The Black Market Butcher
Theon Smith is forty-five years old, which is the appropriate age for a person’s life to fall apart. There was never anything special about Theon. He was ordinary looking except for the wire-rimmed glasses that made him look like he was straight off America’s Most Wanted. Theon used to be a business man, an entrepreneur, a money-making fellow. But Theon became even more ordinary when the economy went from sky high to rock bottom, along with his bank account. So he worked odd jobs as the ketchup man at fast food joints and delivering packages to the local hospital, retirement home, strip mall, and strip club. In spite of this, not enough money came in to provide for Theon and his family, which consisted of his parakeet Alvin and his feline Muffy.
Times were tough for the Smith clan and Theon was starting to feel inadequate, because as the sole bread winner in the family, he couldn’t provide his domesticated animals with the organic food they had a constant hankering for and deserved. Alvin would squawk at regular grub, and Muffy had gotten so skinny from being a snob that Theon knew he had to do something.
So he got a new job testing cushions on couches before they were sent out to the big name expensive furniture stores. As he plopped down on each cushion, Theon pondered why employers didn’t hire monkeys to do his job. Humans had successfully begun to lower themselves on the biological totem pole.
“Why don’t they hire monkeys to do this job?” Theon asked his manager, Thelma, one day as they were testing the cushiness of a cushion that belonged to a hideous orange and green floral sectional.
Thelma fit the stereotype that came along with the name Thelma. She had on blue eye shadow and smoked Pall Malls as if they were going to save her life.
Thelma replied, “I don’t know, buddy. But why don’t you be thankful for what you got instead of sitting around all day complaining about how your damn animals can’t eat their damn organic food grown in shit?”
“I just can’t bear to work odd jobs anymore.”
“You could strip,” said Thelma.
“No one would pay to see my beer gut,” replied Theon.
“You could have sex for money.”
“My previous statement still stands.”
“You could sell those damn animals on the Black Market.”
And that got Theon thinking.
***
Theon wasn’t going to give up his family to the Black Market. They were like his children, except Alvin and Muffy couldn’t talk or use a toilet, and they didn’t have thumbs.
So while drinking a can of cheap beer, Theon paced around the apartment rattling his business-oriented brain to conjure up a truly brilliant idea. You could be down and out on your luck, but one can always find a way to afford cheap alcohol to take the edge off.
First, Theon thought he would make cat toys, but then he felt far too eccentric and dismissed the thought. He couldn’t be mistaken for a crazy cat person. Then he thought about selling swim lessons. But then quickly realized he couldn’t swim.
“Maybe I could buy paint-by-numbers kits and pretend to be an artist,” Theon told Muffy, who didn’t seem to like the idea.
“You’re right Muffy. I don’t have enough money to buy the kits anyway. Currency will kill the US of A one day, and I hope I am not around to see the end of it.”
Theon slumped down to his bare hardwood floor. While slouched over he drank three more beers, leaving two in his pack. As he grabbed and stretched his saggy excess skin, Theon observed his legs, which were stretched out in front of him. He studied how strange knee caps looked when they weren’t propelling the human body to move forward. He thought about how human ankles resembled gears and contemplated what purpose the gallbladder actually served. To Theon, the human body was nothing but tiny gadgets joined together to create the most fascinating, yet deadly, biological machine of all.
Alvin screeched and kicked his feces all over the hardwood floor beneath his cage.
“Alvin, you really know how to make it rain shit,” said Theon. “Maybe I can pretend to be a heroin addict, and then I’ll qualify for welfare. Or I can lie about my age and receive a monthly social security check in the mail. But better yet, if I had a disability I could collect a check for that.”
Theon shuffled into the kitchen in search of the largest and sharpest knife he could find, which happened to be a wood-handle steak knife. He looked down at his left extremity and contemplated cutting it off. But when Theon rolled up his pant leg and put the serrated knife under his wrinkly knee cap he realized an amputation meant having a stump where the rest of the limb should be. Dismembering his own leg wasn’t as foolproof as it sounded in his head.
But Theon knew instantly what he could sell on the Black Market.
***
Theon was surprised at how quickly he found the contact information for the Black Market. The number could be found only one page after a slew of advertisements for bail bonds. The company didn’t have a competent marketing advertising department, because the entire ad was written in a font called Chiller. Theon thought that something illegal would be a smidgen less conspicuous.
