Only For A Night
(Part I of the Phoenix Series)
A CSI Fanfiction
Chapter I
by Dragodina
Rating: M
Main Character: Sofia Curtis
Summary:
First part of the "Phoenix Series". One bar. One night. One occasion. Two troubled souls that clash together with just a single agreement: It's only for a night. Contains f/f and OC.
Introduction:
Again, at first the disclaimer that CSI, its characters, places, and situations are the property of Jerry Bruckheimer Television, Alliance Atlantis, and CBS Productions. This story was written for entertainment not monetary purposes. Original characters and this story are intellectual property of the author. Any similarities to existing characters, fictional or real, living or dead, are coincidental and no harm is intended.
This story, "Only For A Night" is a prelude of my planned "Phoenis Series" that will later include a crossover between the two shows CSI and CSI: New York.
This is my second attempt to write fanfiction in English. My main language is German, but again I have a wonderful beta-reader for support.
Once again this story mainly contains femmeslash and focuses on sexual relationships between female fictional characters. So if you don't like this, then maybe you should not read any further!
This story will contain song lyrics at the beginning and end of each chapter. The rights of those songs all belong entirely to the songwriters, producers and artists. The story was inspired by several songs from Florence & The Machine as well as Scala & The Kolacny Brothers.
The main installment of this story is written in second person pronoun, whereas a later chapter is written in italics, which means it is another persons' point of view.
A long time ago I uploaded this story as one big complete single chapter. Which I admit was a bit too much. So I decided to split it up and re-edit it a bit. Looking at it now, I think it's been a good choice, though the first chapter is still gigantic, I know *g*.
At the end my "Thanks!" goes to two of my dearest friends for their support! The first special "Knuddeltakk" I want to share with my beloved "big bros'" John for his endless dedication that he gives into proof-reading my stories! The second one is directed to Dani!
You guys rock!
Help, I have done it again.
I have been here many times before.
Hurt myself again today.
And, the worst part is there's no-one else to blame.
~ Ó ~
The deep blasting basses of an unfamiliar song filled your ears and entered your body. Every new rhythmical impulse impinged on your diaphragm like a physical blow as you downed another hasty gulp of beer, followed by a shot of deep-amber-colored Jack Daniel's. This was a desperate attempt to numb not only the sensation caused by the ongoing music, but also the tormenting thoughts and doubts that troubled your mind and your heart. After taking another mouthful, you placed the Bud down on the counter in front of you, next to the empty whiskey glass. You gripped the half-filled bottle as if it was the only holy thing left in your life. In fact, in less than four hours, you had already drunk nine beers together with six shots of Tennesse whiskey, but still, you wanted more and the night was still young.
You vaguely remembered that after your shift had ended you left the Las Vegas Police Department in a hurry and drove aimlessly through the streets for what seemed an eternity, with that iconic toothpick between your lips. You were in no hurry to go home that night.
Home for most people was the place where you were able to feel safe and secure, your personal safe haven. The place that you couldn't wait to return to, back into the arms of the one person you loved and that loved you back ...
Such a place no longer existed for you, not anymore. For you it had become one big and painful illusion, a lie, a bitter disappointment. That place now held so many painful memories, that you couldn't summon enough strength to deal with right now. The place that you had called home had been shattered to tiny little pieces weeks ago and had left you heart broken. Your heart was nothing more than a pile of fragments. The damage that had been done seemed irreparable. It had bled out leaving you in a state of apathy and numbness. It still functioned, but was now driven by instinct, without any emotion. Every beat of it stung, but somehow you had slowly started to learn how to deal and live with the pain. Instead you began to act out of character, even towards persons you trusted. People that you called family and friends. But that experience had scarred you, in many ways. Supposedly "something that didn't kill you makes you only stronger", you weren't so sure about those words anymore. You felt dead inside, almost as if you were trapped in the shell of your apparently living body. Now, when you returned home from work to your apartment all you felt was emptiness and loneliness.
So deeply sunken in your self-pity, you never realized what you were looking for in the first place until you suddenly stopped your black Ford in front of a bar that you had never been to before. The place was called 'The Italian Lounge' although honestly, you didn't care about your whereabouts, or the fact that you have never heard of that place before. All you were concerned about was that you wanted to be as far away from everything and everyone. So therefore, this was an alright start, because all you knew was that you were far outside of the metropole city, somewhere on the Range Road.
As you had spotted the red neon lights blinking in the distance, indicating the upcoming bar, something in your head had snapped so you instinctively pulled over, and parked in front of the building.
For a few long minutes after you had stopped the engine, you simply laid back in your seat, gazing into the dusk at nothing in particular. You were confused and bewildered, like a stranger caged in your own body.
Then your gaze slowly dropped down to your hands that still grabbed the steering wheel in a fearsome grip. Instantly you released your clenched fingers from the wheel and settled them on your lap. Your mind became full of thoughts racing in your head. So many questions, so few answers!
What had become of your life?
What had happened that had lead you this far?
What had happened that you wanted to abandon all your morals and resolutions?
What had happened that you felt driven to simply forget everything?
You weren't the kind of person who would just turn to drink if things got too difficult and complicated. You weren't the kind of person finding comfort or satisfaction in massive alcohol consumption. You weren't such a coward who would hide behind the excuses that excessive drinking could provide. Your job showed you what could happen if the witches' brew got the better, if people got addicted. You had to witness the impact of that drug far too often for your liking. It still disgusted you to see how people, even parents, neglected the world around them for the sake of just a single drink. Therefore, you couldn't find any sympathy for those idiots.
Despite this, only for this one night, you craved nothing more than to get totally drunk, and become an idiot for yourself. Even if you did know better.
However, you couldn't explain what had made you stop at this desolate place. Maybe it was that you were tired of driving aimlessly around and just wanted to find a bar were you could finally abandon yourself. A place where you could forget the whole misery that had been thrown your way lately. All you wanted was to get some relief from all your thoughts and fears and doubts only for one single night, to forget about everything that had gone wrong recently.
