Last Section

this is the last piece of new material related to my novel for the rest of the semester. From this point forward it is going to be revisions of the first thirty pages.

The drive from downtown to the apartment fifty-seven blocks away didn’t Kopelson. He liked having the freedom of being in a vehicle that was semi-moving. When he normally left at five it was a nightmare. As far as he was concerned the benefit of working later than everyone is nearly free-reign of Twenty-Seventh Street on his ride home.
MedSupply was done. Its last day was tomorrow. He still had time to buy some of the remaining inventory but it hadn’t changed at all since the phone call. He didn’t get a hold of any new suppliers and he was worried about having to impose a shut down.
His best bet was his old friend Chris Burner. His main buyer kept mishandling the product, leaving it out too long, or selling it for way below market price. Burner planned to find someone new, perhaps Kopelson, but the contract expired next month so he needed a supplement for the next three weeks.
His cigarette smoke flew out the cracked window as he rolled home. He stared at the road and tried to focus but his thoughts kept cycling back to his impending problem. Whenever he tried to think of something else the thought would end and the same one would come up again.
He pulled into his apartment-garage and shut the door. He punched in his code so hard his index finger throbbed when he got to his room.
He sat down in his leather chair and opened his briefcase. He pulled out the donor profiles hoping that some miracle had rejuvenated the stiffs to a usable condition so he could get enough supply to tide the company over until the next month. He shuffled through them again.
Still disappointed, he put the manila envelopes on his desk and picked up an ashtray. When he sat down he looked at the top profile. Baldwin. She was the youngest and least fucked up of the group, which was saying a lot since she died of a heroin overdose. He opened up the file and noticed the name of the funereal home.

“How old is your son?”
“My wife is three months pregnant.”
“So why is it ‘Menke and Son?”
“It sounds more professional.”
Kopelson taped a cigarette filter on the bar and offered one to Menke. Menke turned it down but that didn’t defer Kopelson at all.
Kopelson loved these conventions. Large gatherings of people whose jobs were stigmatized by society we always a good time. He always met some of the most interesting characters at bars in hotels and convention centers.
“Kind of limiting his career options, aren’t you?”
They laughed and ordered more beer.
“You know, Harvey, I’m thinking of expanding my business to include more donations to you supply boys. I think we could work something out.”
“I’m not in the market right now, Tom. MedSupply is being good to me. They keep getting more stock points and I don’t think they’ll ever go out of business at this rate.”
“Did you hear about the guys selling transplants in Dallas?” Kopelson said.
“Yeah, it’s a shame.”
“Like our pariah status wasn’t bad enough.”
“I meant that they got caught, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
They laughed, but something about the way Menke said it was off. It seemed like he was baiting him, testing to see if Kopelson would respond favorably. He shrugged it off and the two kept on drinking.

Since that time the two had kept in moderate touch. Though far from friends they usually saw each other at conventions and shared a drink or six. It hadn’t been bad except Menke always brought up the supply thing.

His cell phone rang. He flipped it open and checked to see the caller. It was Matt.
“Matt, how’s it going?”
“I’ve been better.”
“What’s wrong? Is everything at Wyuka okay?”
“Yeah, its fine, but one of the local mortuaries sold a plot here and didn’t tell the family they could have the same things done here but save the driving time.”
“That’s not right. I hate that. The family shouldn’t have to pay for escorts if they know they don’t have to.”
“I know, so I’m going to have to file a civil suit.”
“Who did it?”
“Menke and Son.”

The phone call ended and Kopelson went to his computer. He clicked the ‘Local’ folder and found Tom’s site. He went to the contact section and found the number for the home. He programmed it into his phone. The clock said one-thirty so he decided to go to bed. He could give Tom a call in the morning.