The hotline number fell on page 837 in the Yellow Pages, which connects you to Donald, the hot shot in charge of the entire operation.
“You’re not the cops are you?” asked Donald in a gruff voice.
“No. Just a measly merchant trying to support my family.”
“And what is the nature of this call?”
“Well, I am a merchant trying to get a booth so I can sell-“
“We don’t believe in booths, sir. They’re far too ostentatious.”
Theon was baffled by this statement, because Donald’s number was listed in the phone book as Black Market CEO.
“What is it you’re going to be selling, sir?” asked Donald
Without hesitation Theon replied, “Body parts.”
“Not your own I hope.”
“No, no, no. Not my body parts.”
“Well, whose?”
“I am not at liberty to say. But I don’t think they would care.”
***
Every Wednesday night Theon dressed in his dollar store doctor garb, which consisted of a white lab coat, a stethoscope, the objects doctors bang on your knees with and the other contraptions they shove deep inside your ear canal so as to get a better look at the buildup of excess earwax. He would say “good-bye” to Muffy and Alvin in a high-pitched voice, much like people do when they are talking to babies who can’t understand them anyway.
It played to Theon’s advantage that he was ordinary looking, because it made hiding in plain sight at the hospital that much easier.
When the people with the real medial degrees weren’t keeping close watch on their patients Theon would slip into the rooms and spell out why his services were superior to those of the lousy hospital. Seeing as the general public was slowly inching its way to the poverty line, most people accepted Theon’s business proposition: an on the spot surgery performed at a drastically reduced rate.
Theon briskly walked to Room 437 and slipped through the unnecessarily heavy hospital door.
A college-age jock was lying on the hospital bed. He looked like any other young adult dude with blonde hair and tanned skin, but moaning like he had been shot in the stomach and was bleeding to death. His broken arm was at a ninety-degree angle to keep the blood flowing through his veins at a consistent rate.
When Theon entered the room the jock stopped moaning since he had something else to focus his attention on.
“Are you my doctor?” asked the wimpy guy in a whiney voice.
“I can be if you want it to be that way,” Theon replied in a professional tone. “I came into your room because it is obvious you’re in pain, and I think I can offer a second option to your medical needs. I can operate on your broken arm, right now, and get you mended up in no time.”
“You have no idea how much pain I’ve been in.”
“Lucky for you, I will perform the surgery for 62% less than your regular doc will charge you.”
“How do I know this isn’t a scam, or something?”
“Well, you don’t. But shouldn’t you have enough faith in the human race to take my word for it?”
The young twenty-something stared at his broken hand and pondered Theon’s philosophical question for a couple of moments.
“All right dude, let’s do this thing.”
After checking his patient’s vitals, Theon had a standard set of vital questions he always asked his patients: blood type, age, and medical history. Theon scribbled the information on a clipboard, even though doctors use what they in the medical field call ‘charts’.
“Before I sedate you-“Theon began.
“You have to sedate me for a broken arm?”
“You will find out the longer you lie on that hospital bed you don’t question the person with the medical degree. Now, before I sedate you, I am curious, how did you break your arm?”
“Playing an intense game of drunken corn-hole.”
Once the patient was under the influence of his charm Theon could precede with his real business.
Theon only possessed enough knowledge to cut people open and had no clue whatsoever how to fix broken bones. He knew how to perform medical surgery, because he had dissected an owl pellet in the sixth grade. When examining owl feces you search for tiny bones belonging to small animals their predator had digested.
Theon was searching for organs—not bones. Organs were on Theon's order sheet—not shattered bones. And Theon was on a very specific mission: the large intestine. He didn’t really know why one of his customers requested the organ, but Theon didn’t ask any prying questions to his clientele.
It was the medical instruments the doctors left in the hospital rooms that fascinated Theon the most. They were like toys for adults. These adult trinkets were far better than the tweezers you get while playing the board game Operation.
The cut down tray was the most basic tool. It had the dullest yet most useful instruments which included the metzenbaum scissors and the retractor, both of which are used when handling delicate human tissue. Theon’s favorite tool was the rib spreader. The instrument allowed him access to the gold mine that is the anatomy of the human body which God’s design alone wouldn’t allow otherwise.
