A/N: I DO NOT own any part of the Law & Order franchise. I also do not own the rights to Christina Aguilera's Nasty Naughty Boy, or Doris Day's Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps.
Continuity
4 Days Later
Jodi stepped out of the taxicab, a mixture of excitement and relief boiling within her as she breathed free air, free of the scent of formaldehyde and urine.
Grabbing a handful of twenties from her purse, she handed the crisp bills to her driver with a smile, stepping backward and making her way toward the club, her real home.
She had been released from the hospital the previous day with promises that she would stay in bed for a few days to recover both mentally and physically from her ordeal, a promise that was going to be broken without apology.
Dodging traffic, she grasped her purse tightly as she made her way across the street, droplets of rain spattering her red head as she bounced across the pavement in her Nike's and shorts, approaching the building that was her second home.
As she hit the sidewalk, her eyes flitted to the left as she glanced at the yellow-taped alleyway, long abandoned by cops but still "restricted", the alleyway that haunted her dreams now, as she thought of being pinned down on the cold ground, dirty and old discarded gum rubbing against her skin as her rapist moved inside of her violently and mercilessly.
Swallowing as nausea began to build up inside her, she tried to push away the horrific memory as she made her way to the front door of the club, grasping the silver door handle and pulling it open, walking through the red double doors and into the empty club inside.
Beneath the dim lights, several waitresses milled about, straightening tables and chairs and they prepared for the evening, which would arrive in three hours, bringing with it dozens upon dozens of horny and lonely men, pockets full of money and hearts full of desire as they found escape from their lives in the beautiful women onstage before them.
Following the black lacquer floor, she walked to red curtain, stepping through and emerging into a blank white corridor on the other side, the glitz and glamor of the club replaced with a bland hall dotted with doors on either side.
Hitching her purse over her shoulder again, Jodi wrapped her arms around her body, clinging to her New York University hoodie as the air conditioning bit at her skin through the heavy fleece, raising tiny bumps along the flesh of her arms and erecting the small hairs.
Feeling hair brush the nape of her neck, Jodi reached up, pulling her thick hair from its ponytail and wrapping the small band around it once more, tucking in the loose lock of hair.
As she did so, she caught a small whiff of the floral notes that rested against her neck and wrists, a gift from one of the many clients who had come to visit her during her stay in the hospital, offering their condolences for her attack, and some promising threats to whoever had hurt her.
But through it all, the visitor that resonated in Jodi's mind the most was the one person who had no choice of being there: Detective John Munch.
Through the days she spent in therapy and with the doctors checking her back, she could not stop thinking about his voice, soft, comforting, or the warm eyes behind his glasses which were full of silent reassurance, even when she knew that things were certainly not going to be okay.
What stayed with Jodi the most though, was the way he looked at her. His eyes didn't study her the way men usually did, glancing at her body hungrily in a way that could only mean one thing. Men who were gay usually harped over her looks, which Jodi herself could say were superb, without fear of cockiness, but her looks were all they dwelled on, or wanted to dwell on, not her intelligence or talent. She was nothing but a pretty woman, something that frustrated Jodi to no end.
When Detective Munch had looked upon her, his eyes spoke not of desire, or even pity, but as though he was really listening to what she said, something men rarely looked upon Jodi with.
Besides that, his looks intrigued her. He was undoubtedly older, but handsome at that. In a world where her main clients were men, she had seen it all, and been with a good number, but the appeal of an older man rang out to her, someone who was more mature, more experienced, and Detective Munch seemed to be just that. He was handsome, wise, and it had seemed compassionate. Jodi had made the assumption that one would have to be to work in a line of duty such as the Special Victims Unit, and against her better judgment, a small voice in her head wondered if she was attracted to him.
Moving down the corridor, Jodi stopped at the last door, decorated with Christmas lights and her name on the front, surrounded by childish gold stars reminiscent of her childhood dream to become a world-renowned dancer, selling out performances at the Kennedy Center and dancing Swan Lake at the Bolshoi.
