By the time she gets home from Chupa Cabra's, all she wants to do is pour herself a stiff drink and sack out on the couch until unconsciousness takes her. Instead, her exhaustion is tempered by the stress of her night. Screw the drink, she wants to break something. Preferably the skull of that smug little albino jackass. In the two and a half weeks since she's been at Chupa Cabra's, Maka has been stared at, winked at, groped, propositioned, and drooled on. Until tonight, the worst of them has been Giriko, who has a particular talent for being insulting and skeezy. The thug disgusts her, but he doesn't scare her like this guy does.

She'd been startled when he turned up sitting at one of her tables and asked her name. She hadn't expected him to remember her - compared with Ginger, she's forgettable at best. But he had. The white-haired slimeball had stared at her like he was memorizing her, taking her apart. Like he wanted to find out all of her secrets. That idea terrified Maka - still terrifies her, in fact.

If she wants to be honest with herself, it's really her own fault. She never should have done something so stupid as to dart into a closed VIP room like that. It was impulsive and foolish, and a rookie mistake in a place where she absolutely cannot afford to make rookie mistakes. The more she thinks about it, the more she wants to berate herself. She goes ahead and pours herself a drink because breaking the coffee table might be therapeutic, but it would also wake up Tsubaki, and that's a no-go. For a moment, she stares at the gin in her freezer before scowling because she hears his voice, and then reaching for the vodka.

Screwdriver in hand, she begins to pour over her casebooks, flipping past detailing and descriptions. She wants to say that she's seen this guy before, that he's one of the regulars, but until that night in the VIP room, he'd never popped up on her radar for more than a moment. That in and of itself is deeply worrisome considering the company he was keeping. She stares blankly at her ciphered writing for a moment, then takes a deep breath and scraps looking for a white-haired man. Instead, she focuses on his friend, who is even more distinctive. She knows him; blue hair, star tattoos on each arm, loud...she scans her notes furiously and it doesn't take long for her to hit a match for one Black*Star, a mid-level goon for Arachnophobia. He's definitely a regular at Chupa Cabra's, and just as she hoped, she's got a little margin note;

Usually seen in the company of white-haired male, late twenties, approx. 6ft; name unknown, no known alias.

With a sigh, Maka makes another entry. She'll find out the deal with this guy. For now, she labels him "Albino Shark," and takes another sip of her drink. She'll put in a request for files on this Black*Star guy tomorrow...who knows, maybe she'll even get them in a reasonable amount of time. If she plays her cards right, she might even be able to convince Tsubaki to take a look and see if there's anything she can use to profile this thug and his little albino friend.

Wednesday morning dawns bright and clear, and Maka takes note of it long enough to get up and pull her curtains shut, grumbling the whole way. She flings herself back into bed and remains blissfully unconscious until noon. When she stirs again, she can smell bacon and coffee, which, while delicious, is also unusual. It lures her from her cocoon of blankets and she slips on her robe before going to investigate.

"Tsubaki?"

The dark-haired woman looks up from the stove at the sound of her name. "Oh, Maka! I was wondering when you'd be getting up."

Maka joins her in the kitchen, pulling down a coffee mug. "Mm, yeah. Noon's about normal these days." She fixes her coffee and settles into one of the bar stools. She's about two sips in when she looks up and gives her roommate a suspicious look."It's Wednesday, right?"

"Last time I checked."

"Why aren't you at work?"

Tsubaki grins and dishes up a few slices of bacon and a scrambled egg. "I was wondering when you'd notice. I went ahead and switched shifts with Jacquie - last night was my first night. I figured it might be nice to actually see my best friend every once in a while."

Maka smiles back at her. She can hear the unspoken words; Tsubaki will never say it out loud, but Maka knows her roommate worries about her, especially when she's on a long case like this. She says it with dinner left in the oven and breakfast.