The medical textbook propped up to the left of him was there as a force of habit. He no longer needed to be guided through the inner workings of the human body. He was the medical magician he pretended to be. As Theon began to pull the intestine from the abdomen he couldn’t help but feel like he was pulling the never ending scarf from his magician’s hat.
The large intestine reminded Theon of raw meat that you find in the cooler of the grocery store. It closely resembled polish sausage meat that was infested by red slugs that suctioned themselves onto the circular appendage.
Theon fed the intestine from the body to the ice inside of the cooler with great ease. Every couple of pulls Theon stopped to take out his tape measurer from inside his lab coat to check exactly how many feet of intestine he was taking from the college hunk. He couldn’t liberate the body of anymore more than 2.345 feet before it could drastically affect the digestive system.
Stitching up the skin was the most disgusting part of the entire process to Theon, because he heard far too many news stories on television about people who got off by putting on other people’s skin.
Theon left the sedated gullible college guy with a broken arm and only two feet of his large intestine.
He exited the hospital and walked briskly out to his vehicle which was stationed in the back parking lot. He dropped off the large intestine and picked up another empty red and white cooler.
Theon turned and stared at the outside of the hospital before making his way to the sliding glass doors.
***
Theon should really owe Thelma a thank you since it was her that gave him the brilliant idea of selling stuff on the Black Market. But Theon would probably never see her again, because this body parts gig was going swimmingly.
He had a pantry full of organic food for Muffy and Alvin. Theon thought about buying an oriental rug, but Alvin still kicked his feces around the apartment far too often. Theon started eating steak dinners four nights a week but still washed it down with his cheap canned beer.
Shortly after his small business took off Theon purchased an ice cream truck to sell his body parts out of. He thought it would help in maintaining the image of the business. The refrigeration system not only allowed the body parts to remain chilled but would also keep frozen peas frozen.
There was a plastic melted chocolate ice cream cone on top of the roof which appeared to be melting down the side of the vehicle. The button that controlled the ice cream jingle was broken, so whenever the engine was running the jingle was playing:
“I scream. You scream. We all scream for ice cream!”
This made the drive slightly more cheerful, even though being an ice cream man was one of the few odd jobs Theon had not worked. It deceived the children in his neighborhood, and often times they chased after the rusting truck in hopes of purchasing a popsicle. Theon never stopped the truck to explain to the children that he wasn’t selling mouth watering treats but was instead transporting dismembered body parts.
Theon even started handing out order sheets to his customers if he didn’t have a body part or skin color in stock.
Never again would Theon have to put ketchup on burgers or test the cushiness of couch cushions to provide for his family. Now, he was selling body parts on the black market and making a killing for a living.
And by sell, I actually mean steal.
***
Theon has always been amazed at how one incident can suck the joy right out of something that was once enjoyable. Some people have an uncanny ability to successfully be a drag. Theon wasn’t reminded of this until one day at work.
The Thursday started out like any other day: wake up at noon, eat a hearty breakfast, load up the business vehicle with the body parts and the family, drive to Kirk lane and make some serious moola.
Muffy sat on the passenger seat meowing at Alvin who was flying alongside of the truck.
Kirk lane is in the boonies even though Theon didn't like to use that word, because it apparently offended some people. You have to drive through fields of bay leaves, apple gourds and chicory—which is a coffee additive Theon had no intention of trying, because coffee and caffeine is bad for the body.
Theon left the apartment feeling bland, but every time he drove up to the market he felt just a slightly above common.
Kirk lane was like a carnival but only for people who wanted to sell things in a non conventional manner. The valuables which flooded the Black Market consumed a little over one mile of Kirk lane. The merchants lined their vehicles on either side of the road, leaving room in the middle for foot traffic, who were potential customers. Trucks functioned as makeshift store fronts for oscillating fans and pillow cases and coffee tables among other products that were deemed ‘unmentionables’ by the Black Market vendors.
Gordon, with the mullet, sells exhaust pipes for motorcycles jacked from motorcycles. Miss Pennington, the old lady with food always stuck in her teeth, sells flowers smuggled straight from Jamaica.
Theon pulled into the first available spot he could find which happened to be at the very end of the road. Right next to five foot Harry who managed a ferret stand.
Alvin, Muffy, and Theon were perched on the back bumper of the ice cream truck. It was an unusually slow day for the body parts business until a young girl, with long blonde braided pig tails, wandered by the polka dot truck.
