Investigations are funny things.
You need to pretend to be someone you are not. You need to stay alert enough to notice when your motives are becoming too visible. And on top of all that, you need to do something so thoroughly stupid that it looks completely irrelevant to the whole investigation.
Like Salvar right now.
He was the centre of the stage, and had been for the past several hours. Girls and boys formed a loose orbit around him while he danced with a fractured hand, sliding between bodies with a bottle of whiskey that he splashed liberally over anyone within reach. His sequins caught every moving light in the room and threw it back at the crowd doubled.
The crowd cheered. They howled. They sang along to the verse of whatever song the employee had chosen, which was, by any reasonable measure, a horrible choice.
But the people didn't care. They didn't come here for good music. They came for free drinks and Mr. Green.
