"Our informant will be arriving at the airport tomorrow morning, early," Said Agent Donaldson.

"Are you sure you're going to be able to get him past customs without any trouble?" said Mozell. "I'm sure they have laws in place about importing hazardous creatures."

"There shouldn't be any trouble. I've notified the proper people at the airport, and we'll have someone there to pick him up."

Mozell's eyes lit up with unholy glee, and she raised her hand. "I volunteer."

A female voice said, "I get the feeling that if we let you go alone to pick him up, we'll end up with a missing person, and then a body dump." Sarah had stopped in the hall outside Mozell's office. She hadn't been eavesdropping, she assured herself. If they wanted privacy, they should have closed the door.

"Maybe," said Mozell blandly, "but it wouldn't be for months and months, Saranwrap. I've picked up enough around here to vastly improve my disposal techniques."

"I'm sending Agent Clark," said Donaldson. "Given the current situation, it's probably best that you go out in public as little as possible."

"Thank you so much for your kind interest in my welfare. However, I'm not quite ready to be caged."

Greg had come up behind Sarah. "Would you consider a collar?"

"Why Greg," she cooed. "How very Goth of you." Her voice became studious. "But you know, I think I will take one of those personal days everyone has been trying to push on me. I need to go meet with Catherine's friend, make a highly public appearance at his club to start setting up my cover." Donaldson and Sarah left, but Greg lingered, lounging against the doorframe. Mozell leaned back in her chair, studying him silently, then said, "You're staring at me."

"I often stare at you. People have noticed. It's one of my great pleasures."

"Yes, but you're not giving me an 'I want to jump her bones' stare."

"Correct. This is my 'hmm, she's up to something' stare."

She batted her eyelashes. "Why Mister Sanders, what could you be implying?"

"Let's just say I'm glad that you're staying with me right now. I can keep an eye on you."

"Greg, I would think that by now you know me well enough to know that I'm not going to pass up this opportunity."

The corners of his mouth quirked in a smile. "I think you'd probably explode if you didn't do something."

"So your choices are one, try to keep up with me and observe, two, try to stop me and get run over, as much as I care for you, and three--aid and abet."

"Exactly how illegal is what you have planned?"

"For tomorrow? As far as I know, it's not really illegal."

"As far as you know. What say we start off with me along as an observer, and see where it goes from there."

"Fine, but trust me--once you get to know Giorgi, you'll kick yourself for not taking advantage of this introductory offer. I'm going to need you to take me to a couple of places."

"I'm not taking you to a gun shop."

"I won't say you're no fun, because you are. I'll want to visit a costume store, an office supply store, and a Pet Smart."

"What do you want at--?"

She smiled sweetly. "I suggest you don't ask. If you ask, I'll tell you, and you might want to be able to deny foreknowledge."

"You scare me--but in a good way."

She made a kissing motion at him. "I'll be ready to go in a minute. I just need to check with the airport about Giorgi's time and location of arrival."

"Somehow I have the feeling that tomorrow is going to be very interesting."

Agent Clark arrived at the airport a half-hour before Fetchit's plane was due to arrive--just in case--so naturally the plane was spang on schedule. While he was waiting he got himself a cup of coffee and had a word with airport security. Since Giorgi had gone through customs in his New York stopover, that wouldn't be a problem.

He sat down near the arrival gate with the shift supervisor--a thin man named Hanks. Hanks was cordial, but the FBI had been in and out of the Las Vegas airport before, and if it didn't involve at least three agents and a motorcade, he wasn't impressed. "So, what? This some crook who's being extradited here for prosecution?" Hanks asked.

"No, just someone helping us out with an investigation." Clark smiled faintly. "He, uh, 'volunteered'."

"So you're not here to protect him?"

"No. It's unlikely that the person we're interested in would be aware of his involvement. I'm just here as an escort. He's the sort who might become... distracted in a place like Vegas."

"Yeah, Vegas can do that to you."

The plane carrying Giorgi touched down. The airport was fairly busy--apparently mid-morning was a popular arrival time--and a small crowd was gathering at the arrival gate, waiting to greet the new arrivals. Clark got up and tossed his empty cup in a nearby trash bin as the plane taxied up to the accordion tunnel. He wasn't anticipating any trouble, but an FBI agent didn't last long if he was careless, so he did a scan of the area, looking for possible trouble.

