet and he could feel a line of water trickle down between his buttocks. “How did you know?”

  “Where the hell are you, seriously?”

  “Following Branch’s ass.”

  Basetti snickered. “Sounds like you lost him.”

  “He broke into the Anatomy building . . . on campus,” Lipsky said, still out of breath. “Let me tell you . . . that’s one creepy place. Dark as hell. Pickled body parts floating in jars.”

  “Didn’t his father work there?”

  “Yeah, no wonder Branch is so screwed up. Anyway, he sneaks down in the basement. By the time I get there, he is jumping into this,” Lipsky hesitates and raps his knuckle against the aluminum side, “this moving buggy.”

  “Buggy?”

  “Yeah, and guess who he has with him?”

  “Who?”

  “A young girl, deader than wood.”

  There was silence on the line.

  “Basetti?”

  “Chief, what you been smoking?”

  “I’m serious. Branch dragged this young naked girl down a tunnel. He’s some weird cat, I’m telling you.”

  “Where’s he now?”

  “I lost him, he’s up ahead in this damn tunnel somewhere.”

  Basetti could hear a steady churning through Lipsky’s phone. “So let me get this straight. You’re in a tunnel, riding a buggy, and Branch has escaped with a naked dead girl?”

  “All in a day’s work, my friend.”

  “What’s that noise?”

  “It’s the . . . look, don’t worry about it. I need you to contact Sargent Wallace, the chief of police. Every patrol car in the city needs to be looking for Branch.”

  “Do you have any idea where you are?” Basetti asked.

  “Must have gone a mile or more down this tunnel. Who the hell knows.”

  Before Basetti could ask the next question, he heard gunfire through the receiver followed by a metallic thud, and the line went dead.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  DOWNTOWN MEMPHIS

  9:40 P.M.

  After a long stretch of darkness, Eli saw first light from one of the stairwells. Behind him, he heard the men sloshing through water, stopping to search each cart as it went by. As their voices became louder, Eli knew they would be searching his soon. When he was aligned with the stairwell, Eli jumped from the cart.

  “There,” one of them shouted. Each took a shot, the bullets showering Eli with fragments of slate chipped off the wall.

  Eli sprinted up the stairwell. At the top was a metal grate that pedestrians could walk over. He slid his fingers between the rungs and lifted the grate from its recess, sliding it across the pavement above. Eli pulled himself through the hole like a rat coming out of the sewer. The men were climbing the steps as Eli slid the grate back over the hole.

  Cars passed on the street in front of him, and Eli knew immediately that he was downtown in the center of Mid-America Mall. He walked quickly along the sidewalk, the glare of street lights overhead. When he heard the wobble-roll of the metal grate against pavement he began to run, his shoes squishy, pant legs heavy with rank water that burned the raw flesh on his leg.

  Across the street was Square Park. Up ahead, the intersection of Second Street and Madison. He was at least a mile and a half from his car in the medical center. He looked up Second. Not a cab in sight. Behind him, only one of the guards was running toward him now.

  They must have split up.

  A police car turned at the corner of South Main and headed straight toward him. Eli’s pulse quickened and he slowed from a dead run to a brisk walk. He didn’t know whether to stop the officer and ask for help or duck in between the next set of buildings. The patrol car pulled up to the curb beside him and stopped. The officer spoke into his mobile radio and studied Eli as he passed.

  When Eli looked behind him, his pursuer was nowhere in sight. He took a sharp left on Monroe. The roar of Redbirds’ fans erupted from AutoZone Park and its lights flooded the street.

  Great night for baseball.

  My season ticket seats will be empty. I could sit there the rest of the game and these buffoons would never find me.

  He checked his watch. Over thirty minutes late for his meeting with Meg. Automatic Slim’s was only two blocks away.

  Could she possibly still be there?

  Eli started running again.

  It was worth a try.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  DOWNTOWN MEMPHIS

  9:45 P.M.

  By the time Eli reached Union Avenue, two more police cars had passed him. The first, with lights and sirens blaring, gave him no thought as it raced toward the Greyhound Bus Terminal. The next patrol car crossed the intersection and slowed just as Eli reached Automatic Slim’s Tonga Club.

