*Tallywackers* at nine-thirty on Wednesday night was much different than the crime scene it had been at three-thirty that morning. The music, an indistinct blend of loud, screechy, and down right bad, was coming out at volumes usually only heard at a rocket launch. There were colored lights flashing around all of the small statges and at what appeared to be the main stage in the middle of the floor, there was a strobe blinking onoffonoff, giving the men around that stage an extra bit of thrill for their dollar bill as the dancer's breasts bounced in slow motion.

Emilie and Patrick stood on the edge of the crowd of tables, customers, and naked women and tried to decide on a plan of action. "We're going to need to split up," Emilie decided with a nod of her head.

Patrick loosened his tie and pulled his suit jacket off. "I'll start asking about Dennis Tyler." Emilie nodded and turned to search for Mr. Zucker. Patrick rolled back his shoulders and took his first step into the crowd. He looked around briefly before deciding to start at a small stage near the back of the club. He sat between a guy in jeans and a muddy T-shirt and a guy wearing a suit that looked much more tailored than anything Patrick owned. He pulled a stack of singles from his front pants pocket and unfolded them so they could sit on the table by the small, cheesy-looing candleholder. ~This many lights and Zucker has *candles*? He's trying to hard." The lights around the starge suddenly started changing colors.

"Gentlemen," the voice boomed from a set of loud speakers almost directly behind Patrick. "Do you like it *hot*?" Patrick cheered along with the rest of the men. "Then, direct your attention to the stage with the blinking read lights and give your best to *Cinnamon*!" More hooting and hollering, and Patrick suddenly wondered who's karma he'd mucked to end up at Cinnamon's stage.

She burst from the back of the club, strutted down the stage, grabbed the pole, and jumped up, wrapping her legs aroudnd it and sliding all the way down. When she landed, she was directly in front of Patrick. "Hey, handsome." She winked.

Patrick suddenly knew karma wasn't out to get him. He gave his best leering grin. "Hey. What's it take to do a few moves with you?"

She crawled provacitivly towards him, her breast nearly bumping his nose. "Well, I have to be mostly naked, first." She stood up, unfolding her body slowly, and started a routine to strip off the tiny, sequined halter top and extra-mini mini skirt she was wearing. The crowd hooted approvingly. Patrick just bided his time. Cinnaomon did a few pole moves, a few lewd gestures, and finally pulled off her strapless sequiened bra. WIth a sexy smile, she reached out and grabbed Patrick by the tie, pulling him on stage.

Patrick went up willingly, half-amused by the chants and cat calls the other men at the table let out. He leered at Cinnamon. "Hello."

"Hi." She did a full-body grind down his front. "What do I owe the honor?"

"I'm looking for a guy named Dennis Tyler."

She smiled and dropped into a backbend in front of him. "He'll be at the center stage." She did one more bump and grind move and then watched as he tucked the dollar bills into her G-string.

"Thanks."

"My pleasure."

Patrick climbed off the stage with a bit of help from a couple of other guys at the table and made his way to the center stage. He grabbed a waitress as she walked by and held up a five dollar bill. "Point out Dennis Tyler."

"Ugly guy with fuzzy brown hair and drool down his chin." She gestured with her elbow towards a guy with that description and bad shoes to match. She took Patrick's money and goosed him for a bonus.

Patrick rubbed at his ass then walked over to the stage and sat next to Dennis Tyler. He didn't say naything as he decided how to act. He could come right out and tell Dennis Tyler he was a cop, but that could get ugly fast. On-duty cops siting in strip bars were usually regarded with to much suspicion, and to many beer bottles to the head, to acutally get any information. Playing the yokel woudn't work, either. He had to many teeth for that. He decided he was a low-level businessman looking for the best tits in town. He jerkd his chin in Dennis Tyler's direction. "Hey."

Denny Tyler gave the same chin jerk. "Hey."

"I heard this place is home to the best tits in the city."

"You heard right."

"Got any you recommend?"