All you longed for was a night when you were allowed to finally drop your guard that you tried so hard to maintain in front of and for others. A heavy breakdown that no one would witness.
If only for one night …
Your eyes slowly lifted up, to check out the building in front of you.
If the truth be told, this bar was nothing in comparison to any of the luxury and plush casinos in Midtown and on the Strip. At the very first glance it looked shabby and very worse for wear. Strangely enough it reminded you of one of those old saloons in many of the western movies you had seen and adored in your childhood. The only thing missing that would complete the crazy illusion would be a few tumbleweeds rolling over the ground in front of the bar. Those Indian rice grasses which got torn out of the dried out desert soil from the blowing wind because its roots weren't as deeply anchored as they needed to be. Here, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the rough desert sand, with the sun radiating down on everything without mercy, it was not a surprise that everything except the flourishing city was starting to decay. So it was easy to spot the damage of the building that weathering had caused over years with simply your eyes.
For the briefest of moments you even considered re-starting the car, leaving this seemingly forlorn place behind. But then, for some inexplicable reason, you decided against that sudden urge. Instead you eyed the storefront more closely, falling into your own musings once again. If you were honest, you couldn't remember ever hearing of this place before, and wondered how this bar had survived throughout all those years as Las Vegas grew into the city of lights and sins that it had became famous for. As the city had boomed it seemed that only for this building, that time had stopped, as if locked in an eighties time warp. Maybe somehow, this was what made that bar special, what made it unique, what held a silent promise when you drove by.
Whatever the reason -a binding spell, your growing curiosity or simply just your desperate longing for a place to settle for the night- you took a deep breath, reached for the driver doors handle and left your car. You would give that place a chance. Eventually, you could get drunk anywhere, so why not here? If it indeed turned out to be a mistake, then you would just simply turn on your heels and leave it without a second thought. There were plenty of other bars you could find in which to drown your sorrows.
The music became louder with each step you took towards the bar entrance. For your dislike and the first demerit for the bar it sounded like some lame club music from one of those rising superstars. However, you didn't give a damn about the music. You could easily ignore it after a few drinks, when the alcohol began to affect your senses. You activated the central locking system of the black SUV with your car keys and only a second later spat out the toothpick your mouth had been franticly playing with ever since you had left the garage of the LVPD. The hope was that whatever was happening this night, you would find your car in exactly the same spot you left it right now, together with your badge and gun that you had stowed away in the ambiguous glove compartment of your car. The detective inside of you didn't completely trust the somber area. The job had shown you a lot of crazy things. A modern and sleek looking SUV that would be stolen in such a territory wouldn't be anything new for your colleagues. Instead, it would be a complete embarrassing situation for you. As well as that, you knew what a reckless and risky act you were about to make. Still, after everything that had happened lately, work-related as well as personal, you were sure nothing could worsen your state anymore.
However, after you opened the heavy but old wooden door and the moment your ocean-blue eyes looked up and caught the inside of the bar, you felt totally overwhelmed. The ambience of the bar did not compare to its outside appearance. It reminded you, that first impressions can be misleading. The first look had tricked you, and possibly a lot more tourists fell victim to that delusion as well. Now it slowly dawned on you how this place survived and what the main goal of the owner was. Stay ordinary, attract a few, serve them well, keep your regular guests and don't concentrate on serving the masses. The owner of this bar apparently didn't focus on the large loads of tourist, like the big casinos and hotels of Las Vegas did, but instead concentrated on keeping their loyal visitors lucid. It captivated with a high level of Mediterranean atmosphere that not only invited you to highly enjoy yourself while partying, but also gave you the opportunity to relax in one of the many secluded booths. If needed, one could even let off some steam at the billiard tables or dart boards. It most likely served extraordinary and delicious food and above all, held an unmistakable charm.
On your way in you had spotted a sign, saying that 'The Italian Lounge' had free rooms to share, which meant this place was not only a bar, but also hosted a small pensione as well.
With that realization you grinned.
For once you were lucky. Whatever state you were in after that night, you could simply order a room and sleep it off. To add to your benefit, you had applied for leave, which you were granted and that left you free of duty for the next two days. That meant, you could stay here the rest of the week, maybe even the whole weekend and nobody would care as long as you paid. Not that anybody would miss you actually, you thought dryly. So far, the plan slowly but surely had kicked into motion. From there on, nothing could hold you back.
After only a swift inspection, you aimed straight for the vacant bar in the centre of the premises and claimed one of the free seats in the row. On your way over you had made a quick calculation, noticed the few guests that occupied 'The Italian Lounge' on this Wednesday afternoon.
There was a clique of eight frisky students playing billiards in a secluded corner of the room at the billiard tables. Another group of five young men and six women was seated at a table, enjoying snacks and drinks and occasionally hit the dancefloor. Memories of your exuberant youth entered your mind which made you smile slightly. But it faded as instantly as it had emerged when you realized that nothing of that blithe and ease had remained for you. There were a few booths in the far left corner, an area that was slightly elevated by five steps in comparison to the ground floor you were standing on, but it was difficult to view the seats from your position. In the end, you let it go. Sometimes you had to remind yourself to drop your overprotective police instincts, because sooner or later it would get you paranoid. No one else sat at the bar, so you quickly occupied a vacant stool. So far it seemed like a calm night for the bartender. The crowd was manageable, as Wednesday was usually a quiet night.
The bar tender, maybe in his late forties, had eyed you the moment you entered his house. His gaze still stayed on you while he dried the last used glasses, his dishtowel hung casually over his right shoulder. Further to his right in a corner there was a small TV, showing some baseball game while the latest news ran over the screen in a small banner. As you set down and laid your hands on the bar, he had finished his work and addressed you with a broad grin, leaned his muscular arms against the counter, showing off various of his tattoos that his rolled up sleeves couldn't hide. His rough baritone voice shouted over the still playing music sounding from the stereo system in order to get through to you.
