Free Dead Ringer by Allen Wyler

immediate turn off. Not so with Cathy.
    They sit in a booth in an Indian restaurant on their first date, eating tandoori chicken, naan, salad, and a bottle of wine. Cathy asks, “How’d you get stared in the mortuary business?”
    “Simple: when I was a kid, I worked for my dad. So when I joined the Army they made me a mortician. I got out and wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to do, so went to work for one.” With a shrug, “Here I am.”
    She seems to hang on every word. “No, I mean, how did you get the idea for the budget business. That’s really very canny.”
    He smiles at the memory. “I went to Wal-Mart one day. As I got out of the car—it was raining hard as hell—I looked up, saw the sign, thought of their slogan, Live Better, Save Money . The rest just followed.”
    “And the body parts business?” she asks.
    “I figured it shouldn’t have to cost a family an arm and a leg to pay for a cremation.”
    They both laugh, but she has no way of knowing that’s his and Gerhard’s private joke.
    She seems to enjoy hearing about his business … so Ditto piles it on, “Med schools use bodies mostly to teach normal anatomy, so they’re very picky about what they accept.”
    She flashes him a get-serious look.
    “I’m serious. Check out the UW’s website. It’s all there. We won’t take your body if you have diseases like hepatitis, HIV, orobesity. Damn ridiculous, if you ask me. Obesity? Hell, bring it on! A fatty has more skin than a skinny macrobiotic. And there was nothing wrong with a fatty’s ligaments, bones, or hair either. Why waste any of it? What we do is recycling at its best.
    By the time he and Cathy finished the wine he was explaining how conscientious recycling was a mind-set he valued so much he’d made it the cornerstone of DFH’s corporate culture. Throughout the building he’d placed color-coded bins for paper, plastic, glass, metal. He believed every attempt to recycle, no matter how seemingly insignificant, helped Mother Earth survive the heavy footprints of our wasteful society. She nodded agreement, then blew his brains out with a smile. Damn! A looker and a believer.
    He still couldn’t believe his luck.
    He answered the phone, not bothering to check caller ID. “Ditto here.”
    “It’s Leo. Okay to discuss business?”
    “Yeah. I’m alone. Shoot.”
    “The news I got isn’t what you’re gonna want to hear. Apparently McRae does know him.” Gerhard’s voice sounded strained.
    Fuck . High as the odds were against this happening, apparently it had. Ditto started pacing.
    Last night Ditto had spent hours tossing and turning, staring at the shadowy ceiling, considering the consequences of this possibility. If it had happened at any other time, he’d shrug it off, and say “So what?” What was McRae going to do about it? Long as that specimen got back here and into the oven, McRae wouldn’t have diddly-squat to back up his claim. It’d be his word against the DFH Inc. records. But there was that fuckingdetective too. That changed the equation. Because in spite of what the records showed, it really had been Baer in the back of the vehicle. Who knew what might be found if the cops went over the Suburban looking for evidence.
    “This McRae, what’s your take on him?”
    “You asking if he’s going to be a problem? Fuck, yes. He threatened as much.”
    “He can threaten all he wants. We just need to make sure no one believes him. Get the specimens back here tomorrow.”
    “Got it. Thought you’d want to know is all.”
    “I do. Thanks for the head’s up. But what you need to know is a detective dropped by asking about the Suburban. Apparently someone noticed the other night when you made a pickup.”
    “Shit.”
    “Yeah, shit is right. But nothing’s going to come of it if we take care of things correctly.”
    “You can count on me.”
    “I do. And thanks. Have a safe trip.” Ditto clicked off and replaced the phone in its charger. He returned to the