TITLE: Lap Dancing Dangerous

AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)

ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K

TYPE: GCR (what else?)

RATING: R to NC-17

SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .

DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.

SUMMARY: When Gil dismisses Catherine's theory, she goes to great length to prove to him that her assumption is correct.

NOTES: This idea came to me of recent. I'm giving Sara a chance, in my fic. At least this way, she does what I want her to do. evilgrin

Cheers!

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(Chapter One)

Jim Brass walked up to the building and looked up at the red flashing sign. "Welcome to the Can-Can Room." He muttered to himself as he spotted the familiar Tahoe pull up in the space behind him. He watched as three CSIs stepped out of the car and headed towards him, kits in tow.

"Zachary Garber, age 21. Male Caucasian, bachelor party." Jim filled them in.

Gil Grissom stepped into the building, immediately feeling uncomfortable. He tried to keep his eyes on the back of Jim's head, listening to some general information about the club.

"Oldest strip club with naked women, going some more than 30 years in the business." Jim added.

"Let's just hope the women aren't as old as the club." Catherine replied sarcastically, not the least bit fazed by half naked women putzing around. She glanced back at Sara Sidle, who had been looking at them as if they were creatures from another planet. "It's just a job, Sara." Catherine reprimanded the young CSI.

Sara muttered an apology and walked sluggishly behind Catherine, almost as if a daughter being scolded by her mother.

Jim chuckled, and nodded towards Gil. "Meanwhile, he's acting as if he's never been in a place like this before."

Catherine turned her head to look in the direction where Gil had wandered off. "Knowing Gil. . ." She left the statement hanging. He was standing in the doorway of a public strip, his head cocked to one side, intently studying the woman dancing on stage. "Hey." Catherine popped up beside him, suppressing an evil grin at his resulting reddening face. "Maybe you can request an encore." She pointed at the woman who was finishing off her dance.

Gil looked down on the floor, fearing that the next place he would look, another scantily dressed woman would mysteriously appear. "To understand the victim, you have to understand the suspect."

"And you think that a stripper killed Mr. Garber?" Catherine asked, glancing over at the men slipping twenties in the woman's g-string, some getting angry when no attention was lavished their way. "Isn't that jumping the gun?"

"Who said I was looking at the stripper?" Gil asked, with a raised eyebrow. He stuck his thumb up and pointed his index finger at her, creating a makeshift gun with his hand. "Bang."

Catherine grinned and watched him join Brass and Sara. She looked back at the table-dancers and then headed to the crime scene.

"Welcome to Paradise." Jim held the tape for the three CSIs. "Seven rooms deemed 'Fantasy Rooms' complete the roster for their evenings. Open from 7:30pm until about 4:00am, so expect the vic to have seen his demise between those times."

"But the room is used many times, a single private dance lasts about an hour max, goes for upwards of seventy dollars." Catherine added, moving aside an array of beads suspended from the ceiling, creating another makeshift door. "So expect the vic to have expired somewhere later in the night."

"What *is* that smell?" Sara commented, putting the back of her hand to her mouth.

"Smells like ... almonds?" Gil kept a straight face and looked at Catherine for support.

"Bitter." Catherine nodded, grimacing.

"How do you do that?" Sara asked Gil, noticing that even Jim had his handkerchief out.

"Do what?" He asked, stepping closer to the body. He pulled out his flashlight and shone it from different angles.

"Not gag." Sara closed her eyes, feeling her meal resurfacing. "How about I interview some people?" She offered, her voice tense and lacking breath.

Gil nodded and looked to Brass. "Cath and I will process the scene."

Brass nodded and escorted Sara out of the room.

"Hey Sara!" Catherine called after her. "Remember, strippers are people too." A Cheshire smile appeared on her face off Gil's look of amused disapproval. Catherine looked around the room after having rummaged through her kit. "So how do you suppress your urge to vomit?" Catherine asked, her voice slightly muffled by the face-mask she was now sporting.

Gil shrugged and flashed her a crooked smile. "I just think about," he paused, looking at her for a moment, then letting his eyes travel about, "other things." He bent down near the victim. "Crime of passion, as usual?" He asked, a hint of a smile playing across his lips.

Catherine grinned. "Man's bachelor party. His friends all pool in together to buy him a private dance."

"*Two* private dances." Gil read from the file, pursing his lips.

Catherine's eyes automatically zoomed in, and she forced herself to concentrate on the body and not on her supervisor's pout. She cursed her dire need to jump him at every turn. "Hundred and forty bucks. Wow." She looked at the body. "Would you pay that much for two dances?" She asked, mischievously.

"Depends on who's giving them." Gil replied with equal roguishness, bending down near the body and seemingly ignoring Catherine's shocked expression. He finally acknowledged her reaction with an impish grin and opened his kit. "Shall we explore this 'Fantasy', my dear?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Catherine let out a breathy laugh. "If you tell me to recreate the moments before the crime, then I'll start asking questions." She smiled, enjoying her supervisor's playful mood.

***

Her thick Brooklyn accent forced Sara to pay even more attention. Brow furrowed, she leaned in closer to the woman. "So we continued, y'know? Roughed around - I like that stuff. Bruises are like my trophies. And then he just sat down in the chair - said he was tired. I guess, he just finished with another session. And then he grabbed his chest and plop."

Sara looked at Jim, perplexed. "Plop?"

"Ya. . ." The stripper paused and pointed southwards. "Plop." She said, in a deeper voice. "And when I went to ask him what's wrong, he didn't move. His eyes were open but . . ." She shrugged.

"Were you the last to see Mr. Garber alive, Miss," Sara trailed off.

"Sasha Lova." She smiled, seemingly proud of her stage name.

"Sasha . . . Lova." Sara nodded slowly, dawning a fake smile. "Nice." She muttered under her breath, knowing that Nick would kill for this shift. She looked at the plastic-doll-of-a-woman that was seated in front of Jim and her, wearing nothing but a bright pink thong.

"You're not going to flaunt this case in front of poor Nick, now are you?" Jim leaned over and whispered into Sara's ear with an amused undertone.

"Ooh yea." Sara laughed. "Maybe I am sadistic." She added, as an afterthought.

"I know that Denny Deeder had him before I did." Sasha offered.

Jim and Sara both nodded, Jim shaking the offered hand while Sara just gave a polite wave.

"I guess we have to find this," Jim paused awkwardly, "Denny Deeder."

Sara shook her head. "And find out when she 'deed' him."

–TBC–