"Hello beautiful, what can I get you?".
You gave him a soft smile, wondering if it was only because of you or if he welcomed all his guests -especially woman- like this. The low grumble of your stomach caught your attention back and instead reminded you of your last meal at noon. After giving it a short thought you simply ignored his innuendo and instead answered with a question of your own.
"You still serve food?".
"Sure, whatever you want." he winked, his green eyes beaming. Never let it be said that you were smug. This man was just as self-opinionated as you, if not even more so.
"What can you suggest?" you asked casually, trying to take the wind out of his sails.
As if proof to your silent observation, he smirked in agreement. The hint of the clumsy flirtation lacing his voice at his former statement wasn't lost on you. And surely he had picked up on the unwanted ambiguity of your question, his bright smirk and upcoming leer was indication enough. Again you considered if he was putting on such a show only for you, or if it was his usual behavior to every woman that entered his bar on her own. But still, even if you were interested in men and he would be the last one on earth, you wouldn't fall for that. You would simply show him that you had no intentions, at least not with him. Maybe it was just the South European temper shining through, as it was obvious that he had Italian roots. So he might be just a charmer, knowing exactly how to enchant his female guests. How he survived for so long was a puzzle. You were surprised when instead of making another obscene comment he simply explained the house carte, staying charming but not hitting on you anymore. Maybe he just got the silent message delivered by your warning glare. The one saying he would be castrated the second he dared to voice another try.
"Everything on the menu is worth a try and a sin on its own. It depends on whether you want some casual American food or a special Mediterranean meal. How about a home made lasagna or pizza? I can also recommend our burgers and steaks.".
Noticing that nothing more lewd was coming from him, you contemplated his suggestions. Under normal conditions you would have chosen a steak or burger, but this was meant to be an extraordinary night, so instead of sticking to your habits you made it a gut decision.
"Give me that lasagna of yours." you ordered, now smiling slightly back, feeling that the waves had finally calmed between the two of you.
"Coming up! Anything to drink? Are you the wine or beer type?".
Furrowing your brows, you considered his question. Normally you would stick to beer, but you could also enjoy a good wine as well. For now, you would start with beer and see where the journey would take you later.
"A Bud if you have.".
"Of course.".
With a quick motion he turned, opened a visible fridge and with year-long routine opened the Bud bottle, setting it down in front of you only a second later. With one last wink he left your side and went to the kitchen.
You followed him with your eyes, shaking your head after he disappeared out of your line of vision and you just gazed in abstraction ahead of you.
After several minutes of only starring absent-mindedly into space, you grabbed the beer bottle in front of you without a second thought, raised it instinctively to your dry lips and downed your first swig of the night. The bitter and cooled liquor slowly crept down your throat, you seemingly felt how it followed the path of your esophagus and finally settled down in your empty stomach. You were sure, a lot more would follow soon.
Only for this night, you craved the promising oblivion that the alcohol provided. Because for once, you felt like you couldn't stand all the shit that surrounded you. Even though you knew better than to sink into self-pity.
In the distance you heard the young men at the billiard table shouting cheerfully while you further sipped on your drink. It seemed like they had finally finished their game. But the loser didn't admit defeat and instead insisted on a replay. So they started all over again after ordering a new round of drinks for everyone.
With another eager gulp, as if you were close to dying of thirst, you had emptied the whole bottle without noticing and placed it down on the counter. You waited patiently for your food to be served. Because you knew all too well that you shouldn't drink alcohol on an empty stomach and certainly not with the pace you had started. Still, you reminded yourself that tonight, you didn't want to care at all.
At one point you noticed the bartender re-emerged in front of you and you grabbed the empty bottle, signaling to him that you wanted a new one. With the same routine as before, he served you while eyeing you closely in a split of a second. The fast pace in which you drowned the liquor alerted him. So slowly it dawned on him what had led you to his bar and what your intentions were for the night. Even if you caught his burning gaze, you didn't give a damn and ignored him. This ritualistic procedure was repeated twice in the following ten minutes. It didn't take you long to take another swift sip, as he left your side again to attend another customer. You didn't pay any closer attention, just picking the few words that were exchanged and heard that the stranger ordered a bottle of vodka.
For a split of a second your curiosity got the better of you and you sneaked a peek at the person to your left. While waiting for the drink to be served the middle-seized brunette woman leaned casually against the counter. She was simply dressed in black combat pants, a dark form-fitting shirt and a pair of black work boots. Her eyes were partly hidden behind a black baseball cap, but you noticed that her gaze was directed at the TV screen to the left for quite a few seconds. Her brown hair fell elegantly down over her shoulders. If the woman was aware of your glance or not, you couldn't say. Eyeing her closer for a single moment with a frown you could confirm that from the first sight she was attractive in many ways, she also held a certain mystery and a strange charm. When the bartender returned and extended a bottle of Smirnoff vodka in front of the woman, you lowered your gaze.
What you hadn't noticed though, was that for the briefest of moments after you had torn your eyes away from her, the brunettes eyes glanced up behind her cap and had stolen a swift glance at you on her own. She paused in her movement, facing you, but only a second later she left the counter after paying cash, simply sending the bartender a curt nod with the bottle in her hand and disappeared somewhere behind your back.
Reflecting on the stranger you realized that she was definitely the type of woman you would be interested in. Though, you hadn't felt brave enough to make any move, not yet. But you could improve on that. Inspired by that thought you took another swig, felt how the alcohol slowly and dangerously started to warm your stomach.
You had to admit, that you weren't used to drink so much. You couldn't even recall the last time you had been completely intoxicated, when you had drunken yourself to oblivion and awoke with a massive hangover and an unbearable nausea. Let it be somewhere between high school and college. The only negative issue for now was, that the combination of the spirit together with your loneliness spurred your mind on even more. Instead of getting quieter, your dark thoughts started to scream for attention, the demons were beginning to gain the upper hand.
