Drillmington: Car Wash

By massaging his temples, Sate felt a sense of what he was doing had no moral justification. He did it for the pure hellish conditions of the practice. He used steel balls and grips to relax his nerves. The faint screams of the women in captivity rankled him. He shut his steel door. Now, it felt like a steel trap. He looked at his shelves and noticed he had plenty of trophies. Amongst the debris of pictures littering the space, he had captured locks of hair, tampons, panties, and the occasional cigarette lighter.

He let them smoke but they had to be with a john first. They would have had to lure the prospectuve client and allowed him to light up their smoke. Sate moved across the room with a dragging kind of motion like he had a bad leg. He sat back at his desk. He looked around cursed. He kept thinking about losing money due to soldiers being picked up for trafficking. They never told, though. Nevertheless, he was still pissed. This was his natural state. He was critically unhappy. He looked at his diamond encrusted watch. His screwface seemed to push forward from his face.

It appeared as if he couldn’t take any more of the way that people stared at him. He couldn’t take the fact that there was a significant difference in the amount of people he employed and his trafficked women. Though he couldn’t hear their yelps and pleas, he knew he had to beef up his workforce or face being caught himself. Three of his men and one woman designsted as being a liason to the women, had been picked up by the police.

Sate knew he had to do something to meet them all together. His operation was so expansive. It connected to Maryland, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania with headquarters in Dover, Delaware.When he thought about the money he could be making nationside or statewide he kind of hated the thought. He hated money. He felt that what he was doing was good and that money was just a handmaiden to what he wanted to do.

“Sir,” a worker named Drayer interrupted Sate’s contemplative state. He didn’t want to break from it, but he knew he had to.

“What the hell is it this time,” Sate questioned with venom.

“Sir, there’s a possible breach.” The work hand looked about sixty but he was in his early forties. A grave sense washed over his face.

“Jesus! What do you want me to do? Aren’t you a workman?”

“Yes.”

“Then work! Get them in line and don’t come back here until all of this is straightend.”

“Yes, sir.”

then sat at his desk and unzipped a packet of marijuana. The dry, cracked bud contained sticks and stems this particular morning. This is what he did with regularity. Actually, he always did. He smoked. It was constant puffs of utter disappointment. Smoke came from his mouth as he used a towel. He placed the blunt on an ash tray and continued about trying to salvage his operations.

He called up his strongman, Feasley.

“Hey I just got word they’re trying to escape,” Sate said.

“I can’t believe we feed them clothe them, and send them on dates,” Feasly mentioned. “It’s like a car wash.”

“A what?”

“You know the cars come in and they don’t get dirty. We make them clean enough for their time with the johns.”

Sate grinned. “Get the hell outta here.” He smashed his hand on the desk and saw blood trickle onto the grain of the wood. He didn’t even bother to wipe it up. He just grinned and grabbed his cape from the back of his chair and walked out of the door.