Jason was standing in a Starbucks parking lot, stressed and upset, staring at the object lying on the ground.

He had picked up his first ride in Hollywood, near the corner of Fountain and Vine. As he approached the intersection, he saw a slim brunette, early 20s, waving her arm in his direction. She had a large suitcase, which he wrestled into the trunk of his Toyota Camry, and a camouflage cloth purse that extended nearly to her knees. She wept all the way to the Los Angeles airport, never explaining her dramatics.

Jason had barely done one loop around the airport when he was notified of his next ride. He picked up a ponytailed man, glasses held together with duct tape, heading home to the west side. During the thirty minute ride, the man was engaged in an animated discussion on his cell, using obtuse jargon that Jason couldn’t understand.

The man gave him a three-star rating, a three-star rating! Was he blaming Jason for the traffic on the 405? Nutcase. He needed a coffee. At Starbucks, he would stay and knock out an assignment due the next day for American Lit.

Jason opened the trunk and grabbed his computer. He spotted a plastic grocery bag, knotted at the top. It wasn’t his, which meant only one thing. Either the girl or the nutcase had left a personal belonging in his car.

When he picked up the plastic bag, something heavy shifted inside. He untied the top and looked. He blinked and looked again. It was a joke, a sick joke. A Halloween toy even though it was February.

He picked up the severed foot and immediately dropped it where it landed with a sickening thud on the asphalt parking lot. The foot was real. He could see that now. It was a man’s foot, thick and muscular, with cracked yellowed toenails. There were torn tendons just below where the ankle should have been; dried blood caked the bottom. His stomach roiled with nausea.

His phone rang.

“Yes?” Jason whispered.

“I left a bag in your trunk and we need to figure out how I can retrieve it. As soon as possible.”

His eyes swiveled to the foot on ground. “A bag?” His heart raced. “I don’t know what you mean.”
What could he say? What should he do? Should he just hang up and call the police?

“Where are you now?”

Jason stared at the tall palm tree that swayed above him for answers. He stuttered, “I, I can’t say.”

“You don’t know where you are?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“What then?”

Jason blurted, “I’m calling the police, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“What? Wait.” The voice was urgent. “You think I stole it and now you want money from me so you don’t call the police, is that it?”

Jason was shocked speechless. Was this turning into a ransom situation with a severed foot? This city was full of sickos and he was getting out of town as soon as possible. Fuck the six months left on his lease.

He was pressing the disconnect button when her soft voice flowed up to him.

“Uber man, please don’t hang up. I was fired from my studio job yesterday and I’m at the airport going back to Ohio. I got that prop from the show I was working on, maybe you know it? The Executioner? Anyway, my best friend in the costume department gave it to me because it’s my favorite. I know it’s cool-looking and probably valuable but I don’t have much money to give you. And my plane is leaving in, like an hour, and I’m probably never coming back to L.A. so . . . “

It was fake? Jason squatted next to the man’s foot. He prodded it with a forefinger. He picked it up and tugged at a tendon. It was amazing what those Hollywood geniuses could do with plastic foam and paint.

“No money. I can be at the airport in thirty minutes,” Jason said. “Can you meet me outside Terminal 1 at the yellow curb?”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll be there.” There was a pause. “You didn’t think the foot was actually real, did you?”

Jason snorted into the phone. “Are you kidding me? I’m from L.A. and we see all kinds of crazy shit in this town.”