Before you could slip into that abyss, a sudden loud noise brought you back to reality, if only for a while. You noticed that the bartender had placed your ordered steaming lasagna in front of you, together with another beer bottle. Only a second later he offered you a set of cutlery. You were completely caught off-guard, your body frozen. After a minute of hesitation in which the delicious smelling food reached your nostrils you started to free from your paralysis, you took the silverware from him, trying to send him a faked and half-hearted smile in a silent thanks. You caught his genuine and soft grin that, to your surprise, held so much sympathy instead of demand in a silent answer before he turned to serve and talk to a trucker that had entered the bar.
You wondered briefly if he had really seen through you, if your depression was that obvious to your surroundings.
As you started your meal, you caught a glimpse of the TV screen in the corner that now broadcasted the latest news. Of course, it was all about the murder of Borislav Slesinger and his son Miroslav. It seemed like work was following you everywhere. No matter where you headed to escape it. Currently, Slesinger was a highly controversial legend of Las Vegas. Back in the sixties his family emigrated to America. His father, being known as a tyrannical and rich patriarch, once was a well-respected and emergent politician in the Ukraine. For years he enjoyed the trust of his countrymen. That was until the army of Nazi Germany invaded the state, killing every brave soldier who fought for the states independence and finally took over after a brutal and bloody war. To the widespread shock of his people, he had started to cooperate with the enemy, turning his back on his people for his own welfare. In so doing, he had the blood of thousands of men, women and children on his hands. For a few years he stayed at the top, until the regime was finally overthrown and he became the most wanted enemy of the state. Around the same time he was diagnosed with lung cancer. His only chance of a peaceful existence lay in his immediate departure. He took his wife and only child and left his once beloved country. After months of hiding, using his contacts and through corruption he managed to escape to the United States. There he lived until the cancer brought an end to his troubled life. He passed away before he could ever get legally punished.
Some say it ran in the genes, that it was his fathers blood that had driven Borislav, who was only known as Boris in the underworld, to be just as evil as his old man. The only difference between them was that where his father was brutal and coldhearted, the weapon of the younger Slesinger was his treacherous charisma. Over the years in Las Vegas, he had gained his own small empire. He was the owner of several strip clubs, was involved in prostitution and slave trading that included women as well as children. To his record added was drug dealing and trading in arms. A few loved him, the majority abhorred him. Many wanted his fall, but nobody did anything against him. The police efforts to put him behind bars always led to nothing. Both he and his family was strong, but a silent threat to everyone who would get in his way.
Everyone that was except for one person. One ruthless, determined assassin.
Because yesterday he and his son, who was supposed to follow in his father's footsteps, fell victim to an assassination. The killer didn't even bother to make it look like an accident or suicide. Both Slesinger men were executed by one clean shot through the skull, after they had been agonized with a shot once in each knee. This bore all the hallmarks of a clinical execution.
There was very little to go on, virtually no clues at the scene of the crime. Your co-workers believed that vengeance was the motive. No murder weapon had been found, and the somber knowledge that the only witnesses, Slesingers bodyguards, were in no condition to be interrogated did nothing to help solve the case. Some of the men were still lying unconscious in Desert Palm hospital while the rest of them were suffering from amnesia. Again, in Slesingers case, the CSI's as well as the police force had not a single useful clue.
The mysterious circumstances surrounding the entire murder led everyone to believe that this had been the work of a professional assassin. Who else would have been able to knock out a horde of twenty sturdy, well-trained and armed bodyguards with such merciless precision if not a coldblooded professional hitman?
Certainly in Slesingers case, that suspicion wasn't really so absurd. He had made many enemies, people who wanted him dead, so you could be sure some of them would not hesitate to hire an assassin to get rid of him. But whoever was responsible, professional killer or not, this single person had done a terrifying damn good job, you had to admit. Appearing out of thin air without anybody noticing, surprising not only the bodyguards but also both victims, then vanishing like a ghost that never existed, leaving only a trail of blood but no other useful evidence behind. Such was the extent of the thoroughness involved you had heard it said that not even the serial numbers on the fatal projectiles were of any help, they all had been carefully obliterated.
In a selfish sort of way, you were glad you did not have to work the case. You recalled being involved in several investigations against the mighty man before his death, that's why you knew all the details about his past. But in each case the trail had gone cold. Never had any of those cases reached a court of law, and it looked like Slesingers influence reached far deeper than expected. It seemed that he had at least one judge on his pay roll.
Having a hit man on the loose was the last thing you needed to deal with. You really could pass on becoming a target. Your life as a Detective was dangerous enough, your personal life being far worse.
A voice filled with disgust echoed from your left got your attention. "Finally, that son of a bitch got what he deserved! It is about time that someone finished the cops work and punished that rat for all the shit he has done!" To your surprise you found that the hate laced voice belonged to the bartender. He growled under his breath to the trucker who nodded vehemently in response, but a smile playing at the edges of the bar owners lips. "Sadly, nobody got his fiend of a father before his death to give him his nemesis. He was by far more brutal than Boris. Why couldn't this dark knight have appeared fifty years ago?".
"But at least, it's one evil less on this planet." the trucker reasoned.
"Yeah, but so many of them left.".
After a heavy moment of silence descended on them, the drunken trucker - you guessed him in his mid-sixties - spit on his sip of whiskey, snorting cheaply as a sudden thought crossed his mind and he started hitting his fat belly with his left hand over and over again. "That would make your oh so praised knight an old crock!". While the gray haired man still smirked about his lame joke, the bartender only grinned.
"An old but successful crock, Henry. One who sure can kick asses.".
"Whatever! As long as he spares the sexy willing ladies, I don't care!" Without thinking, he shot you a quick but meaningful look, followed by a disgusting gesture that could only be meant as an audible blow of a kiss.
