Page 9 of Spade

“That’s what happens. Some of them tear, they get cauterized, and next week they’re back again.”

The young one didn’t answer. She kept looking at the man in the chair—middle-aged, big gut, maybe ex-con from the ink on his calves. He was crying, silent, eyes leaking into the foam headrest.

“Let him go early?” the young one said.

The older one snorted. “Nobody gives a shit if these ones pop. We need the numbers, or the girls upstairs will dock our split.”

The young one squeezed her hands into fists. “Fuck the split. If it’s gonna blow, I’m not cleaning up.”

The older one rolled her eyes and reached for the next sample.

After a second, the young one spoke again, lower this time. “Are they still sending the overflow to the basement?”

The older one’s jaw tensed. “That’s not our side. Only deal with the volunteers.”

“What about the others?”

A pause. “Basement’s full. Brought in a new batch this morning. Don’t ask where from, just know they won’t be here long.”

They moved out of range. Aces turned, and for a second, I thought he was going to snap the window off its hinges.

“Fuck,” she said, very quietly. “That’s not just a sperm bank. That’s a body shop.”

“Worse,” I said. “Half those guys are here because there’s no other option. The other half…?”

“Basement,” she finished.

I watched the next rotation. The blue light, the rubber gloves, the lazy rhythm of the machines. None of the men ever protested. They just pumped out and left, or got recycled until they couldn’t anymore.

“We going in?” Aces asked, like she was already counting the steps.

I shook my head. “Orders were eyes only. We go in, we burn the job and lose the element.”

She glared, not at me, but through me. “You want to leave them down there?”

“I want to do it right,” I said. “Selene needs the full picture.”

Aces clenched and unclenched her hands. Her jaw flexed, and I could see the vein in his neck from where I was kneeling. I didn’t say anything more. After a minute, she nodded.

We started to leave, but I caught a glimpse of another computer monitor. “What the fuck?” I whispered.

“The fuck are they doing?” Aces squinted as she tried to get a better look at the screen.

What we saw gave credence to the saying, What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. A dozen women sat in bathtubs in another room—the basement, I guessed. Each tub was filled with a shiny liquid.

“For fuck’s sake,” Aces said. “Is that what I think it is?”

It was. Above each tub, hanging from the ceiling, was a clear tube. The tubes were coming from the facility where the men were being pumped.

“I don’t believe this shit,” Aces said.

“It’s a fucking cult.” I pointed at the monitor. “They fucking think that shit will make them younger.”

Aces giggled. “Hope they’re wearing pussy plugs.”

“Come on, I’ve seen enough.”

We slid the window back into place, checked for prints, and made our way out of the alley. The three-legged dog was still there, licking at the edge of a rain puddle. I gave it a piece of beef jerky from my pocket, because it looked like it needed a break.