Chapter 2: Chapter Two: The Joys of Childhood

Perhaps it was the effect of the alcohol, but she was bolder than usual. She stood on her tiptoes, her arms wrapping around the man's shoulders like vines, and whispered in his ear, "Waiting for someone?"

She had assumed that men who used dating apps to find hookups would mostly be plump, with lecherous looks. But the one before her had a handsome face, and his pair of flirtatious yet dangerous eyes were captivating.

The man seemed a bit stunned, turning off his phone screen, about to say something, when he was enveloped by a faint, cold rose fragrance. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and a low, raspy, magnetic voice escaped: "Miss, you..."

"Changed your mind?" Doreen Pulitzer took a half step back, hands in her pockets, chin slightly raised, her clear, seductive eyes looking at him with a hint of provocation.

Ferguson Kennedy narrowed his eyes, and in the next second, the straight line of his lips curved into an attractive smile. "Where to? I'll take you."

"To a hotel, together." Doreen Pulitzer tilted her head, her gaze unwavering.

The playful look in Ferguson Kennedy's eyes deepened, and without any hesitation, he said, "Get in the car."

As she bent to get in, the air conditioning in the car wrapped her in warmth. The faint scent of cedar filled her nostrils, pleasant and evocative of the night's desires.

Unbeknownst to her, a similar Maybach was parked outside the bar, where a short, stout middle-aged man was dragging a girl with dreadlocks into the car.

On the way, the man received a call. "Busy, let's reschedule." He hung up.

"Something important?" Doreen Pulitzer turned her head, and as she spoke, the lingering smell of martini mixed with her perfume, like a bewitching insect, entered the man's nose.

Ferguson Kennedy gripped the steering wheel tightly. "You are all my business tonight."

The car pulled into the underground parking lot of a five-star hotel. They bypassed the front desk and took the elevator straight to the top floor. The door lock clicked open automatically, and a wave of heat spread through the room.

A hand pressed against Doreen Pulitzer's lower back, guiding her into the dark room. Suddenly, the man's voice grew hoarse, "You're wearing..."

A nightgown.

Nothing underneath.

Their breathing grew heavy...

The night stretched on, seemingly endless. Doreen Pulitzer felt like a drowning fish, sometimes submerged, sometimes surfacing to gasp for thin air. She was swept away by increasingly fierce waves, her body no longer her own. In a daze, she opened her eyes, and the ceiling lights shattered into a kaleidoscope of colors...

Doreen Pulitzer slept deeply. When she woke up, the bed beside her was empty, only a fresh red stain on the sheets reminded her it wasn't a dream. On the bedside table, a porcelain bowl held down a bank card and a note. The note had a string of numbers written in lazy, flowing handwriting, followed by a smiling face.

Doreen Pulitzer glanced at it, crumpled the note, and threw it into the trash. As she set down the bowl, her eyes flickered; it was still warm. She took a sip and found it to be a hangover cure.

This man, even in a hookup, was so... whimsical and considerate.

She drank the hangover cure, got dressed, and paused at the door. Turning back, she picked up the bank card and left the hotel. It was her day off, and she planned to change clothes at her apartment and then check if Shirley Graham was at the old house.

Just as she stepped out of her apartment, Judy Green called. She thought it might be about Shirley Graham, but it was actually about Dorothy Hazlitt, her friend Sylvia Hazlitt's sister, being detained at a police raid. Judy Green urged her to go bail her out.

Judy Green said, "She's at the night club. I'm on a mission and can't make it there right now!"

Doreen Pulitzer changed her route to the night club, a towering skyscraper in the city center, which looked even more imposing under the dark sky.

On the 21st floor, Dorothy Hazlitt and a group of scantily clad young girls were squatting by the wall. A few plainclothes officers and a manager surrounded them.

Doreen Pulitzer approached. "What's going on?"

Dorothy Hazlitt immediately looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. "Muxi..."

"What's your relationship with her?" one of the plainclothes officers asked.

"Sister."

The officer, having been briefed by Judy Green, quickly explained the situation. They had received a tip-off about prostitution in Room 3 on the 21st floor of night club. Upon arrival, they found several disheveled men and women engaged in unspeakable acts.

Doreen Pulitzer said, "My sister, Dorothy Hazlitt, was just delivering food. How is this related to her?"

"How is it not related!" the manager interjected. "It was her! We never engage in illegal activities. She incited those guests to force our hostesses!"

Dorothy Hazlitt was only eighteen, always well-behaved and excelled in her studies. These days, because her brother, Sylvia Hazlitt, was visiting their hometown, the store was short-staffed, so she had been helping deliver food during her lunch break. There was no way she could or would do such a thing!