You somehow found the strength and composure to ignore the gesture, and felt the sudden burning desire to wipe the smirk from his face with your bare hands.
To your surprise, it was the bartender who cut his guest down his size. In one swift movement he had re-filled the trucker's tiny glass of whiskey and had thrown it in his face.
"Behave, Henry! Leave her alone or you will never be allowed to enter this house again, is that clear!".
"Do you intend to get into her pants tonight? Or why are you acting all chivalrous about her?".
The death glance from both, the bartender as well as yours, was enough to silence the man instantly. Surprised by the sudden change, and shocked at what happened, the old man simply nodded. Turning back to the trucker, the bartender added, "And by the way, you will pay for the last shot twice.".
"WHAT THE FU … ?". The stern and threating look meeting his eyes made him stop before he could finish his rant. "Language Henry.". Instead he mumbled something under his breath in defeat as he lowered his head. By now it occurred to you that these two men had known each other for a while. Or else, the bartender wouldn't have acted like this, thrown a drink right at his guests face.
You glanced at him swiftly, meeting the bar owners gaze. He sent you a quick wink. But you couldn't offer a smile in thanks, even if you wanted to. You were still too confused, the alcohol in your system was not helping either.
But still the trucker, Henry, couldn't let go of their former topic. Despite the fact that his lumberjack shirt was soaking wet and that he smelled like a barmaid's apron seemed not to bother him in the slightest.
"It's about time that someone has the balls to do what law enforcement is too scared and incapable to accomplish. Don't you think?" the trucker asked while mentioning for a new shot, which he got served only a second later.
"Sure thing, Henry.".
Trying not to concentrate on their ridiculous conversation anymore and the disgusting but penetrating smell coming from the left, you swallowed the slowly surfacing anger and instead took another gulp of beer.
What had become of the world? A hitman being portrayed as a hero? Hailed as a dark knight? How afraid yet daft had the humans become that they couldn't distinguish between vengeance and justice anymore?
Pay like with like? Punishing a crime with another crime? Was that truly the only way to get a man like Slesinger? Letting a hitman finish the job that the police couldn't achieve, when their hands were bound behind their backs by laws and politics?
Honestly, your colleagues and lawyers had done everything in their might to get his ass nailed. But still, they were never able to put him into jail.
Then out of nowhere a single person was capable of not only overpowering his whole army of bodyguards without killing a single one of them, leaving them slightly injured and with a blank mind of the attack, but murdered both Slesinger men with such an ease and rigor? How terrifying was that thought?
You were unaware just how hungry you were until you finally realized that the plate in front of you had disappeared. So hungry in fact that you had cleared your plate with consummate ease. You devoured the delicious lasagna like a starving predator close to death until the plate was clean of any traces. So quickly in fact that you were totally unable to appreciate just how good the food was. You knew you should have appreciated your delicious meal more, but the pangs of hunger you experienced were way too demanding for you to eat your food slowly. In less than a few minutes you had emptied your plate completely. You were debating about ordering a second one, but you decided against it. Your stomach was starting to complain due to the effects of the alcohol you had consumed. It was finally taking it's toll on your awareness.
The bartender had seen your empty plate, turned to you, and took it without a comment. He decided not to ask if you had enjoyed your meal as the speed with which you gulped down the lasagna and your drinks told him everything that he needed to know.
In the distance you heard more noise, you assumed it came from the entrance. Soon you were surrounded by more truckers, which left you uncomfortable.
Before he welcomed his new guests, which were swarming around their co-worker Henry, the bar owner's tender voice addressed you and worked it's way through your fogged head.
"Now, want something stronger then beer?".
You weren't sure what gave your longing away. Maybe you really looked completely stressed-out, or way too desperate and needy? You didn't know or care.
You bowed your head towards him too, signaling him you wanted a new drink.
"Yeah, Jack Daniel's please.". So with that, your personal roller coaster started.
You felt like you could switch to another level. Without comment you had a glass of whiskey sitting in front of you less than a minute later.
Shot after shot, you poured the burning and sticky liquor down your throat, alternating in turn with your Bud beer. You cared little about the dangers of mixing your drinks or the amount of alcohol you poisoned your body with. The only aim being to drink yourself into a drunken stuper as soon as possible.
At one point your eyes had spotted a jar of toothpicks to your right. Without hesitation you reached out and extracted one. But the moment you held the tiny piece of wood in your hands, you froze. Wasn't that night meant to be extraordinary? Wasn't it meant to break with the rules? To break with your habits?
Well, sometimes it just wasn't that easy. Sometimes it seemed almost impossible to shed those customs, after all, a leopard can't change its spots.
Slowly raising your hand you placed the toothpick between your lips and started your nervous manner all over again.
Meanwhile, unnoticed by you, a young man came over and leant against the counter, facing you with a faked grin.
"How comes such a sexy lady like you is sitting here all alone?" his cheeky voice spoke. The way in which his words were slurred and his alcohol laced breath told you enough about the state of his mind. He was drunk, just as much as you, if not worse. You heard shouting from behind his shoulders and realized it was the group of students gathered at the billiard tables, cheering their companion. Trying to stay polite and in hope your stillness would be enough for him to back off, you stayed silent and simply looked ahead while further chewing on the pick. But to your disapproval, he had none of it. Instead your ears picked up the shouting from the men behind you, accompanied by lewd whistles.
"Lay her, Shawn!".
"Yeah, take the lady!".
He turned to them, signaling them to calm down before turning back towards you.
"So, are you free tonight?".
"If you mean to end up in jail, just go on. But if you don't want to get lynched tonight, you better back off." you stated plain but firmly. And if your voice wasn't warning enough, your eyes sure were.
"Nah come one. You sure are free or else you wouldn't be here. Am I gonna have to pay? How much?".