“What do you sell?” she asked in the way most adolescent girls do, in that high pitched voice like they’re trying to be a charming when in reality they don’t have the slightest clue as to what charming is.
“Body parts of any variety. I sell hearts, colons, toes, and sinuses,” Theon replied, “But that’s not all. I sell fingers, ears, livers, vocal cords, eye balls, and tongues. Elbows and knees are the cheapest thing on the list. And I have more tonsils and appendix than I know what to do with.”
“Daddy! I found him!” the little girl hollered. No one by the name of Daddy answered.
“Little girl. I don’t think I am the one you’re looking for.”
“Yes you are. My mommy needs a new stomach. She says the one she has makes her eat too much.”
“It sounds like she just needs to stop eating so much.”
“Nope. The doctors say it is a chronic disease that needs to be fixed, like, right now. If they don’t then her stomach will go BOOM! inside of her body.”
“Well, your mom is in luck. I have a fresh stomach right here.”
Theon climbed through the obsolete ice cream truck window and started to take the lids off the coolers in search of the stomach he stole from an elderly old lady yesterday. He briefly thought about adopting a new organizational system.
“I am so happy you have a stomach,” the girl told Theon. “The hospital called today and they said Mommy was going to die because her stomach was stolen last night. Daddy’s great-aunt was going to donate her stomach to my Mommy. But when the doctors went to take her stomach to give it to my Mommy it was already gone. Isn’t that weird?”
Theon didn’t reply. He imagined nurses pushing gurney after gurney of dead people through the hospital hallways he had become so familiar with. Theon felt sick to his tummy in search of the girl’s mother’s stomach.
“I found your mom’s digestive hub,” he told the little girl; handing her the red and white cooler.
“How much do I owe you? My Daddy only gave me thirty-two dollars.”
“It’s on the house,” Theon said, patting the side of the ice cream truck.
The little girl thanked him and began to limp as she lugged her mom’s stomach through the crowd of people to go find Daddy. She turned back to Theon.
“You know you could probably sell the body parts to the hospital, because I bet they don’t know they can just come to the black market and buy them from you.”
The girl then disappeared into the crowd, leaving Theon with his parakeet and feline and all of the organic pet food in the pantry back at his apartment.
Theon Smith is forty-five years old, which is the appropriate age for a person’s life to fall apart. There was never anything special about Theon. He was ordinary looking except for the wire-rimmed glasses that made him look like he was straight off America’s Most Wanted. Theon used to be a business man, an entrepreneur, a money-making fellow. But Theon became even more ordinary when the economy went from sky high to rock bottom, along with his bank account. So he worked odd jobs as the ketchup man at fast food joints and delivering packages to the local hospital, retirement home, strip mall, and strip club. In spite of this, not enough money came in to provide for Theon and his family, which consisted of his parakeet Alvin and his feline Muffy.
Times were tough for the Smith clan and Theon was starting to feel inadequate, because as the sole bread winner in the family, he couldn’t provide his domesticated animals with the organic food they had a constant hankering for and deserved. Alvin would squawk at regular grub, and Muffy had gotten so skinny from being a snob that Theon knew he had to do something.
So he got a new job testing cushions on couches before they were sent out to the big name expensive furniture stores. As he plopped down on each cushion, Theon pondered why employers didn’t hire monkeys to do his job. Humans had successfully begun to lower themselves on the biological totem pole.
“Why don’t they hire monkeys to do this job?” Theon asked his manager, Thelma, one day as they were testing the cushiness of a cushion that belonged to a hideous orange and green floral sectional.
Thelma fit the stereotype that came along with the name Thelma. She had on blue eye shadow and smoked Pall Malls as if they were going to save her life.
Thelma replied, “I don’t know, buddy. But why don’t you be thankful for what you got instead of sitting around all day complaining about how your damn animals can’t eat their damn organic food grown in shit?”
“I just can’t bear to work odd jobs anymore.”
“You could strip,” said Thelma.
“No one would pay to see my beer gut,” replied Theon.
“You could have sex for money.”
“My previous statement still stands.”
“You could sell those damn animals on the Black Market.”
And that got Theon thinking.
***
Theon wasn’t going to give up his family to the Black Market. They were like his children, except Alvin and Muffy couldn’t talk or use a toilet, and they didn’t have thumbs.
