FK Fanfic - 'Peccadillo's' (part 1 of 2)

Special thanks to my beta readers Ren, Shana and Carly.

by Cousin Mary Jenkins

Tracy took a deep breath and peeked out past the dark-gold, velvet curtain, almost a full house tonight. She looked down at herself, still no where near used to the sheer lack of covering on her trim body. And she didn't care what Candy said, body glitter was not almost as good as real clothes!
She'd taken this assignment against her better judgment. Undercover at a strip club was usually strictly a Vice Squad duty, but since one of the dancers and one of the patrons of this particular club, Peccadillo's, had turned up dead, it had become homicide's. More specifically... hers. Yippee.
Tracy sighed. She knew she was one of the few homicide detectives that could pull off this cover, and since someone on the Police Commission, she was guessing not her father, had suggested her specifically for the case, she'd somehow found herself roped into it. Tracy grimaced and tugged at the minuscule piece of cloth that passed for her top and mentally prepared for tonight's humiliation. After over a week of the 10 PM to 2 AM shift she still wasn't any closer to catching the killer, she was, however, developing a real appreciation of how much work being an exotic dancer really was.
"And now gentleman, and I use the term very loosely," There was light laughter as the crowd reacted to the M.C.'s oldest and best loved joke, "Peccadillo's is proud to present the lovely and tempting... Tracy!"
Tracy took a deep breath, pasted on a huge smile and stepped out onto the catwalk. She held her arms open, as if presenting herself to them all. Pulsating blue and red lights shone all around her, the crowd responded with hoots and yells of appreciation. Just then her music kicked in and Korn's Freak on a Leash blared through the sound system.
Tracy looked down at the men lining the stage, the great thing about a big crowd was that the guys near the stage almost always were the goofy drunk type, all the scarier ones tended towards the back walls and bar. One man waved a dollar at her and pointed madly at himself, but Tracy just sent a mocking laugh his way and paused across the catwalk to let a man, who looked like Santa Claus... if the jolly old elf had been a biker, stick a five in the garter that circled her thigh. She loved garters, plus there was no way in hell she was letting the guys stick the money in her thong like some of the girls did.
As the music played on, Tracy strode in time to the bass to the pole near the end of the stage. Grasping it firmly in the middle, she launched herself into a spin. As she twirled she moved up the shiny brass post. Twisting, she grasped the metal shaft between her pale chalked thighs and hung upside-down for a moment. The crowd went crazy, and as she sat up, money was being tossed her way left and right. She continued her acrobatics, rarely touching the ground and occasionally reaching the ceiling some 12 feet up. Big crowds were suckers for this act, they didn't like to see the dancers playing favorites with the men pressed against the stage, so a pole dancer could really clean up.
As Tracy danced, she ruthlessly stomped away all inhibitions and watched the crowd with a detached, critical eye. Unlike the other girls, however, Tracy wasn't looking for which men looked like they had the most money to blow for the evening, no, she was scouting the crowd for familiar and unfamiliar faces. Searching for clues on who could be the killer. In the back of her mind she heard her music move into the remix of NIN's Perfect Drug realized that her set was almost over. After one final spin on the pole, she stood before the crowd and with practiced ease, reached up to the clasp between her breasts.
Suddenly there was a shout from the bar and the sound of glass breaking. A fight had broken out. Just some drunk who couldn't pay his tab it looked like, it'd be over in a minute for sure. The bouncers were already heading over there. Tracy grimaced and left her top where it was, no one was watching her anymore anyway. Procedure was for the dancers to leave the floor as soon as a fight broke out, so Tracy just shrugged and ignored the few boos sent her way as she trotted backstage. Chad would scoop up her tips from the stage for her just like he did all the girl's, it just wouldn't look right for a dancer to pick them up herself.
Tracy pulled her hair clip out and ruffled her sweat dampened locks as she walked into the dressing room. Just then her boss, Murray, caught her arm and pulled her aside.
"Got one for ya Trace, you'll like this one, he's a real looker." Murray Synder, owner of Peccadillo's was a short, slightly over-weight middle age man who'd never quite given up his penchant for leisure suits and gold chains. He'd also never given up on his misconception that he had a full head of hair, and religiously combed the wispy brown strands over the top of his head every day.
Tracy just rolled her eyes, "I don't do lap dances, you know that."