Pulling a key from her purse, she slid it into the lock in the handle and turned, opening the door and stepping inside.
Flicking on the light switch, the room came alive, looking just the way she had left it. Racks of clothing lined the walls, and makeup and hair products cluttered the vanity.
Moving across the room to one of the racks, Jodi tossed her purse onto the floor, sorting through the clothing as she picked out a costume for the evening.
Pulling a hanger free, she glanced at the glittery silver dress, holding it up to her body and walking over to her mirror to look at herself.
It seemed as though over the course of the past few days, the beauty she had fought so hard to keep, that she foolishly and immaturely thought she had have forever was diminishing, dark circles appearing beneath her eyes along with worry lines across her forehead.
Sitting down at the mirror, she pulled her hair from the ponytail, letting her wild locks tumble down and hesitated, before looking away from the mirror as tears pricked at the back of her eyes, a lump rising in her throat.
She wanted it to all be over. She wanted to rewind, and keep the entire thing from ever having happened. Through the strong face she kept in public, she could still see and feel him, it seemed impossible to escape his rough touch.
Leaning forward, Jodi took a deep breath, sniffing and looking up, before grabbing her curling iron and plugging it in. She had not cried yet, and she would not. She was strong, and this time around, she would not be weak.
John Munch sat at his desk, twirling a pen between his fingers as he tried to free his brain from the grueling paperwork that sat at his desk, paperwork he was completely unable to concentrate on at the given time.
Leaning back in his chair, he listened to the phones ringing. Since the rape of Jodi Stanford, things had slowed down, which generally meant there would be a flood of crimes within the next few days, if not the following.
That did not mean there had been no work however. Jodi Stanford's rape had them running around in circles, as men called in asking whether the perp had been caught, despite the fact that the trail had run cold. Whoever had raped her was good, leaving absolutely no trace, making sure there were no eyewitnesses, and doing nothing that could draw attention of police in the area.
With each of these calls, John found it hard to keep his mind off of Jodi. Of course she never strayed far, being the main case he was working on at the time, but the apparent fact that she was popular with the male population of Manhattan for a moment made him wonder if perhaps she had really been raped, but the look in her eyes when he had talked to her told him otherwise. Those large eyes that threatened to break with tears. She had been trying to keep it together, but he could see she was struggling.
The sound of bounding footsteps suddenly drew his attention as he looked up to find Elliot, running through the squad room.
"We got another rape! Same as Jodi only this time vic is dead. Munch, you get to Jodi's work and find out if she can remember anything else, I'm going down to the crime scene." Elliot said, grabbing his keys and nodding to Olivia. She grabbed her jacket, and John stood up with Fin, grabbing a business card that Elliot shoved into his hand.
Looking down, he glanced at the small glossy card, a picture of Jodi on the front, red hair tumbling down the side of her head and green eyes turned up in a smoldering gaze. Her full lips were turned up in a sultry smile, and John found himself entranced in her feline-like eyes, which whispered seductively like some siren of the sea. Across from the headshot were scripted letters, reading:
Jodi Stanford, 38-21-32
Call for personal appointments
Beneath was the address and phone number for the club, a lower East Side party scene place that sent a trill of excitement through John.
Standing up, he let the card slide into his pocket, glancing at his partner and grabbing his jacket. Pulling it on, he adjusted his glasses, unable to deny that deep down, the excitement had not come from hitting up the scene he once frequented as a young man, but seeing Jodi Stanford.
La Maison de Rouge et Noir
8092 State St.
Wednesday, October 21st
John grabbed for his badge as he made his way down the street past the line of men waiting to get in. Ignoring the groans of anger as they stepped to the front of the line and to the bouncer.
Flashing his badge at the hulking brute, the man looked down at it, before glancing between him and Fin.
"That supposed to mean something?" he asked in a deep voice.
