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“Yes, but you still need an appointment,” the woman said. “May I give him your name?”
“You certainly may,” Lula said. “It’s Lula, as in Tallulah. And you tell him that he’s gonna want to see me firsthand.”
Sixty seconds later Lula swung her ass into Sunshine’s office with me trailing behind.
“Howdy,” she said to Sunshine. “I appreciate your seeing me like this. I’m Lula and this here’s my associate Stephanie. I want to talk to you about The Clinic. What the heck does it do anyway?”
Sunshine was older than Grandma Mazur. He was a shrunken man with a wisp of hair plastered to the top of his head, and rosacea spread across his face like the map of Europe.
“It doesn’t do anything,” he said with a thick German accent. “I bought it cheap. It’s an investment.”
“Well, I’m looking for a place to start my business and someone told me you had the perfect place.”
“What kind of business are you starting?”
“I’m a ’ho,” Lula said. “And I’m looking for a ’ho house.”
“You thought The Clinic would make a good brothel?”
“Yeah. I was told it had lots of rooms, which is just what I’m looking for. I could have a wide variety of themes going on if you see what I’m saying. And it sits by itself at the end of the street so the neighbors wouldn’t be complaining about noise and such. Not that a ’ho is real noisy, but sometimes depending on what a customer wants you might get carried away fakin’ a orgasm. I drove by your property on the advice of my finance officer and it looked empty except for a car I saw go in.”
“I have a security guard.”
“This didn’t look like no security guard,” Lula said. “This was a lady with ’ho hair. So I thought maybe the building had a head start on my idea.”
“Not that I’m aware,” Sunshine said.
“You’ll have to excuse me if this is a offensive question,” Lula said. “But you got a real kraut accent, and it don’t go with the name Sunshine.”
“It’s the American equivalent to Sonnenschein. How much would you be willing to pay for my building?”
“How much do you want?” Lula asked.
“Ten million.”
“Say what? I’m a ’ho, not Donald Trump. I don’t got that kind of money. Would you be willing to hold a mortgage?”
“We should go now,” I said to Lula. “We have another appointment.”
“What appointment you talking about?” Lula asked.
“The appointment you made with your doctor for that rash you’ve got all over your . . . you-know-what.”
“Oh yeah, that appointment.”
Lula stuck her hand out to Sunshine but he waved it away. No doubt worried about the rash.
“Well, I gotta go,” Lula said to him. “I’ll be back in touch if I can get hold of ten million.”
We swished out of Sunshine’s office, down the hall, and into the elevator.
“How’d I do?” Lula asked. “I was good, right?”
“Yeah. You were great. I almost fell over when you said you wanted to turn The Clinic into a whorehouse.”
“That was genius on my part,” Lula said. “When you think about it the building’s perfect with all those rooms. And it’s even got a lab so you could do your own disease testing.”
We stepped out of the building and found a shiny black GLK-Class Mercedes SUV parked where my Buick had formerly resided. A guy dressed in Rangeman black stepped away from the car and handed me a key.