"Yeah, yeah and I totally respect that," Murray licked his lips nervously, he didn't want to upset his newest girl, the crowds loved her and new faces were worth their weight in gold around here, "But he's got money to burn babe, you'd be a fool not to--"
"I don't do lap dances," Tracy repeated, walking away from Murray, and his yellow plaid polyester, angrily.
Murray sighed, looked like he wasn't getting his 40/60 split out of that one. Maybe the guy would like Jesse? He went off to go check.
Tracy stomped into the dressing room and sat before the mirror to strip off her make-up. She cringed as she saw her over painted face, "Tracy Vetter: Babe Cop." She muttered before attacking the goop with a washcloth. She glanced at the clock. Yes! She was almost out of here. Quickly she stripped out of her costume, what there was of it, and pulled on her jeans and a black tee-shirt.
"Hiya Tracy!" Angel walked in, her thong still stuffed with bills and her bare, perfectly round breasts bouncing as she walked. "Good night, huh?"
Tracy nodded, smiling at the red head. Angel Gregg was a really sweet girl, who was very happy with what she was doing. "Pretty good, 'til that fight broke out in the middle of my last set."
"Oh that's already over," Angel grinned hugely, if a bit vacantly. She then checked her make-up in Tracy's mirror, her unnaturally shaped breast nearly whacking the cop in the head before Tracy wisely decided to move. Getting between Angel and a mirror could be dangerous! "Oh gee, I gotta do my roots again." The stripper tsked as she pointed at the mousy brown roots showing through her bright red locks.
"Um, yeah," Tracy agreed absently as she scooped up her duffel bag, "Listen Angel, I'm gonna head out, see ya tomorrow."
The stripper didn't even look away from her reflection, "Kay Tracy, have a good night."
Tracy waved at the oblivious narcissist and headed back into the hall behind the stage, crashing head long into the man waiting just outside the door. "Oof!"
"Baby Jane!" He caught her before she fell, setting her straight but keeping his hands on her arms. "I thoughts et wuz ya I saw!"
"Screed!" Tracy stared at him in shock. What was he doing here?
"Imagine, ya workin' atta place like this!" Screed admonished, "Oh an' ta think, ya were once as respectabbles as apple pie and ol' ma 'ubert!"
"Screed!" Tracy repeated his name, this time crossly. She didn't know what he was going on about but she didn't like his tone one bit. He must have been in the audience and thought she really worked her. He knew she was a cop and should realize she was undercover, but obviously he didn't. Well, she wasn't going to let him blow her carefully constructed cover! "Will you just shut up?"
The carouche looked down right offended that she'd interrupted his eloquent speech about her fall from grace. "Lookee 'ere missy, I don't knows wot 'appened ta ya ta get ya 'ere," He looked around the dimly lit hallway with distaste, which was odd because he looked a lot grungier than it, "But I means ta save ya, an--"
"Tracy," It was Chad, the bouncer, "This guy bothering you?"
Tracy looked up at the huge burley goon, who she knew secretly had a heart as soft as melted marshmallows. "I'm all right Chad, this is--"
Screed looked the bouncer up and down and suddenly seemed to decide Tracy needed protection, he stepped in front of her. "I's wit 'er bucko, move along now."
Inwardly Tracy groaned, then almost watched with resignation as Angel and Jesse popped their heads out to watch what was unfolding in the hall. This was not good. "Screed, please."
"Hey!" Angel stepped out, bouncing. "Is this your ex-husband, Tracy?" She smiled brightly, "He's just like you described him!"
Tracy's mouth gaped for a second. When she'd started working at Peccadillo's she'd decided she needed a background story that was semi-believable, and since most of the other dancers had sleazy ex-husbands... Right then she really wished she'd modeled her ex after someone else! "Um, er--" She began, but Screed cut her off.
The carouche gave her an odd look over his shoulder. He knew damn well that she most likely didn't have an ex-husband, especially one who looked like him! He really wanted to know what was going on with this bird now. That decided, he looked back at their small audience and announced, "We ain't divorced, only legality separated-like."
Tracy's hand snaked up and grabbed some of Screed's blue and brown sweater in the middle of his back, pulling a clump into a tight, painful ball in her fist. Over his shoulder she forced a smile at Chad and the others and said sweetly, "That's right, and if you'll excuse us," She yanked on the sweater and pulled the Cockney vamp towards the back exit, "We've got a lot of catching up to do."
Chad didn't look too sure, but no one wanted to argue with the murder they saw in Tracy's eyes. "Have a good night Trace, see ya tomorrow."
