Chapter Text
Dean pulled into the parking lot across the street from the bar. It was a real hole in the wall from the looks of it outside. It looked like an abandoned warehouse, covered in graffiti. The bouncer at the door looked like he was a professional wrestler or something. He looked Dean up and down, like he was sizing Dean up for a fight or something, grinned wide, and nodded his head towards the door. Dean went inside. The interior was nothing like Dean had expected from the outside. There was a large stage at the back, with small tables surrounding it, complete with little candle filled glass globes in the center of each. Along the right wall was a long mahogany bar, and to the left of the stage and tables was a dance floor with these weird upholstered bench-like risers around three sides. At the moment, the stage and the dance floor was empty but for a few people who seemed to be waiting for something to start. Dean walked over to the bar, got the bartender's attention, and ordered a whiskey. Dean took a swig, enjoying the burn, and took another look around the bar. There were two guys over at the dance floor that seemed to be having some sort of heated argument, about four of the tables had people at them—all males. In fact, now that Dean thought about it, there didn't seem to be a single woman in the place other than the bartender and the waitress. Turning back to the bartender, Dean was flagging her down again, when a young man walked up to the bar stool next to him and said “Never seen you here before.”
“Yeah, new in town.” Dean said, as he motioned for a refill. The bartender looked over at the other guy, who nodded to her. “Got sent here because of the lady that was found out back.” Dean flashed his fake FBI badge. “Thought maybe someone around here might know who she was or something.”
“Name's Dave. I don't know anything about it, but Blanche might know, I'm here to pick her up once the show is over.”
Dean was just about to ask “Show?” when the house lights went down, the ones on the stage went up, and the room was filled with the beginning of Gloria Gaynor's “I Will Survive.” The curtains went up, revealing about a dozen drag queens. There were two that resembled Cher, one that looked like Lady Gaga, a Barbara Streisand, a Beyonce, and the rest didn't resemble anyone famous that Dean had seen before. All that seemed to come out of Dean was a “Huh...” as he watched the show, a confused look on his face. Dean just sat there with a deer-in-headlights look on his face the whole thirty minutes that the drag queens were singing and dancing. When the house lights came back up after the curtain went down the final time, Dean chugged down the rest of his drink and set the glass onto the bar. Dave was no longer next to him. As Dean got up to leave, Dave came back, with one of the drag queens on his arm, guiding her straight to Dean.
“Blanche, this is the Agent I was telling you about, he's looking into the woman whose body was found out back the other night. I told him that maybe you could tell him what you might know about it.” Dean offered his hand out to the “woman” as he flashed his fake badge once again.
“Ma'am, where you here when the body was found last night?” Dean asked.
“Oh, you were right, he's adorable.” she said to Dave then turned to Dean, “Yessir, I was here, put on three great shows last night. I didn't see the poor thing, that was Cherry that found her.” She turned and yelled out “Cherry!” toward the end of the bar. The Beyonce look-alike came over to join them. “Cherry, this is Agent...”
“Scott,” Dean supplied.
“He is here about the poor woman you found out back last night.” Blanche said to her.
“Oh, that was just awful!!!” Cherry exclaimed.
“Yes, ma'am, I'm sure it was,” Dean said, “Could you tell me what led up to you finding the remains?”
“Well, I was just outside the back door, sitting on the steps getting in a quick smoke before the next show, when I heard a noise from around the corner. Just as I was about to see what it was, this man burst from out of the alleyway, knocking me to the ground. I never got a good look at him. By the time I got back up, he was gone. I looked around the corner and saw what I thought was a headless, armless mannequin. It was only when I got closer that I realized it had once been a person. That's when I called 911.”
Could you show me exactly where you were when it happened?”
“Sure thing honey,” Cherry took his hand and led him to the door on the side of the stage. Through the door, down a hallway past several dressing rooms, and out a heavy, metal door. Dean found himself at the top of a set of about five concrete steps with metal pipe railways leading down to the street below. Around the corner was an alleyway. Dean left Cherry at the top of the steps and walked toward the alleyway. “She was just around the corner, on the ground in front of the dumpster. Like she was just dropped there, he didn't even try to hide her or anything.” Dean walked around the corner, where there was still crime scene tape in place from the dumpster to the light post at the corner of the alley. Dean looked around, taking the whole area in, noticing a security camera in the corner. He didn't recall anything about it in the case file that he had “borrowed” the day before.
“Cherry, do you know who owns that building?” Dean asked, pointing in the direction of the camera.
“Oh, yeah, that's Chi-Chi's studio. She should still be inside.” Dean let the drag queen lead him back into the backstage area and to a dressing room with several people inside. “Chi-Chi, this is Agent Scott, he's here about what I found last night. He needs to talk to you.”
“Well, hola Agent Sexy,” Chi-Chi sidled up to Dean. The tiny Latina put one hand on his chest and the other around his waist, pulling him even closer. “Whatever can I do for you sweety?”
“Um,...well Cherry said that you own the building on the other side of the alley.”
“I sure do. You want me to give you a tour of the place. I could definitely make it worth your while.” Her hand went from his hip to grab his ass.
“Actually I was wondering if the camera out there captured anything that might be of use to my investigation, if perhaps you might have footage of the guy who left that poor woman's body out there.” Dean carefully extracted himself from Chi-Chi, keeping her hands in his own so they couldn't roam further.
“Sure thing, honey.” She bent over, slid a laptop on the dressing room table toward her, flipped it open, typed a few keystrokes and looked back at him inquisitively. “It's digital, downloads to my server every twenty-four hours. You want me to email it to you?” She wiggled her behind suggestively.
“That would be great, thank you.” Dean handed her Agent Scott's business card with the email he was currently using on it. “Can you send me the footage from that night and the week before, in case that person was there earlier...just in case, you know.”
“You bet, sweety.” A few more keystrokes and Chi-Chi shut the laptop. “It should all be in your inbox very soon.”
“Thank you Chi-Chi, I really appreciate it.”
“No problema, Agent Sexy, now can I buy you a drink and convince you to dance with me?” Chi-Chi rose and stalked back toward him once again.
“Unfortunately, I have to get going, I have a lot of work to do.” Dean backed up and quickly made his exit, making his way back out to the bar. Now the place was in full swing, packed and with a crowd both in front of the bar and on the dance floor. By the time he made it outside to the safety of his car, he had been thoroughly “man-handled”, and had a dozen numbers pressed into his hand (and a couple into the back pockets of his jeans—and not a single one of those numbers belonged to an actual female.
The next bar Dean went to was some honky-tonk joint, loosely based on Coyote Ugly. (Whether it was based on the movie or the original bar, Dean didn't ask, nor really care...he was much too happy to be surrounded by actual women.) None of the people there knew anything about the woman outside the drag club nor the guy who died from lead poisoning, and after a few too many drinks and a heavy make-out session with one of the dancing waitresses in the back of the Impala, Dean headed back to the motel to get some shut-eye before taking another crack at the case the next day.
Still convinced that it was just a vengeful spirit of either Jesse James, his wife, or his mother that had taken the guy out; and that the woman was just the unfortunate victim of a serial killer or something; Dean planned on visiting the cemetery, the homestead house that had been turned into a museum, and the place where the guy had been killed (not necessarily in that order) the next day.