"If the Candy Shop actually DID every good deed attributed to them, they'd be bigger than the CIA and running 24/7. Not even major corporations do that. To me, that's just all the more proof they're an urban legend." Mark Mansfield, Director of Public Affairs, CIA

The three of them strode out, unobtrusively dropping off their keys in the mail slot at the main desk. Jelly Bean stood at the curb and slid into the Trans Am as the valet pulled it up, waving goodbye as he did so. He drove off, talking softly to the dog in the crate on the passenger seat.

"Okay Gren—thanks for playing along, it's been a kick, but now it's gonna get a little ugly and you don't need to be there for that part. I'm taking you back to Gum Drop and then going to pick up one very ugly bastard for dinner. See you in about four hours, if Hodges doesn't get you home before then."

The dog snuffled and settled down in the crate, sighing. Jelly Bean laughed a little and slid a finger into the slats, feeling the soft lick when he did so. "Sara really likes you too—which is kinda cool because I never thought she was a dog person. Of course, I didn't think she was a bikini person either—"

Sara felt the tension right in the pit of her stomach, and smiled anyway. She stepped along the little covered walkway from the main dining area of the Desert Rose and followed the waiter as she held Mr. Peppermint's arm. The waiter ushered her in and winked; she winked back at Jaw Breaker, then turned her attention to the secluded standalone dining room

Show time.

"The bar in here is all yours—I'll be back to take your dinner orders in a moment—" Jaw Breaker told them, stepping away.

Carefully Sara stepped into the intimate dining room and looked around approvingly. The other tables had been moved to the sides of the room, leaving a single one in the middle, set for four. A champagne bucket on a stand had a bottle chilling in it already. She spoke up. "Beautiful."

"Private. The restaurant thinks we're shooting a movie here, so we won't be disturbed. The props are in place—all we need are the players," Mr. Peppermint murmured, looking at her and smiling. She allowed him to help her into her chair, and he took the one opposite her, settling into it and reaching into his inside breast pocket for a cigar. She smirked.

"Picking up a bad habit."

"Blame my aunt Doreen," he replied, waving the Cohiba expansively. "She dated cigar men, exclusively."

"Really? Did she rate them by the cost of their Cubans?"

Playfully Mr. Peppermint examined the length of the cigar gripped between his thumb and forefinger and arched an eyebrow. "Possibly. I never really asked."

At that moment the glass door opened and Jelly Bean swaggered in, chin high. He took his sunglasses off in a dramatic fashion and glared at Mr. Peppermint. "I brought Chip with me."

"Good kid. First thing you've done right all day," Mr. Peppermint replied with forced good humor. He looked past Jelly Bean at Chip Harrington, who was still dressed in the same ratty plaid suit he'd worn during the poker game earlier. "Chip. What can I get you to drink?"

"Scotch and water; hold the water. Wooo, the Candy Dish here is looking pretty hot tonight. Nice dress, sweetheart—you look like a Bit O' Honey bar in that thang!" Chip rumbled, trying to kiss Sara on the cheek.

She managed to avert his embrace with an apologetic smile by dropping her napkin. "Oops, maybe I'm more of a Butterfingers."

"Good one!" Chip agreed, clenching his teeth a little. He turned to smirk at Mr. Peppermint. "So, I guess we're here to celebrate, eh? Let's see what this place has to offer a hungry seller." He ambled over to the bar and began to pour himself a drink.

It was an uneasy dinner. Sara watched as Mr. Peppermint matched Chip drink for drink, the two of them getting louder as time went on. She and Jelly Bean exchanged a worried glance or two, but there didn't seem to be any opportunity to intervene. Jaw Breaker had taken their orders: Prime rib for Chip, filet mignon for Mr. Peppermint, lobster for Jelly Bean and Gruyere mushroom soufflé for herself.

They ate.

An hour later, Chip was telling an off-color story involving a test ride and two blonde teenagers while Sara pretended to listen. Jelly Bean was slouching in his chair, fidgeting. Sara noticed he had a leather bound document folder he'd dropped on one of the side tables, the thing thick with papers. She set her napkin to the side of her plate and batted her eyes at Mr. Peppermint, across the table from her.

He winked at her and gave a loud sigh, turning his smile back to their guest. "All right Chip; you've been wined and dined on my expense account, so why don't we get down to the business at hand. I'd like to wrap this up and still catch a little ESPN and personal prime time before tomorrow."

Harrington gave a horselaugh and nodded, his eyes glinting with a malicious amusement. He leaned back in his chair, making it creak a bit and blotted his lips with his napkin. "Little anxious are we?" he drawled, giving Sara a serious leer.