"Bye Tracy!" Angel and Jesse chorused before disappearing back into the dressing room.
"Come on... honey." The fake smile stayed in place for just a second more before Tracy yanked on Screed's sweater violently once more before leading him out into the parking lot.
Screed followed, curious but slightly apprehensive at the same time and not knowing why. As soon as the outside door shut behind them, he knew why.
"You jerk!" Tracy swung her duffel bag and hit him right in the gut, "What the hell is the big idea telling them you're my husband?!"
"I-- Ooff!" Screed grunted as he was hit with the considerable weight, but when she reared back to take another swing, he stepped out of the way of the next duffel assault. Without a target, Tracy spun wildly and almost fell down the back steps, Screed had to move quick to catch her again.
He staggered down the three concrete steps, fumbling with Tracy's shifting weight as she tumbled backwards. When she realized he was trying to help, she froze, but that didn't actually help much. A few frantic seconds later they were at the bottom of the steps, Screed was crouched over slightly still holding on to Tracy, who was now on her hands and knees on the blacktop. He'd broken her fall considerably, but, alas, not managed to rescue her dignity, "Ya's okay Baby Jane?"
Tracy pushed his hands away and stood up swiftly, glaring at him. It was his fault she'd fallen in the first place and there was no way in hell she was going to thank him. "You're still a jerk." She growled.
"I suppose I am," Screed glared back, he'd just saved her neck and she was insulting him?! "But yer a trollop."
"What I am is an undercover cop investigating a double homicide," Tracy ground out quietly, "A cover you very nearly blew back there," Her voice got steadily stronger and louder as she continued, "When you told them I was your freakin' wife!"
"Oh, uh--" Screed took a step back as Tracy took another swing at him. "Sorry?"
After a few more attempted blows, only a few of which actually landed, Tracy calmed down enough to think things through rationally. This was her first sanctioned undercover assignment and a very dangerous one to boot, she couldn't afford to screw this up. And whether she liked it or not, Screed had just become part of her cover. "Come on," She sighed wearily, "You can walk me home."
"Uh," Screed blinked, confused by her sudden mood change, but happy she was no longer trying to end his days with her bag o' doom, "Okee dokee, I can do that."
Screed and Tracy walked in silence a few blocks, and the Cockney vampire was more than a little surprised when the blonde at his side suddenly turned and headed into a rather sad looking, run down apartment complex. He almost asked her about it, then realized that this too was probably part of her cover. He watched her swing open the front door of the building and walk in. He followed, since she hadn't said anything and he figured she was going to. Baby Jane didn't really strike him as the quiet type.
She led him down a short hall, then down flight of stairs to a basement apartment. Well, it was clean, it had that going for it... and that was about all. He watched Tracy toss her bag on the floor before stalking into the small kitchen and pulling a Coke^tm out of the 'fridge. She had the can half drained before she even looked at him. "Look Baby Jane," He began, "I'm awful sorry 'bout tha hubby-wifey thing, I didn't know nuthin' like tha' wuz up when I saws ya thare."
"It's okay," She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she looked around the shabby apartment that had been her home for almost two weeks, and unless she solved this case, promised to be for a long time. "Actually," She gave Screed a speculative look, "You might be able to help."
"Wot ya 'ave in mind, luv?" Screed didn't like the look in her blue eyes one bit.
Tracy looked him over, as a vampire she didn't have to worry about Screed getting hurt. And he was already established as her soon-to-be ex-husband at the club, it'd look funny if they never saw or heard from him again... "Ever think of an exciting career in the law enforcement field?"

Later that night Screed sat at the Raven's bar nursing an over-priced burgundy. He still couldn't quite figure out how he'd let that golden bird convince him to play cops and robbers with her. Was he just a sucker for a pretty face or what?
Screed sighed as he held his glass up to the light, it looked the same as his usual fair, but it sure didn't taste the same. He grimaced and took another sip, wondering idly what Baby Jane would taste like. It'd serve the bird right if he did drain her.
She'd explained the 'case' to him. Seemed one of the strippers at his new favorite club and club patron had been killed just shy of two weeks ago. Christa Gamoe had been found in her apartment, her throat cut, while Steve Fusco had been found a block from Peccadillo's, gutted like a fish, one slash across his belly and another across his throat. Screed would bet it hadn't been a pretty site when all was said and done. And the coppers had set Baby Jane out like bait, he frowned, he didn't like that at all, not one bloomin' bit.
