21) Revealed
The break came suddenly and unexpectedly, and entirely orchestrated by the Mystery Writer. The Writer knew that Nick had figured it out – he'd talked to the writer, off duty, away from the building. Nick had told the Writer who Grissom thought it was – Grissom was wrong. He had told the Writer that he'd thrown Ecklie off track by tossing him a false bone, because, even after a surprisingly interesting and enjoyable lunch with the supervisor he'd once hated, he still wasn't inclined to help him solve the Mystery Writer Case.
Nick was to be the accomplice, to help deliver the final clues so that the timing was right. He loved the job. Maybe it was the CSI blood in him, or maybe it was knowing something he knew the rest of the team didn't, or maybe it was his ornery, quick-witted, practical joke nature he'd had since he was two. Whatever the reason, he came into work with a grin.
"Evening!" Nick chirped as he came into the locker room.
Warrick was getting ready for his shift and looked up at him. "You're in a good mood."
Nick grinned some more. "It's going to be a great night."
"Your Lucky Charms tell you that?"
"Naw. Say, you want to meet me at The Wall for a beer after work?"
"I dunno. Let me see how the shift works."
Nick got serious suddenly. "I'd really like to. I got some stuff I need to talk about."
Warrick nodded. "Sure. I'll see you there after work."
Nick reached in his coat pocket and dug out an envelope. "Hey. This got slipped in my box by mistake."
Warrick took it. His eyes narrowed. "This looks like it was printed on a laser printer."
Nick smiled. "Wow. You're not even on a case and already looking for evidence. See you around. Or at least in the morning anyway." Nick headed out of the break room.
Warrick nodded. He tore open the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper. On it was printed: Your clue is: I have brown hair. Your rule is 326. If someone yells duck, don't ask why! Someone else has the next clue, find them.
Warrick had no idea what the clue or hint meant, but he did know that word had gotten around that he'd yelled at Nick for asking why he told him to duck. The shooter opened fire and Warrick tackled Nick, landing them both right in a ditch full of sandburs. Neither had been hurt – short of spending a half hour picking out burs – but it had infuriated him that his friend had even questioned his order.
#
Nick sauntered into the break room, finding Greg sitting on the couch reading through a case file. He made himself a cup of coffee and walked over, sitting on the coffee table.
"What'ch'a got?" Nick asked as he sipped his coffee.
"DB found in an alley off Flamingo. Since she didn't have any I.D., I'm just waiting for Wendy or Mandy to tell me something good."
"Grissom hasn't handed out assignments yet?"
"We haven't had any. It's been a qu…" Greg stopped and smiled. "You know. One of those nights."
"You and your superstitions. Oh, hey…" Nick pulled an envelope out of his back pocket and handed it to Greg. "This got in my mailbox." Nick got up and headed for the door. "Guess I'll do some catch up tonight then."
"Night," Greg said as he tore open the envelope. He pulled out the piece of paper in side and his brow furrowed. On it was printed: Who's my freakboy? 321. You are not Batman, we do not have a Bat-Signal, and your Denali is NOT the Batmobile. Someone else has the next clue, find them.
He did too drive the Batmobile, and he really thought that they should have a Bat-Signal, but he'd never thought of himself as Batman.
Greg sat his case file next to him, and turned the paper over, then looked over the envelope. There was nothing noticeable on either of them. He grabbed his case file and jumped up, heading to a lab. Maybe a spectrograph would tell him something about it.
#
Gina came around the corner to find Nick standing at the reception desk writing on a folder.
"Did you need something?"
"A pen," Nick said without looking up.
She walked around the desk and sat down, and stared at the envelope propped up in her keyboard.
"Did you put this here?"
"Hm?" Nick asked as he strolled away.
She looked up, watching him leave. If he wasn't turning back, she guessed the answer was no. She opened the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper inside: I'm bumbling. 322. You are not allowed to sing "They're Coming To Take Me Away" while in the presences of a psychiatric suspect. See the holder of rule number 323.