The phone rang and Gibson answered.
“Hello?”
“Is Mr. Menke available?”
“One moment, please.”
He put the caller on hold and strolled down to Menke’s office. He knocked and after about thirty seconds was cleared for entrance.
“Are you jerking off in here?”
“Yeah, it’s the thought of you and all that corpse love. It gets me so hot. What stiffer, your dick or your partner.
“Call on line two,” he began walking, “you jackass.”
“Hello?”
“Tom, its Harvey Kopelson.”
“What’s going on?”
“Not too much. I realized I haven’t seen you in a while. We should go have a drink and catch up. What works for you?”
Menke looked at his over-sized desk calendar. He ran his finger along the current week.
“It looks like I’m free uh…tomorrow. Does that work for you?”
“Sounds good. Zen’s at seven?”
“You’re on.”






Chapter Five
What better night to get fucked up than Tuesday? Menke asked himself as he finished off another Newcastle that caused the familiar buzz to grab hold and drag him down. Kopelson sat across from him in the dimly lit martini bar. They had much to discuss as they downed expensive drinks. Each time they bought a drink they left a tip for the bartender with large breasts.
“I heard MedSupply went under,” Menke said.
“Yeah, Donovan’s such a cheese-dick.”
“I don’t know. I worked with him a few times. He’s efficient.”
“He’s a jackass. He dropped out because ‘he felt like it’ and left me with my dick in my hand.”
Menke went up to get another drink, which meant another dollar for the bartender. Kopelson stood up but Menke offered to buy this round.
“How’s that one guy you work with?”
“Gibson?”
“I don’t know, sure.”
“He’s good, I guess. I think he’s been down. The other day I heard him listening to some old punk band or something. He usually does that when he’s pissed.”
“Do you know what’s wrong?”
“No,” Menke said, “and I don’t really care. Some customers almost walked in. I unplugged the CD player and told him he couldn’t listen to it anymore.”
He was lying, but so what? Kopelson wouldn’t know.
A few dollars and drinks later things became a little more interesting for both men in the dimly-lit bar.
“I heard Wyuka is suing you,” Kopelson said.
“Who told you that?”
“I know Hefelbower. He helped me out big time in winning supplier of the year back in ninety-eight.”
“Does he know you know me?”
“No, why would he?”
Another drink downed by both men.
“I can’t have this lawsuit, Harvey.”
“Why?”
“It’ll ruin me. I’m sure if I could come up with more money I could get him to, you know, settle out of court. That’s the best-case scenario, but I don’t have the money.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I might have to give pay cuts, maybe even fire Gibson and hire some kid fresh out of college who will work for less. That would suck. Gibson is good.”
They drank some more and then the whore bartender with large breasts cut them off. She ordered a cab and forced them to drink water until it arrived.

Kopelson offered Menke a cigarette. He declined. His wife would be pissed. He would get yelled at. It would be easier not to, although he did miss the feeling of alcohol and nicotine.

A skinny kid pulled up in a station wagon that was capped with a glowing half circle on top that said cab. He got out and went into the bar. He looked at the ticket. He went to the bartender and forced himself not to look down.
“I’m here for; let me see here, Menke and Kopelson?”
The too drunk men came up to him. They asked the skinny kid with the too tight shirt and too baggy pants if he was there cabby. He said he was.
“How old are you?” Menke asked.
“Twenty-one,” the kid responded.
“Jesus, I’ve got herpes scars older than you,” Kopelson said.
The two men and the one kid laughed.
“Where to, gentlemen?”
“The Hi-way Diner?” Kopelson asked Menke.
“Yeah, I’m starving.”