"Hey Sailor!" Vachon clapped him on the shoulder and took a seat next to him.
"Bloody 'ell," Screed started, glaring at his friend for making him jump. "Ya nearly scared ten years off me life!"
"Now that'd be a real shame," Vachon teased, "So what were you thinking about so seriously? Prices at PetCo on the rise?"
"Sot off," Screed mumbled before gulping down the last of his drink and motioning for another.
Vachon sat back and blinked, not sure what was going on in his oldest friend's bald head. After the bartender had left him and Screed with two more glasses he asked, "So what's with the new menu?"
"I 'ad a craving," The carouche shrugged, not going into any detail. He was sure Vachonetti wouldn't be able to sit idly by and let Baby Jane risk her sweet neck, even if it was her job. And if there was one thing ol' Screed had learned over his many years, it was to never instigate the Spaniard's boy-scout tendencies, things usually got ugly. Vachon just didn't seem to think things out before he acted. Gut reaction, charge in, kill 'em all, save the girl. God's honest truth he loved Vachon like a brother, but sometimes the man just pissed him off. To distract him, Screed asked, "So where es our luverly Ursula tanight, V-man?"
The dark hared vampire perked up visibly, "I'm meeting her after her shift." He smiled wolfishly, tracing a finger slowly around the lip of his wineglass before looking back up at him. "Should be an interesting night."
Screed snorted into his vino, loyalty never had been big in the V-man's make-up. And while it had never really bothered him before, at the moment it really rubbed Screed the wrong way. "Wot 'bouts yer Baby Jane?" He could have kicked himself right then and there for bringing her up. Why the hell had he done that?! "Jus' outta curiosity ya know."
The Spaniard gave him an odd look, then shrugged, "Tracy? I don't know, I haven't seen her in awhile... maybe I should--"
"No!" Even Screed looked surprised after he snapped out the reply. "I means, maybe ya should jus' give 'er some time-like." He looked at the bare-breasted painting behind the bar, trying to sound disinterested, "She's still gettin' used ta everythin' an all."
Another odd look, but then Vachon nodded, "Yeah, I suppose." He stood then, patting Screed on the shoulder as he stood, "Well, Urs'll be waiting. See ya around sailor."
Screed watched him go, finally raising his glass in a silent salute as his friend left the club with an arm draped over the former dance hall girl. "Over 500 years ol' an' still thinkin' wit 'is bits an' pieces. Bloody wanker."

Tracy was just climbing out of the shower when she heard the knock at the door. Thinking Screed was back for some reason, or maybe Nick with some news on the case. Tracy quickly patted down with a towel before shrugging on her old terry cloth robe and heading for the door.
She hadn't seen her partner in awhile, for one thing he was supposed to stay away while she was in such deep cover, and for another... she didn't think her fastidiously neat partner cared much for her ultra-hot stripper digs. Tracy grimaced slightly as her bare feet crunched over the slightly crispy orange and brown shag carpet. Oh yeah, next time she went under cover she was definitely going to try for something on the other end of the scale. Maybe someone would need her to be a decadently rich and extravagant socialite? She could do her job and order room service at the same time! Well... it could happen! Tracy grinned wryly and pushed her entertaining musings away. She had to focus here.
There was another timid knock at the door just as she reached it. "Coming, coming, hold your horses." She mumbled as undid the chain.
She opened the door, but instead of Screed or one of her fellow officers, Tracy was confronted with a huge bouquet of daisies, orchids and carnations shoved in her face. "What the--?"
"These are for you!" A small man pulled back the flowers and beamed at her, his eyes dropped to her robe then. "Oh, I didn't mean to get you out of the shower..."
"Uh, that's okay," Tracy blinked a few times before recognizing the man as one of regulars from Peccadillo's. He always tipped big, and she'd thought he seemed harmless enough... but of course, that was before he showed up at her door uninvited at 3 in the morning. ...And her gun was in the bedroom over ten feet away, damn! To buy time, she took the flowers, "They're lovely Mr. ...?"
"Eugene, Eugene Dibble. I go to every one of your performances, you're just wonderful!" The man shifted nervously from one foot to another, shinning his shoe on the back of his pant leg. When Tracy didn't say anything, he continued. "I got your address from Candy, I hope you don't mind."