"Yeah, it means we're cops man." Fin jutted forward, puffing his chest out.
"Yeah I get that, so unless you've got business here, get to the back of the line with the others." The bouncer crossed his arms, staring down at Fin.
"We're here to talk to Jodi Stanford. She was raped next door the other day, maybe you should be looking after your dancers instead of playing guard dog." John said before Fin could strike up an altercation.
He clenched his jaw for a moment, as though considering a comment before stepping aside, lifting a velvet rope and letting John and Fin past, into the two open red double doors.
Music poured out onto the street, the undeniable sounds of a live band coming through.
The moment they stepped past the double doors, John's senses were overloaded as sights, sounds, and smells hit him all at once. Waitresses in skimpy red and black uniforms milled about serving drinks to glass tables beneath the lights. A bar covered the wall on the left side, the sweet smells of various liquors reaching John's nose as he looked up to find a woman standing on the bar, pouring drink down one of her legs and letting a man lick it from her flesh.
"Welcome to 21st century debauchery." John muttered as a waitress bounced up to them, perky breasts outlined by a thin top that gave a preview of pierced nipples beneath.
"Welcome to The House. Can I get you guys a table tonight or a seat at the bar?" she chirped, a southern twang dripping from her perfect white teeth and red glossed lips.
"We need to talk to Jodi Stanford." Fin said, flashing his badge at the waitress threw back her head, letting out a laugh.
"Oh honey you don't have to show that, table just opened up around the front. Must be your first time, I haven't seen you around. Follow me, Jodi's just getting warmed up."
With that, she spun on her heel before either had the chance to say anything, leading them through the horny customers, sitting on the edge of their seats and staring intently at whoever was onstage.
A sultry voice carried to John's ears, someone with surprising talent that he could not see. Paying no mind, he continued to follow the waitress, eyes flitting down to her round backside before they finally stopped in front of an empty table.
"Here you go. Can I get you guys any drinks?" she asked.
"No." John said, and she nodded before stepping out of the way, drawing his attention to the sultry redhead on stage.
"Is that?" he looked over at his partner quickly, whose face showed an equal amount of surprise.
Standing before them atop the stage was none other than Jodi, clad in a tight gold sparkly dress that clung to every part of her body in a way that was hard to ignore. The cut pushed her breasts forward, making it look as though she would topple over if it weren't for the curves throughout her body. As John stared, he found himself no longer looking at the helpless girl under the hospital gown he had met, but some kind of sex goddess. Suddenly, all the phone calls made sense, and John's breath hitched in his throat as her sultry voice hit his ears, lyrics spilling out of a curved mouth that made heat rise within him.
"Ooo there I go again, I need your spankin', cause I've, been, baddd. So let my body do the talkin', I'll give you that hot, sweet, sexy lovin…"
"You two just holler if you need something, name is Cyndi." The waitress said, and began to walk away before John shot out a hand and grabbed her wrist, still unable to tear his eyes from the stage.
"We need to talk to her." He finally said, tearing his eyes away and looking at Cyndi who ripped her wrist from his grip, rubbing it tenderly.
"You can't talk to her until after her set is over. Club policy." She shrugged.
"I don't think you understand, I'm Detective Munch, this is Detective Tutuola. We need to speak with her about her attack." John replied, cop mode sinking in with her unwillingness to cooperate.
"Hey, I don't make the rules okay. You can take it up with my boss."
Before they could even ask the same of said boss, she was gone, and John stood, unsure of where to go from here.
"So this is how a rape victim deals?" Fin said, disgust dripping from his tone. John said nothing, daring himself to turn back onstage where Jodi was using a white feather boa and dragging it all over her body seductively.
The dress was short enough to reveal miles upon miles of tanned legs, that ended in white stilettos. Instead of the disheveled hair John had seen previously, Jodi's red locks were set in large curls that framed her face, and smoky makeup which brought out her emerald eyes.