"Get lost!" you barked at him vehemently, nearly spitting out the pick, the venom not only clearly audible in your voice but rather unmissable in your eyes. You didn't have the nerve for lame flirtations like this, or for whatever he was trying to talk you into. Your reaction was harmless, even though you were thinking just how much you wanted to throttle that jerk.
The moment he opened his mouth to speak you took the toothpick with your right hand and banged the other fist down on the counter with full force, which made him jump beside you.
"Fuck off, boy!".
Without another look, he retreated back to his gang who were just as surprised about your outburst as him, one of them backhanded him on the back of his head when he passed, the others whispered and glared behind your back. A fact you didn't give a damn about. The only thing occurring to you was your now stinging and bruised left hand, the pain pulsing along to the rhythm of your quickened heartbeat. But again, the alcohol numbed that sensation shortly after.
You were trying to completely block out the awful music coming from the bar's stereo system, and to ignore the filthy and vulgar chat that was exchanged between the truckers and other customers. You were also very aware of their horny glances.
You ground up the toothpick in an intense deliberate exercise as you drowned further in your own misery, thoughts of those terrible last weeks entered your brain, images played themselves in front of your inner eye, despite your best effort to block them out.
The very first blow happened when you had just started working with the Las Vegas Crime Lab and Police Department and were rather planned to become a detective but instead you were assigned to become a CSI by the Sheriff. A decision that you found difficult to come to terms with however hard you tried. In the hope of making the best out of the situation, you ended up as a subordinate to the asshole that was CSI Assistant Director Conrad Ecklie who was making you so many promises at the very beginning. Empty promises you had to learn later, in a pretty rough way. He had talked about you as the soon permanent acting supervisor of day shift. And of course, your new colleagues had gotten the wrong impressions. Distrusting you right from the start they had secretly called you "Ecklie's pet".
You spat out the remains of the pick from your lips, and instead started fumbling with it in your right hand.
At first you were smitten by the vision Ecklie had implied. But by the time you became aware of his real intentions, that he had tricked you, it was far too late. You found yourself in the middle of a war that he had started towards the night shift supervisor Gil Grissom. But instead of supporting him, like Ecklie had expected you to do, to save your career, you had taken the risk, campaigned for Grissom and supported him and his night shift. Even if you knew that this would incur the wrath of the Assistant Director, you weren't prepared for the drastic matters he had in store for you. Not even five minutes later, the night shift was split and you were demoted, assigned to work together with Grissom, Greg Sanders and Sara Sidle as a team. All people who, only apart from Grissom, had thought of you as a sponge. People who thought that you only had your job because of your mother, people who matched you up to her. People who faced you with disapproval and mistrust written all over their faces. It sickened you. They didn't acknowledge what a huge sacrifice you had made by staying on their side. Instead you were further treated with distance, so soon, the amount of it all left you completely frustrated and desperate. Honestly, at that time, you really thought about quitting.
With a sudden snap your fingers broke the remains of that toothpick. You sighed in a frustrated manner.
In an attempt to erase this demon, you raised your glass and drowned another shot of Jack Daniel's, sealing it. However, there were still so many of them left.
But despite all the issues, you had found your strength and resolve. Without anybody to help you, you got back up and moved on. Eventually you even gained the trust and respect of those who doubted you.
Though, for your mother, that was not enough. She had mentioned her disapproval over the turn of your career way too often. For her, you had to live up on her reputation. But all you ever wanted was to have your own career, without being steadily marked against the yardstick that was set by your prominent mother. Even if you reached her spot, being a captain or even higher, working yourself into exhaustion, it wouldn't be good enough for her. Because nothing you did would please her. Not in the past, not in the present and sure enough not in the future.
You sighed at the thought of Ana Curtis. She always acted more as a superior than mother towards you. You were finally fed up with the unsuccessful attempts of getting her attention by fulfilling her ideas for your life. Because honestly, all you craved for were the comfort and regard of the person that was meant to be your most intimate confidant. The person that should love you regardless with each fibre of her heart. You sought affirmation from the parent that she should be. But you had lost that connection years ago. The bond between mother and daughter, it didn't exist for you anymore. Why? You had no idea. As hard as you tried, you couldn't come up with a particular reason to explain your mother's behaviour. The only thing that made sense was your confession about your sexual orientation. Which saddened and frustrated you even more. Even if you knew that parents should respect and love their children, whatever decisions they made in life, you had considered yourself at fault countless times. You had tried everything. Tried to meet her halfway, tried to live up to her illusions, even believed that you were the one to blame for your broken home.
But finally, you wouldn't. Not anymore.
Deciding to quit the grief over your mothers disinterest you buried it with another shot of beer and whiskey. You wouldn't mourn after something that you hadn't experienced for years.
But as much as you wanted the memories to end, your mind wouldn't let you rest.
Instead it shifted up a gear and came up with another haunting incident in your fucked up life. Visions of the wild shoot-out with fleeing drug dealers in which officer Daniel Bell was killed by friendly fire played in front of your inner eye and wouldn't stop tormenting you. For a while your colleagues together with your mother believed that it was you who had accidentally fired the fatal shot. Even worse, you had doubted your own actions, believing yourself to be the killer of a husband and father of an unborn child. To your relief you were later cleared from all accusations. But still, it had left a deep scar on you and tarnished your reputation.
Now that your mind got into top gear it switched once more to another police officer that was killed in the line of duty, with you being in charge. When the so called 'Miniature Killer' struck numerous times in Las Vegas, your superiors decided to set up a trap in order to catch the criminal. Officer Kamen was chosen to represent a victim and died while you were only four hundred feet away, watching the whole scene without noticing. This time everybody told you it wasn't your fault and you knew they were right. Still, you were the one in charge, the one responsible for the young woman. Somehow you couldn't shake the feeling off that you had failed her.