"Um, of course not," Tracy said finally. She stood in the doorway, making it clear that he could not come in. Could he be the killer? She eyed Dibble, speculatively. He could certainly have a knife hidden under his billowing brown trench coat. He was a short man, maybe 5'4", with a round face and body that proclaimed a fondness of processed cheese foods and Twinkies^TM. Mid-thirties, balding under a small round bowler, Dibble looked much too jolly to be a killer... but then again you could never really tell. "Candy you say?"
"Yes," Dibble's already florid face went even pinker, "Candy and I used to..." He looked down at his shiny loafers, "That is to say--"
"That's okay," Tracy raised a hand to halt his words, not really wanting to hear anymore. "I think I get the picture."
"But that's all in the past," Dibble beamed, then craned his neck to look around Tracy and into her apartment. "Is there anything I can do for you? Vacuum? Or maybe dust?" He asked eagerly.
Tracy's eyes widened, she suddenly realized why Candy had had anything to do with the little man... he had a cleaning fetish! She got the sudden image of Eugene Dibble vacuuming her living room... in a French maid's uniform... Tracy bit back the laugh and the shudder that were both warring to come out. "That's okay Mr. Dibble, not today. Besides... I have a service that comes in once a week."
"Oh," His little bow shaped mouth turned down in a frown, then he brightened again. "Are you working tomorrow?"
"Yep, 10 to 2, just like always." Tracy nodded, smelling the flowers. "These really are lovely."
"I saw them and thought of you." Dibble smiled and waited another moment before touching the brim of his hat, "Well fair Tracy, I shall see you tomorrow at Peccadillo's then. I bid you adieu."
Tracy smiled politely and waved, "Good night Eugene."
As the small, round man walked off with a jaunty spring in his step, whistling Cole Porter's 'Let's Do It, Let's Fall in Love' as he went, Tracy closed and locked her door. "Well," Bringing the flowers to her nose once again, she inhaled their light fragrance before going off to search for a vase in her cramped kitchenette. "That was certainly interesting."
She pulled a plastic Big Gulp mug from her cupboard, the only thing really tall and wide enough to hold the profusion of blooms. As she filled the cup she grabbed the phone and dialed a familiar number, "Hey, its Tracy, just checking in. Guess what just happened?"
"You've decided to quit the force and take up stripping full-time?"
She could hear the smile in her partner's voice and was very glad this was a secure line, otherwise he would have just blown her cover big time. "Ha ha, yuck it up paperwork boy." She grinned evilly, one of the best perks of this assignment was the fact that Nick had to deal with all the paperwork.
"Ouch, wounded to the quick." Nick's laugh was a lot less spirited this time, he did not like being tied to his desk.
"Aw, poor baby!" Tracy smiled, then asked sincerely, "How's the leg?"
"Oh just peachy," Nick sighed dramatically, eyeing the cast that encased his right leg from ankle to hip. If not for it he could at least be out watching his partner's back. But no, not three weeks ago, right in front of the precinct, a perp had somehow managed to escape custody and hot wire a squad car. He hadn't gotten ten feet before he was re-captured, but unfortunately, Nick had been standing in those ten feet. His leg had been shattered as the bumper struck his knee, and while in reality it hadn't taken Nick long to heal... half the precinct had seen him hit. Nick frowned as he slowly slid a ruler into the cast, trying to get at the spot just above his knee. Nat had told him point blank that he'd have to wear the cast for a reasonable length of time to waylay suspicion. And like a fool he'd agreed... he'd agreed before he'd known how much the damn thing was going to itch! "So what's up? You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, nothing like that," Tracy assured him. She paused for a moment, wondering if she should tell him about the whole Screed development. She chewed her lip, then decided against it. She couldn't really explain why she was going to let Screed help her without explaining that the civilian was in no danger from the killer, and she couldn't do that without bringing the Enforcers in on both her and Nick's butts. Tracy sighed, she still wasn't too comfortable about keeping things from her partner. True theirs wasn't exactly the closest of partnerships, what with her trying to keep Vachon and the knowledge of vampires from him and Nick's, well, what ever the hell Nick's deal was, but still she kept hoping...
"Trace?"
"Uh, yeah," Tracy wrenched her thoughts away from Screed and her own lack-luster people skills and turned her attention back to the case, "I need you to do a background check on a Eugene Dibble, he showed up here a few minutes ago. Brought flowers."
"At your apartment? Flowers?"
"Yeah," Tracy finished filling the oversized glass with water and dumped the bouquet in, setting the whole thing in the center of her small olive green vinyl counter top. "Apparently he was having a... well, he had something going on with Candy and she probably got tired of him so he's moved on to me."
