Cindy knows this is a sex club. It hasn't escaped her notice or her wallet, really, after paying for a single lapdance from one of the few men employees at this place. Nothing against women, but they just don't do it for Cindy, even when she had to act like they did for missions. But after one dance, she feels done and satisfied for the moment and with a decent tip slipped into the band of his g-string, Cindy sends the dancer on his way and makes her own way to the bar.

She hopes the drinks aren't watered down bullshit in a glass.