About These Plots...

Lois took a deep breath, mouth slimy from the clinging remains of the cocktail. She carefully set the empty glass down, resisting the sudden, inexplicable urge to run her tongue around the film on the glass. Unbidden, one of the topless waitresses arrived to top her off, pouring the grey-white cream from a small pitcher.

"You mention plots." The reporter lifted the drink and swirled it gently, so the aroma rose up to her nose. "You know four women have disappeared recently. They were last seen here. Would you know anything about that?"

Lois stared at Angelica over the rim of the cocktail glass, sipping gently on the salty, wet slime. It's not even that I like the taste, Lois admitted to herself. But I'm so thirsty...

Blaze retained that same careful, enigmatic half-smile. "Well, I must confess," the "demoness" said, "I have been up to a little something. It's connected to the club, you see."

The reporter set the empty glass down, licking her lips. She was suspicious at this sudden display of candor—Blaze was frankly on the verge of admitting something—but Lois checked herself. The bar owner had not confessed to anything yet, and could plausibly deny it if Lois made an accusation.

As the waitress appeared once again to freshen her drink, Lois fired another salvo.

"Did you have something to with those women's disappearance?"

The question hung in the hot, dry air, and Lois could feel the sweat drip off of her—but Angelica Blaze sat there, as fresh as ever. That was unsettling. The reporter's hand shook at a little as her hand clutched the cocktail glass, but the reassuring coolness of the glass calmed her nerves.

"They haven't disappeared. They are here," Angelica leaned over the table, her generous bust hanging. "Finish your drink, Lois. I'll take you to see them."