"Something going on?" Nick repeated with a chuckle, amused by her inhibitions, especially given her current cover, "Can't you even say 'sex' Trace?"
"No Nick, I can say 'sex.' Can you say 'wash and wax'?" Tracy quipped.
"Huh?"
"Never mind," Tracy blushed, "Just do the check okay?"
"Your wish is my command 'Tempting Tracy,'" Nick grinned, pulling out the orange form he'd need. "And be careful."
"Aren't I always?" Tracy rolled her eyes, she really shouldn't have told him what the M.C. called her.
Tracy heard a snort over the line, "Need I remind you of your last undercover stint? With a certain escort service?"
"Yeah, well," Tracy idly rearranged the flowers, "Okay, so that won't win me the Cautious Cop of the Year award, but need I remind you who I learned from, hmm?"
There was a beat of silence and Tracy just knew she'd plunged her partner into another one of his fits. She sighed, "Nick, it was a joke."
"Yeah, I know," Nick answered back, subdued. "Just promise to be careful okay?"
"I promise Nick," She said quietly, "I'll talk to you later," Tracy's eyes lit up evilly then, "And Nick? Have fun with the paperwork!"
Nick started to sputter back a response, something involving a couple four letter words. Tracy just smiled and hung up, glad she'd restored his relative good humor... and gotten the last laugh!

"What's the big deal Trace? I thought you could use some fun." The ultra-blonde Candy, last name Cane, told her. She turned away from Tracy then and looked back into the mirror. "Besides, Eugene's a kick."
Leaning against the dressing room wall, Tracy tapped one of her silver stiletto heels with annoyance, "He met me in front before my shift and asked to clean my bathroom."
"So?" Candy attacked her hair with a pick and teased the mass even higher, "Let him. Beats doing it yourself."
"He wants to do it with his toothbrush." Tracy explained. "Not an old toothbrush, but the one he uses."
That gave Candy a pause, then she shrugged her perfectly tanned shoulders, "Well, he won't touch you, he isn't into that. Just cleaning. It's really great."
"If he's so great why don't you let him in your place anymore?" Tracy asked pointedly.
"The ex is back," Candy met Tracy's eyes and grinned guiltily, "I just can't seem to say to 'no' to my Italian Stallion. He came back and said he wanted to reconcile."
"And you took him back?" Tracy asked with a raised eyebrow, for the past week she'd heard nothing from Candy other than how much she'd like to see her 'Stallion' gelded.
"Well," Candy looked down and adjusted her ample cleavage before getting ready to go on stage, "Tony showed up in this black mesh shirt. You know the kind you can see through?"
"So you two spent the other night 'reconciling' huh?" Tracy laughed.
"Reconciling like bunnies," Candy grinned.
Murray stuck his head in then, "Candy, you're up next."
"Oops, gotta run Trace," The self-proclaimed Barbie-wannabe jumped to her heeled feet, tottered for a second, and then headed out, "After my set we'll talk more."
"After your set you'll entertain the customers," Murray corrected, even as Candy ignored him as she rushed to the stage, "I run a gentleman's club, not a beauty parlor. You girls can talk on your off hours." He continued in a long-suffering martyr's voice.
Tracy slid into the vacated seat in front of the mirror, "Just keep tellin' yourself that Murray and maybe someday it'll really happen." She smiled cheekily as she brushed on some rouge.
The club owner sent her a withering glare and then wandered off doing his best Rodney Dangerfield, "I tell ya, I can't get no respect!"
As Murray left, Angel and Jesse came in. Tracy glanced up, "Hi guys. You just getting here?"
"Yeah, I am." Jesse told her, pulling her baseball cap off and running her hand through her buzzed black hair. She walked over to her locker and threw it open to reveal a wide assortment of wigs. "So what shall it be tonight?" She held up a long black wig and a curly blonde one, "Whatcha think Trace?"
"I like the blonde one," Angel piped up, shooting a look Tracy's way.
Tracy shrugged, "I like the pink one you wore Wednesday."
"Pink it is," Jesse grinned, turning back to her locker, "That's always been my favorite too."
Tracy smiled and turned back to the mirror, her set was next and she had to hurry it up. "Did you happen to look? Is it a good crowd?"
"Yeah, pretty good," Angel plopped herself down on the counter next to Tracy and grabbed an eyeliner. "Here, let me do something real quick."
Tracy turned her head and let Angel trace her eyes with the black kohl, "Any prospects?"
