I hate this.

Sara pulled her kit from her Tahoe, closing the hatch behind her. She stood still for a moment, closing her eyes wearily, and tried not to think about the fact that she had been blissfully asleep, something that was a rarity for her of late, when the call for this scene had come in. Her first instinct to Brass' greeting – "Sidle? We need you on the strip. Homicide."- had been to hang up, roll over, and pull her covers back over her head. Instead she blearily stared at her clock, willing the hazy red numbers to make some semblance of sense. And when her groggy mind finally interpreted the time as 4:10 in the morning, she'd almost told Brass to fuck off. That in itself was bothering her, albeit mildly; there had been a time when she wouldn't have cared about the time or the call. She had even sacrificed her days off to come in and work on case after case ... Her eyes opened, and her lips tightened into a thin, mirthless smile.

It was sad how things had changed.

She began walking, towards the myriad of LVPD cruisers splayed haphazardly around the small parking lot, their blazing lights a beacon to anyone interested. As she neared the crime scene tape that made a perimeter around the crime scene and the officer that stood guard, she could see a crowd of onlookers holding vigil; vultures waiting for a look at the macabre and the gruesome to fulfill their morbid curiosity. The officer lifted the yellow ribbon as she flashed her identification, and with a muttered thanks she passed beneath. Within the perimeter were more vehicles; the black van of the coroner, Brass' cruiser, and another black SUV very similar to her own. Her heart sank at the sight of the last, because she knew without a doubt who she would be working with tonight. Rounding the corner, she found herself standing before a two story building that seemed incongruous in this industrial section of Vegas.

Bathed in the light of the flashing neon sign above her, she snorted and shook her head. Tally-Ho, the large green letters read, and below that in blinking red it stated, Stylish Nude Entertainment. "Lucky me," she muttered, shaking her head again.

"Rethinking your line of work?" Brass had materialized beside her, and his gaze followed hers to the sign. Sara grinned.

"Nope."

"Aw, come on. You'd make more than you do now."

"Yes, but I'd be missing the wonderful sense of fulfillment I get from investigating crime scenes in trashy strip clubs."

Brass made a noise of amusement. He gestured with one hand to the open door of the club. "David and Grissom are inside. They're preparing to move the body."

Sara nodded and swallowed. She didn't want to go in there for reasons other than the body, and in an effort to stall she asked, "How bad is it?"

All traces of amusement were gone now from his face. Meeting her eyes, he said soberly, "Dismemberment. Among ... other things."

Something tightened in Sara's chest. Other things could be interpreted many ways, but she fervently hoped it wasn't rape. Rape was always the most difficult for her, and ever since that case with Linley Parker ... Sensing she was under Brass's scrutiny, she schooled her face to an impassionate mask, and nodded. "I'll go check it out," she said.

"Alright. The body is outside, at the back near the dumpster."

She nodded again, and with case in hand climbed the few stairs to the door. Inside she almost staggered as a wealth of scents struck her; smoke, liquor, and other, more intimate things. It was bright, too bright; lights that were never meant to be on past dark had been utilized. Gazing around the somewhat dingy interior, she understood with crystal clarity why establishments such as this went out of their way to keep things dark. This club was small and dumpy, although there was an almost cozy look to it. It had been cleared of its former inhabitants, many of which who were waiting for questioning, and with a last, amused glance around Sara headed for the emergency exit situated in the back wall beside a small stage. Outside again, it took her eyes a moment to adjust before she could make out the crouched forms of Grissom and David, and another form lying in a contorted position in front of them.

They both glanced up as she stepped forward; David flashing a quick smile, Grissom giving her a quick nod. Ignoring the latter, or what effect it had on her pulse, she crouched beside the coroner and asked, "What do we have?"

It was Grissom that answered. "Dancer and amateur porn star named Starr Clain. Didn't show up for her shift the last three mornings. The bouncer found her tonight when he took out the garbage."

Sara studied the corpse intently. Dismemberment, Brass had said, and it was true; the vic was missing both hands and feet. Squinting, she leaned closer to examine the face. It was contorted in a grimace of pain, and she supposed, had consequences been different, that the vic could have been attractive. What caught her eye was the amount of dried blood around the mouth. Noticing her attention, David volunteered, "Her teeth have been removed."

Sara arched an eyebrow. "Removed?"

"Forcibly," Grissom supplied, rising to his feet. "Most likely with pliers or a similar tool."

"Ouch." Sara muttered, setting down her kit. Opening it, she removed her camera with which she would begin to process the scene.