Grabbing an old-fashioned microphone, she growled seductively, eyes narrowed like a sphinx and red lips turned upward in a sultry grin.
"Might as well sit down if we have to wait." Fin sighed, pulling out a chair and plopping down unceremoniously. John followed suit, sitting down timidly and daring himself to look onstage at the minx who just the other day he was thinking about as a helpless damsel in distress.
Glancing up, John watched as Jodi grabbed the bottom of her dress, swinging her hips around and spinning, inching up the dress but never quite showing anything as she teased the crowd. All around men began to cheer, and John knew he would not be able to look away, even as she unzipped the dress from the side, and slowly pulled it down, revealing a surreal body barely covered by a sheer black lingerie set that left nothing to the imagination.
As she twirled the dress around her fingers, John stared at the pink nipples beneath sheer black fabric, testosterone raging. To his utter mortification, he felt a rush of blood surge to his nether regions, and as an impending erection began to grow, felt his pants tighten uncomfortably.
At least you don't have ED. He thought bitterly, hearing his heart pound in his ears. Quickly shifting positions, John crossed his legs and forced himself to look away from Jodi and to the man at the next table, who was shockingly enough a well-known U.S. senator.
Suddenly, the music died down and Jodi grabbed the mic with one hand, the dress tightly in the others.
"Now gentlemen, someone here tonight is going to take home a little piece of me tonight. This dress here has been on my tight, sweaty body. Who wants it?" she cooed, and immediately screams began to ring out around the club.
"Can I start with $5,000?" she arched an eyebrow and pursed her full lips like a cat.
"What idiot would by a worn dress for-" Fin began, before someone screamed "$10,000!"
The numbers began to climb, as a war of bids went back and forth. After five minutes, the senator beside them stood up, cupping his mouth before screaming:
"$30,000!"
The club fell entirely silent, all eyes drawn to him before, much to everyone's surprise, he was outbid.
A final number rang out, $45,000, and as Jodi handed over her dress to a waitress onstage who ran it off, John couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to hold the material in his hand and inhale her scent.
Grabbing the microphone once more, she cued the music and finished her song, giving a bow that was met with a standing ovation by nearly every man in the club.
"I need to get the hell out of here." John muttered, standing up and ignoring his partner's questions and he made his way through the club, weaving in and out of tables and going back the way he came.
Stepping outside, he walked the direction of Jodi's rape scene, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was unsure of what to think exactly at the moment. Here was a woman who had been brutally raped and mutilated, eyes silently pleading for mercy and help, but here she was onstage, showing her body for all the world to see, the girl he initially met gone.
Ducking under the tape, John made his way into the alley, stepping carefully as he looked back and forth. Sure enough, a dark spot on the pavement marked where she had lay on her back. Walking to the spot, John crouched down, studying the pavement carefully.
A few inches from the spot where her back was, was a small spattering of blood that undoubtedly came from the rape. Instantly, John felt for her again, staring at the tiny red droplets that came from being violated.
Sighing, he stood up, head snapping at the sound of a door creak further down the alley. Squinting his eyes, John could just make out a figure that approached him, coming into the light as none other than Jodi, clad in large sweatpants and an NYU sweatshirt.
"Detective Munch." She said, hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt. John remained firm in his spot, glancing down at the blood spatter and back up to her.
"Are you sure you should be out here Ms. Stanford?" he asked, tensing as she looked at the spot and blanched.
"Call me Jodi, and this is still my place to come have a smoke. I'm not going to run away because of what happened." She shrugged, digging into her pocket and pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds black Zippo.
"It's not a matter of running away, it just doesn't seem healthy to be in a place where something like that happened to you." John furrowed his brow, studying her carefully as she lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. The saucy minx he had seen onstage was gone, replaced with a woman who seemed to be struggling to exist.