"Well you can have Seth," Angel's pink painted lip curled up in a sneer, "He's out there."
"Ouch," Tracy winced back as Angel accidentally poked her in the eye. "Watch it will ya?"
"Sorry," Angel grabbed her chin and set to work on the other eye.
"I don't see why you two don't like Seth," Jesse said, pulling on the powder pink wig and fastening it with a dozen bobby pins, "So he's a little rough 'round the edges..."
"He's a boozer and a Grade A asshole. And I should know, I dated him for nearly 3 months." Angel griped.
Tracy raised an eyebrow at that. Seth was the club's version of 'big-man-on-campus' the former pro-hockey player practically ruled the rowdy element of Peccadillo's, this was the first time she'd heard Angel mention having dated him. "Really?"
"No not really," Jesse pressed her way in to get some mirror space, "Angel says she 'dated' everyone she has a one night screw with."
"I didn't sleep with Seth," Angel huffed, throwing the eye liner down, "You're done Trace." And with that she grabbed her costume bag and headed towards the bathroom.
"Whoa," Jesse said, meeting Tracy's eyes in the mirror, "Touchy."
"Yeah," The blonde nodded, Jesse had definitely hit a nerve.
"So you think I should wear the green?" Jesse held up a rip away gown and looked up for Tracy's opinion.
"Um," Tracy was still staring off after Angel. "You sure she'll be okay?"
"Who, Angel?" Jesse looked up, her brown eyes clouded with confusion for a moment, "Sure. Now about my dress?"
Tracy suppressed a sigh, she couldn't care less what Jesse wore. "The green's good."
Jesse frowned slightly, "Maybe the blue?"
The crown of Murray's comb over popped back in, "Tracy, you're on in 5."
"Kay," Tracy stood and adjusted her silver bikini and slipped on the slightly transparent silver over-dress. "Talk to you later Jess."
"Oh yeah," The dancer laughingly called after her, "Leave me here with a life and death decision like this!"
"I'm sure you'll manage!" Tracy yelled back, seconds before stepping on stage, "And besides, I picked the wig didn't I?"

Screed leaned up against the bar and idly chatted with the bartender, Jake Shirr. He was trying to ascertain if the cheerful fellow could possibly be the killer. He didn't think so, Jake was far too amiable to have murdered anyone with a slash across the throat. In his experience happy people usually throttled their victims... or poisoned them, Screed looked down at the beer he held, then shrugged and took another gulp.
"So, wot's tha word 'bouts those two dead 'uns?" Screed asked, "Tha bird and tha bugger wot gots killed?"
"Christa and Steve. Everyone was really broken up when they told us they were dead," Jake fidgeted a bit, obviously not relishing talking about the murders, but since he thought this was Tracy's husband, separated though they were, he figured the bald headed man was just looking out for his girl. "They were an item, everyone thought they were going to get hitched, ya know?"
Screed nodded, Tracy had mentioned something about that. "T'weren't found togets tho, tha' roight?"
"No," Jake looked down and polished the already gleaming bar, "Christa was in her apartment. Steve was in an alley about a block from here, up by Oak and Freedmont."
"Ya wouldn't know anythin' tha coppers don't? Would ya now?" Screed caught his eye and used what little powers he had to draw out the bartender's hidden thoughts.
"I told the cops everything I know," Jake answered curtly.
Screed sat back, biting back a sigh. As a carouche he never had been too good at that. And now the bartender was glaring at him... great. Baby Jane was gonna have his head on a platter if he'd just managed to screw something up. And after he got all duded up for her too. He sighed and decided to change the subject. "So when's my bird come on?"
"Trace, should be up next." Jake looked up at the stage, where Candy was just finishing up her set to Aqua's 'Barbie Girl.' He sent a leer Screed's way, apparently no longer out of sorts with him, "And I think tonight is her slow one."
"Slow 'un?" The English vamp repeated, raising a brow. "Tha' a good thin' is it?"
"Oh yeah," Jake continued, "Trace doesn't like doin' them, but she's great at the slow numbers. Real hot."
"I wouldna doubt it," Screed nodded, trying to get into his part as the blonde's hubby.
"You gonna get up by the stage?" Jake's dark face split into a huge lecherous grin, "Better view."
"Nah, I'll just keep me peepers on 'er from 'ere." Screed shrugged, "I 'ave seen it all befer a'ter all."
