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chin. “Very well then, think of any damn thing you like, but find out if she remembers me from last night.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at my faithful servant.
    A hardcore rap song by Snowy W and the Midgets, “Who You Callin’ a High Ho?” burst from the speakers loud enough to drown out the wail of distress from my manservant as the stripper began to grind against his manly parts.
    A few minutes into her lap dance, Karl sprang from his chair. The surprised stripper slipped from his lap and fell to the floor. With a gasp, Karl reached down to help her up while he apologized again and again. “My lady, please forgive me. I . . . ah . . .”
    “It’s all right.” She ran her hand down Karl’s arm, leaving a trail of sweaty glitter in its wake.
    “Don’t get me wrong, you are ama—” he said.
    “Yeah, yeah. She’s a peach.” I waved my hand to gain their attention. “Now, do you remember me from last night or not?”
    She squinted, tilting her head to the side. “You look sort of familiar.”
    The poor girl obviously suffered from brain damage. It figured, with the amount of twirling around a pole she did in one evening. There was no other explanation for her faulty memory. I started to say as much.
    “My lady.” Karl cut me off and reached for the stripper’s hand.
    “Candi,” she said. “My name’s Candi.”
    “Candi,” Karl, the dope, said with a genuine smile. “Please tell us what you can remember about last night. It might trigger my employer’s memory.”
    The stripper tapped her finger against her bottom lip. “Well, some guys were arguing in the corner by the second stage. Your employer,” she motioned my way, “might’ve been one of them.”
    Karl smiled at the stripper and then pulled me aside. “We found a clue, sir. I knew we would.”
    Damn servant started jumping around like a Great Dane on the trail of a mystery. I grabbed his arm. “Calm down. All’s we know is that I was here last night, with RJ. Which we already knew from the credit card charges.”
    Karl eyed the stripper. “Do you . . . want me to . . . ?”
    “Naw. I’ll handle her.” I strode to the dancer, flashing my most charming smile, the one that drove ordinary princesses to their knees.
    She flinched instead and backed up a step. “I was wrong,” she began. “I didn’t see or hear nothing.”
    I held up my hand. “Hold on, mademoiselle.”
    “I swear it.” Her eyes widened and her lips began to tremble, quite a feat for the sheer amount of collagen injected into them. “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered.
    “Hurt you? Why would I do that, luv?” My brow wrinkled as I took a step toward the frightened lady. “I am in need of your help, not wishing you injury.”
    Her eyes peered into mine. “But last night, you . . .”
    “Candi.” Karl took her hand in his. “My employer is very sorry for whatever cruel word or deed he perpetrated on your person last evening.”
    “Hey—”
    “Rest assured, he is not normally abusive to anyone,” Karl turned to glare at me, and then returned his gaze to Candi, his tone soft, “let alone a woman as beautiful as you.”
    Candi blushed, surprising for a woman over eighteen, and truly amazing coming from a woman with glitter on her naughty parts. “You think I’m pretty?” she asked, a hitch in her voice.
    Karl shook his head.
    Her face fell.
    “ ‘Pretty’ is too diminutive a word to describe your beauty.” Karl dropped to his knees in front of the stripper. “You are a lady beyond compare. Poets weep when they look upon your face.”
    “How sweet,” she said, helping my flowery-speech-spouting servant to his feet. A circle of wetness coated the knee of his jester suit.
    “Burn those,” I said, pointing to his tights, and then turned to the stripper. “Listen, madam, I swear you are completely safe from me,” I nodded to Karl, “and anyone else in my acquaintance. No matter what. You have Jean-Michel La Grenouille’s