Chapter Twenty-Five
I knocked on the door at the end of the narrow hallway. Here, away from the faux glamour of the club, things were far more utilitarian. Walls were painted a bland gray, and to my right, a maintenance closet reeked of bleach and surface detergent. A cleaner in a sleazy strip club—I could only imagine the horrors a job like that would entail.
After a few seconds of no answer, I knocked again. A muffled voice cursed on the other side; words lost to the club music in the background. With no time for further pleasantries, I shoved the door open, stepping confidently inside.
A small office greeted me, not much bigger than the closet outside. Drab yellow walls with peeling paint. Stacked boxes filled every corner. In the center though, was a confusing site. A battered old w
