"Where," said Chris Bezich, "do you put it?"

He was watching Mozell polishing off the last of a seafood platter. It had included fish fillets, fried oysters and shrimp, barbequed crabs, cole slaw, a baked potato (fully loaded), a house salad, and a bowl of crawfish gumbo. She'd specified a bowl, "Not a cup, because all a cub of gumbo does is tease you." And this was besides the Blooming Onion that she'd shared with Greg Sanders.

Greg pointed a fork at him and said genially, "I can say that--you can't."

"You'd better smile when you say it, too, Gorgeous, or risk a fork somewhere uncomfortable," said Mozell.

"Anyway," said Greg. "She gave me the barbequed crab."

"Don't try to defend me on this, Greg," said Mozell. "I make no bones about liking my food. I gave you the crab because I've never been able to figure out how to get enough meat out of them to make it worthwhile. All I'd be able to do would be suck it for the flavor, and I have a LITTLE class. I'm not going to do that in front of my new boss. In answer to your question, I've about decided that it drops into an alternate universe. So, Chris," she pulled a small spiral notebook a little closer, and tapped a pen on the paper. "We'd just about settled on the color scheme. The platinum yellow on maroon should be striking without being too much of an eye strain, but only for the larger printing. If you want blocks of descriptive text, I'd advise plain white boxes with black text. The teardrop will be a good graphic for the logo--simple, memorable, and easy to reproduce if you want to get into things like cocktail napkins, matchbooks, coaster, fliers..."

"Are you sure you didn't take a course in advertising or business promotion?"

"No, but I've been in enough clubs to see what generally works. How soon can you have the drink roster and appetiser menu for me?"

"I don't recall having decided to go with that approach."

"You haven't. I'm going to provide you with choices, out of the goodness of my heart. And you have to understand that the first few attempts are probably going to be very rough. We're going to have to consult and refine to get it to a point that will satisfy us both."

He sounded amused. "Both of us have to be satisfied?"

She nodded. "In this case, yes. Think of it as being like sex--it isn't really a success unless both sides are happy." She smiled at him. "I don't have to do this, Chris." Her eyes suddenly widened, and she squeaked, then looked over at Greg. Greg's attention was focused on his plate, but his shoulder was shifting, as if his hand was moving back to his side. She cleared her throat. "If I couldn't pay my bills I might be willing to do something I hate--God knows I did for long enough when I worked at a convenience store--but I'm past that stage of my life. Oo, here comes the dessert cart..."

They shook hands with Chris outside the restaurant, then when they got in the car Mozell said to Greg, "Let's swing by the station. I'd like to see what they're up to with Giorgi."

"I detect an unhealthy level of interest in your tone."

"Greg, I'm going to be surrounded by police and federal agents. What could I possibly do?"

"The mind boggles. Okay. I know that Grissom will want to keep us abreast of what's going on, but there's no guaranty that the federales will keep him in the loop."

They made their way back to the CSI division of the station. They were passing the breakroom when Mozell almost skidded to a halt, head up alertly. "What is it?" asked Greg.

"I just heard the sound of rancid oil dripping." She stood very still, head swivelling slightly. Then she pointed toward the door, saying quietly, "Dingdingding."

"Let me guess--shit detector?"

"You got it." She started toward the break room.

When they entered, Catherine and Sarah were sitting at one of the tables, watching Giorgi Steppit with looks that combined incredulity with disgust, plus irritation on Sarah's part, and a tiny bit of amusement on Catherine's. Giorgi was posing in front of them, making certain that his fly was at face level. He was also dangling his wrist in front of them, and Greg had a brief flash of prayer that this wasn't an indication that he was bi.

"At first I was going to get a gold Rolex, but then I decided why run with the crowd? I got a Cartier steel case instead--automatic. Nice, eh? Over four thousand dollars. Bet you haven't seen many like this," he said smugly.

Deadpanned, Catherine said, "You lose. Remember, this is Vegas--land of the high rollers. There are whales here who'd look upon that as the equivalent of a Swatch." Catherine noticed Mozell creeping into the room. The girl favored sneakers, and for a fairly large woman, she could move very quietly. Catherine raised an eyebrow, but Mozell shook her head, putting a finger to her lips. Wickedly gleaming eyes fixed on Giorgi, teeth bared in a feral grin, she eased toward the little man.