He spotted a familiar figure standing on the other side of the room, and frowned in surprise as Greg Sanders raised his hand and waved. He hurried over, and said, "What are you doing here?"

Greg shrugged. "The guy has been helping a psycho get access to information about my girlfriend. I'm interested."

"You weren't planning on doing something stupid, were you?"

Greg pursed his lips. "Nooo. Not that I don't want to, but it really would be stupid to incapacitate him before he told us what we want to know, wouldn't it?" The tunnel had been fastened in place, and the passengers were passing through it. Greg had a feeling that Giorgi would be one of the first ones off. He sounded like the kind who believed that he deserved the best, and first class passengers disembarked first. *She said keep Clark distracted. Time to bullshit.* "Look, I have an interest in keeping the guy healthy. I didn't like the idea of you bringing him in alone, so I thought I'd help..."

The flight attendant gave each passenger a friendly farewell smile, and cautioned them to be careful as they made their way into the airport. But when the passenger who'd occupied seat 4A arrived, the smile became strained, and the caution was spoken through clenched teeth. She had been trained to deal with difficult passengers, and the training had come in handy with this one.

The jerk thought he was God's gift to the female sex. Where the hell had he gotten that idea? She had enjoyed watching the Bob Newhart Show on Nick at Night, and had always gotten a good laugh out of the oddball brothers--Larry, Daryl, and Daryl. Well, this guy reminded her strongly of Larry, but scrawnier, with less hair, and more accent. He also seemed to have more hands. She had a feeling that if they'd had to fly to California, she'd have ended up having him handcuffed to his seat, and arrested when they landed. As it was, she'd simply had to threaten to smack him on the head with a tray. From the way he smirked at her now, she was pretty sure that he believed she was just playing hard to get. Thankfully, he was about to become someone else's problem.

Giorgi winked at the hot babe stewardess as he exited the plane. Lord, he loved women in uniforms--so sexy. Fantasizing about her and trying (unsuccessfully) to talk her into a dirty layover with him, had kept him entertained for the last leg of his journey. It wasn't quite enough to get his mind off the crack his ass was currently caught in, but it helped.

As he exited the debarkation tunnel, he looked around for his promised escort. He hated having to deal with any form of government law enforcement agents. To begin with, they made him nervous, and they were all usually as dull as dirt. Then he caught sight of something that gladdened his heart.

There was a woman standing just past the exit, holding a cardboard sign that said FETCHIT. She was dressed in a chauffer uniform--of sorts. Actually it was a fantasy chauffer uniform--one that you might expect to see in a porn movie, before the action really got started. There was a very short skirt, and a tight jacket, first few buttons open, and no shirt visible underneath. A chauffer cap sat at a jaunty angle on wild curls, and she was wearing mirrored sunglasses. The only thing marring the image was the footwear--running shoes, instead of spiked heels. *Oh, well. Can't have everything,* thought Giorgi, mentally wiping away drool. The woman's body wasn't the most perfect, but the uniform more than made up for that.

She noticed his stare and cocked her head, smiling questioningly. He went to her quickly, his own smile wolfish. (Well, it was in his own mind. To everyone else it was less like a wolf spotting prey than a rather stupid hound spotting a bowl of Alpo). "Mister Fetchit?" she purred.

He was going to like this one--dressed kinky without being asked, and spoke with the proper subservience. "That's me, baby. You here for Giorgi."

"Oh, yes, indeed, sir. I'm here to give you a greeting that's worthy of someone of your... standing."

Giorgi grinned at her suggestive tone. "That's me--an upstanding citizen--everywhere it counts."

She smiled, and he felt a physical stir of interest as the tip of her tongue peeked through her teeth. "Tell me, Mister Fetchit--how do you feel about, um, intimacies in public places?"

"Ahh, kinky! But I can't risk getting arrested right now."

"Hold this for a moment, would you?" She handed him the sign, then tucked her hands in her jacket pockets for a moment, twisting back and forth like a bashful little girl. "I promise you that you won't get arrested, but I just have to give you a proper greeting."

She stepped in close to him. Her left hand settled on his shoulder, then slid slowly down his torso. Giorgi froze, then glanced around, smirking, wanting everyone to see what he was getting, and envy him. He was a little surprised when her hand fastened on his belt and tugged, though. "Hey, save it for in the car."

