BOOKING EXAMINATION
As they climb the unpainted porch steps, Tracy sees in the distance between dark buildings a blazing fire. Its light outlines a tall grain silo. Silhouettes of men small against the flames. On the fitful breeze comes a most delicious aroma of charred meat.
Inside, the bunkhouse is outfitted somewhat as a police station, with a desk sergeant and closed interrogation room doors on the sides. Open alcoves are hung with curtains on metal rods. Inside can be seen paper-covered exam tables and white metal cabinets with medical equipment. The girls are led to the desk sergeant.
"Name," he says, looking at Tracy's round breasts in the sweater shirt.
The highway cop hands over their ID and car registration. The desk sergeant waves the cop away, he turns to leave. Doctor Phere stays, still gripping River's bicep.
As the cop slams the precinct station door behind him, a tow truck drives past the building. Tracy's little car is hooked on back. The driver waves at the cop as he goes by.
The tow truck picks its way through the haphazard maze of derelict buildings and into a yard where many dusty cars stand empty. He lowers the shiny little car and unhooks it. He spends a few minutes rifling through the girls' luggage, pockets a few things. He finds their phones and removes the batteries, stomps the lifeless things into the dirt with his heel.
When he drives away, the little car's doors and trunk stand open. Two suitcases and a few small bags lie in the dust, contents spilled out. The wind tugs aimlessly at a lacy garment.
Inside the precinct station, the desk sergeant continues methodically filling out paperwork. A cowboy comes in, stands in the open doorway looking at the two handcuffed women, and grins. He takes a seat off to one side.
"Mmmm," the desk sergeant says. "Just smell that barbecue. I love Saturday nights."
"Yep," the cowboy says. "Saturday night."
The sergeant pushes a button on his desk, stands and removes Tracy's and River's wrist cuffs. A small older woman appears at a side door in a white lab smock.
"These two are ready for processing. You can take this one back now." The jowly desk sergeant makes a chin gesture at River.
The woman takes River by the elbow and guides her through the doorway. River looks over her shoulder at Tracy as if to say, we'll get through, babe. The door slams with a forlorn sound.
"Alright Miss Ransom," the doctor says. "Please step into the exam room here." He points to one of the curtained alcoves. Tracy walks obediently in, the doctor at her heels.
Doctor Phere pulls the curtain closed. The curtain rod makes a sharp metallic swish.
"Alright, everything off." He is turned away from Tracy, removing instruments from a drawer.
Tracy is aghast. "Did you say everything? This is just a simple DNA swab that you can do on the inner cheek."
"Our County laws are very strict, Miss. We require a vaginal swab. Procedure in the precinct station here is different than roadside tests. I'll need you completely undressed."
Doctor Phere's smile is warm and reassuring. Tracy does not feel reassured. Their trip home, at the outset so bright and happy, has gone black. Their families are waiting! How did the sun go down so fast?
Vaguely Tracy hears cars drive by outside. The blare of a top 40 station fades in the distance.
Doctor Phere waits with an expectant look. "Well, are we on the same page here, or do I need to summon assistance?"
"What kind of assistance?" Tracy glances toward the curtain, which is not quite closed. The fabric leaves a large gap at the bottom.
"We are authorized to immobilize suspects as necessary in order to complete these tests." His smile remains warm. "Please, my child, you'll let me do my job, won't you?"
Tracy searches his face. This is not about you, old man. I am a suspect?
Finally she relents. "You'll promise to get this over quickly, won't you? Our families expected us this afternoon."
Doctor Phere lets out an avuncular chuckle. "Certainly, my dear. We will speed you through here. Ezekiel's wife did invite you both for supper. It's up to you. She is a very good cook."
Tracy turns away, lifts a foot to remove her polished flats. She thinks dinner might be okay, if everyone is as nice as the doctor. That whiff of barbecue made her tummy growl.
Tracy places her shoes neatly together beneath a chair. Glances over her shoulder. Doctor Phere is arranging medical instruments on the side counter. She pulls her sweater shirt over her head, barefoot in bra and skirt. Taking a deep breath, she reaches back to unhook the bra. Her breasts fall free, full and warm. That's when she notices it is cool in the room. Her nipples harden in the center of her russet aureoles. Doctor Phere ignores her. She unzips her skirt and steps out of it.
Now wearing only her black thong, Tracy is worried. Crossed arms cover soft breasts, breasts so full and round they form vertical cleavage between them.
"Doctor Phere?"