She smiled. She knew it was the Mystery Writer behind this, and now she was even more certain it was someone that worked graveyards. That was the only time Gina ever sang that song, although she usually sang it under her breath, and even though Grissom and Ecklie both had gotten after about it, she persisted. After all, without her, they would never know which end was coming and going. Gina picked up the paper and went in search of the holder of rule 323.
#
Nick walked into the DNA lab, reading over a results page. He looked up at Wendy as he stopped.
"Hey, Wendy, Catherine gave you some hair and swabs. Are those finished yet?"
"Yeah. It's over here."
She walked down the counter and picked up a file, straightening the papers in it. She tapped it on the edge of the desk and then sat it down, arranged the papers again, and handed it to him.
"You are taking that to her, right?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Because the last time you took results for her, it took her four hours to get them from you."
"I got distracted."
"Story of your life, Nicky." Wendy turned back to her work.
He chuckled, walking out of the lab with the file. He strolled through the building to Catherine's office. She was typing on her computer when he came in.
"Got the DNA back for the Flander's case."
"Oh good." She turned, holding out her hand for it.
Nick handed it over and she plopped it on her desk, opening it. Catherine stared at the envelope sitting on the top with her name on it. She looked up at Nick. He'd already sat down and was looking over his notes.
"I'm really leaning toward the daughter. She had—"
"What is this?" Catherine asked, holding up the envelope.
He looked up and his brow furrowed. "I dunno."
"You didn't put it in here?"
"Naw."
She tore it open and pulled out a piece if paper.
"What is it?"
Catherine smiled. "Well, it seems our Mystery Writer is getting brave. It says: I was born in 1972. Your rule is number three twenty-three. You may not bargain for information by removing an article of clothing for each piece of good information. There is someone else in the building that holds the next clue. Find them." Rule contributed by NoDakGrl
"Ballsy." Nick said.
She looked up at him. "Who do you think it is?"
Nick shrugged. "One of the janitors? A couple of them have full access even to records, and they are the ears and eyes of this institution. Course Grissom seems to believe it's that crotchety old lady in H.R. I think he's way off with that guess."
She frowned at him a moment. "Did you just quote a line from a movie?"
"Yeah. Breakfast Club. So about Flanders…"
Catherine looked at the paper. "Hey, why don't you work on this? I'm going to go check something out."
"Such as?"
"Just something. I'll be back." She headed for the door.
"Catherine, I have other cases I need to catch up on."
"Work on them instead. I'll come find you."
Nick looked back and then at the case file. He picked it up and started reading it.
#
Archie tapped away at a computer, working through the suspect's emails. He glanced back when his computer roared like a Jurassic Park Tyrannosaurus Rex. He pushed himself away from the desk and rolled across the room to it. A new email had arrived, but he didn't recognize the sender. But the subject intrigued him: From The Wall to Archie. He opened it and contained in the electronic message was: Take the clue from the owner of 325 to the owner of 327. Rule 324. You are CSI and lab rats, not hackers; therefore you may not call yourself: Zero Cool, Crash Override, Acid Burn, Cereal Killer, Phantom Freak, The Plague, Lord Nikon, Kevin Mitnick, Condor, Riddick, Razor or Blade.
He grinned. How many times had he told and told and told the CSI, and some lab rats, that? This person was present when he said it. It had to be someone working graveyard. Archie started back tracking the email, trying to locate where it came from.
#
Robbins and David exited the elevator together. David's nose was buried in an autopsy report. Robbins mind was at home with his wife and the Black Forest cake with fresh cherry glaze she promised him. The two walked into the morgue and Robbins turned to the computer, sitting down. David walked over to the autopsy table and sat the report down, and then stared at the envelope propped up on it, and addressed to both of them.
"Someone left an envelope here, Doc Robbins."
Robbins got up and walked over. He reached for the envelope.
"You shouldn't touch it without gloves," David said.
"Why is that?"
"What if there are prints on it?"
"What if it's the Mystery Writer dropping us a line?"
"What?"
"Look at the print. That's the Mystery Writer." Robbins picked it up and tore it open.