"But I have a present for you." She moved quickly. She jerked hard on his belt, creating a space between his pants and his body, and quickly shoved her clenched right hand down the gap--deep down the gap.

"Hey!" She had nimble hands. He felt her hook the elastic of his shorts.

Her smile widened, and she could manage wolfish, even if Giorgi could not. "Tell me, Giorgi--you still afraid of mice?" She jerked her hand back and stepped away just as Giorgi felt something small and furry start moving against his private parts.

"Look, Sanders--go home and..." Clark was interrupted by a piercing shriek. He whirled around, looking for the woman in distress. The screamer wasn't very masculine, but he definitely wasn't a woman, even if he screamed like one. He seemed to be having some sort of a fit.

He was jerking and twitching in an alarming manner. He was still screaming, but it was interspersed with shouts, both in English, and some foreign language. From what Clark could understand, he was having hallucinations--something about mice crawling all over him. It was probably drugs--either that, or he'd really gotten drunk on the plane. Then he got a good look at the man, and groaned. That would be Fetchit. Figured. Clark started over.

Before he got to him, Fetchit had started take off his pants. By now he'd attracted quite a crowd. As he opened his fly, the noise of the crowd increased--some shouting encouragement, some protesting. Mothers clapped hands over the eyes of their children. One or two girls muttered that it was just lousy luck that the only guys who were willing to strip in public were the ones you'd rather wouldn't.

Before someone could stop him, Giorgi had torn down his pants and plunged his hands into his shorts--red briefs, and the audience should have been grateful that it wasn't one of his thongs. Clark could feel his eyes bugging out when he realized that Giorgi's hands weren't the only things moving inside his shorts. They were chasing a small, active lump.

It's hard to keep your balance when you're thrashing around with your pants around your knees. Fetchit tripped and pitched backward, landing on his narrow ass, still scrabbling and screaming. His shoes went flying (one of them narrowly missing a little old lady), then his pants. It might have been a comment on Giorgi that people dodged the pants much more vigorously than the shoes.

*Oh, shit!* thought Clark. *They're going to want to haul him in for indecent exposure if I don't stop him.*

Giorgi caught whatever it was. He jerked it out of his underwear, letting go the second it was free. Mistake. He should have thrown it. The tiny, furry creature landed on his belly, skittering around on the pale skin exposed by his rucked up shirt. He swatted it off and leaped to his feet, still screaming. There might have been a touch of backbone somewhere in his make up, because instead of running, he started to try to kill it.

There were shrieks of protest from the gathered children as Giorgi landed a foot on the creature. Giorgi yelped, clutching his foot and hopping, as a little girl sobbed, "He kilt the mousie!" Clark found himself hoping that the animal had been slightly rabid, and had managed to bit Fetchit before it was done in.

"Oh, sweetie, don't cry!" said a woman wearing sunglasses. "Look." She picked up the flattened thing on the floor, showing it to her. The child stared, then started to giggle.

Clark had reached the scene by now. The chauffer nodded at him. "Hey, Clarksburg. Fancy meeting you here."

"Why am I not surprised? What did you do to him?"

"Nothing much--just gave him a present. Y'see, I got a little info from Tish and Gomez, including the fact that Giorgi has 'issues' with rodents."

Clark shook his head, looking at the man who was now lying, limp and panting, on the floor. "Okay, I can understand you wanting to do something to him, but you hardly seem like someone who'd sacrifice an innocent animal for revenge."

"I'm not." She opened her hand, nodding toward what she was holding. Clark looked. It was a small, misshapen lump of fur, with a rip in one side that exposed gears, and a tin key on one side. "Wind up. You don't honestly think I'd subject cute little mouse to something like Giorgi? The poor thing might have caught something."

Giorgi had located his pants, and was now beginning to struggle into them. "Crazy woman! What the hell you think you're doing? I'll sue your ass off! You don't know who you messing with here."

"Oh, I know exactly who I'm messing with--you don't." The woman leaned over him, pulling off her shades. "Don't recognize me, Giorgi? I'm not surprised. I've never posted a photo on the 'net. Allow me to introduce myself--Mozell McClain, but you'd know me as Scribe. See, this is why it's not a good idea to deliberately piss off people you've never met--you can't see them coming." Giorgi's complexion had gotten flushed by his exertions, but now it started to head back toward pasty. She smiled with acid sweetness. "Welcome to Las Vegas, motherhumper."