"Not anxious at all," Mr. Peppermint countered, his voice pleasant but his gaze steely. "Just . . . cautious. Just because I deal in cash doesn't mean I'm comfortable hauling it around all the time."

"Good point. Now you know nothing's gonna be official until after we get the deal notarized and shit, right? Unless your bimbette here is authorized!"

Sara was amused at how Mr. Peppermint's jaw tightened. Almost imperceptibly she shrugged and he relaxed again, puffing on his cigar, forcing a chuckle. "Good one . . . Nah, I'd have to say that most of the things Foxy is authorized in violate the Miller Test, but she hasn't gone for her notary exam yet."

Chip looked slightly puzzled on top of his alcohol glow; Sara bit back a laugh and even Jelly Bean smirked at the obscenity law reference.

"Yeah, well whatever. All I know is that she can sign as a witness and all, if you have the cash."

"Not so damned fast---" Jelly Bean broke in, his voice loud but wavery. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Oh you don't," Mr. Peppermint sneered good-naturedly. "This ought to be good. Why the hell not, kid? You were the one helping me turn the screws for this deal; the one telling me what a great opportunity it was, right for the plucking."

"Yeah, but I didn't mean for YOU—" Jelly Bean stood up, shifting slightly as he did so. In the candlelight his black eye looked darker, and his brooding expression didn't help. "You're a bastard, Pete. You used my inside track to get the lowdown on the lots, and now you're not even going to let me be a part of the operation! Don't try and deny it—" his voice began to rise, "—You know damned well I'M the one who'd be perfect for this business, not YOU!"

"Dooley . . . shut up," Mr. Peppermint told him in a tolerant, slightly embarrassed voice. "You're talking out your asshole. Chip and I have a deal---"

"--No you don't," Jelly Bean broke in loudly, "and this time, YOU'RE the one talking out your asshole, Asshole. Take a look." Moving a little clumsily, Jelly Bean picked up the leather portfolio and waved it in the air between them. "--to whit and I'm paraphrasing here—Chester Harrington has just sold the three lots that comprise the entire business of Harrington Motors of Las Vegas Nevada to ME, Dooley Williamsen, for the fair and decided price of two and a half million dollars, in cash, this twentieth day of November, two thousand and six. It's been notarized and witnessed, so you are SHIT out of LUCK, Uncle Asshole!"

For a long moment no one in the dining room moved.

Sara froze, caught in the moment of witnessing the rising rage along Mr. Peppermint's face. His brows drew together, his mouth pursed, and his normally bright blue eyes glistened like shards from an iceberg. Carefully he set down his cigar and glared across the table at Jelly Bean, his gaze a cold laser.

"What the fuck did you just say . . . boy?"

"I said . . . " Jelly Bean growled, a slightly squeaky sound, but loaded with malice as he set the portfolio on the table, "I just fucked you out of the deal. My good buddy Chip here decided that his lots were worth the extra three quarter million I offered, so he and I hung you out to dry, Petey boy."

"You haven't got the money—" Mr. Peppermint accused, but his expression held a hint of panic. Jelly Bean smirked, his expression gleefully furious.

"Oh yes I DO, old man. I hit twenty five two days ago, and now I'M in charge of my trust fund. And the first thing I decided was how I was going to jack you out of this contract. I knew you'd lowball Chip, just like you've done in every other deal you've ever made. You taught me good, Pete, and now it's time to bend over and take it yourself—"

Mr. Peppermint moved, rising and lunging out of his chair, knocking it over as he surged towards Jelly Bean. Sara screamed; startled as the two men grappled for a moment.

"You God damned punk! I'll strangle you!" Mr. Peppermint ground out, reaching for Jelly Bean's neck. Jelly Bean swung a strong right cross, managing to land it on Mr. Peppermint's cheekbone. Chip jumped up and backed away a step, watching the struggle sardonically.

"Knock it off, Pete—the kid offered me more money, fair and square. You two wanna fight it out that's fine with me, but I'm going with the better offer—"

A gunshot, muffled but unmistakable exploded between Mr. Peppermint and Jelly Bean. Still locked together, they slumped towards the table, and Jelly Bean's voice echoed out. "Fuck you! Don't think I came here without SOME way of protecting myself!"

"Oh God, he SHOT him!" Sara screeched, darting around the table and yanking on Jelly Bean's arm. He swung free, his eyes wild, the gun still in his hand. Blood gouted out of a charred hole in the front of Mr. Peppermint's suit and his stunned expression was growing pale. He swiped blindly towards Jelly Bean again, and managed to snag the gun with bloody fingers.