So while drinking a can of cheap beer, Theon paced around the apartment rattling his business-oriented brain to conjure up a truly brilliant idea. You could be down and out on your luck, but one can always find a way to afford cheap alcohol to take the edge off.
First, Theon thought he would make cat toys, but then he felt far too eccentric and dismissed the thought. He couldn’t be mistaken for a crazy cat person. Then he thought about selling swim lessons. But then quickly realized he couldn’t swim.
“Maybe I could buy paint-by-numbers kits and pretend to be an artist,” Theon told Muffy, who didn’t seem to like the idea.
“You’re right Muffy. I don’t have enough money to buy the kits anyway. Currency will kill the US of A one day, and I hope I am not around to see the end of it.”
Theon slumped down to his bare hardwood floor. While slouched over he drank three more beers, leaving two in his pack. As he grabbed and stretched his saggy excess skin, Theon observed his legs, which were stretched out in front of him. He studied how strange knee caps looked when they weren’t propelling the human body to move forward. He thought about how human ankles resembled gears and contemplated what purpose the gallbladder actually served. To Theon, the human body was nothing but tiny gadgets joined together to create the most fascinating, yet deadly, biological machine of all.
Alvin screeched and kicked his feces all over the hardwood floor beneath his cage.
“Alvin, you really know how to make it rain shit,” said Theon. “Maybe I can pretend to be a heroin addict, and then I’ll qualify for welfare. Or I can lie about my age and receive a monthly social security check in the mail. But better yet, if I had a disability I could collect a check for that.”
Theon shuffled into the kitchen in search of the largest and sharpest knife he could find, which happened to be a wood-handle steak knife. He looked down at his left extremity and contemplated cutting it off. But when Theon rolled up his pant leg and put the serrated knife under his wrinkly knee cap he realized an amputation meant having a stump where the rest of the limb should be. Dismembering his own leg wasn’t as foolproof as it sounded in his head.
But Theon knew instantly what he could sell on the Black Market.
***
Theon was surprised at how quickly he found the contact information for the Black Market. The number could be found only one page after a slew of advertisements for bail bonds. The company didn’t have a competent marketing advertising department, because the entire ad was written in a font called Chiller. Theon thought that something illegal would be a smidgen less conspicuous.
The hotline number fell on page 837 in the Yellow Pages, which connects you to Donald, the hot shot in charge of the entire operation.
“You’re not the cops are you?” asked Donald in a gruff voice.
“No. Just a measly merchant trying to support my family.”
“And what is the nature of this call?”
“Well, I am a merchant trying to get a booth so I can sell-“
“We don’t believe in booths, sir. They’re far too ostentatious.”
Theon was baffled by this statement, because Donald’s number was listed in the phone book as Black Market CEO.
“What is it you’re going to be selling, sir?” asked Donald
Without hesitation Theon replied, “Body parts.”
“Not your own I hope.”
“No, no, no. Not my body parts.”
“Well, whose?”
“I am not at liberty to say. But I don’t think they would care.”
***
Every Wednesday night Theon dressed in his dollar store doctor garb, which consisted of a white lab coat, a stethoscope, the objects doctors bang on your knees with and the other contraptions they shove deep inside your ear canal so as to get a better look at the buildup of excess earwax. He would say “good-bye” to Muffy and Alvin in a high-pitched voice, much like people do when they are talking to babies who can’t understand them anyway.
It played to Theon’s advantage that he was ordinary looking, because it made hiding in plain sight at the hospital that much easier.
When the people with the real medial degrees weren’t keeping close watch on their patients Theon would slip into the rooms and spell out why his services were superior to those of the lousy hospital. Seeing as the general public was slowly inching its way to the poverty line, most people accepted Theon’s business proposition: an on the spot surgery performed at a drastically reduced rate.
Theon briskly walked to Room 437 and slipped through the unnecessarily heavy hospital door.
A college-age jock was lying on the hospital bed. He looked like any other young adult dude with blonde hair and tanned skin, but moaning like he had been shot in the stomach and was bleeding to death. His broken arm was at a ninety-degree angle to keep the blood flowing through his veins at a consistent rate.
When Theon entered the room the jock stopped moaning since he had something else to focus his attention on.
“Are you my doctor?” asked the wimpy guy in a whiney voice.
“I can be if you want it to be that way,” Theon replied in a professional tone. “I came into your room because it is obvious you’re in pain, and I think I can offer a second option to your medical needs. I can operate on your broken arm, right now, and get you mended up in no time.”
