Skirted Spies: Season 1

Episode 5-2: What A Fox

Las Vegas, Nevada

It's nighttime, letting the Strip's neon light shows dominate the dark skies. The roads are crowded, mobs of people walking all over. Getting around unnoticed should be easy under these conditions. As promised, my stellar strapless black dress and name-brand stilettos give me a guarantee that my face would be the last thing people would look at. I owe it all to my figure.

Clyde has his usual cute little high-end Classic suit with a bow tie. The thing to wear to all formal occasions. We decided to take the multi-functional glasses for this one, and call it a hunch that we'd need them later.

"Okay, there are roughly 62,000 rooms to check in The Strip alone," Clyde explains, "How do you want to narrow this down?"

"Wha-62,000 rooms!? Why didn't you tell me this before!?"

"We had plenty of time to research the place! Are you telling me that you sat on your ass for the whole trip!?"

Actually, I got entranced with a computer game I found online, but for the sake of professional courtesy, I stay silent.

"Wait," he says, "then what was all that time you spent on the computer?"

"Uh, that was um, simulations and...practice. Firearm practice!"

"Okay, firearm practice on the computer?"

"It was...really realistic." I don't think he believes me. "So, the plan?"

"Well, since I'm the one who did the research, I noticed a pattern. The murders have taken place all around the country, but as the dates get closer to the present, the killer kills closer and closer to Nevada. The last three murders happened in Las Vegas, and what place is there around here to blow off steam after a gory day's work?"

"The Strip! Of course! I'm glad I thought of it!"

"But wait, there's still one more problem."

"Now what!?"

"There's no way of knowing whether the killer is still using your face or not."

"If he is, then he's the most confident bastard I know."

"And if he's not?"

"Let's hope he is."

With such a widespread area, there's no easy way of choosing a starting point to begin our search. Eventually we settle on a toy spinner we use for a board game to point our direction for us. Archer is coming along too, but he refuses to stay close to us. Stealth was always his strong suit, and he prefers hiding in the shadows rather than in plain sight.

After about an hour of aimless wandering, Clyde had an urge to check a gentleman's club. He calls it a hunch, I call it a break. There was a single bouncer standing in front of the door, having a smoke. When he saw us coming, he immediately put it out.

"Foxy! What are you doing out here?" he asks.

Foxy? Guess he's talking to me, considering my species. Must be another nickname humans like to give us. We've been here just as long as the humans have, and yet there are still people who believe that we shouldn't exist the way we do. Such bad manners!

"Well," I say, "I was looking to get in."

"Of course! Get in, get in."

Oh? I could've sworn I had racist comments inbound, must've read him wrong. I walk in first, then Clyde, and I'm sure Archer already found a way in unnoticed somehow. The place is dark on the inside, and the music pumps a rhythmic beat made for the single purpose of dancing. The patrons were actually a mix of humans and anthros, and the same went for the dancers.