"Pete! Oh GOD, Pete!" Sara screamed, turning to face him. Unsteadily Mr. Peppermint raised the gun and fired it; Jelly Bean staggered back, his hands slapping against his chest, blood squirting between them.

"Oh crap." Chip Harrington muttered, stunned. He stared for a moment at the carnage; Mr. Peppermint had slumped against the table, making the china rattle before he dropped to the carpet. Jelly Bean stood swaying a moment longer, his contorted expression pleading as he turned to him.

"Jesus—Chip . . . help me!" he groaned. "Oh God . . . " his knees began to crumple and he swayed; Chip caught him and staggered a little under the dead weight.

"FUCK that, buddy—you are on your God damned own, pal!" Immediately Chip shoved him away; Jelly Bean hit a chair and fell on the floor, blood still leaking out of him.

Chip turned, wiping a hand over his face, his eyes glittering with cunning and panic as he stared at the prone body for a moment. "Son of a bitch, he's dead. YOU—" Chip hissed at Sara, "If you know what's good for you whore, I'd suggest you start running. I left before this all happened, I don't know a God damned thing about a shooting, we were all happy with the deal! I don't need this shit and I'm OUT of here. You breathe a WORD you cocksucking bitch and I'll make sure it's the last one you ever say—"

He stepped back to the door, and gave a humorless chuckle, flashing his trademark grin back at the scene. "Shit. Good thing you left all my money in the Trans Am, ain't it, Dooley boy? Looks like I'll end up with a good price for my lots after all—and since my potential buyer's dead, I'll get to keep both the money AND my business. Thanks a million, you Chicago dickheads—Christ, I LOVE working with suckers."

Sara wept. She moved from Jelly Bean to Mr. Peppermint, shifting until his head rested in her lap, her fingers stroking over his face lightly. The blood had stopped pumping now, and dripped in wet little splashes onto the carpet. "Oh God, I didn't know it was going to be like this . . . . " she sobbed for a moment.

Then she burst into deep giggles.

Across the room, Jelly Bean sat up, groaning. "Crap, Grissom, anybody ever tell you you've got a hell of a grip? Did you wrestle in college or something?" He rubbed his neck under the open collar of his shirt.

"I was on the debate team, Greg. Any tactile strength I've got comes from shelving books, or working the firing range. For the record, your right hook is pretty impressive itself," Mr. Peppermint commented, opening his eyes to look up at Sara. He blinked a little, and reached a hand up to her chin. "Are you all right?"

"Well, considering just I watched the two of you gun each other down and got threatened by a used car salesman . . . yeah." Carefully she helped him up and gave a mournful sigh at the ruined suit. The squib had left a charred hole in the vest and the fake blood had stained both that and the jacket. "Ooh, you're right; Wardrobe isn't going to be happy."

"His is fake; mine was a tube of the real stuff," Jelly Bean sighed, wiping a sticky palm on his sleeve. "Ew. Come on, we've got to get moving."

Swiftly all three of them did. Greg passed out jumpsuits from under the bar; Sara climbed into hers as Mr. Peppermint did the same for his. They carefully began to peel up the stained carpet underfoot, revealing a clean brick tiled floor under it. Once they'd rolled it up, Greg and Sara moved the dining tables away from the walls and carefully set chairs about while Mr. Peppermint bussed the dinner away, loading all of it—dishes, bottles, cups and table cloth-- into two plastic tubs, sealing them up with lids.

He passed them to Jaw Breaker, who disappeared with them, and returned a few minutes later with a tray of table decorations and candles. "The anonymous call about the stolen Trans Am's been phoned in, and I made sure to take out one of his tail lights and loosen the steering column after dousing the carpet in it with a little Scotch," he grinned. Mr. Peppermint nodded.

"Good. And the hotel?"

"Bubble Gum hacked in, and you're out. Nobody by the name of Williamsen stayed at the Sirocco this week."

"Wonderful. See you back at the shop."

"Will do—when I get off shift here, " Jaw Breaker gave a mock-mournful sigh, and headed out the dining room door. Sara took the centerpieces and set them up on the tables while Greg lit the candles and smoothed a few of the cloths. Sara hefted one end of the rug as Mr. Peppermint lifted the other, preparing to carry it out of the dining room.

"Okay, so now we go get cleaned up and see if the anything interesting hits the police scanners."

