Laundromat

Adriana stuffed her hands deeper into her knee length waistcoat as she stared down the aisles. Situated in a neighborhood of empty warehouses, the laundromat had a tinted glass window with the words “Sam’s Suds” stenciled on it in fading letters. Adriana had entered a passcode in order to unlock the door. Occasionally a twitching junkie stumbled down the street or a distant car revved its engine. Though buzzing warmth emanated filled the room, she still felt cold. She was used to laundromats circulating aromas of floral detergent but this one just smelled of pungent chlorine. Rows of dryers had their viewing portholes sealed shut. And instead of clothes inside them, tiny fetuses floated in a synthetic concoction meant to imitate amniotic fluid. Somewhere behind the walls there must have been support units pumping necessary nutrients to the fetuses through a tube attached to their belly button. Some of the fetuses were barely the size of her palm while others quietly sucked their fully formed thumbs.

Adriana examined the distended bellies and large heads of the younger fetuses through the portholes. While on others she could see lips and soft cheeks. All their eyes were shut and Adriana felt like she was intruding on their dreams. Where the coin slot should have been there was a small screen the read the age and sex of the fetus. She glanced inside the washing machines pushed against the back wall. They were filled with vials labeled “Backup fluid”, some medications, and white towels. The top slammed shut loudly when she closed it. The TVs, perched high above the machines, were dark and silent.

The call on her work phone that had brought her here on a Sunday evening had been vague. Her instructions had been to “pick up the senator’s son” and she’d been given an address and passcode. As a special attachment to the senator’s security force Adriana was used to messages coming in cryptic form. The “son” could have been a package. Sometimes it was narcotics wrapped in a diaper. The senator had some developed certain habits since his wife died. Other times it was as benign as a manila folder filled with paperwork. She used to pick up briefcases of cash but that was less frequent now. Perhaps the dispatcher should have told her to pick up the senator’s dirty laundry, she thought wryly. On a nearby folding table there were a pair of latex gloves, a small steal tub, and an infant incubator on wheels lined with a white towel. There was an index card inside with numbers printed on it: 2463. Adriana picked up the card, tapping it against her palm as she stared down the rows of preborn infants.

Slowly, deliberately, she began walking down the second row. She paused in front of 2163, transfixed by the blue veins she could see through the translucent skin and the small webbed hands. She shook her head abruptly and hurried down the line to 2463. The small screen next to the porthole read 7mos, 28 days, Sex: male. He swayed from side to side in the liquid. His face scrunched up and relaxed as Adriana watched him. A square button labeled “Drain” was just below the screen. She pressed and the fluid slowly flowed out. The porthole unlocked with a beep and the infant lay unmoving on the compartment floor. His black hair still wet and stuck to his head. He was the color of coffee with too much milk and he lay perfectly still. It was unnerving but Adriana removed the tube attached to the infant like she was unplugging a lamp. She carried him to the folding table. As she wiped him down the towel she noticed he was turning blue. Panicking, she slapped his bottom roughly. He let out a shrill wail that echoed through the dingy laundromat. Adriana fought back the bile churning in her stomach as she heard the plaintive scream. The senator had never mentioned wanting a child, she realized.

Adriana remembered the senator vomiting after a press conference in his private bathroom. He came back into the office, his salt and pepper hair was still perfect, but he wiped a drop of blood from beneath his nose. He looked thinner than usual and his lips were chalky. He gave instructions curtly before excusing himself. His surprised security detail hurried after him. Adriana had wondered if any of the other agents had noticed the blood. She looked down at the screaming infant and knew money had been exchanged. The child lay on the white towel in a metal bowl, his eyes still shut. She wrapped him up quickly and walked out the door, leaving the incubator on the folding table. She would need to travel light.