"Don't bother." Grissom said, watching her.

"Excuse me?"

"Nick is coming in to process. You're with me."

Irritation and something close to despair were warring for attention within Sara at his statement. "Why?"

He wasn't meeting her gaze; he seldom did anymore. The hand not gripping the camera tightened into a fist. Whatever friendship she and Grissom had had, whatever connections they'd ever established had faded inexorably over the last couple months. She couldn't claim she didn't understand why; it was painfully obvious. And then, three weeks ago, she'd stood outside the interrogation room, watching through the two way glass as Grissom had laid himself bare to the murdering Dr. Lurie:

"It's sad, isn't it, doc? Guys like us. Couple of middle- aged men who've allowed their work to consume their lives. The only time we ever touch other people is when we're wearing our latex gloves. We wake up one day and realize that for fifty years we haven't really lived at all. But then, all of a sudden ... we get a second chance. Somebody young and beautiful shows up. Somebody ... we could care about. She offers us a new life with her ... but we have a big decision to make, right? Because we have to risk everything we've worked for in order to have her. I couldn't do it ..."

She was still unsure whether Grissom had known she'd been there, but it didn't matter anymore. None of it did. His testimony had only ascertained what she had tried to deny, and so she'd pushed it aside, locked it away, and refused to dwell on it. The thing was, she couldn't do the same to Grissom. Every day she had to face him, to acknowledge him, to realize that he wouldn't vanish the way she feverishly wished he would. And so it was she set about banishing him the only ways she could. She went out of her way to work on cases he had nothing to do with. She never spoke to him unless to answer a direct question, and she never looked at him unless absolutely necessary; to do so only reminded her of what she'd never had, and what she never would. It didn't work, as she knew it wouldn't, but it was the only method she had of coping.

"Because we're going to question the staff." Grissom answered her, and without waiting he strode past and entered the club.

Sara made a noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh; David gave her a sympathetic look. "He's in a mood tonight."

"Trust me, David," she muttered as she returned the camera to her kit, "He's not the only one."

Sara found Grissom with Brass on the upper level of the club. There were several people gathered there, and judging from the lack of clothing on the women, most of them worked there. Sara set her kit down and came to stand beside Brass as he spoke to the assorted bunch.

"These are CSIs Grissom and Sidle. They're going to ask you some questions."

A woman with dark blonde hair, done up in a deliberate attempt at messiness rolled her eyes and lit a cigarette. She puffed out a cloud of smoke, rolling her wrist in an agitated fashion. The bright red shade of lipstick that came off on the butt of the smoke matched the streaks in her hair and the outfit she had on. "Can we speed this up? I got other places ta be today."

For some reason Sara felt as if the woman blamed the two CSIs for holding her up; as if they had walked in for no good reason, instead of to do their own jobs. "We'll start with you first." She said sweetly. "What's your name?"

The woman let out a little "hrmph" noise, gripping the red ended smoke in crimson tipped nails. "Candy Lane." She responded.

Perhaps because he could sense that Sara was refraining from laughing out loud at the name, Grissom smoothly stepped in. "I'm guessing that's your stage name?"

With an angry snort she leered at them both. "No, my parents are crack heads. Of course it's my stage name. "

Brass, watching idly from the sidelines, spoke up. "Little less lip, little more cooperation. In case you haven't forgotten, we're investigating a murder here. It's in your best interest," he stressed the words, "to go along with what we ask you."

She rolled her hazel eyes. "Who cares about that crazy broad anyway? Less people like her the better for the rest of us. Stupid little bitch. Comes in here in an uproar. Who would do something like that? I mean, I know this place isn't what it used ta be, and it sure as hell ain't what it can be, but still, I'm trying to work here."

"So you didn't like the victim?" Brass, ever astute, asked casually.

"Didn't even know 'er till last night. Never saw her before. She comes in bitching that her man is here all the time." She smiled showing off surprisingly white teeth for a smoker. "Of course, that's nothing new. Most of the regulars come just to see me. Not my fault I have a better body, face, and, well ... better everything than she did."

She then turned her cheek and pointed to a bruise, just visible behind her makeup. "She swung at me, started a fight RIGHT in the middle of the stage. I didn't even have a top on."

Brass muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Go figure." Swallowing her grin, Sara picked up the thread where he had left off. "Did she find her man?"

