Misconceptions Part 5

The crimson began spilling out of the stomach, the rib cage broken easily. Jason awoke – an unfortunate incident that lead to unnecessary screaming, and a peculiar and deeply moving exchange of looks between Jason and Maurice. The cost of business reasoned Maurice.

A skilled surgeon, it wasn’t long before the screaming was over, the organs out and the deal finished.

“Where did you learn to do that? They don’t teach that kind of art to people of the bush in my country,” said the pirate.

Maurice ignored him and threw the heart on to the operating table, it’s last flutters spewing blood all over the floor.

“Maybe I want that heart. It looks healthy.”

“It’s no good,” said Maurice licking his fingers clean. “You need to move the heart immediately. And since you didn’t want it, I killed it. Now give me my money and get the fuck out of here.”

The sounds of the pipes, taped together with duct tape to keep the water from leaking out, clanked amongst the turbulent silence during the moments just after Asif had left.

There was little left in the dark room except for Maurice and an open body, its foul stench not out of place in this dump; the rotting corpse, already in its silent roar of decomposition, breaking apart at the finger tips.

Maurice arrived at the sink and turned the tap and his mind began flowing consciousness. The hard day had brought its share of work to Maurice. There were drugs to be moved, kids to be fed and men to be picked up. This man who lay before Maurice was a coincidence, just like the unexpected gift of life, his death was a left-field profit. It was his intention to take this man. Killing this man and licking his blood was just the end. Finding him was another matter. Perhaps this man had a wife and children. Perhaps he helped the little ghetto kids of East Harlem get involved in sports. Maybe he was a saint. But to Maurice, he was the next number in his taxi. He was a found cadaver derivative, to be used and discarded as quickly as possible. He was a commodity. He had been used to its full potential. He could have been a pirate’s slave. But there was no interest. There was the party at the East Harlem Hall this weekend. Lots of B-Boys and B-Girls would be breaking dancing to whatever the DJ was sweating out. The car needed to be fixed. And had someone fed the cat? Yes the thoughts kept on coming… until they stopped.

Cool water smothered hands, then soap and a towel. A profitable day had been had.

“All’s well that end’s well,” said Maurice in to the mirror. In the reflection he noticed the heart, and the mirror throbbed. He shook his head. “All’s well.”