Grissom's POV:

The girls aren't wearing much more than strings to cover the most intimate parts of their bodies. There are poles in a variety of locations in the bar. Surprisingly, there are peanut shells covering the floor . . . a long with a thin layer of sawdust. This is where the locals frequent. The real locals; the people working as valets, bartenders, waiters . . . the people making just enough money to rent an apartment and eat lunch and dinner at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A tourist would never even think to wander into this establishment.

The bar is so dark that I can barely see the patrons. I probably wouldn't see Brad even if he was nestled right under my nose. I know Ecklie isn't much better off. He's stepped on my heels about five or six times within the five minutes we've been in the rather rustic 'gentlemen's club.'

"You want a dance?" a girl no more than eighteen years old asked Brass. She pouted her lips in a way that was so unnatural it immediately became the antithesis of sexy. She ran her hands down the profile of her body as she swayed off beat to what could have been the soundtrack of a pornography video. Her long, stringy brown hair coated with a combination of glitter, sweat, and beer. She probably didn't make anymore than fifty dollars a night. None of the patrons looked like they even had fifty dollars in their worn leather wallets.

"No, but, sweetheart, I'm lookin' for this guy. You recognize him?" Brass asked as he held up a picture of Brad Wilcott.

"That's Big Dog," the girl replied. I was immediately sickened by the nickname, though the stripper seemed happy to see him.

"Where's Big Dog?" Brass asked slowly. He was either trying to keep from throwing up at the mention of the nickname or he was trying to suppress his laughter. Knowing Jim, it was probably the latter of the two.

"Table sixteen. He was in the mood for a red-head tonight," the stripper replied as she pointed us in the direction of table sixteen. I immediately felt ill at the mention of a red-head. It made me think of Catherine. I made me believe that he knew Sara from Catherine, but was prepared to take out the first target he saw. Now I knew what Catherine meant when she said she would kill for her daughter; I would kill to protect Sara and Catherine.

"Let's go say hi to Big Dog," Brass replied. His words dripped with sarcasm. I got the impression that he would also kill to protect Sara and Catherine . . . Big Dog would just have to provide him with the opportunity.

Brad Wilcott fit into the ambiance of the bar perfectly. He was clad in a dirty gray t-shirt and jeans that had been cut into shorts that might have been just a little too short. He wore flip-flop sandals and a long gold chain. He looked so different from his twin, who was slightly better kept.

"Big Dog, I'm Detective Brass. You're coming with me," Jim said as he yanked Brad out of his seat by the collar of his shirt, "Buddy, you, me, and your brother have a lot to talk about. If you're a good boy, I'll even let your mother join us."

I put a hand on Brass' shoulder in hopes that he might not overstep his boundaries, thought I don't think my conscience would be up in arms about it. Brad pushed Jim off of him, which was the exact opposite of what he should have done. Jim pulled his gun and forced his face down into a pile of discarded peanut shells that were sitting on the table.

"If you think for a minute that you're in control, you are sadly mistaken. I could have shot you in the ass. You're lucky I didn't . . . I have extremely good aim," Brass yelled at him. The pornography soundtrack immediately stopped. Peopled flooded from the bar as if they believed that they would be in handcuff next. The place was probably overrun by men with outstanding warrants for something.

"Easy, Brass. Let's take him back to meet with tweedle-dee," Ecklie replied. Ecklie appeared to be enjoying working on this particular case. He didn't seem to mind the interrogation room. He didn't even seem opposed to processing the evidence. I nearly had to turn around to make sure this was the Conrad Ecklie that I had known for years.

Brass, Ecklie and I managed to squeeze into the front seat of the squad. If given the chance, Ecklie or Brass probably would have been happy to sit in the backseat with Brad. I could have pictured either of them punching Brad Wilcott. I could close my eyes and picture the yelling that would ensue. Again, my conscience wasn't up in arms over the daydream.

Brass paraded Brad Wilcott down the hallway to the interrogation room much as he did Sexy Kitty so many years ago. I still look back at that day and smile. I never forgot the balding lawyer dressed in the blue cat 'plushie' suit.

"Brass, we've got two more crime scenes," a young woman said as she met us in the hallway, "Vartan and O'Reilly went out."

"What the fuck did you do?" Brass asked as he pushed Brad into an interrogation room.

"I'll head back to the lab. You . . . make sure Brass doesn't kill the brothers before the state of Nevada has the chance to," Ecklie said as he turned away from me.

Few people would describe me as something other than peaceful. There were few times that I had ever lost my temper with suspects. Secretly, I always hoped that criminals would get life in prison rather than death. This time, I wanted to see someone pay for what had been done to Sara.

"This isn't cute anymore. You better start talking," Brass said as he indicated that the guard could un-handcuff the suspect.

"I don't know what you are talking about, officer," Brad stated as if he had just been pulled over for speeding or something much less benign than what he was brought in for.

"You brother says that he raped that stripper three years ago," I said. Brass looked at me as if he wanted to do this solo. I wanted him to be a captain tomorrow, so I wasn't going to sit here quietly.

"I did time for that pansy-ass. Our 'big shot' lawyer said there was no way that both of us would be convicted . . . they'd let us walk. He still sends my mother bills for all his services," Brad said. He stared into my eyes. His unblinking eyes said far more than he could. They said he stopped feeling somewhere between his court date and his jail time.

"My friend was strangled by someone in your situation. A judge and a jury foreman were murdered. Payback, Brad?" Jim asked. Again, Brad didn't blink.

"It could have been anyone," Brad replied.

"Funny that all these people just happened to be associated with your trial," Brass replied.

"Well, this world is a funny place," Brad replied. Ben definitely seemed to be the well-adjusted brother.

"I want your clothes," Brass said.

"Over my dead body," Brad hissed as he leaned over the table, "I'm not under arrest."

"Well, why don't you wait here? I'll get the warrant," Brass snapped as I followed him out of the room.

Brass' forehead crinkled. He immediately spun around and threw his left fist into the cinderblock wall. I knew what he was thinking; we have them, but we are just too late.

"Jim, go rest. I'm sure Vega wouldn't mind taking at shot at the family," I replied as Jim nursed an obviously broken hand.

"Dammit, Gil. I have two more scenes. I know nothing about these scenes. What if they're fresh? Then what the hell do we start looking for?" Brass asked.

Truth be told . . . I didn't know.