Here it is, the companion piece to "The Five Senses."
I own nothing of CSI, and am making no profit off of this. Suing would be pointless. As, in "The Five Senses" The snippets of song used here is from "Voodoo" by Godsmack.
"I know I'm asking a lot," I snap back into focus as Grissom addresses me, "but we need someone on the inside, someone we can catch this guy with, and you're the only one anywhere in the whole department with any relevant experience." The look on his face is expectant, like he wants me to answer a question. Did he ask me a question? It's hard to focus when I feel this intoxicated. Intoxicated off of her smell, something floral and fruity all at once. I wonder what kind of soap she uses… Grissom is still looking at me. I need to respond. Think Willows. He said something about "four murders," "exotic dancers," and my "experience." Oh Christ, he wants me to go undercover. I didn't think that was a part of the job description. Then again, I wouldn't need training, so I suppose it makes sense.
"I get it Griss," I respond as I glance down at the copy of the file he handed me, "And you're right; this case can't go on unsolved any longer. I mean four dancers within the course of a month, no real trace, three of them from the same club."
"That's another thing," Grissom turns his eyes to Warrick and Sara, "this guy's a little tricky. He must have been observing the force for a long time, because he recognized the undercover agents. It's why he changed clubs. But we need more eyes in there besides Catherine. And, as luck of the draw would have it-"
"Everyone else is still out on assignment," Sara finishes Grissom's thought. She doesn't sound too happy about it. Can't say I blame her, though. Strip bars are rather seedy. Then again, I hear Lucy's is a rather decent place and there is the bonus of being around all those half naked women. But, I suppose that's only a bonus if you're actually attracted to women… Sometimes I miss my old "career."
"Right," Grissom confirms. "I want to be sure this guy is caught. Before another murder. Before he can move on to another scene. I'm counting on you guys. Ecklie already thinks the idea is crazy. We need to prove him wrong."
"Alright," I let out with a sigh as I rise. "Guess I need to go shopping before 'work.'" I twist my hips seductively as the word "work" falls from my lips, practically waving my ass in Sara's face as I do. When I turn towards the door, I catch a glimpse of her face. God, the look is priceless, eyes wide and slack-jawed. Shocking her is the closest I'll ever get to making her come… There's no way she'll survive this case.
I actually head back to my house first. Before I go and spend a fortune of the department's money on clothes, I might as well inventory my closet for anything I can use. Besides, I'd rather my mother not be around while I work this case, just to avoid her badgering me about it every time I come home. This means I have to talk her into going out of town for an unspecified amount of time and make arrangements with Nancy for Lindsey.
When I walk in the door, no one is there. That's right, I forgot, this is mom's bingo hour. Good, I can call Nancy with a bit of privacy.
The call itself takes all of ten minutes. Nancy gets it. All I had to do was say, "undercover stripper case," and she immediately agreed. She wouldn't want to have to deal with mom if she were in my position either. One down, one to go. I grab some shopping bags and head upstairs to gather some clothes.
I have more than I realize. I actually kept most of the clothes from my dancing days. (What can I say, when it comes to my clothing, I'm a bit of a packrat.) And, I actually fit into most of them. With the haul I'm pulling out, I don't think I'll even need to go shopping.
As I clean out my final drawer of "stripper memorabilia," I stumble upon one more article of clothing, a t-shirt long forgotten, buried in a drawer I knew no one would search because I was too embarrassed to admit that I had kept it. The shirt itself is rather unremarkable. It's nothing but a plain black tee. What's important is that it once belonged to her. The only reward I ever gained for pissing her off. I can't even remember what I had said to her in the locker room to make her fly off the handle. All I can recall is that she tossed her shirt at me in anger before storming out in just jeans and a sports bra. On reflex, as I had that day after she had left, I lift the shirt to my face and breathe in the scent that is Sara. God, it's delicious. Intoxicating. My head grows light from the sensation, and I lose myself in daydreams until I hear a door slam and my mother's voice graces my ears.
"Catherine? Catherine, are you here? Why are you home so early? Didn't Grissom just call you in for a special assignment?"
