Bod-Mod
"Good morning, Sir, " the stunning receptionist said. "Welcome to Bod-Mod. How may I help you?"
"I’m here to pick up my wife."
"What’s her last name?"
"Brown. She’s supposed to be released in an hour. I’m so excited. I can’t wait to see her."
"Believe me, I understand," the receptionist said. "My husband felt the same way when he came for me after my face-mod."
"You had facial modifications?"
"Oh yes. Bet you don’t believe I’m gonna be fifty-seven next week. I don’t mind telling people how old I am anymore."
Brown was amazed. She looked like a teenager.
"They’re truly masters in the art of body modification," she said.
"They sure are," said Brown. "If you don’t mind me asking, what Bod-Mod package did you get?"
"The Super Deluxe. What did you order for your wife?"
"Econo."
"That’s our most popular package for folks on tight budgets. I’m sure you’ll be highly satisfied with her nip and tuck work. We do several hundred a month. Haven’t had any complaints yet." Then she added, "While you’re waiting, perhaps you’d like to see our latest brochure. It describes our newest services. Maybe you’ll see something that interests you. In fact, we’re having a special. If you sign up today, there’s a twenty-percent discount on all body modifications."
"Frankly, I like my face the way it is."
"Oh, we do far more than faces. I think you’ll be quite surprised by our newest services. Why don’t you have a seat while I call the nurse’s station? I’ll let them know you’re here, and find out if your wife can leave a bit early."
Brown eased into a chair. Flipping through the pages of the brochure, he noticed a picture of a man with three arms. The caption above the photo said: "Now I can do almost twice the work." Intrigued, Brown read the testimonial below the man’s picture. "My company is so thrilled with my increased performance, they gave me a big raise. Now I can make more widgets than ever. And when I play baseball, I never miss a catch. Thanks, Bod-Mod."
The next page showed a bald spot on the back of a woman’s head. An eye sat in the center. "I sure love my third eye. Being a detective, I can do far more surveillance than ever before. My caseload has increased three-fold since you added it to my head. Thanks for including little extras, like making a special floppy hat with a slit in the back. Helps me see everything that’s going on behind me without anyone noticing. My income has tripled. I’ll be back next year for another modification. I love you guys. You’re the best!"
"Mr. Brown," the receptionist called. "There seems to be a problem. The nurse’s station said there’s nobody in the face-lift area named Brown. They’ve checked the computer, and it says the same thing. According to the computer, we haven’t had a patient named Brown since last year."
"Your computer’s wrong. I checked her in here five days ago. Then I went outta town to a funeral. Just got back on the redeye. Maybe I can go inside and talk to the nurses. I’ll show them my wife’s picture. I’m sure they’ll remember her."
"I’m sorry, Sir. This is a highly secure area. Nobody’s permitted beyond those doors."
"I wanna see a manager!" Brown yelled.
She reached under the desk and pressed a panic button.
Moments later, a well-dressed man showed up. "I’m Roger Friendly. Bod-Mod’s Business Manager. Is there a problem?"
"This man came to pick up his wife," the receptionist said. "But the nurse’s station said she’s not here. The computer confirms it. In fact it says she’s never been one of our clients."
"And you’re Mister…"
"Brown. My wife’s gotta be here. I checked her in for a face-lift five days ago. Haven’t seen her since. She’s supposed to be released this morning. But they’re saying she ain’t even here."
"Are you sure you have the right place? This is Bod-Mod Incorporated. Several other body modification companies are located in this medical plaza."
"This is the place I dropped her off," Brown insisted.
"Do you have a claim check?" Friendly asked.
"Yes. Right here. And a copy of the contract,"
Friendly examined the claim check and flipped through the contract.
"You’re just stalling," Brown said. "I wanna see her immediately. I bet you messed up her face real bad and you’re hiding her somewhere. If you don’t bring her out here real fast, I’m gonna call the cops."
"Hold on a minute, Mr. Brown. Can you actually prove she ever walked through these doors? How do we know this clam check and contract isn’t forged, and that you aren’t a con artist? Go ahead and call the police. Know what they’ll say? ‘Without proper evidence there’s no proof she was ever here.’ We have lawyers right in this building. Should I get one to explain how we can bury you in court?"
Just then, Friendly’s cell phone rang. Stepping away from Brown, he said, "It’s not my job to sign shipping documents. Your manager’s supposed to handle that. Did you say this is a special case? How special? Oh, I see. Good thing you called me. Listen…call Legal. Tell them to send somebody to the loading dock immediately. And tell your manager to be there as well. Don’t let anybody touch anything. I’ll be there in about five minutes."
