CSI: Ghost: Chapter 10

The High Tails Club came into view along the strip. Geoff maneuvered his Viper among the cars clogging the street and slid into a parking space before the car ahead of him could back into it. He heard cursing coming from the large SUV when he got out of the car, but he paid it no mind. It didn't pay to flip off angry people.

He'd known someone who'd flipped off an angry driver once and had ended up getting shot to death. Unfortunately for the dead driver, his killer got away with it. He remembered it like it was yesterday. The hit he'd been sent on had gone wrong. He'd missed the target, and he was pissed. His first gig with his new boss, and he wanted The Devil to think highly of him, to know he could do anything his boss threw at him. He'd been angry when driving, probably cut the guy off, when he flipped him the bird. He liked to think it was wise advice to never drive with a weapon on you because anger could easily cloud the brain. But he was an assassin and he had to be carrying wherever he went. It was part of the job description.

He made sure his two AK-47s were well hidden underneath his long trench coat, and his revolver was tucked into it's holster at his side, also underneath the trench. He got out of the car, locked it, and walked around to the back of the pricy club known as The High Tails.

According to his source, Slick was supposed to be inside the club, in his usual back room collaborating a deal with someone. Who that someone was, and what that deal was, he didn't know, nor did he care to. Normally he wouldn't make a hit in such a public place because innocent people could get killed, but this Slick character was a hard one to catch. He didn't leave his estate often enough, and it was always easier to kill someone outside their own home, where they didn't know the terrain so well. Geoff was tired of waiting for him to leave. It was now or never.

He slipped easily through the back door once he'd picked the lock and stowed the tools in his pocket. Inside, it was dark. He was in a narrow hallway, but at the end he could see a small amount of light, something coming from behind the bar. As he walked closer to the main room he saw that it was lit with a soft blue light that was somehow sexy for such a pricy club.

His source had given him the layout of the place, so he was sure this would be an easy in, easy out job. He would only be spending a few precious seconds in the main room, and he prayed no one would notice him. Though with the low lighting and his dark attire, he was sure it wouldn't happen. Except one person.

For such a pricy club it didn't hire girls that were the right caliber. Sure Jolie was pretty in her own right, and sweet, but she wasn't what he'd call beautiful, especially not while she was twirling around a pole in her underwear. She saw him come in and gave him a wink. He smiled a quick smile and winked back, before he was gone and down another passage to a set of stairs.

Jolie had been working in The High Tails late one night when Slick Willson had come in to do a deal upstairs. When the deal was done he'd asked for a girl to entertain him and some drinks. Heavy drinks. According to Jolie, in his drunken state he'd coped a feel and wanted more, almost forced her, until the bouncer stepped in. .

As she was his inside source for most of the clubs on the strip, he was doing her a favor, as well as doing his job, by getting rid of the guy. She'd promised him a really good lap dance once the deed was done. It was her way of thanking him, the same as his taking her out to dinner on occasion was his way of thanking her for her inside knowledge of most of the clubs in Vegas.

He laughed silently to himself. She was an air head. Absolutely nothing between the brains sometimes. She knew he was going to kill Slick, but she thought he was doing it all for her. She didn't know it was his job to kill the man, that he'd be doing it anyway, whether she wanted him to or not. Whatever made her think that a simple lap dance would be enough of a payment for killing someone was beyond him. She also never seemed to pick up on the news either. She'd never seemed to realize that every time he'd asked her about a club, someone was killed or kidnapped there not long after. This was what made her the perfect inside source. And it was the only thing.

He walked up the stairs at a measured pace. This was going to be messy. And he hated messy. At the top of the stairs he met a waiter dressed in a neatly pressed suit. He asked if the other meeting rooms were empty and was assured they were. He pulled out his revolver before the waiter could raise an alarm and pulled the trigger.

Knowing Slick and his men would have heard it he wasted no time bringing out his big guns and charging into the private room. Slick was ducking under a table and his bodyguards were pulling out their own weapons but they were no match for his quick trigger fingers. In a matter of seconds everyone was dead. He moved between the dead bodies checking their faces. None of them were Slick Willson.

