Overhead shot of Metropolis. Eurotrash and his bodyguard are leading Lois into a posh but very small apartment. "Nice place ya got," Lois says, now wearing a black coat over her stripperwear. She thanks Eurotrash for his help. "My pleasure," he coos as he takes off her coat. "I think I have something a leetle more your size," he says, pointing at her chest. In Soviet Russia, boobs stare at you! He opens a closet, revealing several identical red dresses just like the one the dead babe wore. "I von't peek," Eurotrash tells Lois. Yeah, leave a little to the imagination. She is a stripper, after all. As he leaves, Lois puts the dress back on the rack and digs into the closet. She finds a shoebox with a Polaroid of the dead stripper on it. Oh, yeah, evidence. Our bad. We totally forgot to get rid of that when we killed her. Silly us! Lois opens the shoebox. It contains a cell phone, purse, and other personal effects. My personal effect is the star wipe. "You vant me to help you tie it?" Vlad the Eurotrash asks. Lois says in her least sexy voice that she's almost got it. She throws a red dress over her glittery stripper gear and turns just in time to get her Polaroid taken. Eurotrash comes closer and takes another picture. Lois pretends not to know what's up. "It looks...so much bettor on you than ze others," he tells Lois as he adjusts her shoulder strap. He says that she's going to make them jealous. In Hell. Lois turns and says, "You know, I think I'm going to call a cab." At least give the man his dress back, dumb-ass. Eurotrash follows and grabs her roughly. Yeah, that would be no. "Think off your taxi days as a think of ze past," he tells her. He says she has a new life ahead of her. Ever wanted to work for Nike? Lois says, "I don't know what kind of kink you're into but..." Then she whacks him in the face. She spins, and punches and then kicks him, sending him flying through a cheaply made artsy Jenga partition. Lois starts kicking him over and over, forgetting that there's a bodyguard in the room. The bodyguard stuns Lois with an easy stun gun to the midsection. Well done, bodyguard. That's why we pay you. Dark music crescendos.
Commercials. Pizza Hut thanks you, America, for eating the way you do. You're big, but you're beautiful.
The animated Daily Planet exterior. Cartoony! Inside, Chloe and Clark are striding through the newsroom like they own the place. Chloe asks whether Clark thinks the strip club is selling women to the highest bidder. "It's Kansas. It's definitely not Smallville," Clark says. Neither were lesbian vampires, but I digress. Chloe says that $500k for a massage with benefits seems like a lot. Dude, that's a fucklot. These girls had better be digging diamonds in South Africa. Clark says that he overheard someone telling Sawyer that Eurotrash is the son of a foreign diplomat. Chloe says that he'll have diplomatic plates, then. The son of the diplomat would? All right, if you're so sure. Chloe says that while Clark was in da club, not sippin' Bacardi, Chloe was in the parking lot taking photos of all the license plates. She pulls up the photos on her computer. "Check that one," Clark says, pointing. It reads "Consul." Chloe tracks it to the U.N. Tower in Metropolis. Clark whooshes out of there without drawing the notice of a room full of journalists. Nice. This time, Chloe doesn't even blink when Clark disappears.