...Get A Drink

Out of the lady's room. Belly up to the bar. Lois Lane had lifted Jimmy's wallet when she took his pants, and the redhaired sissy didn't utter a peep when she took his money out to buy a couple of cocktails.

Lois had a double vodka. Jimmy had a sex on the beach.

"Miss Lane," he said, after he took a sip of his girly drink. "Shouldn't we be...looking for the missing women?"

"We are," Lois said as she sipped her vodka and surveyed the room.

Jimmy Olsen had called it a kind of underground S&M club, but Lois realized quickly that wasn't quite true. The music that played was something like Switched On Bach: classical, but scored for a synthesizer. There was no "scene" here—no leather, no real flesh on display from the patrons. The servers and waitresses now...they were dressed in bikinis and underwear, see-through lingerie and pasties...and, more concerning to Lois, shock collars on their necks, ankle monitors, and prices on their faces. Lois wasn't sure if they were painted on or tattooed, but the message was clear: these were goods for sale.

People were buying, too. Lois saw sometimes one person, sometimes a couple would go up to a waitress. Say something. Flash some money or a card...and then disappear into a back room.

The reporter knew she had to get one of those women aside and talk to them. Find out who was behind this, and maybe where the other women were being held...because she didn't recognize any of the women who had gone missing among the scantily-clad waitresses milling about.

Lois pulled out Jimmy's credit card and stared at it.

"What's your limit on this card, Jimmy?" she asked.

"F-five thousand..." Jimmy said and tried on a pout. He'd left some lipstick on his glass, which was empty.

"Let's hope that's enough. It's time to lose your virginity."