Grissom didn't watch the news; instead, he kept his gaze on the profile of the woman sitting next to him on the sofa, watching her concentration as SHE watched the news. On the wide screen, the film crew was showing a highly agitated Chip Harrington arguing and struggling with police officers. The reporter's voice spoke on.

" . . . When a routine police stop brought to light a number of troubling items that may lead to potential charges. Harrington, a Las Vegas icon, was found in a reportedly stolen car along with two suitcases filled with two and a half million dollars in counterfeit bills. Police aren't commenting on the other discrepancies, which include a false ID and passport, along with heavy traces of human blood on his clothing and a blood alcohol level of point one three. Harrington, who was implicated earlier this year in the negligence death of Marisol Santilla and her son Diego is refusing to cooperate with police and is currently in custody. In light of the passport police here consider him a flight risk and he is being held without bail pending an investigation. This is Amie Drake for Channel Eight News."

As the broadcast shifted over to a commercial, Jelly Bean smiled, and pumped a fist in the air, "Yes! Once again, the Shop rules!"

The sound of skittering toenails made all three of them look over towards the lounge door; Grenadine scampered through, pursued by Gum Drop.

"Get back here—" he groused, but the dog made a determined leap, clambering up on the sofa between Miss Chocolate and Mr. Peppermint, licking the woman's hands delightedly. She laughed.

"Gren—"

"Adding escape artist to his list of accomplishments?" Jelly Bean laughed, coming over to pet the dog. Gum Drop made a depreciating moue, but made no move to pick up the dog.

"He's retired—his only official duty these days is as a stud. Rough life."

"Maybe he's looking for relationships that are . . . more meaningful," Miss Chocolate laughed again. This time Grissom felt his own mouth turn up slightly. Gum Drop sighed.

"Bite your tongue—he's already charmed the pants off of—well charmed Miss Lollipop as it is. With this sort of spoiling I doubt he's going to be willing to go back to my mother's."

"We could use a mascot around here," Jelly Bean interjected, grinning, "After all, grenadine is a candy syrup, right?"

"Pomegranate or black currant juice and sugar, actually," Grissom added, softly stroking the little dog's head. "But it's definitely fitting for the Shop."

Gum Drop rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. Shouldn't you three be off celebrating, anyway?" he muttered over his shoulder as he left.

"I've got plans already," Jelly Bean smiled, pulling out a wallet. "Chip's, by the way. Let's see how much cash he's got."

"Greg!" Miss Chocolate burst out. He waved the thing at her playfully.

"Oh come on, Sara—you don't think that fake ID and passport just showed up in his pocket all on its own, do you? I had him right when I fell against him. Let's see . . . whoah! He's got three thousand right here—"

"—That's Shop money Greg, from the poker game," Grissom chided. "It's got to be returned."

Jelly Bean sulked a moment. "Spoilsport. Okay, let's see—credit cards, a few small bills, a blank check . . a condom—ew, generic AND expired—and a list of phone numbers. I wonder what these are?"

"I'm willing to bet that the police might be interested in them too," Grissom pleasantly pointed out. "More evidence to nail your con?"

"Worth checking out, anyway," Jelly Bean agreed, grinning. He gave Miss Chocolate a quick peck on the cheek, then reached across her for Grissom's hand, pumping it hard. "Totally boss, guys—couldn't have done it without you two. I'm going to get Bubble Gum to run these through, but between you and me, I don't think Uncle Chip's gonna be able to sell as much as a Razor scooter if he gets arraigned."

"Probably not," Grissom agreed, "Who'll receive Harrington Motors?"

Jelly Bean grinned again. "Funny thought about signing a contract; if you press very lightly and use disappearing ink . . . good thing I went back and adjusted the paperwork. Looks like each of Chip's wives will get a lot. Get it? Get a Lot?"

"We get it," Miss Chocolate groaned, still petting Grenadine.

"Look, I'm sorry to take up your time, but it's been building up for a while, and you're about the only person I know I can trust with this stuff," Catherine Willows sighed. She turned her glance from the beautiful night view out the office window and smiled apologetically.

"No need, Catherine. I'm honored you trust me, and glad you can finally get some of these issues off your chest. It's important you come to a realization that you're not comfortable with your father and some of his actions," Miss Lollipop soothed. She shifted to cross her legs, and set her notepad down. "I think you need more time to consider a move to Las Vegas though—at least for Lindsay's sake."

"Yeah, I don't want to yank her out of school at the start of the year, that's true. But the longer I stay in D.C. the harder it is to deal with Sam."

