Chapter Eight and Nine

Chapters Eight/Nine
4-12-2006

Chapter Eight
It always amazed Tom Menke how the weather in Lincoln could go from a pleasant maiden to a rampaging psycho-whore in a matter of hours. From the seventy-two degrees of his bar crawl with Kopelson to the thirty-nine degrees that taunted him now, he got in his car to go to the home.
So what if she was gone? She’d be back. She just needed to cool off, he thought. One kid out and another on the way, there was no reason for her to stay away forever. Yeah, she just needed to cool off. She’d be back, he thought, and everything would be fine. Menke knew how he could solve his problem with the FTC and save the day. Yep, everything would be okay, he thought, everything except the goddamn-stupid-fucking-whore weather.
He spied the home from two blocks away. The basement lights blazed. Menke knew who would be there. He decided to wait for a while. Gibson worked on that addict all day he couldn’t possibly be there much longer, Menke thought, and on the plus side I don’t have to turn the security system off, he thought. Menke took the premeditated cooler and black PVC pipe out of his car and headed toward the home.
He placed the items on the stoop and opened the door into the familiar burgundy carpet and headed for the Dungeon. Menke didn’t hear the steady beat of the pump, so he figured Gibson was almost done. He didn’t have to hurry. Menke took the pipe and the cooler and put them in the leg space under his desk.

Lost in his art and clothed in white, Gibson found a certain degree of peace. He looked at the clock. Three in the morning, he thought, I have been doing this for fourteen hours. He hadn’t thought about anything except the dead girl’s insides and outsides since he started. His mother was pushed to the periphery of his thoughts while he massaged this girl’s thirteen different puncture wounds.
The florescent lights overhead gave the white room a particularly clean look. The tile walls were white and shiny like the floor surrounding him. The instruments waiting on counter behind him and in the drawers around the room gleamed if Gibson held them up. The gurney Baldwin rested on shined, even the bloodstains had a shimmer of their own.
She was naked on the table. Gibson remembered when he first got into the industry that used to bother him. He wished he could put the cloths on first while he was doing his job. The dead deserved a little dignity, Gibson used to think. Now he knew they were just objects.
He blinked his eyes hard. They started to get dry. He wished he could rub them but his gloves eliminated that option. The white surgical gown was becoming more like a butcher’s apron. It was a collage of reds and blacks and purples and greens that most people never saw. Even the mask over Gibson’s mouth had a little blood on it.
He pulled the last tube from her body. Gibson let it fall to the floor. As much as he enjoyed the distraction, he knew it needed to end. Fourteen hours was a long time to do anything, he thought. Gibson turned around to venture to the closet where the pants suit her parents picked waited. He was so close he could feel it
When Gibson came back from the closet across the room Menke was standing over the body. Menke turned his head to look at Gibson.
“Hey, Everett.”
Gibson grabbed his chest. After a few seconds he responded.
“Hey Tom. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be porkin’ your wife or something?”
Gibson’s dark-brown eyes were even darker against the white of his mask. Menke wished Gibson would take off the mask.
“She left me yesterday.”
“Oh, sorry man,” Gibson’s brain raced to think of a new topic as soon as he could, “Why did you come here?”
“I figured I should do some paperwork.”
“I’m almost done here. I just need to throw some make up and clothes on, then style the hair. I should be done in the next half hour or so,” Gibson said.
“You did a good job, a damn good job. How long have you been here?”
Gibson took off his mask and looked at the clock. It was three-thirty.
“Too fucking long.”
“I’ll finish up. You’ve been doing this all week.”
Gibson wasn’t quite sure if that’s what he wanted. He came so far that he wanted to see it through to the end, but he was also starting to feel the long day. Gibson put his hands together and pressed the fingertips into each other. The cracking was painful and Gibson decided he needed to go.
“Okay.”
Gibson took off his white surgical attire and threw it in the hamper by the door. He turned around and looked at Menke. Gibson was about to start climbing the stairs then he paused. He opened his mouth, and then promptly closed it.
“What time do you want me to be here tomorrow?”
Menke was standing over the body again.
“Noon,” Menke said.
Gibson left and got in his cold car and Menke smiled when it started up and drove away. Menke went up to his office.

Chapter Nine
Menke removed the index card with Kopelson’s order from his pocket. The simple phrase scrawled in barely legible cursive read “one right femur.” The card was ringed with sweat stains in the shape of fingers along the outside. This would be simple, Menke thought, I just need to get in and get out. Quick, painless and discreet, he thought. He grabbed another pair of scrubs out of the closet and suited up.
His bleach white form hovered over the girl. Menke looked her up and down. Her frail form lay naked on the cold metal table. He didn’t want to do this, but he had to. Menke reached into the drawer behind him. He snatched a scalpel out and turned around.
The blade lingered over her thigh for a second; Menke selected the perfect spot to put it in. He found the dead center and plunged it into her soft flesh. It tore right down the center with little effort. Nothing came out. Menke expected the girl to scream but she didn’t. He had just made a gaping thigh wound and it didn’t make any difference. Menke forced the skin back as far as it would go and inserted his hand into the wound. He probed her insides until he got what he wanted.
Menke grasped the bone and pressed his shoulder into her stomach for leverage. He felt part of his back on her breasts. Menke held her leg bone tightly and leaned back as hard as he could. Due to rigor mortis her leg wouldn’t budge. Stubborn at first, he pulled and pulled. His face turned red as he groaned and cursed at the bone to come out. It was slow at first; just the sound of little fractures escaping the hip socket, just enough to give him hope.
For a moment Menke stopped and stood up. He took a deep breath and went at her again. He was sweating and moaning but the bone was giving way. Menke reached deep inside and with one last burst of energy the bone broke loose and he fell onto the ground. It was over.
The bone shined in his hand like a new trophy. Menke looked at the bone. The edges were ragged, but he could see the marrow, it was still red. The bone was still alive. He used a bone saw to level the edges and put it in the cooler.
He put the black snake of PVC where the bone had been, then he put his gloves, gown and mask around it. He managed to make the leg look presentable. There was still some goo seeping from the wound. He wrapped it in paper towels. Proud of his work, Menke dressed her in the black pantsuit, hiding her legs. Menke put on her make up and styled the girl’s hair into a sensible bun, just like her parents wanted. He placed her in the coffin and looked around the Dungeon.
He turned the lights off, armed the security system and got in his car at five in the morning. The sun would be coming up soon.