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They pulled themselves together. Lois Lane couldn't find her panties, and had to squelch her bare, cum-filled crotch into the tight-fitting red pants, to the endless amusement of Angelica Blaze. They spent a few moments together at the sink, fixing their makeup—and then they were out, leaving behind only memories and cum-stained wads of toilet paper.

The Daily Planet's Greatest Reporter was on the case once again.

Angelica was a big help, the reporter noticed. She knew the people in the club, and more importantly, they knew her. Lois noticed how the security became more conscientious about looking at the photos of the missing women, how the bartenders and waitresses paused at what they were doing when they caught sight of the tall dickgirl's dark eyes. So too, Angelica knew "the regulars"—barflies, dealers, and working girls that seemed to occupy familiar seats and corners, and who paused before answering questions—but they did answer them.

In her element, Lois pieced together that vague recollections. In her head, she kept up a timeline of events since the last time the four women had been seen—and the discussions had proved fruitful. A picture emerged, and one that Lois didn't particularly like. She had to corner a couple of the security guys again to ask follow-up questions, and when they frowned one look at Angelica was enough for them to open up again.

Finally, they sat at a table in a quiet corner. As if by magic, a waitress appeared with a pair of cold beers. Lois sipped hers thirstily before laying it out.

"All of the women were last seen leaving with the same guy. He's a regular, but never seems to be dating anyone. Generous to a fault, always buys the drinks, looks deep into her eyes, good dancer, good listener." The reporter tapped the table with a fingertip.

"Not illegal to buy a girl a drink," Blaze pointed out, rotating her bottle with thumb and forefinger.

"It's not just that. He was seen almost carrying the women out, no matter how much or how little they had to drink," Lois set her mouth in a grim line. "Security guy out front said that by the time they got out the door, the women couldn't walk right."

"So you suspect foul play. He...slipped them a mickey? Date ****? ****?"

Lois nodded. "Or human trafficking. One more thing, though. He was careful to cover his tracks—always paid cash, fake IDs, never parked a car near enough that anybody could get a plate. But he always used the same name."

When she spoke it, Angelica Blaze froze, the beer bottle halfway to her mouth—and Lois saw the dark eyes widen in surprise.