Feeling Montana

By Scott MacLeod

No, I don’t like when people call me that nickname, the title of the Pacino movie. Or more accurately the DePalma movie if you are the type to give flowers to the auteur over the scenery chewer. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve had to hear “say hello to my little…”. Well, actually I do, many times over. Still, I guess I’m a little sensitive about my medical history. So, kill a guy for exercising his HIPAA rights.

At one point I was famous for my lattice work of battle marks. Hard earned. Face like a road map. Then I went in for a whole new identity. Came out with a new unmarked face but all the cutting left a lot of telltale seams, if you know where to look. And the law knows. I was unrecognizable. But even a spanking new mug, if carved like a Christmas turkey, will make the guys and gals on the enforcement side suspish.

My most recent work was done in Venezuela and represents the cutting edge (if you’ll pardon my pun) of the art. No evidence or tattletale lines. That’s what the man said. All of my previous work was redone. Using a new technology that cross hatches synthetically grown skin in with the old and leaves no visible traces of where the skin is knitted together. Hard to believe I know but I did in fact emerge with a new kisser with nary a crease.

I’m at a meet downtown trying to arrange to unload some of my wares. The purchaser and I are sitting face to face in a loud club, music pulsing and lights flashing. With my new glow-up it seems the guy across the table doesn’t know me from Adam. My fresh look is as smooth as a baby’s bottom.

All of a sudden, the lights go out. I mean pitch black. You can’t see a thing. There’s a lot of shouting and hubbub on the dance floor. Until from across the table I see a faint glow. The guy’s holding a small plastic wand. Flashing black light in my eyes. My legion of surgery scars light up like a Christmas tree. My doc said his work would be invisible to the human eye. Didn’t say nothing about ultraviolet rays.

I’m cooked. I will come to learn that this amateur Madame Curie is not my buyer as advertised but some copper. Name of Comagee. I also came to discover the little gizmo he held is called a Woods lamp. Used by dermatologists to spot skin lesions and imperfections. And it made the evidence of my high-priced Caracas knife work pop off like the 4th of July. Live and learn.

I have a wry thought. I’ve heard it said that nothing goes better with a fresh nip and tuck than a sparkly new set of silver bracelets. I cross my wrists behind my back and on they go.

Scott MacLeod is a father of two who writes in Central Florida. His work has appeared in Punk Noir, Every Day Fiction, Bristol Noir, The Yard: Crime Blog, Short-story.me and Gumshoe Review, with more forthcoming. He can be found at http://www.facebook.com/scott.Macleod.334