"Neither is smoking, but here I am doing it anyway. So, you come for the show tonight?" she asked, taking a drag of the cigarette. As she exhaled, John noted her full lips, turned downward into a frown.
"No, we came to see you."
"Me? How flattering." She deadpanned. For a moment, John considered putting a hand on her shoulder for comfort, but decided against it, not wanting to lead her into ease with the news he was about to deliver.
"Jodi…listen, I'm sorry to tell you this, but someone else was raped. We think it was the same guy, but this time he killed her."
John watched her face carefully as it slackened, all emotions disappearing to be replaced with a gaunt parody of its former glory, sparkling eyes dim and coy grin turned into a Cheshire frown.
"Shit." She swore, bringing a hand to her forehead and grimacing. John stepped closer to her, wanting to reach out and bring her to his chest. He could almost feel the emotion threatening to boil over as she clenched her first tightly, digging her nails into her skin.
"Listen, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, we need to review your statement again, see if you can remember anything else. Sometimes stuff can come after a couple times."
Jodi said nothing, only nodded, tossing the cigarette onto the ground before stomping it out and putting her hands on her head, running them through her girls as she clenched her jaw tightly.
"Of course. Well, I've got another song in twenty. After that you guys can come to my dressing room and I'll talk to you guys again." Jodi spoke in a hollow voice, and John nodded as she turned around, walking back toward the door.
Hesitating, he followed her, stepping closely as they made their way to the back door.
"Mind if I walk you in?" he asked, wanting to make sure that if she finally broke down, she would not be alone.
"Sure." She murmured, and they walked together in silence, even as Jodi pulled open the door they turned inside, the cold fall air turning into plain white corridors.
As they approached a door with Jodi's name, she stopped turning toward him and looking up into his brown eyes with her own green ones. As she did so, John could see they watered dangerously.
"Thanks for escorting me back in." she breathed, pulling down the door handle. "I'll see you guys in a few."
With that, she opened the door and stepped inside, giving John a ghost of a smile and closing it behind her.
John remained where he stood, picking up a mixture of floral notes and amber, the scent wrapping around his brain and pulling at him as he thought about just how warm her skin felt under those baggy clothes.
Spinning around, John navigated the white corridors, trying to make his way around before finally stepping through a red curtain and finding himself on the other side of the club once more. Glancing up at the stage, he found himself looking at a thin woman with straight blonde hair that fell down her back and a pair of thigh-high black latex boots, swinging around a pole with gravity-defying moves.
Moving back to his table, he sat down next to Fin, straightening his jacket and looking up at the woman onstage easily, chuckling internally as she moved with her A-Cups and slim waist. She had nothing on Jodi, that was certain, and much to his ease he found himself able to look onstage without struggling to fight his arousal.
"Where'd you go?" Fin turned to him.
"For a breath of fresh air, I ran into Jodi. She's going to be done in a half I think."
Fin stared at him for a moment, before turning back to the stage.
Jodi slowly spread lipstick around her full lips, feeling emptiness bloom inside of her as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror.
Detective Munch's words played in her head over and over again as she thought about the girl who had died, silently wanting to scream to the heavens and beg forgiveness for her failure to help capture the man who had raped her. She should have done so many things during her attack, she could have scratched him, bit him, even licked him perhaps! Anything to get DNA, and perhaps have him sitting in a jail cell, even now.
But she had done none of those things, and now there was a dead girl on her. A girl who would never again return home to her mother or father or boyfriend or whoever she had left.
A knock on the door suddenly stirred her attention, along with a quick time warning.
"Ten minutes!" a voice spoke briskly, and Jodi stood up, adjusting her dress quickly before grabbing a pair of black kitten heels and sliding them on, turning to glance at herself in the mirror once more and applying a lust puff of hairspray to her red hair, which was completely pinned back in a bun.
Slamming her door and locking it, Jodi made her way down the corridor quickly and to the stage curtain, waiting for the girl ahead of her to wrap up so she could go on.
