This just kin of wormed its way into my brain after last night's episode. Paul Guilfoyle just played the ending so well. Brass' emotions came right trough the screen like a thick fog and surrounded me. It really seemed to throw him. This isn't really all that deep or insightful but it keep knocking on the inside of my head, begging to be let out.
The day had arrived; two of his former colleagues were going into the ground today. Two men he had worked with for years…worked and drank and commiserated with for years. . And Jim Brass was as far away from Vegas as he could get. He knew he'd face some questions when he got back.
The Sherriff especially would want to know where he'd been. But that was because she hadn't worked with him much. She'd come up through the department and they'd brushed elbows a few times, but had been on different schedules and different career tracks. Hers had been rising while his had been going down. But that didn't really bother Jim Brass. He'd come to terms with the general direction his career was moving in long ago.
But to go to the funerals… two of his best guys or so he'd couldn't stomach the way their actions made him feel. Oh, they'd both pushed the limits a few times. But hadn't they all? Sam tended to get a little forceful when he was after some of the more violent gang members. But that had only been in later years, after it all started to get to him, like it eventually got to all of them. And Richardson…he wasn't above skirting the rules either. But Brass had always thought Richardson had stayed in the lines, or at least pretty close to them. He wouldn't have been surprised to hear that either man had stepped over the line…but murder? Brass still couldn't wrap his mind around that one.
So here he was, his ass firmly settled into the seat of his Hog. Instead of wearing his official PD uniform, he was clad head to toe in his helmet and leathers. And he had the throttle wide open, speeding down the highway as fast as he could, within the limits of course.
Jim's own brush with illegal activities last year had been harrowing enough. But that had been all in a good cause, he thought…protecting his own. And he hadn't killed anybody. But he had covered for somebody who did. The circumstances were different but still… he finally had to admit to himself that what Ray had done was wrong; justifiable but wrong. Which meant what he did was wrong too. But would he take it back if he could. As the motorcycle rolled down the road, Jim decided things worked out just fine. Ray was out of law enforcement and that was good enough. Haskell would have continued to terrorize if he'd made it out of that house.
So how was that okay but what Richardson and Vega did so wrong? He didn't really have an answer to that except that Langston didn't go into that house to kill Haskell. But when he saw what Haskell had done to Gloria, he'd lost it… a crime of passion. But Vega and Richardson….that was murder, straight up murder.
Vega surprised him more than Richardson. And seeing Sam make the death by cop choice had sickened him. It had been all he could do to hold onto his dinner when it happened. It had shocked him in ways that he didn't think he could be shocked anymore.
And Russell…what the hell did he think he was doing? Pushing the cops out of the way to do CPR on the vic, no murderer…that was uncalled for. It had rankled all of them. This was their mess, not CSI's. It was up to the cops to take care of it. Nick understood. Jim grinned inwardly. Nicky thought more like a cop than the rest of the CSIs.
But Russell…not buying a summerhouse together anytime soon…got that right. The guy had rubbed Brass wrong from the beginning. Oh, they were both trying to make it a good working relationship, but friends? Never.
Brass pondered his relationship with Russell. In some ways it was like the one he had with Grissom, butting heads from time to time over a difference of viewpoints on a case. And he and Catherine had certainly butted heads through the whole Haskell thing. But there's been respect there…at least most of the time. He knew Gil didn't get where he was coming from sometimes. That was okay, there were times that he thought the bugman was from outer space. But they never questioned each other's intentions. It was always about getting the bad guys…and proving it. With Russell, Jim just didn't know. There were times when the guy just seemed like a goodie two shoes in CSI clothing.
It wasn't that Jim didn't like the guy. Actually, some of his humor was pretty good and Jim was a man who appreciated good humor. Sometimes though he took a superior attitude and that did not sit well with Jim Brass at all. But they were still feeling each other out. Maybe it would get better. In an odd sort of way, the mess with Richardson and Vega might have helped that.
Jim turned off the main highway onto another paved road. He wasn't sure where it would lead him, but he was in the mood to follow a different path, so he did. After a few minutes he realized that the bike was slowly climbing. Finally he spied a spot where he could pull over and take a break. It had been awhile since he'd been on a long ride and he knew he'd get saddle sore from this one. Might as well walk out a few of the kinks when he could.
Killing the engine, he swung his leg over and walked to the edge of the pavement. He looked out over the land and could still see some of the taller buildings from Vegas in the far distance, just little specks on the landscape. But the rest, it was beautiful in a desert kind of way. And the air was clear. A man could think out here…or not.
He stood there a long time, just looking. His brain wasn't really forming any coherent thoughts, just taking it all in. Finally he stepped back to the bike and glanced around. There was an old small wooden sign that pointed up the road to a town, Summit.
"Hmm… wonder what is in Summit," he said to the thin air. Climbing on his bike he resolved to find out. He started the engine and continued to climb as he headed toward Summit.
He rode slowly through the town, a ghost town really. Must be one of the old mining towns that dried up, he thought. He parked the bike in front of the Saloon and snickered at himself for living the cliché.
A brief walk around the small town revealed that it was indeed deserted. Poking his head into the saloon he looked around. Everything was dusty and obviously hadn't been touched in many years. From there he went to the town jail. It was in the same condition, the cell doors wide open, the hinges rusted. Kind of like me, he pondered.
Glancing at his watch, he knew he'd need to start back. After walking around one more time, he walked back to his bike. Heading back down the road, he thought about the town and about the two cops who were buried that day. He thought about Ray Langston and Haskell. His mind filtered through the years, all the good things he'd done and all the mistakes he'd made. And as he rode back into Vegas, he decided that while his career wasn't as stellar as he'd once wanted it to be, he'd done a lot of good. And while the Brass name had gotten a little dinged in the process, it was untarnished. And he determined that he would finish his career in the same way. And nobody, absolutely nobody would want to run the opposite way when it came time for his funeral. Whether anyone attended or not, it wouldn't be because anything that he did made them feel dirty.