As if that was not enough, your personal life was just as rough as your professional career. There was not only your mother, the bad ass Captain of the LVPD, that ignored you on any emotional matter and wanted you to further climb up the career ladder in order to follow her footsteps but also satisfy her.
But the most aching, yet powerful blow of all happened the day you found your girlfriend cheating on you, in the bed of the apartment you shared together. What made matters worse than this betrayal was the way she had behaved after she had noticed your presence. That bitch had the nerve to bring her lover to her orgasm despite the fact that she knew about her audience and instead enjoyed every single moment knowing that you witnessed it. After ending their show off she just stepped right into your personal space, stark naked, like some holy right, her fuck buddy following right behind her, facing you with a sadistic smirk and had laughed at you narcissistically. There was no apology, nor had she pleaded you for forgiveness. Instead her evil words had been burned in your skull forever.
"What? Do you really think that you've been the only one for me? Did you seriously believe that you're so special that no one else would get my attention? Are you really that blind and naïve not to see the truth? That you're worthless, nothing more than a fuck in between? Yeah, you're nothing! You never meant anything!".
Those words had broken you. Left you in a shattered shell of your own body.
Ever since then you had fallen into an abyss and were unable to free yourself from it.
Instead, it felt like you were still falling endlessly, with no one around who would break your fall, no one to catch you. No one to set you back down safely on the ground, saying that everything would be alright.
Your mother was way too focused on her own reputation and space to ever notice your misery. Let alone offer any help or support when you most needed it. She had never shown any kind of interest about your life, let alone your love life. So now you had started to shut out the few remaining friends you had left, as well as your colleagues. Somehow you had begun to distrust and withdraw from everybody. And still, nobody ever noticed a thing.
But maybe it was not the fall that scared you. Because while falling you felt at peace. What really terrified you was the moment you would hit the ground that would unleash the emotions you held so desperately at bay.
Until now, you had successfully hidden your turmoil behind a well-developed and perfected mask. You had become immune from the pain, from the grief that you should have felt. You had not even cried, or shouted over the loss and infidelity. Something that you felt the urgent need to do for a while now, but never did. The only real outburst of your feelings happened in the locker room, when you had suddenly punched your right fist into the closed locker door again and again, leaving you with a badly bruised and stinging hand. In that silent unseen moment when you slid down on the floor the first and only tears had escaped the ocean that were your eyes. Instead you grew bad-tempered and often took it out on the people around you, mostly your colleagues. Again, no one got suspicious.
What troubled you most though was the fact that you had been used and played without ever sensing a thing. That you hadn't seen her true face even if you were a Detective for gods sake! You were trained to interrogate suspects and witnesses! Trained to determine if someone was lying to you, or telling the truth! In her case you should have been able to sense her feigned feelings. So you had not only failed in private but also proved your professional incompetence. Making a complete fool out of yourself. Just what sort of a Detective did that make you!
Through the fog that had already claimed your mind, you heard a soft voice.
"Had a tough day, haven't you?".
Looking up, you saw the bartender's soft eyes directed at you. He had had finally enough of the truckers shit and instead turned to you, slightly concerned.
"Something like that." you answered sincerely but guarded.
He gave you a last intense glare before speaking. "Do you have a place to stay?".
That made you stare at him in a mix of shock and suspicion. "Is that meant to be an invitation?".
Now he smirked. "In case it is, would you agree?".
You snorted audibly at that, spitting the just taken sip of beer out ungracefully and falling in a hysteric laughing fit. Now he was the one looking at you in confusion.
"What's so funny?".
"Nothing, we're just not playing in the same league that's all, sorry.".
"Oh.". Now he understood, you noticed the slight flush of his cheeks, his brows furrowed for a minute but then softened. He cleared his throat after the unforeseen discovery. "… uhm … I was just concerned, that's all … You don't appear to me like a woman who just drinks her smart brain out her skull.".
Not helping it, you snorted again by the ordinary compliment. "Thanks, I guess.", but then you frowned at him, "How do I look to you then?".
He fixed you with his intense green eyes that were filled with honesty, "Like a troubled soul.".
An awkward silence descended upon the two of you, in which you lowered your head to escape his gaze. The truth of his words hitting you with full force. That's what you were: A troubled soul.
He soon recovered from the surprise over your reaction and smiled. "Well then, good luck with all the beautiful ladies around. Maybe you get lucky tonight. Or is there a special girl that has already stolen your heart?".
It was that one innocent meant sentence that hit you like a bridge falling on top of you and burying you beneath it. Your features dropped instantly, your eyes withdrawing, trying to look everywhere but at him and he knew right away that he had hit another sensitive spot he perhaps should have avoided.
But instead of shutting down, like you would normally do, the alcohol in your system betrayed you and the words just flew out of your mouth uncontrollably.
"No, my heart got broken a few weeks ago.".
Silence prevailed again for a few minutes and he knew better than to ask what happened. He just waited for you to decide if you wanted to continue this conversation. You had the feeling that if you would give him the sign to back off, he would accept it without question. Finally you threw every caution in the wind. If you couldn't turn to your own mother for comfort, then why not actually open up to a stranger you would never see again?
"That bitch cheated on me. In our flat, our bed for gods sake! And when I caught her she had the nerve to fuck her lover to orgasm right in front of my eyes! Then she just laughed at me!". No need to quote the exact words that were thrown your way. The only thing lacing your voice was fury. But you were able to hold it at bay.
While he listened closely, his features stayed neutral. You weren't able to read his thoughts and were unaware that he couldn't understand how a beautiful woman like the one in front of him could be cheated on and treated like you had been.
You hesitated, feeling overwhelmed by the re-emerging emotions, trying everything to hold back the welling wetness that suddenly stung in your eyes –fucking cigarette smoke-, staring at the beer bottle while peeling off the label in a nervous manner. Again, at a point were you would have lapsed into silence under normal circumstances, the influence of the liquor got the better of you. Your inward walls not existing right at this moment.