He struggled not to curse as he checked under the blown away furniture. Not there. Slick certainly appeared to be just that. He was gone again. The fact that he'd escaped without being noticed was beginning to piss him off. The fact that it wasn't his first escape from death, pissed him off even more.

Not wanting to stick around, he hurried down the stairs to find the rest of the club in a state of chaos from the sound of his weapons. Jolie couldn't be seen. Without fanfare or further ado, he slipped back down the hall and out the back door. His car was unlocked and he was inside within seconds, pealing out of the space, and making a wide turn down a side street as fast as possible.

Geoff imagined his face was bright red. This was only the third time he'd missed his target since working for The Devil but it couldn't go on like this or he'd loose his job. Not only that, but more missed targets meant more crime scenes to be processed, which in turn meant more of a chance to link the crimes to The Devil. Already, his informant at the Crime Lab had told him the lead on the case, Nick Stokes, was linking everything up with Biggs, and had even pulled out the past hits he'd done for Tony. Of course, his informant had also assured him that the evidence was hiding the killer extremely well, just not the killer's boss.

Sure Tony Biggs was a crime boss, but he wasn't always smart. Everyone he'd had Geoff Baker kill, with th exception of a select few, were easily traced to the boss, such as his lawyer. Of course that one would have been figured out whether he did his best to hide the evidence of his having been there to do the dirty deed or not. But he also knew that Biggs was looking to be number one in Las Vegas. Otherwise, why kill Slick? He was already second to the top, all he had to do was remove Slick, and the top spot was all his. And he knew that his boss wouldn't hesitate to rat him out to the cops to keep his own ass safe and out of jail.

He hadn't realized that he was home already. With a heavy sigh he got out of the Viper to unlock the door that lead to his private corner of the parking garage. He paid a pretty penny to keep his car safe. And he would keep doing so, for as long as necessary. Making sure his weapons were in place under his coat so he could clean them, he stepped out of the car again after parking it and looked himself over. In the dim light he could just barely see the blood spatter across his black trench coat. He would clean it off when he cleaned the guns. But he doubted anyone would see it unless they knew what they were looking for and got up close and personal with him. He closed the door that hid his sweet ride, and made sure it was locked tight.

Walking to the front door of his apartment building next door to the garage, he saw Mrs. Aquilina just leaving with her daughter, Grace. Now here was a woman who could have worked at The High Tails and brought in some dough for sure.

"Ah, Mrs. Aquilina, how are you?" he asked in a pleasant tone, doing his best to cover up his anger.

"Oh! Geoff, I didn't see you there in the dark. I'm doing just fine. Grace is taking me out to a show tonight!"

"That's swell. Just swell. I hope you both have a grand time. Grace." he acknowledged the daughter with a wink.

"Hi Geoff," she said, in that way that always made him suspect she had a thing for him. "Thanks for looking out for my mother when I'm not here. It's a great help, you know."

"Oh, sure not a problem."

He left them and went into the building. If Grace wasn't the type to work at The High Tails, and do her job well, there was a chance he might have gone for her. But just a chance. With his job he couldn't get into anything permanent, which left him with one night stands. They were never fun the next morning, and he always had to be careful he didn't know the girl because he didn't need them coming back.

He sighed. He hadn't had a one night stand in a long time. But flying solo almost felt better. He didn't like killing innocent people any more than he liked breaking their hearts.

It was Greg's turn to cook dinner again and even though he wasn't hungry and his stomach still didn't feel good with the occasional twinge of pain, he found himself in the kitchen. He went through the cupboards, freezer, refrigerator, and the pantry, but didn't know what he should cook. His stomach wasn't helping at all. With no appetite, he didn't want to be around food at all. He was just glad Nick was still clueless as to how he felt physically. The last thing he needed was Nick worrying about that too.

"What do you want for dinner?" he called out into the livingroom where Nick was watching something on the Discovery Channel.

"Whatever you feel like, honey."

