The mysterious bony finger

The beeping of the alarm fades in your ears as you descend the steps into the dimly lit basement of the library. Your eyes dart around the hallway, but it seems to be deserted. Suddenly you catch a glimpse of black cloth sticking out from behind a stacks of books.
“Someone,” you think to yourself, “has gone to a lot of trouble to establish an ominous mood.” Not a good sign. Perhaps you should turn back. But then you think of Baja, and how much you need a vacation. It was a tough quarter, hard on the old GPA. Except of course, for that great Theater 1001 class: everyone knows there’s no easier class to get an A. But next quarter you won’t be so lucky. You turn the corner into the labyrinth of stacks.
Amid the dusty textbooks you spot your man. But wait! He’s standing with several others, muttering softly. You can only make out two words: “remove” and “liver.”
“That’s it,” you think to yourself. “I’m turning back.” But as you turn around you see a textbook on the shelf, “Contemporary Political Ideologies of Baja.” Your resolve fortified, you turn back around to make out what the people are saying.
“The key, of course, is to use only the freshest hearts, ones that can survive the plane trip overseas in the icebox, hearts that can take a licking and — what is the expression — keep on ticking?”
You feel a chill all the way to your bones as you realize what he means. The rumors of an organ black market being run out of Walter Library are true! “Horror upon horror!” you gasp, when suddenly you feel somebody behind you poke your rib cage with a bony finger.
“These will do nicely,” he says.
As the others move in, you realize you are finished. Your only consolation is that at least some part of you will make it to some tropical locale. But for the rest of your innards, this adventure has come to an end.