Untainted by Syphilis

Previously: The sisters were just trying to deliver a filmstrip but found themselves waylaid by a musket, pee-wee gangsters, toxic fumes, toxic canal water, toxic explosives, and toxic personalities. They manage to prevail but only by doing what I assume is irreparable damage to their gastrointestinal systems.

— 48 —

About fifteen minutes later, Batya and Mina limp through an airlock, a decontamination corridor, an antiseptic mist room, and then into the head offices of White Clinic.

WHITE CLINIC, NOW WITH THREE LOCATIONS IN FORT HOOK, PLUS ONE OFFSHORE: It’s not the oldest brothel franchise in town but it’s definitely the most sanitary. Certainly superior to what you were stuck with in the old days: mephitic shacks like the Lamprey, which, despite being called a soapland, had a shall we say lackadaisical approach to hygiene. It was so bad that a physician named Lenora White set up shop next door and exclusively treated customers on their way out. She made a tidy profit and eventually started hiring her own sex workers, guaranteed disease-free and better at their job to boot. Thus White Clinic was born, and even though today it is the most modern of corporations, offering innovative and wide-ranging services with an array of convenient payment options, it still operates under its original tagline: Heartfelt Companionship Untainted by Syphilis or Genital Blight.

Bat’s never been here before and finds her curiosity vibrating at an unfamiliar frequency. Her head is already awash with a mishmash of confused feelings, thanks to the recent spikes of adrenaline, the physical exertion, the inhalation of various toxic gases, and whatever Margaret’s tuning fork did to her psyche. And this place just adds to the confusion, giving her usual post-violence horniness an even more complicated layer of emotion that she has no interest in analyzing at the moment.

Fully fumigated, they enter the greeting area, so blank and pristine that it hurts Bat’s eyes. There’s no texture or color to break up the space. She couldn’t even tell you how big the room is, which is disturbing for an inveterate escape-planner like her.

She’s surprised to see that the receptionist recognizes her sister: “Miss Wilhelmina, I didn’t expect to see your lovely face today.” She stands to greet them and Bat sees she’s wearing a loose-fitting shift with several tail-like plastic tubes trailing from the small of her back over to a vent in the wall, unfortunately reminding her of Donna the Magic Cow’s milking apparatus.

Mina says, “An associate named Estra Maxie asked us to pinch-hit.”

The receptionist now gets a better look at the two sad sacks in front of her. “Goodness! I hope there wasn’t trouble on our account.”

“Nothing we couldn’t barely handle.”

“Can I get you some deionized water?” the receptionist asks. “Or a prescription painkiller, or a decadent shower?”

“Yes,” Bat says.

“This is my sister, Batya. They let her out of the asylum once a year to see the sun. Bat, this is Nozomi.”

“Hello!” Nozomi says. “How blessèd I am to bear witness to this annual event.”

Bat salutes for some reason. “Truth is, Miss Wilhelmina here is too old to be any use to the workforce, so I’ll be covering her clients after she gets put down.”

“You two are a spicy bouillabaisse,” Nozomi says, distracted by the canister in Bat’s hands. “Is that…what I think and hope it is?”

“Who knows,” Bat says, handing it to her.

She eagerly pops off the lid with the tips of her manicured nails and removes a small spool of celluloid. She holds it up to some unknown light source and skims through it frame by frame. “It is! My my. We finally got some footage. Estra never lets us down.”

“Footage of what?” Bat asks.

“A special something called…shakini.”

“What’s shakini?”

Mina glares at Bat: We do not ask about what we deliver.

Bat glares at Mina: We do if we really want to know and we just got beat up real good about it.

“Oh heavens,” Nozomi says. “I shouldn’t have said anything. But! Since I already did! I will tell you more! Because I am bursting! Please, sit.” She escorts them over to her glass desk with a glass phone and glass appointment book on it. “It’s a new move we’re developing. I mean, it’s not new, it’s very old—one of the oldest!—but we’re trying to update it for the modern era.”

“A sex move,” Bat says, sitting down.

“You may know it as the one-and-done.”

“Like a one night stand?”

“No,” Nozomi says, looking around conspiratorially at the zero other people in the room. “One thrust.” She rolls the R.

Bat makes ye olde finger-in-hole gesture, penetrating it a single time rather than her usual ten or twelve.

“That’s it exactly,” Nozomi says.

“So the fella does one big poke in my hairhole—”

“Batya,” Mina whispers. “In polite society, we call it a puss-puss.”

“…just one poke in the puss-puss?”

“Doesn’t have to be a gentleman, or that particular orifice,” Nozomi says. “But one big poke, as you put it, delivers instant satisfaction for all parties.”

Bat sits back in her chair and steeples her fingers. “That sounds…very efficient.”

“My sister prides herself on the quickness of her quickies,” Mina says.

“We feel it will be a hugely popular option, assuming we can get enough staffers to master it. It is quite demanding. But we’re hoping this little film here will help with the training. You don’t even want to know what Estra went through to acquire it.”

“Yes I do,” Bat says.

“Do you have anyone available who can do it?” Mina asks. “Tonight?”

Bat swivels her chair toward Mina, fingers still steepled, raises one eyebrow the best she can (not great). “You looking for a date?”

“I was actually thinking of setting you up. As a gift. A welcome to the team sort of gift. On me. By which I mean on the company.”

“Uh,” Bat says. “You can’t just spring this on a gal.”

“I sense that it’s been a while.”

“Gross, don’t sense that.”

“We do provide house calls to Hawthorne Grain,” Nozomi says. “It’s part of our extremely complex arrangement with Ms. Feddema. I can’t, in good conscience, promise you an injury-free shakini, but perhaps there’s some other very efficient service we could provide?”

Bat takes a long breath. She looks at the sterile floor. She says, “Mina, go over there somewhere and hum a song or something.”

“Attagirl,” Mina says, walking some unknown distance away. (Bat’s sense of perspective is still all messed up in here.)

She leans in and so does Nozomi. “First off, I’d prefer a man, OK? And he should be shorter than me. And I know you’re all about clean but I don’t want him too clean, maybe he runs around the block a couple times before coming over. And it’d be great if he was a little stupid. And he should be fast. Doesn’t have to be shakini fast but in that ballpark. And afterward I want him to tell me my fortune. It can be whatever, he can make something up, but I want to wrap up with that.”

Nozomi jots down a few notes. “I absolutely love everything about this. Anything else we should know? Allergies? Phobias?”

“I’m on my period, if that matters.”

“Even better. I already have someone in mind.” She takes out a sharp white business card that says I CERTAINLY DO APOLOGIZE on the front. She flips it over to the other side which reads YOU ARE QUITE WELCOME and writes Lucas and slides it over to Bat. “What time tonight?”

“Uh, ten or eleven?” Bat says. “I want him out before midnight, I don’t need this going into tomorrow.”

“I’m getting goosebumps,” Nozomi says, showing Bat her perfectly smooth forearm. “Oh, before I forget, let me settle up the bill for your courier services. I promise your tip will be as handsome as tonight’s visitor.”

“That’s the best news I’ve had all week,” Bat says. “I gotta get some new pants.”

Nozomi smiles, starts counting out twenties. “I must admit, I’ve never seen anyone more in need.”

+++

This has been Chapter 48 of Chokeville, a novel by Josh Fireland.

Next up: The Strangle Snare