Glancing down, she looked at her nails for a moment, she glanced up as a thin blonde named Alexis stepped through the curtain, wearing nothing but a pair of thigh-high latex stilettos.
Without even acknowledging Jodi's presence, Alexis threw back her blonde head, nose upturned and stepped past Jodi without another word.
"And now, for her second song of the evening we bring back the one, the only, Jodi Stanford performing Doris Day's flamenco classic." A deep voice boomed, and Jodi waited for the applause to begin, tossing the curtains aside and stepping onstage, a smile plastered on her face so radiant that for a moment, even she believed that she was happy.
Standing in the middle of the stage, she lifted her hands above her head, glancing over at the band and nodding.
The guitar began to belt out a spicy Spanish beat, and Jodi swayed, looking into the dark mass of crowd before her and stomping her feet against the floor loudly along with the beat.
Dancing around the stage she closed her eyes, spinning around and for a moment, letting herself fall free to dance, forgetting about the pain in between her legs, forgetting about the horrific incident that had happened to her and feeling only the air around her as she twirled and stomped her feet.
Grabbing the microphone, she opened her eyes, feeling the woman who performed night after night take over, pulling out the sinful and sensual diva that illuminated the night.
"You won't admit you love me, and so, how am I ever to know, you only tell me perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…"
The lyrics flew from her mouth, eyes closed and a smile climbing over her face with each measure. Performing was something she truly loved doing, dancing especially that could make everything alright in a crumbling world. In her darkest hours, lifting her feet to the sounds of music Jodi came alive, escaping into a world where she could be Sleeping Beauty or a backup dancer for Beyonce.
Slowly, she began to remove her clothes, letting the cold air hit her skin and feeling the eyes of every man in the place rake her body. Stripping down to her underwear, she reached back for the clasp of her bra, unhooking it and tossing it aside before looking around the crowd, zooming in on the one person who had any semblance of importance in her life at the moment.
With his white hair and dark glasses, seated amidst the crowd in front of the stage, he was easy to find, and for a moment, Jodi shuddered with excitement as she looked at him and indeed, found him watching her as well, half naked and stunning beneath the lights.
Heart pounding in her chest, she grabbed the microphone again and continued to sing, running her hands over her curved body, squeezing her breasts and letting her hands brush her nipples. Trailing her hands down to her panty line, Jodi inched her fingers down, teasing the crowd wildly with each move before sliding her fingers into her mouth, sucking on them seductively.
For a moment, Jodi considered doing something spontaneous, perhaps shedding her panties and giving the good detective a show, but with her promise to talk to them later, she decided against it, finishing up her number before giving a bow and smiling, stepping backward through the curtain once more to keep from showing her back and making her way to her room.
After a half hour had passed and Jodi was dressed in a robe, makeup removed, she sat at her mirror, gazing intently at the orange folder that sat on the counter, no addresses or markings, left by she did not who or when, but somehow they had gotten into her room and left it there without a word.
Taking the envelope gingerly, she tore it open, pouring out its contents and watching as several pictures fell out onto the counter.
"Hey Jodi babe, I'm here with those officers you asked for." Came a faraway voice as her door was thrown open.
Jodi found herself unable to respond as she looked at the pictures on the counter, a woman, eyes closed and body stiff with blood smeared across her face.
There were others, the woman's back with the same initial's as Jodi's, her mutilated genitals, and then, several pictures of Jodi at the hospital, outside the club, leaving the taxi.
And at the very bottom was a note, with messy scrawling that said:
You're last.
In that moment, everything Jodi had been feeling poured fourth, and unable to control herself, the floodgates opened, tears pouring from her eyes and sobs wracking her body.
"Jodi?" she heard a warm voice call, and looked up through bleary eyes to find Detective Munch, standing beside her with a hand on her shoulder.
Looking up at the detective, Jodi forgot about everything else and heard the words come from her mouth without even thinking them.
"Help me."