“You have no idea how much pain I’ve been in.”
“Lucky for you, I will perform the surgery for 62% less than your regular doc will charge you.”
“How do I know this isn’t a scam, or something?”
“Well, you don’t. But shouldn’t you have enough faith in the human race to take my word for it?”
The young twenty-something stared at his broken hand and pondered Theon’s philosophical question for a couple of moments.
“All right dude, let’s do this thing.”
After checking his patient’s vitals, Theon had a standard set of vital questions he always asked his patients: blood type, age, and medical history. Theon scribbled the information on a clipboard, even though doctors use what they in the medical field call ‘charts’.
“Before I sedate you-“Theon began.
“You have to sedate me for a broken arm?”
“You will find out the longer you lie on that hospital bed you don’t question the person with the medical degree. Now, before I sedate you, I am curious, how did you break your arm?”
“Playing an intense game of drunken corn-hole.”
Once the patient was under the influence of his charm Theon could precede with his real business.
Theon only possessed enough knowledge to cut people open and had no clue whatsoever how to fix broken bones. He knew how to perform medical surgery, because he had dissected an owl pellet in the sixth grade. When examining owl feces you search for tiny bones belonging to small animals their predator had digested.
Theon was searching for organs—not bones. Organs were on Theon's order sheet—not shattered bones. And Theon was on a very specific mission: the large intestine. He didn’t really know why one of his customers requested the organ, but Theon didn’t ask any prying questions to his clientele.
It was the medical instruments the doctors left in the hospital rooms that fascinated Theon the most. They were like toys for adults. These adult trinkets were far better than the tweezers you get while playing the board game Operation.
The cut down tray was the most basic tool. It had the dullest yet most useful instruments which included the metzenbaum scissors and the retractor, both of which are used when handling delicate human tissue. Theon’s favorite tool was the rib spreader. The instrument allowed him access to the gold mine that is the anatomy of the human body which God’s design alone wouldn’t allow otherwise.
The medical textbook propped up to the left of him was there as a force of habit. He no longer needed to be guided through the inner workings of the human body. He was the medical magician he pretended to be. As Theon began to pull the intestine from the abdomen he couldn’t help but feel like he was pulling the never ending scarf from his magician’s hat.
The large intestine reminded Theon of raw meat that you find in the cooler of the grocery store. It closely resembled polish sausage meat that was infested by red slugs that suctioned themselves onto the circular appendage.
Theon fed the intestine from the body to the ice inside of the cooler with great ease. Every couple of pulls Theon stopped to take out his tape measurer from inside his lab coat to check exactly how many feet of intestine he was taking from the college hunk. He couldn’t liberate the body of anymore more than 2.345 feet before it could drastically affect the digestive system.
Stitching up the skin was the most disgusting part of the entire process to Theon, because he heard far too many news stories on television about people who got off by putting on other people’s skin.
Theon left the sedated gullible college guy with a broken arm and only two feet of his large intestine.
He exited the hospital and walked briskly out to his vehicle which was stationed in the back parking lot. He dropped off the large intestine and picked up another empty red and white cooler.
Theon turned and stared at the outside of the hospital before making his way to the sliding glass doors.
***
Theon should really owe Thelma a thank you since it was her that gave him the brilliant idea of selling stuff on the Black Market. But Theon would probably never see her again, because this body parts gig was going swimmingly.
He had a pantry full of organic food for Muffy and Alvin. Theon thought about buying an oriental rug, but Alvin still kicked his feces around the apartment far too often. Theon started eating steak dinners four nights a week but still washed it down with his cheap canned beer.
Shortly after his small business took off Theon purchased an ice cream truck to sell his body parts out of. He thought it would help in maintaining the image of the business. The refrigeration system not only allowed the body parts to remain chilled but would also keep frozen peas frozen.
There was a plastic melted chocolate ice cream cone on top of the roof which appeared to be melting down the side of the vehicle. The button that controlled the ice cream jingle was broken, so whenever the engine was running the jingle was playing:
“I scream. You scream. We all scream for ice cream!”
This made the drive slightly more cheerful, even though being an ice cream man was one of the few odd jobs Theon had not worked. It deceived the children in his neighborhood, and often times they chased after the rusting truck in hopes of purchasing a popsicle. Theon never stopped the truck to explain to the children that he wasn’t selling mouth watering treats but was instead transporting dismembered body parts.
