"Heavy sedation?" I repeated, my tone sharpening as I leaned closer. "What do you mean by that?"
Cola's lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk. "Exactly what I said. Kitty wasn't just giving them a night to remember; she was wiping away memories, distorting reality. Clients would walk out of her room like they'd been hit by a freight train. Some couldn't even recall why they were here or what they'd paid for."
I frowned, the puzzle pieces beginning to arrange themselves in my mind. "And no one thought to report this? To stop her?"
Cola let out a dry chuckle, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Who would? The clients? Half of them didn't even realize what had happened, and the ones who did... well, let's just say they'd rather keep their little adventures private. And management?" She leaned back, crossing her arms. "Kitty brought in more money than anyone else here. She could've set the place on fire, and they'd still thank her for it."
I ran a hand through my hair, my thoughts racing. "And now she's just gone? Vanished into thin air?"
"Three months ago," Cola confirmed. "One night she was here, the next—poof. No goodbyes, no trace, nothing. And you know the weirdest part?" She leaned in again, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "She looked exactly like someone famous. Someone infamous, if you catch my drift."
Her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. My mind worked overtime, pulling at threads, trying to make sense of this new information. "Infamous?" I echoed, my voice quieter now, almost to myself.
"There's another thing I wanna add...," she added, "she was always dressed well with all her luxury items from her heels to her dress."
"Dressed perfectly?," I added.
"Her hair was long and lustrous. I never had a clear glimpse of her. She wore some sort of mask to cover her face. Clients called her drop dead gorgeous.," she continued.
"Didn't she look poor?," I asked, "I mean people worked here to earn... from you know.... opressed background."
She narrowed her eyes, clearly offended. "Don't use that word with me," she snapped. "We're not all victims."
I raised an eyebrow. "I didn't mean it that way."
"Well, it came off that way," she said sharply. "Some of us are here by choice, not circumstance. We make the rules."
I leaned back, taking her in. There was more to her than just deflection. She was playing a game, and she knew how to win it.
"Not even a bit, instead, she was dressed to kill.," she said, "she always smelled expensive and wealthy."
She rested her head a bit and leaned closer and added, "Half of the women were clearly astonished as of why she had been there in the first place."
"Do you know why?," I questioned.
"Why? No.," she said, "Maybe she got bored of everything. Rich people hate boring life. They wanted to taste the bite of filth?"
Cola let out a sharp laugh, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of the bakery. "Taste the bite of filth? You really think that's it?" She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she regarded me with a mix of amusement and disdain. "You and your theories, Hoffman. Always so cynical."
I shrugged, sipping my tea. "Rich people do strange things when they're bored. This Kitty sounds like she had everything already. Why else would she be here?"
"Maybe," Cola said, her tone softening slightly, "she wasn't running to something. Maybe she was running from something."
"Like what?" I asked, setting my cup down.
Cola hesitated, her gaze drifting to the window as if she were searching for the answer in the world outside. "I don't know," she admitted finally. "But whatever it was, it scared her. I could see it in her eyes, the way she carried herself. She wasn't just playing some game for thrills. She was hiding. And for someone like her, hiding in plain sight must've felt safer than anywhere else."
The idea lingered in the air between us, heavy and unsettling. "And now she's gone," I said, breaking the silence. "Vanished, just like that."
"Exactly," Cola replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "And no one knows if she left on her own... or if someone made her disappear."
Her words sent a chill down my spine, though I kept my expression neutral. Whoever this Kitty was, she wasn't just another ghost in the shadows. She was a puzzle, one I wasn't sure I wanted to solve—but one I knew I couldn't ignore.
"Can you tell me?," I asked.
"Tell what?," she replied, sharply.
"How did she look?," I asked, "her physique?"
"She was perfect.," she answered, "Right from top of the head till the tip of the toe. She was tall.... Maybe 5'8" or 5'9", her legs were toned and amazing, her body was shaped perfectly like an hourglass. She was seductive yet elegant."
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the description. "Perfect, huh?"
"Impossible to forget," she continued. "High cheekbones, lips that were always just the right shade. Even though she wore a mask, her aura... it was undeniable. You could tell from the way people looked at her. The way they whispered. She didn't need to see it herself to know she was captivating."
I raised an eyebrow. "So, you're saying it was all about the effect she had on others?"
"Exactly," she said, nodding. "She knew she had power. And she used it. That mask? It wasn't just for hiding—it was part of the allure."
Kitty had a characteristics which was strikingly similar to that of Cassandra Cottingham. I knew she was connected to Cathouse and it's nature of secrecy like the use of codenames made it more easier to work for a criminal like her.
Cola stood up from the chair and pocketed the thousand dollar note.
"Thank you, Hoffman.," she said as she rose up.
A smirk tugged from the corner of my lip. I looked at her as she walked away. Her small frame was quite admirable.
She stopped and turned to look at me in hope or anticipation. I stood up and walked towards her.
Cola stood there, close enough for me to feel the heat of her body, her eyes still locked onto mine with that same determined intensity. Her lips barely moved, and the scent of her perfume lingered, sweet yet sharp.
"Ain't I beautiful?" she whispered, her voice low and teasing.
"Beautiful?" I echoed, my words colder than I intended. "You're breathtaking."
She leaned in, lips almost brushing mine. I could feel the tension building, but something in my gut told me not to go down this road.
"You thought I'd give you something extra for that heavy tip?" she murmured, voice dripping with promise.
I took a step back, my instincts sharp. "No. No, we can't do this."
Her face dropped for a second, the mask of confidence faltering. But then she recovered, a sly smile creeping onto her lips.
"Good. Keep your distance, Hoffman," she said, her voice a mix of challenge and amusement. "But remember, you won't be able to forget me."
With that, she turned, walking away with the same fluid grace, leaving me with the lingering weight of her words.
I smirked, the memory of how many women had said something similar flashing through my mind like a well-rehearsed scene. But this time, it felt different—sharper, more personal.
Cherry Cola.
I let the name settle in my thoughts, its sweetness laced with the bitter truth of her reality. Sonia's sister. A connection I hadn't expected, yet one that added another layer to this tangled web of secrets.
"Cherry..." I murmured under my breath, feeling the weight of what lay ahead. Whatever it took, I'd find a way to help her, even if it meant diving deeper into the shadows of the Cathouse and the secrets it harbored.
Because behind every codename was a real person, and behind every secret, a reason. And Sonia's reason was now mine.
[Cherry was Sonia's codename (deceased) and Cola was her small sister's codename]