Miss Lollipop nodded. "Maybe what's called for is a gradual transition. You might want to center a few of your holidays here, with your mother instead of holding parties in Washington. Encourage Lindsay to lay down some roots here too—take her out of your father's realm of influence."

"God yes, especially after what I found last week—" Catherine winced. "Do you think I'm too jaded?"

"Too jaded?" Miss Lollipop questioned, smiling. Catherine sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead.

"That when I found the porn, it wasn't the fact that it was gay that bothered me so much, but that it was snuff?"

Miss Lollipop laughed softly. "Ah West Hollywood. You know those are all simulated, Catherine—only three genuine death films have ever been found in over forty years of stag and pornographic movie history, don't you?"

Catherine shook her head slowly. "Then the special effects in this one were definitely Oscar-worthy. And I'm caught right in the middle of wanting to turn it in, but not wanting ANY association with the damned thing at all. Not so much for Sam, but for Lindsay and me."

Miss Lollipop nodded sympathetically. She leaned back in her easy chair and spoke in a gentle tone, her words light. "If you want, I'd be happy to take it to the authorities myself. I have the protection of doctor-patient confidentiality, and no one from the police will think twice about how a psychiatrist might have such a thing in her possession, especially if I turn it over voluntarily. That way the police can begin an investigation, but at the same time, you and your daughter are out of the limelight."

Catherine shot her a grateful look. "You'd do that?"

Miss Lollipop nodded. "Of COURSE, Catherine—you're not just my patient, you're my friend."

The starlight off the water of Lake Mead twinkled brightly; the dock gate at Grace Marina had a string of lights glittering on it too. Miss Chocolate slowly climbed out of the Mercedes and gave a contented sigh. "Thanks for the ride."

Grissom chuckled; he couldn't help himself and Miss Chocolate shot him a puzzled look as he climbed out and looked at her over the top of the sedan.

"What's so funny?"

"Well, at some point you're going to need to buy your own transportation, and we've just spent the better part of a week dealing with a car salesman--that juxtaposition amuses me."

By now she was grinning herself, looking skyward for a moment. "Oh my God; you're right. I bet I could get a hell of a deal at Harrington in the next few days . . . "

"Over my dead body," Grissom scoffed. "We've seen the crap he sold. You want a car; we'll find you something much safer. Cleaner too."

"Is that an offer to go car shopping with me?" Miss Chocolate grinned, moving to his side. They walked together from the parking lot down the concrete path towards the Grace Marina dock gate. Grissom gave a thoughtful shrug.

"If you like, although we'll probably differ on taste."

"Hey, you bought me shoes—" Sara laughed, bumping her shoulder with his, "—And even though I've got to take them back, I think you've got GREAT taste."

"What? No—" he objected, brows drawing together. He stopped and faced her, confused. "Why take them back? Didn't you like them?"

Now Miss Chocolate looked confused. She blinked a little. "I loved them—come on, they're Astrabellas! What woman in her right mind wouldn't love them? But Shop money—"

"I won that money," Grissom corrected, looking slightly mulish now. "That was my own contribution; I chose to buy you a pair of shoes with the winnings. The Shop has nothing to do with it."

For a moment she simply stared at him, and he felt his face grow hot as doubt flooded his thoughts. Then in a quiet thoughtful voice she spoke, her expression solemn. "You are just . . . incredible."

"Arrogant?" he asked, wincing a little. She shook her head, eyes luminous in the lights of the gate.

"Generous. Thoughtful, too. I don't know if I can get used to that—" At that he did blush, and Miss Chocolate gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "But honestly, I can't keep them."

He looked up and flashed her a quick, tender smirk. "You have to—I look terrible in heels."

That made Miss Chocolate laugh out loud, and just as she did, Grissom stepped forward and kissed her, catching her delight against his mouth, the sound muffled for a moment between them.

This one counted.

Grissom closed his eyes, savoring the velvet heat of her lips against his as he pulled her into his arms. She pressed closer, and gently, mutually, their kiss deepened, mouths opening together in a slow and heady caress. She tasted wonderful, arousing all his baser male desires with the teasing flick of her tongue around his; he genuinely regretted that pesky need to breathe.

When they broke apart, Grissom cupped a hand around the back of her head and pulled her forehead to his lips, pressing a light benedictional kiss there. Lightly he whispered, "How will I ever manage without one a day?"

Miss Chocolate looked up at him and by the dim light he could see the dimple on her cheek. "Funny; I was wondering the same thing myself."

NEXT (starting the first Monday in December): Candy Shop: Muerto Poquito