"Do you know how it feels to be the only blind fool on earth? Do you know how it is to be played? How it feels to be the one everyone is laughing at?".
Looking up at him you caught the shake of his head in a silent answer, saw the interest and deep sympathy in his eyes.
"It feels like you're ripped apart just by their glances. Leaving you empty and worthless.".
"You're not worthless. Nobody is. The way she had treated you, she didn't deserve you. But sooner or later, it will come back on her." he stated reassuringly and convinced. Then he shrugged and smirked. "You know what they say: What goes around, comes around. Payback can be a bitch.".
Contemplating his words, the ghost of a smile played at the edges of your lips. He noticed the faint facial expression and stated softly, "See, you still know how to smile. You should do that more often, suits you better than all the frowning you have obviously done too often lately.".
Now your hands stilled their motions and instead you dropped them in your lap, your eyes following them gloomily, playing mindlessly with your fingers. He for his part felt that you still hadn't come to terms with the encounter with your ex-girlfriend.
"Sure that you didn't choose the wrong job? You would make a perfect shrink." you smiled weakly at him.
Laughing out loud he needed a minute to get his breath back to answer you, still smirking.
"You won't believe how often I hear that.".
"So I guess I'm not the only wreck you have had to deal with then?" you stated apologetic.
"Well, most people come here to enjoy themselves and have fun. Others just want to relax and have a drink without being constantly hit on. But then, there are a few people who just enter the bar in silence, quietly sitting here all night long without wanting to gain anybody's attention, down shot after shot and mull over their life. Some just bottle it up without ever wasting a word. Only very few start to open up, but honestly, for me that's the best gift I can receive. These special people come around occasionally and we share some nice talks. Some very special friendships arose from such occasions. Over all these years I have met so many different kinds of people, but for sure it never gets boring. Actually, after daily herding all those truckers and students, I'm very glad of some kind of variety.".
You chuckled at that slight confession, still fidgeting with your digits, understanding his feelings. Never noticing his worried stare, he finally addressed you with his concern filled voice.
"Seriously, do you have a place to stay for the night? There is no way you are driving in your state or else I'm going to call the cops.".
A dry and sarcastic snort escaped your throat ungainly.
"I am a cop." you stated matter of factly while self-deprecatingly putting emphasize on every single word.
Now he raised both his eye brows in surprise. "Really?".
A defeated and half-hearted chuckle slipped past your lips. "Yeah, hard to believe, isn't it.". That last remark was directed at yourself rather than him.
Mustering you closely once more, he reached around and opened a shelf. You followed his movements without ever knowing what he had in mind. A second later he laid something on the counter in front of you. Fixing the metallic object and observing it more closely you recognized that it was a set of keys. Confusion written all over your face you stared up at him. He had leaned forward, had folded his arms, resting both his elbows on the counter, facing you with his trademark grin.
"If you want you can stay in one of our rooms tonight. Just out the door you entered, turn right and head to the other building complex that holds our guest rooms. This is the key to room 7. It is up the stairs, the third door. Take it for the night. It might be not a luxury suite like the ones in the casinos or hotels on the Strip, but it has a comfy bed and a bathroom with running hot water. Something you will be grateful for when you wake up in the morning with a hangover.".
Yeah, he was right. Tomorrow you would be a mess. But still, there wouldn't be anybody around to witness it. So why worry?
Downing another swig of beer, you realized that your tenth bottle was empty.
While you contemplated if you should order another Bud, the bartender was still leaning against the counter just a few inches away from you and sneaked several innocent glances at some point behind your back. Maybe another attractive woman had caught his eyes, since you were not available for him, you assumed.
If he hadn't been so close to you, you would have definitely missed his next words.
"Seems like you caught some interested eyes there.".
Not understanding what he intended to say, you frowned at him. Instead of answering you straight, his gaze wandered and met yours. Standing your questioning look for long seconds, he simply nodded in the direction of the booths behind your back.
"The sexy brunette over there hasn't taken her gaze off you the last ten or so minutes.".
With that he offered a polite smile, trying to look innocent.
But his next words betrayed him, and the fact that he was shrugging his shoulders way too casually. You knew instantly what was on his mind.
"Maybe you should give it a try, huh, don't you think? You might get lai … lucky.".
Typical male, you thought. After all he was still a man. A gentleman for sure, you had to admit. But still a man, with all his filthy fantasies.
But honestly, you indeed had felt a strange and burning sensation on your back for quite a while, and somehow it had sent a thrill down your spine, not only once. But still, your ego was too cracked to even think that someone would be attracted by you. You didn't dare to turn around and have a look yourself.
It took you a minute until it dawned on you that he might be right.
Why not give it a shot? What could possibly happen?
Yeah, you could get rejected, and in that case you would simply retreat back to your seat and start drinking all over again. It was just that simple.
In turn you looked down at the glass of whiskey in front of you that you hadn't touched since it was served a few minutes ago, before replying his gaze. He still hadn't taken his eyes off you and you met his one last time. Without breaking eye contact you reached for the small glass, attached it to your lips and in a quick motion threw your head back, pouring the whiskey down your throat. For the last time this night you enjoyed with disgust how it crawled down its path. When the sensation hit your taste bud you clenched your eyes shut. Settling the glass down in front of you, you stood up abruptly.
"Add it all on the bill. I'm staying the night.".
"Here.", he handed you one last Bud and winked, "This one is on the house, and don't forget to smile.".
"Thanks, … ".
Reading your mind he stated, "Antonio.".
Sending him one last nod he mouthed a "Good luck." back your way.
Seemed like you had found a new friend without looking for one in the first place.
~ Ó ~
I have lost myself again.
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah I think that I might break.
I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe.
Be my friend.
Hold me, wrap me up.
Unfold me.
I am small,
I'm needy,
Warm me up,
And breathe me.
(Sia ~ "Breathe Me")
Thanks for reading.
Take care & stay safe,
Dragodina