I grabbed my keys from the desk, their weight familiar in my palm. This case was dragging me into the city's unprotected corners—the places where the air clung too thick, where filth wasn't just on the streets but in the people who ruled them.
I hesitated.
Should I take Sasha?
No. Not this time.
Without another thought, I slipped out of the office, hands tucked into my pockets.
"Sir, where are you going?"
I glanced over my shoulder. Sasha. Sharp as ever, her gaze flicked up from the computer screen, expectant.
"My sister's in town. Just meeting her for a bit," I said smoothly.
A lie. A clean one.
She didn't question it. Just nodded and returned to her work, fingers moving with the kind of precision that made her perfect for this job. Probably logging another homicide—more names, more bodies, more blood soaking into the city's underbelly.
"See you soon," she muttered without looking up.
I stepped out, the office door clicking shut behind me.
The drive into the whispered streets of Los Angeles was quiet. The city lights flickered in the distance like dying embers. A motel sat hunched in the shadows, its neon sign buzzing weakly against the night.
I pulled into the lot, killed the engine, and exhaled.
This wasn't going to be clean.
A quick stop for a hamburger and a Coke—cheap fuel for a slow suicide. One hand on the wheel, I took sharp bites between shifts, washing them down with gulps of carbonated regret. Neon and shadow blurred past, but my destination loomed ahead.
The Cathouse.
A brothel in disguise.
Its neon sign flickered, buzzing like a dying insect. A place where secrets were bought, sold, and buried beneath cheap perfume and stained sheets.
I stepped out, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand before pushing open the door.
The scent hit instantly—musk, cigarette smoke, something sweet rotting at the edges. At the reception desk, the usual woman sat, her demeanor unreadable.
"Hello," she greeted, voice neutral, detached.
I slid an ID across the counter.
Her smile faded. Expression shifting—not fear, not exactly. Recognition laced with irritation.
"Oh, so… Detective Lorenzo Hoffman," she said, dragging out my name like it tasted bitter. "How may I help you?"
"I'd appreciate your input on an ongoing investigation. Cassandra Cottingham."
The air shifted. Barely, but I caught it.
She didn't blink. Didn't flinch. But something in her posture stiffened, like a snake coiling beneath dead leaves.
"And how does that have any connection to our motel?" she asked, her voice deceptively calm. But her anger—controlled, sharpened—leaked through the cracks.
I let a beat of silence pass.
"Could you provide a little information about a woman named Kitty?"
That did it.
A flicker of something—caution, calculation—crossed her face.
Then, instead of answering, she leaned forward, resting her forearms on the desk, and asked something I wasn't expecting.
"How's your father?"
Deliberate. Not small talk.
A test.
I met her gaze, holding the silence. The phrase meant something here, something intimate to this world. A slang I wasn't familiar with.
"Who is Kitty?" I repeated.
She exhaled through her nose, slow and deliberate.
"You know how it works, detective. The code name exists for a reason," she said.
"And yet, I also know you can tell me."
The brothels were officially banned long years ago in Los Angeles which allowed authorities to shut down and seize properties used for prostitution.
She studied me.
"You were a regular customer, weren't you?" she mused.
I didn't answer.
She smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
"That's why the code names exist. To protect the women."
"Protection isn't the issue tonight." I leaned in slightly. "The brothel is a target."
That got her attention.
Her fingers tapped once against the desk, then stilled. She knew what I meant. Women like hers—the unprotected, the invisible—were easy prey.
I lowered my voice. "You're the head here. You know the risks."
Silence stretched between us.
She was calculating, weighing. Information was currency here.
And I needed her to spend.
"You want to feel safe, don't you?" I said, voice light. "Who better to ensure that than someone holding the most power in this city right now?"
She stared at me.
I smiled. Just enough for her to trust me.
And just enough to scare her.