Dennis Tyler gave a knowing nod. "Emerald, hands down. Girl's got tits that won't quit. Nice couple of handfuls on her."

Patrick put on his best 'I'm interested' face. "Which one is she?"

"She's not here tonight. To bad for you. She puts on a hell of a show. She's got really long hair and a fuckin' hot body, and she does this thing with a dildo that'll blow your mind."

"Tonight her night off?"

Dennis Tyler shrugged. "She's usually off Fridays. I don't know where she is."

Patrick nodded and leaend back in his chair. Emerald had to be Esmerelda. He'd talked to every dancer that morning, and with the exception of two who'd told him quite angrily and with expletives that they had the night off tonight, they were all accountd for. He wondered why Esmerleda had mentioend Dennis Tyler to her neighbors.

*

"Do you know who Dennis Tyler is?"

Mr. Carmen was a man in his fifties with a shiny bald head and a respectable pot belyl. He was the third neighbor on he list and the first to answer his door. "Dennis Tyler."

Kendall nodded. "Yes, Sir. The name came up when a couple of patrolmen questioned you and the rest of your neighbors."

Mr. Carmen noddd. "Yeah, I remember." He rubbed the top of head. "Dennis Tyler?"

"Yes, Sir."

"She mentioned him to me a few times. She came back to her aprtmernt one morning after work, and she had a rip in her shirt. I asked her about it because I was my mailbox and saw the rip. I was afraid she'd been mugged or something. She told me one of the customers got a little more hands on than he should have."

"Did she name Denis Tyler specifically?"

"Yeah. I've got a brother named Dennis, so I rememberd."

Knedall nodded. "Okay. How long agao was it that you saw her with her shirt ripped?"

Mr. Carmen looked up for a moment, thinking back. "About two months, I guess. She came home a few other times and told me he'd tried some other stuff, but he was always slick about it. He usually did his little grab and poke as soon as everyone started walking out the door. She had trouble proving anything when no one saw anything."

"Did she ever mention anyone else giving her trouble?"

"Not to me."

Kendall flipped a page in her notebook. "Did she ever mention anyone named Mr. Zucker?"

"Nope."

"Are you aware of what her job was, Mr. Carmen?"

"I know she was a stripper." Mr. Carmen shrugged at his own non-chalance. "I'm fifty-seven. I grew up in this city. I've been to a lot of its skin joints. She could have done worse than going to work at *Tallywackers*."

Kendall kenw from his own strip-jumping experinces that Mr. Carmen was right. He decided not to share that bit of information. "Were you aware Esmerelda was a lesbain?"

"Yeah. I caught her kissing her girlfriend one night when I was up late. Sweet girl."

"Leslie Dryer?"

Mr. Carmen nodded. "That was her. She and Esmerelda were cute together."

"Did you give Leslie's name to the other officers?"

"Nope. Didn't even think about her until your question kicked my memory on."

"Do you know if anyone else was aware of Esmerelda's sexual orientation?"

"I hightly doubt that."

Kednall had to smile at Mr. Carmen's incredulous tone. "Why's that?"

"You're standing in an apartment building known for its tight-ass, raging heterosexuals. Most of whom are so far in the closet, they'll be coming out ten years after they're dead. You're not gay in this building."

Kendall couldn't help his next question. Natural curiousity was a bitch. "How'd you end up here?"

"Cheap rent."

*

Mr. Zucker's office was soundproofed and just the wrong side of tastefully decorated. It would be tastefully decorated as soon as the light switch shaped like a pair of breasts, and Mr. Zucker himself were removed.

Emilie sat down on an obviously expensive chair that was covered in a fabric printed in silouettes of naked women and tried not to roll her eyes. ~Someday, he'll grow out of adolescene. And then, he'll be dead.~ "We have some information you didn't share wtih us come up when we spoke to one of your employees."

Mr. Zucker sat behind an overly large cherrywood desk that had to be compensation for *something* and put his hands behind his head. "And what information is that?"

"You let your dancers keep their tips if you can watch them go down on each other." Emile's vioce went flat. "Classy policy."