She thinks that maybe she ought to feel a little offended that Tsubaki thinks that she can't take care of herself, but Maka knows how many nights she's gone without dinner before, too caught up in the chase to stop for food. She watches her friend move around the kitchen, fixing her own breakfast, and acknowledges that it's less about her and more about the fact that Tsubaki is just one of those people - giving and caring to a beautiful fault.

Maka suspects that that's the real reason she insists on working at the diner. The last time she had asked her roommate why she didn't use her degree for something more worthwhile, Tsubaki had just given her one of those looks, and replied with, "Who says I'm not? Surely what I do isn't any different than you using your own degree to become a cop?" Maka had dropped the subject, mouth twisted in a smile. It was hard to refute her roommate's logic.

"You sure you're ok with that? I know you're not much of a night owl."

Tsubaki thumps her lightly on the back of the head. "And you are?"

She grins at the black-haired woman. "Ok, yeah. Fair enough."

"Besides, Jacquie was looking for a break from the night shift for a while. I think she might be seeing someone..."

Maka grins and enjoys the moment of normalcy. She hadn't really realized how much she missed the time she used to spend just sitting and talking with her best friend. They finish their meal together, and Maka does her part to wash up. It's not her favorite chore in the world, but she's glad that she can actually help her roommate for once. Perhaps she can help out a little more by hitting up the grocery store so Tsubaki doesn't have to.

Hands sudsy and water steaming, she immerses herself in the task and tries to plan through what's left of her day. Wednesdays are the only days she reliably has to herself, and she's already promised to meet with Liz and Pattie for coffee before they have to go in. She has to make her weekly report to Kid, too...and make sure she adds in her file requests. Maka sighs.

What she wants to do is maybe sleep a little more then stay in all day with a book and a pot of tea. She looks longingly at her stack of library books on her way to the bathroom, and makes another mental note to go ahead and return them while she's at it.

Maka makes her way to the little coffee shop on 4th and Styx at a leisurely pace. Her day off is at least nice, and she revels in the feeling of her feet in her favorite pair of boots and the comfort of her ancient college hoodie. The Thompson sisters are already waiting for her when she gets there, and despite the fact that they're both in jeans and t-shirts, they still manage to look glamorous. On any other day she might feel jealous, but she's far too pleased to be out of high heels and miniskirts to really care. They both smile as she approaches and get up to greet her; Maka finds herself in a flurry of arms and cheek kisses and laughter. It's a novel feeling, and it's the kind of display that would have made her extremely uncomfortable even a week ago. But it's just the way that Liz and Pattie are, and Maka's pathetically grateful for their effusive acceptance of her.

They sit and Pattie slides over the coffee they ordered for her.

"Thanks," she says, taking a sip. It's good coffee, and more importantly, the napkin it's been sitting on has been scribbled on. She flicks her eyes up at Pattie casually, and the younger blond smiles and laughs heartily.

"You're welcome!"

They sit and talk about innocuous things - just three friends out on a Wednesday afternoon. Maka keeps a sharp eye out for people who seem to be lingering around their outdoor table, but so far everyone has come and gone within a reasonable time limit, and she feels pretty confident that in the unlikely event there is someone watching them, they're good enough that she'd be fucked anyway.

"I waited on a new guy last night," she finally ventures. Liz raises an eyebrow and Pattie slurps on her Italian soda a little louder.

"New guy?" Liz looks genuinely puzzled, but then both Thompson girls have a lot of bright lights in their faces while on stage, and they don't spend the same amount of time in and around the customers on the floor as she does. Liz smiles slyly, though her eyes remain fixed on Maka's. "What's he look like, is he cute?"

"Are you going to leave us for the glamorous world of marriage?" Pattie pipes up. Maka ducks her head as if embarrassed, and tries to think of how to describe a man in terms other than "as a perp." It's harder than she thought it would be.

"Um, well. He's unusual," she begins, "about 5'11", 170 lbs - " and she stops herself with a grimace because that is really not the way to describe a cute guy in a club. "He's lean," she tries and Liz nods, grinning at her. "But still muscular. And uh, very tan...he's got white hair that's really striking, and these really, um, gorgeous red eyes." Both Thompsons are looking at her a little askance.