Theon even started handing out order sheets to his customers if he didn’t have a body part or skin color in stock.
Never again would Theon have to put ketchup on burgers or test the cushiness of couch cushions to provide for his family. Now, he was selling body parts on the black market and making a killing for a living.
And by sell, I actually mean steal.
***
Theon has always been amazed at how one incident can suck the joy right out of something that was once enjoyable. Some people have an uncanny ability to successfully be a drag. Theon wasn’t reminded of this until one day at work.
The Thursday started out like any other day: wake up at noon, eat a hearty breakfast, load up the business vehicle with the body parts and the family, drive to Kirk lane and make some serious moola.
Muffy sat on the passenger seat meowing at Alvin who was flying alongside of the truck.
Kirk lane is in the boonies even though Theon didn't like to use that word, because it apparently offended some people. You have to drive through fields of bay leaves, apple gourds and chicory—which is a coffee additive Theon had no intention of trying, because coffee and caffeine is bad for the body.
Theon left the apartment feeling bland, but every time he drove up to the market he felt just a slightly above common.
Kirk lane was like a carnival but only for people who wanted to sell things in a non conventional manner. The valuables which flooded the Black Market consumed a little over one mile of Kirk lane. The merchants lined their vehicles on either side of the road, leaving room in the middle for foot traffic, who were potential customers. Trucks functioned as makeshift store fronts for oscillating fans and pillow cases and coffee tables among other products that were deemed ‘unmentionables’ by the Black Market vendors.
Gordon, with the mullet, sells exhaust pipes for motorcycles jacked from motorcycles. Miss Pennington, the old lady with food always stuck in her teeth, sells flowers smuggled straight from Jamaica.
Theon pulled into the first available spot he could find which happened to be at the very end of the road. Right next to five foot Harry who managed a ferret stand.
Alvin, Muffy, and Theon were perched on the back bumper of the ice cream truck. It was an unusually slow day for the body parts business until a young girl, with long blonde braided pig tails, wandered by the polka dot truck.
“What do you sell?” she asked in the way most adolescent girls do, in that high pitched voice like they’re trying to be a charming when in reality they don’t have the slightest clue as to what charming is.
“Body parts of any variety. I sell hearts, colons, toes, and sinuses,” Theon replied, “But that’s not all. I sell fingers, ears, livers, vocal cords, eye balls, and tongues. Elbows and knees are the cheapest thing on the list. And I have more tonsils and appendix than I know what to do with.”
“Daddy! I found him!” the little girl hollered. No one by the name of Daddy answered.
“Little girl. I don’t think I am the one you’re looking for.”
“Yes you are. My mommy needs a new stomach. She says the one she has makes her eat too much.”
“It sounds like she just needs to stop eating so much.”
“Nope. The doctors say it is a chronic disease that needs to be fixed, like, right now. If they don’t then her stomach will go BOOM! inside of her body.”
“Well, your mom is in luck. I have a fresh stomach right here.”
Theon climbed through the obsolete ice cream truck window and started to take the lids off the coolers in search of the stomach he stole from an elderly old lady yesterday. He briefly thought about adopting a new organizational system.
“I am so happy you have a stomach,” the girl told Theon. “The hospital called today and they said Mommy was going to die because her stomach was stolen last night. Daddy’s great-aunt was going to donate her stomach to my Mommy. But when the doctors went to take her stomach to give it to my Mommy it was already gone. Isn’t that weird?”
Theon didn’t reply. He imagined nurses pushing gurney after gurney of dead people through the hospital hallways he had become so familiar with. Theon felt sick to his tummy in search of the girl’s mother’s stomach.
“I found your mom’s digestive hub,” he told the little girl; handing her the red and white cooler.
“How much do I owe you? My Daddy only gave me thirty-two dollars.”
“It’s on the house,” Theon said, patting the side of the ice cream truck.
The little girl thanked him and began to limp as she lugged her mom’s stomach through the crowd of people to go find Daddy. She turned back to Theon.
“You know you could probably sell the body parts to the hospital, because I bet they don’t know they can just come to the black market and buy them from you.”
The girl then disappeared into the crowd, leaving Theon with his parakeet and feline and all of the organic pet food in the pantry back at his apartment.
By: Liz Janonson