Mr. Zucker rolled his left shoulder in a lazy shrug. "It's not illegal to watch two women having sex."

"Technically, you're paying them to do it, and that is illegal. It's called prostitution."

"They earned their tips dancing. I am a genourous employer who occasionally allows his dancers to keep their full night's tips to help whit their living expenses."

Emilie snorted. "Bullshit. You're a dirty old man who can't get it up, so you resort to the basic lesbian fanstay."

"My dick works perfctly fine. I can assure you."

"And if you whip it out and prove it, I'll probably understand why your desk is so big."

Mr. Zucker's eyes flared, and he sat forward in his chair, arms coming to rest on the desktop. "Do you have actual questions for me, *Detective?*" He said 'detective' like it was a bad wrod.

Emilie flipped her braid over her shoulder. "You watched Stacy Carter and Esmerelda Lowenstein engage in a an act of oral sex this morning after closing time, correct?"

"That is correct."

"What time do you close?"

"Two o'clock."

"And how long did it take you to get off?"

Mr. Zucker's jaw clenched hard. "I left the premises about two-thirty. Maybe a little later."

Emilie jotted the time down in her notebook, writing it as: 2:30+. "Did you lock the doors when you left?"

"Everything except the front and the back fire exit."

"Why didn't you lock those?"

Mr. Zucker's face was going red. He was obiviously not one for numerous questions. "Stacy was going to lock the front door when she left, and the lock on the back fire door is broken."

"Broken?"

"Yes."

"Since when?" Emilie made a note of the broken lock by writing the word 'lock' and cutting a line through it.

"I discovered it last night when I went to lock it. I called a repairman this morning. He's coming in tomorrow afternoon to fix it."

Emilie wrote, "BFE lock out since Tues. Night." She refrained from writing 'convinent' after it. "Mr. Zucker, had Esmerelda ever come to complain to you about any customers getting overly friendly?"

"Sure. All my dancers do. Guys get drunk, they want to squeeze a few tits." Mr. Zucker made a waving gesture with his hand. "It's not a big deal. Boys will be boys."

~You are an asshole.~ "Was there anyone Esmerelda complained about often?"

"Not that I remember."

"What about Dennis Tyler?"

Mr. Zucker's face took on a look of surprise. "Dennis Tyler? He's one of my best customers. One of Esmerelda's best tippers."

"Did she ever complain about Dennis Tyler groping her or anything of the sort?"

"She made a couple of unfounded allegations-"

"Unfounded allegations?" Emilie wrote 'DT-UA' in her notebook.

"She claimed he was grabbing at her, but I could never find anyone to back the story up, so she couldn't prove anything. That makes them unfounded."

~You are also a bastard.~ Emilie tapped her fingers on her notebook for a moment. "Mr. Zucker."

"Yes?" His tone made it obvious he wanted Emilie out of his office.

"If Esmerelda had come to you with proof that Dennis Tyler was harassing her, would you have banned him from the club?"

"In a second. I want my girls to have a comfortable working environment."

He was lying. Emilie snapped her notebook shut and stood up. "Thank you, Mr. Zucker."

He stood up as well. "My pleasure, Detective." Even without the emphasis, he made it sound like a bad word.

~Go suck your tiny dick.~ Emile left wihtout a word. She kept to the side of the main floor as she searched for Patrick. She couldn't see a damned thing except the tops of people's heads. As she was about to pull her badge and yell 'Cop!' to clear the room, Patrick appeared beside her looking a bit sweaty and smelling heavily of gin. "I thought I told you gritty detectives drank whiskey."

"I can't pick what the waitress spills on me. You ready?"

"More than. You?"

"I got what I needed."

They left the club and breathed a little easier when they stepped into the freezing night air.

"What do you know?" Patrick pulled his suit jacket on and held his shirt away from his body. It was still damp.

"Zucker is beyond a skeeze." Emilie lit a cigarette. "What about you?"

Patrick flashed a small rectangle of paper that was unmistakably a business card. "Dennis Tyler's name, number, and place of employment."