David leaned over his arm, reading out loud, "I love the smell of Lavender. Your rule is three hundred and twenty-five; I will no longer sing the cause of death to the tune of a dead rock star's hit song. The keeper of rule three hundred and tewnty-eight might help solve the mystery." Contributed by hinaprincess
The two stared at the paper.
"It's someone we work with," David said.
Robbins shot him a 'duh' look.
"I mean someone who works our shift."
"Ya think?" Robbins handed it to him. "I'm guessing one of the crew has rule three hundred and thirty-eight. Go find them."
"Okay." David took the paper and hurried out of the room.
Robbins picked up the autopsy report and started reading it.
#
Wendy leaned in, watching what Hodges was doing under the fume hood. He looked at her.
"What does that rock smell like rotten eggs?" she asked.
"It's sulfur."
"Where did that come from?"
"What stinks?" Nick asked, appearing on Hodge's other side.
"Sulfur."
"Why do you have sulfur? And what are you doing to it?"
"I'm trying to figure out what caused the rocks on the Bowman case to explode. Robbins and David found sulfur fragments in the wounds, so I'm starting there."
"You're going to stink up the lab again, aren't you?" Wendy asked.
"Yeah. You are," Nick told him. "Like you did two weeks ago with those carp."
Hodges looked up. "I can't work like this."
"Like how?" Nick asked.
"With you two leaning over me."
"I need my trace results. You got them?"
"No. I don't. You're number four hundred and seventy-five. Thankfully it's slow tonight or you'd be number five hundred and seventy-five instead."
"I can't move on my suspect without them."
"Really?" Hodges looked at him. "And neither can any of the other CSI until I get their trace done, so, take a number and go bug someone else until I call you."
Nick frowned at him. "You're grouchy tonight."
"I'm just frustrated over…" Hodges trailed off.
"Over what?" Wendy asked.
"Nothing. Go away. Both of you."
Nick reached in his back pocket and sat an envelope down next to Hodges. "That was in my mailbox tonight. Let me know when I can actually order arrests for bad guys."
Hodges shot him a frown as he left. Wendy walked around Hodges, reaching for the envelope.
"Do you mind?" Hodges snapped.
"What?"
"Don't touch my mail."
"You're busy. I was just trying to be nice."
Hodges sighed. "Okay. Fine. Tell me what it says." He continued working.
Wendy opened the envelope and pulled out the paper. She read to him, "The greatest athlete in my life is Foxfire Flint. Your rule is number three hundred and twenty-eight. When you are finished with fish evidence, it goes in the biohazard container, not a co-worker's locker. Find the young doctor who has rule number three hundred and thirty."
While she read it Hodges was trying to hastily pull his hands out of the rubber gloves and out of the hood. He finally got them out as she finished the last word and yanked the paper from her hand.
"Thank you for reading that."
"What's that mean?"
"Nothing."
"Who would send you something like that? It sounds kinda creepy."
"Creepy?"
"Yeah. It's like they knew Greg and Nick put those fish in your locker last week. Is someone stalking you?"
"No! No. I'm fine."
She didn't look convinced. Hodges plastered a smile to his face. "It's all part of my game."
She rolled her eyes, turning away. "I don't even want to know then."
Hodges watched her leave and then re-read the message. Doctor? Robbins? No. It said young doctor. David? He started for the door, and then stopped, looking back at his experiment. He couldn't leave until he finished, not with the unstable chemicals under the hood. He went back and continued his experiment
#
Henry walked into the break room and opened the refrigerator. He fished his sack lunch from the back, bought a soda and sat down at the table and began unpacking. He stopped when he felt something unusual inside. He grabbed it and pulled out an envelope with his name printed on it. Henry pealed open the flap and pulled the paper out. The note read: I once died to make viewers scream. Your rule is number 327. Even with your scientific smarts, you are not MacGuyver. Have a conversation with a shrunken head, and you'll find your next clue.
Henry smiled a little. The Mystery Writer knew him well. Several times he had proclaimed he was the next MacGuyver – an '80's show he and his little brother had just recently discovered and fell in love with. They watched an episode every night and Jason could quote most of them. Henry set it aside and unwrapped his sandwich. After his supper he'd try to figure out the shrunken head riddle.