Smiling, Friendly said, "Mr. Brown, would you mind going for a short stroll?"
"Why?"
"We found your wife."
When they arrived at the loading dock, several people were standing around a large crate.
"I’m afraid there’s been a terrible mistake," Friendly said. "Your wife’s in this crate."
"Good Lord!"
"Don’t worry," a lawyer said. "She’s perfectly fine. It’ll only take twelve hours to defrost her. Meanwhile, you can wait in the Executive Lounge, and join us for lunch."
"Forget it! I wanna know what’s going on. Why do you hafta defrost my wife in the middle of summer?"
"It seems that one of our employees accidentally outsourced your wife’s face-lift."
"Outsourced? Whadda ya mean?"
"Without anybody’s permission, one of our newer employees---a Mr. Zack---decided to send the work off premises. He thought he was helping us increase profits. I’m sure you’re aware how foreigners will work for a fraction of the wages we pay in this country."
"Where’d they send her?" Brown yelled. "Mexico?"
"No. Mars."
"You gotta be kidding!"
"I assure you, we’re as distressed as you are. It’s not our policy to outsource work. If it makes you feel any better, we just fired Zack. Without severance pay."
"Where’s that bastard’s office?" Brown hollered. "I’m gonna break him in half!"
"He left rather suddenly. He sends you his deepest apologies. He assured the Martians do high quality work."
"Open that crate. I wanna see my wife."
At the lawyer’s nod, they pried open the wooden slats. Pushing away piles of foam peanuts, they found a block of ice. Brown’s nude wife lay within the ice.
"Oh Lord!" Brown yelled. "Look at her chest! They’re gone!"
"Turn the block over," the lawyer ordered. When they did, everyone saw two breasts jutting from her back.
"What have they done to my wife?" Brown yelled.
Friendly glanced at the work order. "It seems the body modifier on Mars, decided to bring your wife up to Martian beauty standards. Don’t worry. We’ll switch them back at no charge. Tell you what. We’ll give her new ones. Any size and color you want. And we’ll throw in a dozen coupons for free dinners at Chang’s Chinese buffet."
"I wanna see her face so I can tell how the face-lift turned out."
They tilted the block of ice upward for easier viewing.
Brown threw up.
"We’ll fix everything," Friendly said. "In six months, she’ll be almost as good as new. And you’ll probably be able to recognize her. On the other hand, we’d make it worth your while to consider other options."
"What options?" Brown asked, wiping vomit from his chin.
The lawyer spoke. "Mr. Brown, have you seen the latest Mercedes convertibles? I mean the really loaded ones? I hear they handle fabulously. Especially on winding roads along the coast of the posh French Riviera, where an all expense-paid resort vacation can be arranged."
"Vacation on the Riviera with a convertible? Brown asked.
"Plus a huge wardrobe of tailor made clothes and generous cash allowance for trinkets and souvenirs. Not to mention being pampered 24/7 by bevies of geisha-trained, French beauties."
"Well…I…"
"There’s also a cash option."
‘She was a good cook," Brown said. "Kept the house spotless."
"Two million," the lawyer said. "Nobody, except us, the Martian shipping company, and the Martian body modifier company will ever know about this. We’ll incinerate the crate and its contents immediately. Then we’ll alter shipping records and grease Martian palms. What do you think?"
"She brought home a decent pay check. Mowed the lawn. Didn’t smoke or drink. Did you say two million five?"
"That can be arranged," said the lawyer.
"Tax free?"
"Absolutely."
"It’s not that I don’t love her."
"We understand," Friendly said, sounding like a funeral director. "We’re sensitive to adjustment problems associated with the untimely loss of a dearly beloved spouse. Sign here."
Brown left a rich man. He immediately boarded a flight for Brazil, which has vaguely-defined extradition treaties with the United States.
"This is the best scam you ever conceived," Brown told Zack who greeted him at Rio’s airport. "Your getting a job at Bod-Mod was truly inspired. We’ll never miss the five hundred we paid that washed-out boozer to pose as my wife. Nice how you hacked Bod-Mod’s computer to delete her records. Outsourcing her was absolutely brilliant. How much did you pay the Martian to botch everything up?"
"Ten bucks." Zack said. "Ain’t outsourcing wonderful?"