"Do you mind leftovers? Cause we've got a lot to eat up before it goes bad."

"No problem."

"Then I'll let you pick out what you want."

Feeling relieved, Greg went straight to the guest room to relax.

"Hey, you're not gonna join me?" Nick asked as he went by.

"Sorry, I'm just not hungry."

"You didn't have dinner last night either." Nick's voice was quiet, concerned, almost a whisper.

"I know." Greg took too more steps before he stopped. "I'll do the cleaning tomorrow after work, just so you know. I know it's my turn and all." His heart wasn't in anything he was saying, and he sounded tired, despondent, even to himself.

"Hey, don't worry about it, G. This place is fine."

Greg was surprised Nick was acting cool and calm after their last conversation. Of course they were both still walking on egg shells around each other, but when they did talk, the stupid argument wasn't brought up and nothing exploded. For that, Greg was grateful.

Not knowing what else to say, Greg left for the guest room and curled up in bed, doing his best to calm his queasy stomach.

Geoff Baker sped down the road, headed for the desert, wanting to get as far away from Sin City as possible. When he was satisfied at the distance he'd put between himself and the city limits he swerved off the road and came to an abrupt halt. He slammed his forehead into the steering wheel. He'd screwed up again. Again! His boss would fire him, for sure.

He sighed and leaned back against the headrest. The informant who'd told him where Slick was going to be had sold him out. Sure Slick Willson was going to be at Club Moonlight. Rumor had it he was looking for some girls to populate his estate. Geoff didn't want to know what for. And sure, Slick had been there. He'd watched the crime boss get out of his limo and head straight to the front of the line that ran around the corner for two whole blocks.

But when he'd run in through the back entrance with the smoke bombs, and shot up the room Slick was supposed to be in, the man he found when the smoke cleared, was not Slick Willson. And damn, he was pissed. The idiot knew he was coming. He'd dressed one of his own men as himself, letting him take the fall instead.

It was rare that he'd ever had to use smoke bombs before, but every time he had they'd come through for him. His best weapons were his guns. He used them the most. They were, in fact, the only weapons that were constantly on him. Anything else he used he borrowed, or rented, or were single use items he had to special order, like the smoke bombs. But he knew where to get everything. He knew how to expertly stage a hit. Until recently.

If he hadn't been a hit man, an assassin, he might have cried like a little boy with a skinned knee. But he was older, and wiser. Crying never solved anything. He just had to go back to the drawing board and come up with an even better way to kill the man. A way that didn't involve informants.

At least he knew from his other informant at the lab that his scenes weren't bringing them too much evidence. He smiled at that thought. At least his evidence skills were still sharp.

Nick was irritated over the case. Crime scenes were piling up and almost no evidence could be found. Smoke bombs. Obviously the killer wore something to cover his face so he wasn't affected. The guy was in and out quick. No one saw anything. And as for the men who were killed, they were the same as those who'd been gunned down in The High Tails. Faceless and nameless. All of them had had their faces shot off. Unrecognizable. And no identification on them. It was going to take some DNA to hopefully figure out who they were.

Nick sighed, flipping the scrambled eggs over in the frying pan just as the toaster oven dinged. Alas, DNA was backed up, so it would be awhile before they found anything out.

"G! Breakfast's ready!" he called.

Greg stumbled into the room already dressed for bed after the long shift they'd had at work. He slid into his chair just as Nick slid his plate onto the table before sitting across from him. While Greg had certainly become distant at home lately, he was glad it hadn't seeped into work, and he was also glad Greg was joining him for breakfast. It seemed like a long time since they'd eaten together.

The argument they'd had was gnawing away at him a little and he felt bad for the things he'd said to Greg. In hindsight, he really hadn't meant them. He didn't like talking about what had happened to him as a kid, and it had taken him years to finally tell Greg. He didn't know what made him think Greg would have been more forthcoming about his own childhood. He should have kept his mouth shut, is what he should have done. But the words were out, and he couldn't take them back.