#
Bobby came out of the restroom as Nick was going in.
"Hey, Bobby, I sent bullets to you a couple nights ago. Do—"
"I called you like three times tonight. They're done."
"Yeah? Anything good?"
"No. Not IBIS hits. Looks like that trail went cold fast."
"Damn. Okay. Oh, this was in my mailbox." Nick pulled an envelope from his back pocket and handed it to Bobby. "I'll come grab the report in a few minutes.
Bobby took the envelope and started walking down the hall. He opened it, and pulled out the paper, reading: My birth month is October. The Wall Rule, number 332, states: If it looks like an explosive, it probably is. Someone of authority has the next clue.
Bobby stopped walking, staring at the paper.
"Bobby," Warrick said, coming up behind him.
"Yeah?"
"Did you finish my… Where did you get that?"
Bobby looked up at Warrick. He was staring at the paper in Bobby's hands.
"Nick said he found it in his mailbox."
"He did?"
"Yeah."
"He said mine was in his too."
"You have one?"
"Yeah." Warrick dug his out and held it out. "Let me read yours."
The swapped notes and read them, then swapped back.
"This isn't helping," Warrick said, staring at his paper. "Most of the people here have brown hair."
"And I don't know anyone's birthday."
"I bet Gina does! Come on."
The two headed back down the hall, passing the bathroom as Nick came out. He watched them leave and then headed down the hall with a mischievous smile. He passed Brass's office as he came out.
"You look like you just ate a canary," Brass told him.
"I think I have a case solved. Just waiting on trace from backlogged Hodges."
"That could be awhile. Are you planning on going out for supper?"
"Not tonight. Hey, you want to meet at the Wall for a beer after our shift? I need someone's ear to bend."
"Sure." Brass headed for the elevators.
"Oh, hey, this was in my mailbox."
Brass turned, staring at the envelope Nick held out. He walked back, taking it and staring at his name.
"This handwriting looks familiar."
"I thought so too." Nick's phone started ringing.
He started walking away as he answered it. "Yeah? Hey. Naw, I gotta talk to Mandy and Grissom. Then I'll be right there. That sounds great. Thanks for doing that for me. Bye." Nick hung up calling back. "I'll see you then, Brass."
"Okay." Brass tore open the envelope, pulling out the paper and reading: Some might know me as Miss Bimms. Wouldn't you like to add rule number 331, You may not drop a full pop bottle from a second story window when no one is looking, and yell 'gun' when it hits the pavement. The one that holds rule number 333 holds all the answers.
So the Mystery Writer had to be someone that knew he'd about demanded Nick to be fired over that prank. It was only funny in hindsight, and wouldn't be funny if the CSI ever did it again. He guessed it was a lab tech, well, one of them. There were twelve now that weren't part of the Crew. Brass put the paper in his pocket, and headed for Grissom's office. Two heads were better than one in deciphering the clues.
#
Ecklie sighed a long breath, standing. It was after midnight and he had to be back at eight. He hated long days like this. He stood up as Wendy came in with a stack of case files.
"I'm not signing those today."
"I know. But they'll be here waiting for the morning."
"You're too kind."
She smiled. "I know, Conrad. This fell out of them. Not really sure how it got mixed up with them." She handed him an envelope.
Ecklie was pulling on his jacket and stopped, staring at it. He took the envelope, staring at his name.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He smiled.
"You know, Hodges got one that looked just like that. Are you sure everything's alright? His had this weird message."
"What was it?"
She told him the message. Ecklie only smiled more. Sounded to him like the Mystery Writer was getting ready to show him or herself.
"That is strange. Thank you for this. I'll see you tomorrow."
She offered him a smile and left. Ecklie sat down on the edge of his desk and tore open the envelope. He pulled out the paper, reading the message: You hired me. You complain about the hours you work, but rule number three hundred and thirty-one on the wall states dead people don't care about your schedule. You might find this shift lasts longer when you try to hunt down the owner of rule number three hundred and thirty-two.
Ecklie looked up, watching the people outside his office. Was it someone in the Wall Crew that had the clue? Or another technician? He left his office, in hot pursuit of the carrier of rule number 342.