Giorgi never entirely gave up on a woman, but he decided that Catherine was a tough sell, so he'd switched his focus to Sarah. "You--you could be a good looking woman if you fixed yourself up a little." Giorgi didn't notice the slight jerk as Sarah sat up a little straighter, brows lowering ominously. "I tell you what, cutie: I think they have his n' hers spas here in Vegas. When you get off work, what say you and me give the government men the slip and head to one of those. I'll pay for the works for you: facial, manicure... You could get your hair highlighted, maybe have a little Botox or collagen, if they do it. If they don't--out in the open..." he winked broadly, "I'm a man who knows how to arrange things. And maybe they can do one of those herbal wraps for cellulite..."

Sarah had also noticed Mozell's stealthy approach. Her first instinct had been to call attention to the woman, but now she propped her chin in her hands, gave Giorgi an acid-sweet smile, and said, "Gosh, I don't know if I'm worth all that effort."

"Don't talk about yourself like that, cutie." Mozell had almost reached him. She was reaching out toward him. "Why, you're at least a seven, and I think you could be a nine..." *yelp!*

The yelp came when Mozell shoved both hands down the back of his pants, grabbed the waistband of his shorts, and jerked up as hard as she could. She almost managed to get her hands back up to shoulder level, and Giorgi was lifted onto his toes like a premier dancer in the Ballet Russe. She let go, shaking her hands, and said, "I'm having an Adrian Monk moment--someone hand me a Wet Wipe, quick! Giorgi, you're dating yourself with that numbers crap. I could never rate you because I'd have to reach for a negative number, and I've never liked anything even approaching numbers theory."

Giorgi's voice was an octave higher as he tried to remove the fabric from where it was wedged. "I'll sue the police force! I am attacked under your very roof."

"Attacked? A wedgie?" said Catherine. "Are you sure you want to stand up in front of a judge and admit that?"

"Especially when you're on shaky ground here," said Sarah. Mozell blinked at her in surprise as she continued. "The feds might decide that you'd be safest in protective custody, like in a holding cell? And if any of the guys waiting to be bailed out find out I think that cotton would be the last think you'd have to worry about being up your butt."

"All women in Vegas are crazy," he muttered. He headed for the door. "I'm going to find the agents--maybe I'll be safe with them. Besides, that pretty detective from Mesquite is there, and..." He was coming close to Mozell. She gave him another shark smile. Giorgi slowed down and turned as he went around her, making sure that he remained facing her till he was safely past. Then he turned, speeding up... and ran right into Greg.

Greg smiled down at him. "Hi, I don't think we were formally introduced. I'm Greg Sanders--Mozell's lover--and I'm a forensic technologist. That means that I know all the best ways to make a body disappear."

"I take it back--it isn't just the women who are crazy." Giorgi hurried away.

Mozell was watching Sarah curiously. Finally she applauded very slowly. "That last jab was a gooood one, Sidle."

"Yeah, well..." Sarah's voice was a little gruff, "I finally found someone I find more annoying than you." She rolled her eyes upward briefly. "I found myself going over all my self-defense techniques and trying to imagine using them for aggression instead of just defense."

"Giorgi has that effect on people, especially women. House pets don't like him much, either."

"Not to get off topic here, but did you actually say my name correctly a moment ago?"

Mozell rolled her eyes upward, as if lost in thought. "Um... Yes, I believe I did."

"Was it on purpose, or an oversight because you were preoccupied with getting the weasel?"

"It was on purpose. I don't do too many Freudian slips. You act like a human being, I treat you like one."

"So does that mean that from now on you'll get my name right?"

"Ohhh, I wouldn't go that far." She cocked her head, smiling, and this time the teasing part of it was good-natured. "You'd think that I didn't like you. It just means that from now on it's not done strictly to annoy you."

"Fair enough." Sarah stood up, tossing her used cup in the trash. "Because I've come to the conclusion that I really don't want to be on your bad list. Well, I have some paperwork to fill out. Cath, Greg..." She was headed for the door, "McSnark."

Catherine, Greg, and Mozell exchanged looks, then Mozell barked with laughter. "Oh, m'gawd! There is hope for the girl!"