Read Dead Ringer for Free Online

, his business up and running, read an article in the Seattle Times about a morgue worker in Los Angeles busted for selling body parts on the black market.
    How stupid not to have seen it. A cremated body represented huge profits that were quite literally going up in smoke. So he did a little research into the cadaver business and discovered just how much could be made from a fully harvested, disassembled body. Not only that, but there were demands for body parts for surgical demonstrations and medical schools.
    He added two optional programs to his menu of traditional funeral service: the medical research program and the bodyrecycling program. The research program pitch went like this: the mortuary would cremate your loved one free of charge if the body was first donated to science. Meaning it could be used for teaching purposes. Once the teaching was completed, all the parts would be collected and cremated and the ashes returned to the family.
    The recycling program had a different spin. Body parts would be donated to recipients. The brochures stressed the heartrending need for corneas, skin, and bone, playing up how much this helped the grateful recipients’ quality of life.
    The problem was that although the discount funeral part of the program caught on with people who couldn’t afford a traditional mortuary, to Ditto’s dismay, the option of donating bodies or body parts for medical research didn’t fly. People just couldn’t seem to get their heads around chopping up Mom or Dad for the advancement of science. Ditto took this as a prime example of people’s callous disrespect for fellow human beings.
    Then it dawned on him: why not take the parts anyway? So many people were opting for cremation there was plenty of opportunity. Fuck it. No one was looking. And here was the beautiful thing: he could steal what he wanted—a little skin here, a few ligaments there—and who would be the wiser? Especially since cremated remains always seemed to weigh more than people expected considering the size of the box. Who would know if Grandma’s ashes were intact? And from that day on, they never were.
    If you thought about it, each body had two legs, two arms, a head, and a torso. Each piece profitable. But if you sold off all the parts, where did you get ashes for the family? Easy. Once in a while, he took care of bodies of the homeless. His civic duty, as he saw it. Those ashes that nobody wanted, he could“bank” until he needed them. Plus, who the hell could tell if they got all their loved one’s ashes? Holding back a little here and there, he could build up quite the savings account. Then, when a primo body came in, all the parts could be sold off and the family given banked ashes. And when things got tough and the bank low, there were always dogs and cats to cremate.

    D ITTO AND GERHARD STAYED in contact, and two tours of duty later Gerhard mustered out and came to work at the funeral home. One evening they were sitting in Ditto’s living room drinking beer and listening to Bob Seger complain about working men’s problems and bullshitting just like old times when Ditto asked, “You like this job?”
    Leo shrugged. “Guess so.”
    “You like the money?”
    Leo grinned. “Sure.” He salted away every cent. Only God knew what he was saving for. Ditto sure didn’t. No kids, no wife. But he knew Leo had grown up dirt-poor and probably had a fear of ever living like that again.
    Ditto said, “I’m paying you fifty grand a year, right?” Plus benefits .
    Gerhard walked to the kitchen with the empties. “Ready for another?”
    Seeing as he was on call that night, Ditto thought better of it. “Nah, but go ahead.” He heard the clatter of aluminum cans drop into the recycle bin.
    Gerhard returned, levering the tab open with a pffsshh . “Yeah, I guess fifty grand. Why?”
    “How’d you like to make more?”
    Leo grinned again. “Could always use a bit more. What’re we talking about?”
    “What if I