Scooping his own eggs up into his mouth, he watched Greg taking slow, measured bites and chewing slowly before swallowing. Maybe the argument was eating him up too. Normally he loved the way Nick made scrambled eggs and he never wasted time in gulping them down. In all their five years of marriage this had never happened before. Sure they'd argued about things, but they'd always made up not too long after. Greg said he didn't like not speaking to someone he was living with, especially if he really loved said person.

Nick was a little desperate to break the ice. He didn't want to talk only about work, or the cooking or the laundry, or dishes. None of that. He wanted the old Greg back. The

happy-go-lucky guy who'd pounce on him while he was watching tv and make out with him for hours. He wanted to feel like he had a real life again. But what could he say?

"I hope you didn't have to deal with Hodges last night, man. He was just... he was getting on my nerves, asking all these probing questions about how the case was going. Damn, it was annoying. I mean, he can't just do his job and run samples like I ask him too. He's got to know every little thing that's happening. I know, you did that too, when you were in DNA. I guess... maybe it's just this case, you know?"

Nick looked up when he realized Greg wasn't responding, and he didn't hear the clink of silverware on the plate. Greg's eyes were glued to the table and both hands were clutching his stomach.

"Honey? G? You ok? What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry..." Greg spoke in a whisper, as a pained expression came over his face. "I thought maybe I could eat something..." He kept his breathing as slow and steady as possible. "But I guess not."

"What's wrong?" he asked again.

"My stomach just doesn't feel good."

"You want me to call the doctor? What do you need?"

"No doctor. I'll be fine. I'll just... go lie down."

Nick got up and was at Greg's side instantly, pulling his chair out from the table.

"You sure you're not gonna throw up or anything?" he asked as he helped Greg to his feet.

"No, I'll be fine."

Greg almost felt weak in his arms as he rested a head on Nick's shoulder and held onto his waist with one hand while still clutching at his stomach with the other. He wondered how long Greg hadn't been feeling well and hadn't told him about it. It had to be the case, Nick surmised. Before the case Greg had been fine. The case was stressing everyone out.

He steered Greg towards the guest room which he'd been using for the past couple of nights. He wanted to take Greg to their room, but he didn't want to reagravate the argument they'd had. If he could get back on his husband's good side sooner rather than later, he'd do anything. He helped him into bed, and pulled the covers up over him as he curled up into a ball, hugging himself, staring off into space.

"I'll be right back," Nick said, taking a leap of faith and disappearing back into the kitchen.

He set the teapot on to boil and quickly finished his breakfast while the water started to boil. When the tea was ready he returned to Greg. He wanted to believe what was wrong was all from the case, but he knew it was more than that. He just didn't understand why Greg wouldn't talk about it, whatever it was. It broke his heart. All he could do was take care of him and love him.

"I made you some tea, honey. It might help you feel better."

Nick sat on the edge of the bed and helped Greg sit up before handing him the steaming mug, made just the way he knew Greg liked it. He watched as Greg took a small sip and swallowed. Another pained expression covered his face for a second and then he relaxed a little and took another sip.

"Thanks," Greg said in a near whisper.

"If you need me, let me know."

Nick got up and left the room to wash the dishes before heading to bed himself.

A/N: One of my college professors told us this true story about one of his friends who got cut off while driving by some angry guy. He flipped the guy off and the guy pulled out a gun and shot him. Now his friend will be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. So, a warning to you all. Don't do that. Anyway, that's where the story from the beginning came from. I only changed the details here to make it more interesting for this story.

One other quick note: I will be finishing "Ghost" by the end of February if everything goes right, and then I'll be taking a one or two month break from fanfic to work on my original fiction with National Novel Editing Month and possibly Script Frenzy. Once those are over my fanfiction plans are to tag team "Braden Sanders-Stokes" with another collection of one shots entitled "Texas Chronicals." And after those, I'll be writing "Strength of Soul" (for those who know about it, that's the merman story). For summaries on these pieces, check out my profile.

And that's it. Hope you enjoyed chapter ten, and I'll do my best to get eleven out as soon as possible! Ok, long author's note over. Go review.