"Hi, mom," I come down the stairs to meet her. "I needed to stop back by for something… Look-"
"Oh, good, because I need to tell you something. I won the blackout."
"What?" What the hell is a blackout?
"It was the blackout game today. I won. I filled up the whole card. Two whole weeks at a resort in Palm Springs."
"Palm Springs?"
"I hope you don't mind, but my plane leaves in five hours. I'm sure your sister can take care of Lindsey. Will you please call her? I have to go pack." And at that, my mother dashes off to her room. Well, at least she made it easy for me.
"Sorry I'm late," I say as I step into the bar. "Traffic was grotesque." I don't add that I could have avoided traffic if I hadn't had to drop Mom off at the airport.
"Gee Cath," Sara says, a scrutinizing eyebrow raised at the amount of bags on my arms, "I didn't realize that you planned on taking up a permanent second job."
"Shut it Sidle," I respond as I remove my sunglasses and try to let my gaze follow the odd woman walking a circle around me. "I simply wanted some options."
"Let me see what you've got." Ooh, the odd woman thinks she can boss me around without so much as an introduction. Yeah, right.
"Excuse me, but who the hell are you?"
"Sorry," the woman says with a grin, "my bad. I'm Lucy Lockhart. Owner and manager." I'm impressed. It's not often you see a woman that owns and runs a strip bar. At least, I didn't in my dancing days. I hand her my bags and she drops them on the bar before diving in, her brow furrowed in concentration until, "Aha! This is definitely the most you." She pulls out a long black dress. I like this woman's taste.
"I was thinking that myself," I say with a wry smile.
"Why don't you go put this on and give us a little pre-show."
"It would be my pleasure."
"Do you need me to pick out a thong too, or are you already covered?"
"I'm good."
"What about music choice?"
"Play whatever you want. I'm flexible."
"We'll see about that." Lucy points me in the direction of the dressing room so I can take my leave.
Once I'm dressed, I take some time to look myself over in the mirror. It feels odd, yet amazing to be back in this dress again. Back in my dancing days, this was my favorite piece. It's elegant and seductive all at once: the torso form-fitting; the slits in the side of the skirt tracing my legs all the way to my upper thighs. And it's very easy to take off. I make a mental note to use it on a date sometime in the future before heading out to the main stage.
When I position myself in the entryway, I see Lucy give me a nod, letting me know that she's found a CD. She turns on the stereo and loads her selection. My stomach twists with anticipation as she skips to the right track. I smile to myself when the silence is shattered by Lucy's selection: "Voodoo" by Godsmack. This is going to be fun. I let the introduction go by, allowing the beat to enter my bloodstream as I dropped to my stomach. When the instrumental bit starts, I snake my way across the stage to the pole.
Candles raise my desire
I'm impressed with myself as I pull my body up using only my arms. The timing is perfect.
Why I'm so far away
I lean back, taking the beat of the music in further.
No more meaning to my life
I snap back to the pole, holding it intimately, a hand stroking it tenderly as if it were a spine, and I lick my lips in prayer. The next move will be tricky.
No more reason to stay
Keeping a firm grip on the pole with my left hand, I bring my right leg up high above my head, hooking it around the pole, and grasp my ankle with my free hand. God, I'm amazed that I'm still this flexible. Amen for Yoga.
Freezing feeling
My left hand pushes off helping me gain the momentum I need to spin around the pole until I crumple on the stage in a heap.
Breathe in, breathe in
I stand as if I were rising from my own ashes.
I'm coming back again
I rip off my dress, and feel the music take complete possession of my body. The beat, the dancing, has completely intoxicated me and I can no longer hear the words. I can no longer truly comprehend what I'm doing. I'm completely hypnotized by the situation as my body moves on its own. But it's just as well. This was always when I was at my best on stage. It was never about planning my moves. It was always about letting the moment and the music guide me; allowing my body to yield to lust and seduction. I don't snap back into any form of awareness (and even then I can still only feel the music) until I see Lucy standing at the edge of the stage, waving a folded one at me. A seductive smile creeps across my face and I crawl over to my prey. I rise to my knees, place my hands upon her shoulders, and then pull her in and whisper into her ear, "See, I'm flexible." Lucy gives a chuckle as I turn around and prop my left leg upon her shoulder. I turn my head to watch her as I lean back just enough to tease her. The chuckle has disappeared and has been replaced by a look of pure desire. I give her an evil grin as I hook a finger from my right hand into my thong so Lucy could slip in the dollar just as the music came to a stop. It's replaced by the sound of Lucy clapping. Warrick stands at the table where he and Sara had been sitting and joins in. Sara, however, is still sitting, completely stunned. All I can do is laugh and say, "Good to know I've still got it."