Jake gave him a somewhat disbelieving look. "It's one thing to see them, it's another to see 'em dance."
"I suppose," Screed tried to look bored, even as he felt the butterflies come to life in his stomach as he turned to the stage. He almost laughed at himself, he was getting way too caught up in this little game Baby Jane had dragged him into. Sure it'd be fun to see the bird in her birthday suit, but it's not like he hadn't see countless bare luverlies in his 450 years on God's green Earth. He chucked as his Mr. Tom jumped to life at the sound of her name being called. He t'weren't no better than Vachonetti was he?
A hush came over the crowd just as she was about to step on stage, and then there she was. Glowing under the lights of a simulated full moon. She was so beautiful his breath caught, and when she began to sway to the music Screed felt his heart give a painful double beat.

Tracy grimaced as the lighting went from the bright yellows and pinks of Candy's fast set to the dark blue of hers. God she hated doing slow numbers, but Murray had insisted on at least one per week. At least with fast music she could almost completely tune out the crowd, but with the slower ones she actually had to look at them. Sighing, she readied herself, waiting for U2's haunting 'One' to begin. It was hardly the slowest of songs, but compared to her usual fair it was practically lethargic.
She stepped out on stage, tilting back her face to catch the strangely paradoxical heat of the blue light. She closed her eyes and began to dance, moving in perfect time with the music, interpreting the heart-rending words with the sway of her body. When she opened her eyes she found the crowd watching, transfixed. Their money was out, but they wouldn't put it on the stage until the set was over, like a snake hypnotized by the sway of a charmer, they sat silent and still as she danced. Tracy tried to lose herself in the music, to ignore the audience. She hated the slow songs, the looks of longing it brought to the faces of the men watching her. Out and out rowdy lust she could deal with, but this, this just left her feeling empty.
Slowly she looked over the crowd, carefully avoiding eye contact. Then, when her eyes landed on the bar she spotted Screed. Dressed eccentricly as always, this time in shiny black vinyl pants and a loose dark red cable knit sweater, Screed was looking at her like she'd sprouted another head and was juggling chipmunks. He looked surprised... and vaguely alarmed. Tracy bit back a grin, it didn't even occur to her that Screed was shocked by his own almost over-powering reaction to her, she just thought he was floored by a cop shimmying in a silver bikini. She caught his eyes and sent him a small smile, slipping down to her knees and leaning forward, she curled a finger to call him to her.
Forgetting what he'd said to Jake just seconds ago, Screed set his beer down and walked slowly towards Tracy. She had risen back to her feet and continued to dance, but her eyes were still for him alone.
Tracy felt better, having someone to focus on while she danced seemed to make all the difference. She didn't feel empty or dirty anymore, no, now she felt devilishly naughty. Her smile took on an impish quality as she continued her slow tease, stripping off the over-dress and slipping into a slow circle around the pole. When Screed reached the side of the stage, she kept one hand on the middle of the pole and arched over backwards, her face even with his... though upside down.
"Hiya Baby." He smiled.
Tracy's eyes widened. She had the sudden and ridiculous urge to kiss him. Which was totally against policy and would get her into heaps of trouble with Murray, but more than that, shocked the hell out of her. She actually wanted to kiss Screed! What the hell was wrong with her?!
Screed caught the scared look in her eyes and frowned, "Wot is it?" He whispered, concerned.
Suddenly the music shifted, and her carefully arranged lighting switched to Candy's pink and yellow... bouncing off a disco ball. "Boogie Oogie oogie!" Disco music blared to psychedelic life. Tracy nearly lost her balance and fell, Screed caught her shoulder and with a quick push sent her back to her feet.
Just off stage Candy's boisterous laughter cut through the shocked silence. "Gotcha Trace!"
The room erupted in laughter as the disco music played on and they caught a look at Tracy's face before she too dissolved into a fit of giggles.
"Candy!" Murray yelled from across the club, then catching sight of her accomplice added, "Et tu Chad?"
But it was obvious from the crowd's cheers and, more importantly, big tips, that the prank was well received. Tracy smiled wryly and good-naturally did all the disco steps she knew before chasing Candy back stage with a mock cry of vengeance.
The crowd was still laughing and ordering rounds when the house lights came back on. But Screed still stood there, shaken by what he'd felt when he'd met Tracy's eye. Never had a bird effected him like that, it wasn't quite lust it was more like... Screed's eyes widened, "Oh bloody 'ell! I'm in luv!"

Continued in Part 2...