Part 4

“This is private property. You are trespassing. Please leave.”

Blackburn grunted with a nod.

“Did you hear me? Get out.”

Blackburn turned his bruised and cut face to him. Their eyes met. Blackburn didn’t budge. The man bowed his head, and spat on the ground.

“What the hell happened to you? You a dunce?”

Blackburn handed him the crumpled, blood-soaked business card and said, “Maddox.”

“Why didn’t you say so.” The man smiled. “Come. Come in. We treat our shareholders well.” The man stepped away from the car. Blackburn stepped out and followed him.

The door led to a small, worn-down kitchen. It smelled like a dirty wet rag. Mud from many boots dirtied the floor. Dishes and takeout containers were piled on the counter, and a calendar on the wall read “November 2025, 7535 from Adam and Eve.” A bald man in a leather jacket sat in the corner, reading his phone and drinking tea from a small glass with a silver handle. A large, dishevelled local in a lumber jacket sat on the other side of the kitchen. He stared at three monitors and breathed heavily.

“Sit. Have some tea. It’s a busy morning.” The man poured black tea in another glass with a silver handle and slid it over.

“Help yourself if you need.” He pointed to the bowl of blue pills.

Someone thudded and shuffled behind the walls. Then he saw it. He saw the monitors: three locked rooms, three men, and three frightened young women. The rooms were staged to sell different fantasies – dark and dangerous, elegant and classy, and innocent and sweet. The men were grimy and rough, and the women looked pale, exhausted, and trapped, laying still, holding still. A voluptuous girl was undressing a man, a tall girl was holding still, the third girl could not be seen, and a man in her room stood by the door fixing his Stetson. Blackburn could not admit to himself what he was seeing. His stomach churned. He pushed away the tea and starred out the window, where the bare trees swayed in the wind.

Footsteps approached and door opened. The man in the hat walked out. He wore a shirt with a little cross on the collar. It was the mayor.

“How was she?”

The mayor grinned and pulled at his belt.

“Yes, sir!” he yelped excitedly and scratched himself.

“Didn’t I tell you?” the man grinned.

“I’ll be back next month.”

“Anytime.”

The mayor walked out.

The man in the lumberjack jacket turned to Blackburn.

“You go. I wait for the fat one.”

Blackburn didn’t move.

“Come on, man. You’ll like it. This one is special. Brand new flavour.”

Blackburn stood up and slowly followed. The churn in his stomach shifted to a rage pounding in his head. His breath deepened. The door opened onto dirty white walls, a colourful rug, dirty curtains, and stained sheets.

“Rules are simple: condoms always. No hitting, no biting, no damage. Otherwise, do as you will. As a friend of the company, this one’s on the house. Next time, it’s a flat rate per hour. You have an hour. Your shoes. Please, remove.”

Blackburn stepped out of his boots and walked in. The door closed behind him.

He heard water splash, and then a girl in a lavender dress walked out from behind a curtain. He could see her small, five-foot body through the fabric. Her face was gaunt and eyes wide, as if she spent her life in adrenaline-fueled, fight-or-flight response. She walked up to him and smiled a tired smile. She put her hands on his chest.

“I take jacket, yes?” she asked in broken English, and started to undress him. He didn’t move.

“Come.”

He sat on the bed, and she climbed on top of him. She weighed nothing. With her arms around his neck, her hips undulated against him. She smelled of laundry soap and mouthwash. She leaned back and her dress rolled up and exposed her hips. She started to work the buttons of his shirt.