"Got it?" Lucy squealed. "You're made of it! I don't suppose I could keep you after this case?"
"Sorry," there was a reason I gave up the stage, and I'm not about to adopt it again permanently. I grab my dress and hop down from where I'm still perched then begin to make my way back towards the dressing room. As I do, I notice that Sara is still sitting there with her eyes popping and her jaw hanging down to the floor. Dammit! It was cute for a minute, but she seriously needs to pull herself together. If she can't, she'll blow the case completely. I stop in front of her, and she manages to look up at me, sort of.
"For Christ's sake, Sidle," I scream, "they're just breasts! You have quite a nice pair yourself," and, indeed she does. "There's no reason to be such a prude about all this."
Wait a minute. My brain registers that I just told Sara Sidle she has a nice chest. Whoops. Ah, well. She doesn't seem to have noticed. In fact, she seems to have pieced herself back together. Her mouth is now closed and at least she's looking me in the eye. Still, I best continue the metaphorical ass reaming just to maintain character, "You better not blow this case, Sidle. I'm not going along with this plan simply so I can get back on the stage." I cross my arms over my chest and wait for what's sure to be a patented Sara reply.
"How did you do that thing with your dress?"
"What?" I'm on a classic rampage, a rampage that normally gets her equally riled. And she's asking about my dress?
"That thing, with your dress, how did you do it?" She is asking about my dress.
"Sidle," I say as I shake my head, "are you a CSI or not?" For good measure, I drop the dress onto her head. "Velcro."
"This was where I found her." I'm now fully dressed and we're all standing out back by the dumpster. "She wasn't in the dumpster," Lucy continued, "just sprawled out beside it. I noticed her when I came to take out some trash for one of the bartenders."
"Have we figured out a common link besides the blonde thing?" I ask.
"No," Sara jumps in. "Their ages range from early twenties to mid thirties. Their personal lives were just as dissimilar. One was a party girl; one was a complete shut in. One was, get this, a gamer geek, and our latest vic was married with three kids."
"Oh, Tifa," Lucy sighed. "I love the ones that enjoy their jobs."
"Did you know Tifa well?" I ask as I think to myself that I would have enjoyed working for Lucy as well. She obviously cares about her girls.
"Very."
"Is there anything you can think of that might have made her a target?"
Lucy shakes her head. "She was one of our most popular dancers. Everybody loved Tifa." Why is Lucy giving Sara that smile? And why is Sara blushing like that?
"Wait a minute," the blush drops from Sara's face as lightning strikes. "Wasn't Tifa selective with her private dances?" Holy shit! Is that why Sara was blushing a moment ago? She actually knew the vic? Looks like Sidle is full of surprises. Maybe I do have some sort of chance with her… Then again, Lucy could have mentioned something to Sara and Warrick before I got here. And Sara did process this specific crime scene. She could have picked up information then. But that wouldn't account for Lucy's smile and Sara's blush just now… Crap. Why do I have to overanalyze every little detail? Oh, right, it's my job.
Lucy nods to confirm Sara's question, "She was. She knew how to read people really well. She only did private dances for people she felt she could trust."
"If the other girls were the same way, that may be our link."
"Good thinking, Sidle," I let my voice tear me away from my analysis of Sara's sexuality. Whatever my brain wants to think, there really isn't enough evidence to prove she bats for one team or the other or both, and even if there were, there's no proof she would be interested in me… Except that huge grin she's giving me for such a small compliment… Christ, Willows, stop all the wishful thinking.
"Alright," I breathe with a sigh, "take a break you guys. Be back when the bar opens."