The driver is also enthusiastic!

After some time, he pulls away and says "uh, I think I should get you to your destination, shouldn't I?"

"Mmm, I think you should, yes."

The driver keeps glancing at him and smiling shyly on the ride over.

Adorable.

Oliver should give him his number when they arrive.

The driver takes his number gladly! "My name's David."

"Oliver. It's been a..." He gives David a once-over, very visibly, before returning his eyes to David's face. "Pleasure to meet you."

And out the car.

The sign at the address for T. C. Coil's Escort Agency informs you it is a massage parlor. However, there are probably very few legitimate massage parlors with dark tinted windows, a bouncer, and an advertisement informing you about how hot their... masseuses... are.

...interesting. He rolls towards the door.

The bouncer barely glances up from his phone and waves Oliver in.

In he rolls. Is it wheelchair-accessible?

Look, evil sex-trafficker rapists can be ADA-compliant too.

...these ones are not but, you know, they could theoretically have been.

...seriously. Does he have literally any way of getting in? Come on, wizard sex game, you wouldn't offer him a quest like that and then make him fail step one.

Oh look there's a ramp hidden over there. How did Oliver miss it the first time? It is almost like it magically came into existence a few seconds ago.

The bouncer looks up from his phone in confusion, shrugs, and returns to his game of Clash of Champions. 

Clash of Champions? Seriously? Well, can't argue with taste.

Up the ramp!

The receptionist looks less bored and more slightly terrified.

"I'll need to see an ID and then I can take you to meet the girls," she says. "A private session is two hundred dollars an hour, paid in advance. We double as an escort agency if you'd like to schedule an outcall."

Oh no, darling, don't be terrified. He needs to burn this place to the ground. Maybe he'll get fireball sometime?

He shows her ID.

She checks it in a cursory fashion that would totally fail to detect a remotely competent fake ID.

She brings him into a waiting room that is trying to look grand but winds up at seedy. The masseuses are lounging around trying to look sexy, but the general aura of fear that hangs over the room rather spoils the effect. All of the masseuses have bruises, and most are wearing far too much foundation and eye makeup.

Good Lord, does this guy get literally any money?

...is that girl from earlier anywhere here?

It turns out that terrified and unable to say no is a depressingly popular sexual interest.

The girl from earlier is lying on a couch in the corner, not even trying to be sexy. She seems to have just come back from an outcall.

"Her," he says, pointing.

A flash of tiredness and dread crosses her face, smoothly replaced with a smile.

"Please pay in advance, sir," the receptionist says, "and I'll take you to your room."

He is more than happy to pay in advance.

Room?

The room is clean but sparsely decorated. The walls are hospital off-white. The bed dominates the room, the sheets threadbare from frequent washing. 

The receptionist leaves. The girl begins mechanically to disrobe.

He looks around for a writing apparatus and paper or something, and tries to see whether there are detectable cameras anywhere.

There's a security camera in the corner, but no paper unless he brought it.