  From the sidewalk, Eli looked among the Friday night patrons lined up at the impressive bar. It was a young crowd meeting for drinks before heading off to the next stop. As far as Eli could tell, there were no young mothers in the crowd.

  He waited for his breathing to slow and considered what he would look like to the hostess. Sweaty, his pants leg torn and bloody, wet to the knees. He heard a siren getting closer and he walked through the crowd and opened the door.

  A leggy blonde in a black miniskirt greeted him.

  “How many in your party?” Her eyes drifted down to his torn pants.

  Eli looked beyond her at the guests. The place was pure chic. He felt like pure shit. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

  Meg’s waiter approached and studied Eli a moment. “You’re Mr. Someone, aren’t you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Mmm, yummy.” He placed his hand on Eli’s arm and turned to the corner table. “Your lady friend—adorable, short hair, very important looking?”

  “Yes, that sounds like her.”

  “She just left,” he said, slapping his hand to his hip. “I mean, she waited at that back table for a good forty-five minutes.”

  When the waiter turned around, Eli stepped past the waiting guests and was outside again. Across the street, a black Honda Civic pulled away from the curb. Eli cut in front of the car and Meg slammed her brakes to keep from hitting him. Eli opened the passenger-side door and hopped in.

  “I assumed we were meeting inside the restaurant,” Meg said.

  “I’m sorry, got tied up.”

  Meg looked down at his pants. “What happened to you?”

  “It’s a long story. Keep driving and I’ll tell you.”

  Meg turned onto Union and stopped at the first red light across from the Peabody Hotel. A police car stopped behind them and Eli slouched down in the seat.

  Meg looked in the rearview mirror. “You’ve got some explaining to do, doctor.”

  She drove just below the speed limit and the police car passed them in the right lane.

  Eli decided to skip the tunnel part for now. “I think you’re right about the graft device in my brother. It was placed by this RBI, GlobeVac, whoever the hell they are.” Eli took a deep breath. “They wanted to test the device in a few human subjects, to make sure they could do it, before taking it to the FDA.”

  “Why your brother?” The light changed to green.

  “My father was involved with the company all along, supplying cadavers and body parts for their device testing. He allowed them to do the experiment on Henry because he considered my brother severely retarded. Figured no one would ask questions or even care. They made out like the operation was a life-saving procedure.”

  Meg wasn’t buying any of it.

  “So how does Gaston fit into this?” she asked.

  Eli thought about her question. His father
must have known about Gaston’s perversion with the cadavers. He must have coerced Gaston into receiving the device in exchange for hiding the old man’s criminal behavior.

  Deciding to avoid that discussion, Eli said, “I’m not sure. But I’ve got to find Henry. I think they’re still experimenting on him.”

  “Experimenting? What? Who’s they?”

  “It’s RBI, Meg. Fisher. Korinsky. They’re all in on it.” “I’ve heard excuses for being late to dinner,” she said. “But this is ridiculous.”

  “I’ll tell you all about it. Just take me to my truck at Anatomy Hall.”

  They turned left on Dunlap and passed a couple of students leaving the library. Otherwise, this part of the medical campus was quiet and fairly vacant for a Friday night. Down Jefferson Street, an ambulance backed up to the ER ramp. Meg turned right on Monroe toward Anatomy Hall.

  “Stop,” Eli said and thrust his hand in front of Meg’s face.

  She stomped the brakes and the tires screeched against the pavement.

  “What the hell is going on, Eli?”

  Eli pointed down the alley. “Look.”

  Two police cars had parked obliquely at the front and back of his truck. Both doors were open and the officers were leaning inside, searching Eli’s Bronco.

  “Back up, slowly.”

  Meg complied without more questions. She pulled away and drove down Union Avenue in silence. After they passed Methodist Hospital Central, she turned right on South Cleveland and pulled into an alley behind the old E. H. Crump Stadium. She left the car idling.

  “I’m not driving another foot.”

  After he confirmed that no one had followed them, Eli said, “There’s a secret wing of RBI, they keep it locked down, isolated.”

  Meg did not look impressed. “Go on.”

  “I was there tonight. They have a surgical amphitheater, turn-of-the-century style, gallery seats and all.”