"Sounds like quite the hottie," Pattie supplies. Maka blinks. Taken objectively, she supposes that the Albino Shark could be considered attractive. Though she's more concerned with his role in Arachnophobia than the broad set of his shoulders.

She nods and smiles. "Yeah, he's pretty cute. You seen him before?"

"He's not new, sweetie, that's the Eater," Liz supplies. Maka raises an eyebrow and Liz shrugs. "That just what they call him."

"Sounds fascinating. How come I just started noticing him? He's pretty distinctly...handsome," she adds, and it's Pattie's turn to grin at her.

"He's been a regular at the club for the last year or so. He's friends with Black*Star, and even he doesn't stand out next to 'Star."

Maka recalls the shock of blue hair and the tats and the sheer noise that was Black*Star, and nods. Eater, with his low voice and piercing stare, pretty much disappears next to the loud brashness of his friend. She wishes she could figure out what about the guy bothers her so much. By all rights, he should just fade away into the backdrop of Chupa Cabra's and Arachnophobia. He doesn't seem to be anything special.

The younger Thompson slurps the last of her drink. "We'll keep an eye on him for you," she offers. "See if he's available."

Maka tries on a shy smile and nods. She appreciates their help more than they know, and resolves to do something nice for them as a thank you once this is all over. In the interim, however, she finishes her coffee and pretends like this is just a normal social visit.

She leaves the coffee shop full of extra details and tidbits that might prove pertinent later. When she's a few blocks away, she pulls out the napkin Pattie gave her and scans it. There's not much there, mostly just some information about the proclivities of a few of the regulars: Boris has been missing for a few days, and Liz suspects that Giriko's got a cocaine habit; Cherry's out for at least a week, which is strange, but she doesn't think much about it. She'll have to sort through all the information when she gets home, though the tidbits about Giriko seem promising. On her way home, she drops the thick manila envelope that contains her report off at the post office, with a few hastily scrawled last minute notes in it.

She's so focused on her drop that she nearly misses the shock of white hair at the crosswalk as she comes out of the post office. She looks up at the flash of white, then nearly dismisses it as an older gentleman. Except he's not hunched over in age so much as slouching as he walks, hands shoved deep into his pockets. What really cinches it is his hair, artfully messy and much longer than the typical senior citizen's.

Heart in her chest, Maka follows him from a distance before she can let her brain convince her otherwise - if she's wrong, no harm, no foul. But if it is him, she thinks she can manage to snag a cell phone photo for her records, maybe see if he meets anyone.

He slows after he crosses the street, and while she'd been hoping that he would continue on and she could keep a reasonable distance between them, that doesn't appear to be in the cards. So she watches him from the corner of her eye, keeping her head down and slipping into the rest of the crowd at the corner. He doesn't seem to notice her, so she pulls her phone out, holds it up like she's trying to get a signal, and quickly snaps his picture. The crowd starts to thin, and she can make out the fact that he's answering a call before she's forced to shuffle away with the rest of the crowd lest she be spotted.

Thursday night finds her back in the club, comfy boots exchanged for heeled knee-high monstrosities, worn out jeans discarded in favor of yet another wide belt masquerading as a skirt. Maka considers being worried that her feet appear to be adapting to the various forms of ridiculous footwear Blair insists she wear, but she's far more concerned with keeping an eye out for the albino menace. She'd gotten a text from Liz in the middle of the night last night:

He's looking for you :D

She's not sure if Liz thought that that was supposed to be a warning or what, but she's not hoping for the best. Maka takes it as a good sign that he's not lying in wait for her when she goes into Chupa Cabra's, but the night is still young and as she makes her way from customer to customer, she keeps an eye out for disturbing hair colors. She tries not to whip her head around whenever she catches a flash of blue or white out of the corner of her eye, but it takes all of her discipline to stay focused and not look like she's having some kind of spasming fit. So when she catches the flash of purple, she doesn't pay it any mind until there's a set of well-manicured claws wrapped around one of her arms. She stiffens, and starts to turn and wrench her arm away.

