"I've got two choices ya'll - pull over the car or bounce on the devil put the pedal to the floor."
Jay-Z once said it, and Gil Grissom was thinking it about it. He had two choices: to go with the routine of life, or to be daring and take his chances. So, feeling daring, he grabbed the Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds, instead of his usual Original Honey Bunches of Oats.
When there was no heartbreak involved, Gil Grissom liked a good risk. He had originally come to Vegas to play poker so that he could start his own body farm and buy his then current girlfriend a gold necklace for Christmas.
He liked Poker. When he won, he got a couple hundred dollars richer. When he lost, he analyzed the odds, played again, and got his money back. When Jennifer Hannick broke up with him a few days after moving to Vegas, he analyzed the odds, and decided that he wouldn't be playing that game for a while. It was 1985. He had moved back to California and given up on love at the age of thirty.
James Brass picked up the phone and dialed the number for the office of the young PhD. "Hey, is this Doctor Gilbert Grissom?"
Immediately, Grissom recognized the voice. "Yes, is this Officer James Brass?"
"Why, yes. Your mother called about the Christmas sweater that you wanted her to knit. Did you say you wanted reindeer or snowmen on the front pocket?"
Grissom sighed. "Okay, Jim. What do you want?"
Grissom had met Officer Brass during his little gambling trip. Jim was from New Jersey and had just been stopping by Vegas to catch an escaped Jersey convict. Grissom had explained his gambling cause over a couple of beers, and the two became friends.
But today, Jim was offering him a Job as a favor to LVPD.
"So Gil, you like Sherlock Homes, right?"
"I don't see how any of this has to do with -"
"Just listen. Clark County Sheriff's Office and Las Vegas Police Department are starting some sort of big crime lab, and they need someone to kind of take charge of a forensic unit, you know, crime scene investigation. I recommended you to the boss because you're good at the whole mystery gig."
Jim was right. Grissom had already proven himself. As Jim was explaining the details of his escaped convict, Grissom, who was completely drunk, came up with an idea to locate the guy. Sure enough, the next day the cops caught him at the strip club that Grissom had predicted.
"Are you asking me to be some kind of Holmes, Watson?"
"What? Who's Watson?"
Grissom laughed at his confusion. "Ha, you make a reference to Sherlock Holmes and you don't even know who Watson is."
"I just know of Sherlock Holmes as a cultural icon. I never got around to reading the book. Okay, you got me." Jim continued with his proposal. "Listen, they've just put a bunch of taxpayer money into all this analytical technology. It's a scientists dream to work at this kind of lab."
"You've always had a crime lab. What's different now?"
"When I say they put a bunch of taxpayer money into it, I don't mean a 10% budget increase. I mean big money. They need someone smart and responsible and did I mention smart…?" There was only silence. Jim exhaled like he had been holding his breath the hold time. "Do you really want to spend the rest of your life at the LA coroner's office dissecting celebrity drug dealers?"
"The job sounds great, it's just that I don't exactly love Vegas," Grissom replied, looking back on the girl he tried to hold on to while he was there. "Jim, you're from New Jersey. You live in New Jersey. Who put you up to this?"
"Let's just say that the Clark County sheriff did some investigating of his own. My friend McKean found out that we were friends, and he figured that if I talked to you, I might convince you to join their crew. Also, I'm considering taking a position in Vegas myself."
Working with Jim could be interesting.
"But you like puzzles. Vegas is full of puzzles, and you happen to be a great amateur detective who knows how to deal with blood and insects. What about all that 'justice for the victim' stuff you were telling me about? C'mon Gil, you know there are more bugs in the field then there are in the morgue."
Bugs? Grissom liked bugs. He liked crossword puzzles, rollercoasters, and Conan Doyle, just not in any particular order. He briefly looked around his office. There were a few framed butterflies mounted to the wall, a couple certificates, a magnetic dart board, and jars upon jars of specimen almost everywhere. Grissom could live without all of the jars, and he could easily get the frames off his wall. What was holding him here anyway? He grinned. Mysteries in Vegas had potential.
"Alright, Jim, you had me at Sherlock."