"No." Candy replied. "Vex tossed her out and said he was going ta call the cops if she showed back up here." With another roll of her eyes she looked at her watch. "That's all I can tell ya, she tore this place up, all because she couldn't keep tabs on her dick. Pathetic if you ask me."

"More like unfortunate," Grissom said coolly, "Because now she's dead." Not waiting for her response, he looked past her at the other staff gathered. "Who found the body?"

A deep voice responded from the corner. "That'd be me, sir." The owner of the voice walked up to stand in front of Grissom. He was very tall, broad shouldered and dark skinned. He gave them both an apologetic smile, offering his big hand forward.

Candy sighed. "I'm out of here now." She turned to Brass, "unless that isn't okay with you."

Brass smiled, and it wasn't pleasant. "You're free to go. We'll be in touch."

The stripper scowled, dropped the remains of her cigarette, and ground it purposefully under the heel of her crimson stilettos. With a parting glower in Sara and Grissom's direction, she took her leave with a confident, aggressive strut that no doubt was helpful in her line of work.

"And your name is?" Grissom asked of the big man, having already shook hands.

"Lamont Treal, sir, the girls here call me Vex." He responded calmly. Unlike Candy he didn't have an air of constant agitation and impending mental breakdown. "I'm sorry 'bout Candy; she can be nice if she's the center of attention." He added with a grin.

Sara bit down on a rather rude comment, and decided to let Grissom handle this one. Her supervisor merely nodded before asking, "You said in your initial statement that you were taking out the garbage. What time was this?"

He shrugged. "Between eight and nine." After a slight pause he added, "There aren't any clocks in here, boss says its bad for business, so it's not easy to pinpoint."

Grissom cast a glance about, as if to refute what had just been said. Finding it was the truth, he asked, "And when you found the body, did you see anybody or anything out of place? Did you hear or smell anything other than the ordinary?"

He gave Grissom a smile. "To be honest, all these places smell funny, man. And other then Starr being dead and laying strangely by the dumpster no, hell, you'll probably see the trash right at the door where I dropped it before I ran back in here."

"Did you know the deceased?" Sara asked suddenly, on a intuitive whim. "I mean - other than work?"

"I saw her around, but I didn't know her. She's been causing a fit around town for the past few days." Responded Vex, suddenly a bit less at ease.

Seeing the change in demeanor, Grissom pounced. "Around meaning ... where? And causing a fit about what? Her boyfriend?"

"Around meaning around the clubs. The guy she was screaming about was Hector," came the short response.

"And did you know this ... Hector?"

"No."

Grissom gave him a long, measuring look. Sara had seen hardened criminals squirm beneath that gaze. When again he spoke, his words were slow and crisply enunciated. "Do you know where we could locate Hector?"

"No" Vex almost shifted his feet, but stopped before he looked more nervous. "No, and honestly, even if I did, saying so after telling you I don't know the guy is pretty stupid."

"Agreed." There was a terse silence as Grissom seemed to ponder for a moment. "Alright, thank you." He abruptly dismissed the bouncer, and turned to Brass, "Do any of the others have anything important to add?"

Brass shook his head. "No. The only ones who had any type of interaction with our DB were those two."

Grissom frowned. "You're sure?"

Brass snorted. "I'm never sure. That's your job."

Grissom turned back to the rest of the staff. "You've been very patient, and for that we thank you. There's just one more thing we need, and that's a sample of your DNA. We need your permission to take it." He paused here, waiting to see if anyone would object.

Not that it mattered if they did, Sara mused as she crouched to open her kit and removed the swabs she would use to collect saliva. If they said no, they'd just get a warrant.

"I don't think so," Vex said, shaking his head a little wildly. "No. I-I don't have a reason to give you any DNA, I didn't do anything ... if you want it, you'll have to get a warrant."

"You just said the magic words," Brass said with a grin before pulling out his cell phone and dialing. Sara chuckled quietly. He was calling the judge to get a warrant.

While Brass was on the phone, Grissom and Sara swabbed each and every one of the remaining eight club staff before telling them they were free to go. As Brass got off the phone, he turned to Vex.

"You can go ... for now. I'll be seeing you soon." He winked at the burly bouncer as he hurried away. Brass then turned to Grissom. "So, what do you think?"

Grissom never got the chance to reply. Footsteps could be heard pounding their way into the club and then up the stairs, and suddenly Nick Stokes was standing in front of them, clearly winded. When he'd regained his breath enough to speak, he gasped, "Grissom ... found .... another body ..."

A/N: And so ends the first chapter in this collaborative effort. Please let us know what you think.