Rating: T (for language)
Spoilers: None
Disclaimers: Are they mine? No. Does anyone really care that I'm using them? Doubtful.
Author's Note: Written in response to the Unbound Challenge from 2 Oct 2005.
A Dog, a Katze, and a Butterfly
by Lapsus Stili
"Bowchicawowwow!" she yelled. "Shutup!"
The young woman slammed the window shut after scolding the barking beast out back for the third time in as many minutes. Turning back to the CSI seated at her kitchen table, she muttered, "…stupid dog…"
Suppressing a grin, Nick peered at her, the unspoken question clear on his face… What the hell kind of name is THAT for a dog? Actually, what kind of name is that for ANYTHING?
"Don't look at me like that," she gruffed, "I didn't name the damn thing. Thank my dumb-ass husband for that when you find 'im."
With that she shook another cancer-stick from the package on the counter and lit it from the still-burning stump of her previous one, a rough cough escaping her in the process. Nick took this break in her ranting to reign in the conversation.
"Again, Mrs. Holton, when was the last time you saw your husband?"
Once her coughing fit ended, she wiped the string of spittle from her chin with her hand, responding, "Dunno. Maybe a week or so?" Sucking in another hit, she began bitching about her hubby, their current suspect in last night's jewelry heist.
The Texan looked down at his notepad, wincing surreptitiously. The thick air left an ashtray-like taste in his mouth and he was quite sure that this woman hadn't showered since the last presidential inauguration. Garbage was scattered on anything not moving, and the things that were moving scared him… they were the scurrying kind, and he wanted desperately to finish this interview and go home to shower… a lot!
He tuned back into her ramblings to catch, "… and that good-for-nothing sack of shit just stumbles in here at 3am last night after drinking himself stupid with …"
"Wait…" he interrupted, "I thought you said it was over a week?" He narrowed his eyes, watching as she tried to backpedal. The barking started up again. The CSI was losing his patience.
"Oh… ya, well… maybe it wasn't last night…uh…"
A shrill sound emanated from his belt. Never was Nick so glad to be interrupted by a phone call. He flipped open the cellular.
"Stokes."
"Nicky,you on your way back to the lab yet?"
"Naw, Griss. Way things are going, it could be a while. How're you guys doing at the scene?"
While his boss filled him in, the tirade in the background continued. "… then he says I don't cook supper for 'im when he gets home no more, like it's my job or somethin' and so I told …" She didn't notice that he was no longer listening to a word coming from her foul mouth. No wonder that pooch barks all day he thought.
After promising to call Grissom as soon as he could extricate himself from the situation, Nick snapped the phone closed and dove back into his attempted interview.
Returning his phone to it's holster, Grissom meandered back to the storeroom where Sara was dusting a doorframe.
The shop owner, a stout German, poked his head into the room again. And again, Grissom sighed and repeated himself with far more patience than he felt. "Mr. Katze… please… You have to wait outside while we process the scene."
"Ah, you would like to wander around back here without anyone watching you, no?" he ranted. As before, he was compelled to spill out a warning on his way back out. "I have cameras in here, you know! I'll see if you take anything! Oh, I'll know!"
Sara gritted her teeth. For five hours they had been working this site, but although Herr Katze had apparently invested in some cameras (which he claims mysteriously "conked out" last night when they just so happened to have a break-in), he apparently did not invest in any cleaning staff. The shop was filled with glass cases, and they had already lifted enough to keep the print tech's hopping for days.
Impressed as always with her tenacity, Grissom returned to the shattered case he had been examining earlier. Grabbing a pair of forceps, he began bagging the debris, hoping that the perp left behind a little DNA gift on something.
Carefully he separated out the bits of jewelry that had been left behind. A pendant, a few chains, and some gawdy rings that looked as though they may have come from the Liberace Museum over on East Tropicana – all these went into sealed envelopes, their particulars scrawled across the front.
As he flipped over the snarled edge of the case's velvet lining, a lone sparkle caught his eye. He set down his tweezers and grasped the platinum brooch gingerly in his vinyl-clad fingers. The delicate weave of scrollwork, certainly no bigger than a quarter, formed an intricate butterfly. With its more angular wings and horned extensions protruding from the lower lobes, it very much resembled a Great Purple Hairstreak, something he hadn't seen since he moved away from southern California.
Fascinated, he studied the beautiful object while Sara's soft alto notes of some unknown tune tickled at his ears from the other room. He imagined him giving it to her, the look on her face. He wondered what she would think, if it would make her happy. That's all he ever really wanted – to make her happy. He wondered if he was too late, if she would appreciate such a gift, if she would wear it for all the world to see. He wondered if she would love him back, love him as deeply as he loved her.
With one last look, Grissom made up his mind. This was a sign that it was time to do something about "this". He made a mental note to ask Mr. Katze about purchasing the butterfly after the case was resolved.
Before he could drop the item into a baggie, the shopkeeper barged into the room once again, this time wagging a finger in the air.
"A-ha! I knew it!" he barked, "Don't touch what you can't afford!"
A/N: No, I don't know of anyone with a dog named Bowchicawowwow... I was trying to figure out how on earth I was going to work that wordinto a story when I noticed the first and last parts made Bow-wow, which made me think of dogs, which led to this strange little story! Hope your enjoyed it!