Strip

September 12th, 10:03 P.M.

Yoongi pulled up at the station twenty minutes later.

He parked his car and walked inside, ignoring the friendly intern Jungkook, who tried to greet him.

Yoongi walked to the interrogation rooms, where the former wife of James Kingswell was sitting, waiting.

He opened the door and sat down. "Let's make this quick, who hated your husband?"

She blinked. "What? No one!"

"Lots of people, got it." Yoongi scribbled that down.

She bristled. "How dare you? He was a great, successful man!"

"Obviously not, if someone wanted him dead. The fact he wasn't robbed before or after being murdered means the killer just wanted the man dead and didn't give a fuck about his jewelry stores. So I'll ask you again; who hated your husband?"

She stared at him for a few long seconds, before breaking into tears.

Yoongi sighed. "Stop."

"He was a great man, he really was!" She sobbed.

"But?" Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

"But...he...he did cheat on me a few times." She sniffed, burying her face in her hands.

Yoongi slid his list over to her. "I need names."

She sniffed again and raised her head, shaking it as she pushed his notes back. "It was a strip club he always went to, Kkoim. I don't know who he saw, probably all of them."

A strip club.

Yoongi sighed deeply. "Great. Fucking great."

He gathered his things as he stood up.

He hated dirty, gross, disgusting strippers and their disease filled clubs.

-

He parked across the street from the club, ignoring the stares he was getting as he opened the door and stepped inside.

The club was dark, with soft bass pounding through the speakers that lined the stage. A pole was in the center of the stage, with another one at the end of the catwalk. A few round tables with white tablecloths were spaced out around the room, and a bar was set up against the far wall.

Since it was ten at night by the time Yoongi forced himself to step inside, the place was very busy, and quite a few patrons were sitting around, watching the three scantily clad females dance on the stage.

Yoongi didn't glance at them. He didn't want to see any more than he had to.

He walked up to the bar, and the bartender looked up at him. "What can I get you, sir?" He said loudly, over the music.

"Your manager." Yoongi said, refusing to take a seat on one of the ripped leather barstools.

The bartender nodded and walked off.

Yoongi waited impatiently, checking his notes over.

Strippers, porn stars and prostitutes were all dirty and disgusting in Yoongi's opinion. And he's seen rotting corpses before.

Finally, a man walked over, looking like the type who keeps a shotgun taped under the cash register.

"Can I help you?" The man asked.

"You the manager?" Yoongi asked, pulling out his badge.

The man nodded. "Here, let's talk in my office."

Yoongi followed him past some doors, and immediately the music got muffled, making it easier for conversation.

The man led him to a business-like room, with a computer and too many piles of paper filling every empty space.