"Easy there, Kitten, it's just me."

Maka eases her foot back to the ground at the silky sound of Blair's voice and hopes no one noticed that she was about to kick her boss.

"You startled me, Miss Blair," she exclaims, though even to her ears it sounds a little flat. "I thought it was another one of the boys getting grabby."

Blair smiles. "Men do have wandering hands, don't they?" Blair doesn't look terribly upset at the prospect, but then again, she's not the one out on the floor politely slapping away octopus hands night after night. "Walk with me, Kitten."

Maka feels her heart begin to pound in her chest. She thinks of Eater the Albino Shark and wonders what she gave away - if he had noticed her following him, where she slipped up. Blair was a friendly boss, even relatively kind for the sort of woman who managed a mob-owned nightclub, but she doesn't tend to wander the floor, and she certainly doesn't come to grab waitresses for "walks" just for funsies.

Her entire demeanor is off, and it makes Maka nervous as Blair slips her arm through Maka's and leads her through the club's floor to a little door near the stage, smiling and flirting with the customers the whole way. Maka smiles and winks and giggles where it's expected even as her mind races to figure out if somehow Liz or Pattie slipped up, and just what she's going to do when this whole thing plummets south and she's discovered.

They enter the narrow hallway that leads to the dressing rooms and the labyrinthine office suites of Chupa Cabra's, and Maka tries not to think about how dark it is, about how the music would cover her screams. Blair tightens her hold on Maka's elbow, and she feels like a wire getting ready to snap at a moment's notice. She's got a long list of things that she's expecting her boss to say next but, "I need a favor," isn't one of them.

"Beg pardon?" It slips out of Maka's mouth before she can stop herself.

Blair looks uncomfortable for a moment. "It's not something that I like doing, you understand. I'm normally very firm when it comes to my girls and what their jobs are, but sometimes we get, ah - requests from patrons and it's really just...well, you did such a good job in your interview..."

She doesn't quite believe the words Blair is tripping over. "I'm - I'm sorry, I don't understand."

Blair tilts her head, sensuous mouth pulling into a frown. "I didn't take you for stupid. We've had a request, Kitten. One of our regulars wants to see you, specifically. Privately. I don't particularly want to pull you from the floor - you do excellent work, and I didn't hire you to be a dancer."

"...But we have to keep the customers happy." Maka can fill in the blanks.

Blair nods, and her features clear up, deviously playful behavior back in full force. "We understand each other perfectly. You know my motto: the customer always comes first." It takes every ounce of willpower Maka has to not roll her eyes.

Instead, she manages a fairly neutral, "When?" Blair gives her a quick up-down, and then her hands are in Maka's flimsy shirt, grabbing her breasts before she can react. All business, she tugs Maka's tits up and in, and by the time she realizes what's happening, Blair's finished and gives her an approving nod.

"Now would be good, I think...no, wait." She tugs one of Maka's pigtails straight and smiles. "Yes, perfect. You're gorgeous, you'll knock him dead. Just remember," she says, leading Maka back to one of the VIP rooms. "Head up, keep eye contact. Feel sexy, and you will be sexy. It's all about confidence, Kitten."

And with that, she bustles away, leaving Maka in front of a familiar door.

Maka takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. She doesn't like it, but Blair's advice is sound, echoing her own words - Maka would find it funny if she didn't feel queasy at the prospect of what - who waits behind the door. She opens the door and hopes that her bug is still active in the track lighting.

The first thing that she notices is that it's dim. Not in the low-lit romantic sense, but more in a way that makes her want to reach for a gun that isn't there.

"Hello?" she calls out, forcing her voice into something more timid when all she wants to do is bluster her way through. Her eyes take another moment to adjust and she can just make out the figure lounging in front of her. She gets the impression of broad shoulders and spiky hair, and her heart sinks because suddenly she knows why Blair was so nervous.