The skinny kid in the punk-band shirt had a sense of humor, but no sense of direction. He might have been new to the job, but Kopelson didn’t care. It took him almost thirty minutes to get them there. They paid the fare, but the tip stayed in Kopelson’s pocket.
The Hi-way Diner was practically a legend in Lincoln. It was located on a former artery of the Midwest, it was a place where college students went to study and drink cheap coffee and drunks and stoners went to get greasy food.
It was a truck-stop without the trucks. It didn’t just sell greasy food; it sold random crap from all over the neighborhood. When Kopelson and Menke fell in they saw a washing machine, six bags of assorted rags and copy of the original SimCity.
It was also famous for its bus. The owner purchased an old city bus from the local busing company and gutted it. He put in restraint style seats, lights and heaters. Patrons could go on the bus anytime they wanted and smoke. It was a middle finger to the local ban. Normally it was crowded with high school students drinking but tonight it was empty.
“Tom, we both have a problem. I think I can help you.”
“Really? What’s that?”
“You have to promise you won’t tell anybody,” Kopelson’s hands began to sweat as he lowered his voice to match his stomach.
They were alone on the bus but he kept it down anyways. There were still some people inside and he didn’t want anybody to randomly walk in and surprise them.
Menke leaned in closer; his eyes became slightly more alert. He saw some activity behind the glaze.
“I was thinking about that convention where you told me about those guys in Dallas.”
Menke thought as hard as he could.
“I remember vaguely. They sold transplants or something.
“They sold transplants in a completely safe fashion; the only problem was the families didn’t exactly know.”
“You’re not suggesting…” Menke’s voice came to life as he stood up.
“Shhh. I’m not suggesting anything right now, I’m just brainstorming. Hear me out, okay?”
Menke sat back down and leaned forward even closer.
“The reason they got caught was they got too greedy. They were making millions and the government got wise. All I’m saying it do it for a month. Keep me supplied until Burner hooks me up. Then we get out and never mention it again. We’ll make a couple thousand dollars, split it fifty-fifty. You can get some hush money for Hefelbower, I don’t have to shut down and everyone wins.”
“Harvey, those are people’s loved ones we’d have to tamper with,” he said, a lot less harshly than his previous outburst.
“I’m not saying we take the entire body, just some tissue and ligaments. It won’t do anybody any good rotting in the ground. This way people’s lives are saved, selfish non-donors do some good with the bodies they’re throwing away and we cure our headaches.”
There was a pause while Kopelson lit a cigarette.
“Besides, nobody would ever know, it’d only be a month.”
“How do we even get the parts to you? There are all kinds of rules and regulations.”
“All you have to do is get me the part with a signed death certificate. That’s it. It’s maybe a half-hour of work. I’ll test is and ship it. I’ll take all the expense so technically you’d make more money and do less work.
Menke looked out the window.
“Only a month?”
“That’s all I need. Just to tide me over until the contract.
“Well. No, no this is crazy. I can’t do this.”
“Don’t decide tonight. I’ll give you a few days. I have four until I have to shut down. That’s plenty of time to make a well informed decision.”
“Give me a cigarette.”

Around two in the morning Menke got home. He had a vague idea where his car was and a buzz giving way to a headache.
The first thing he saw when he came in was his wife looking pissed off. In her hand she held an unopened letter from the Justice Department. Her normally warm gaze was ice. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the tears coming down her face froze into icicles.
“What’s this?” she her icy voice demanded.
“It’s nothing. Give it to me.”
“Have you been drinking?” she said, “and smoking?”
“Absolutely not. Give me that letter.”
“Don’t lie to me. I could smell you coming up the walk.”
“Okay, I drank.”
“Who with?”
“Nobody you know.”
“Who with.”
“Give me that letter.”
“Not until you answer my question.”
“Harvey Kopelson, he’s a guy from work.”
He snatched the letter from her.
“You said you’d quit. You swore it. If you’re not going to think about me, could you please think about your son, think of the example you’re setting.”
“Why are you drinking on a Tuesday? Is something wrong?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“It doesn’t seem like it.”
“You’re just hysterical because of your pregnancy.”
He immediately regretted those words.
She stood up and walked upstairs. It was like he ceased to exist. He heard her footsteps knocking as she went up and the door slamming shook the entire house. The lock on their room slid shut and he knew it would be couch time for him.
He opened the letter and his eyes bulged. He reached into his pocket and looked up Kopelson’s number.”
“Hello?” a groggy voice on the other end croaked.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”