#
Grissom sat in the alcove of his office that was filled with entomology books. He was trying to identify the strange bug he and Catherine had found inside a wound of the recently departed Mister Crick. He'd already determined it wasn't a native bug, and he was suspecting it wasn't even from the United States now.
"Grissom," Nick called as he came in.
Grissom looked up. He could only see Nick's abdomen through the shelves.
"Back here, Nicky."
Nick walked back to him, opening a folder to show him a photo. It showed a man's leg and there was an imprint on it.
"I'm having a heck of a time identifying this. It looks like a tire tread, but it's too wide."
Grissom put his pencil in his mouth and took the photograph. He stared at it for a few minutes and then handed it back. He took the pencil out of his mouth.
"I'm going to guess that on his other side you found tread marks?"
"Yeah. How'd you guess?"
"That's not a tread, Nick. That's a sewer grate." Grissom pointed to a place where half an R was. "That's the end of the word. Did you find him on his back?"
"Yeah. And lividity had set in on his back."
"Either he rolled over on his own or his killer rolled him over. You'll have to look somewhere else for clues."
Nick frowned, looking at the photo. "Alright. Thanks." Nick turned to go, then stopped and turned back. "Hey. I found this in my box."
Grissom took the envelope he handed him. "Thank you."
"I'm going to head out to lunch."
"Okay. See you in an hour."
Nick headed for the door, passing Brass on his way in. They flashed smiles as they passed. Grissom glanced at Brass then back at the envelope he was opening.
"Is that a clue?" Brass asked.
"What?"
Brass held out his note. Grissom took his and read it. He handed it back and then took his clue out of the envelope.
"What does it say?"
"It says find the Big Kahuna to follow the trail. You'll have to add rule number three tweny-nine to the wall; no condiment may be used to replace any processing chemicals, even if the condiment contains chemicals needed for a process." Grissom held the paper up to the light. "No watermarks or noticeable marks."
"So, I'm thinking the entire crew got these, but I haven't talked to them."
"Then why are you talking to me?"
Brass smiled. "I was starting with you."
Grissom sat his books down. "I'll go out hunting with you."
The two headed out to search out the holders of the next clues.
#
Nick walked into the fingerprint lab and handed Mandy a bagged glass. "I need a rush on this, Mandy. I need it ASAP, so can you start on it now? I'm sorry to ask, but the lady's lawyer is pushing to have the charges dropped if we can't prove she was even remotely involved."
She turned to him, giving him a level stare.
"I'm sorry!"
"And right you should be." She held her hand out for the glass.
He handed it over, and she sat it down. Mandy stood, pulling on gloves to start working on the glass. Nick dug a worn envelope from his pocket. "I found this outside when I was coming in. Has your name on it."
He sat it on the counter next to her, and then headed for the door. "See you later."
"Okay." Mandy picked up the envelope.
She tore it open as Greg walked past. He stopped and came in.
"Did you get an envelope too?"
She looked up at him. "Yeah. Why? Did you too?"
Greg held up his note. "Yeah. It has a clue from the Mystery Writer. I was just running the paper and didn't find anything special about it."
Mandy pulled the paper out of the envelope.
"What's yours say?"
She read the message to Greg, not seeing Catherine and Archie come in, "It says, your rule is number three hundred and thirty-three. "I wonder what this does" is never something you want to hear a fellow lab rat say. My accomplice, Mandy, just handed you the ultimate clue and…" Mandy stopped, looking down at the glass.
"What?" Greg asked.
She looked up at him, then at the other two. "Nick just handed me this glass. He said it was high priority and I need to run it now."
"Nick's this person's accomplice?" Archie asked.
Catherine smiled, shaking her head. "That sneaky rat!"
"Hey, is this where the party is?" Brass asked as he and Grissom came in.
"We just discovered Nick's the Mystery Writer's accomplice," Greg told them.
"Nick?"
"Hurry up, Mandy. Get some prints off that thing," Catherine told her.
Mandy opened the bag and pulled out the glass. She picked up a dust brush and began coating the glass.
"She has prints?" Grissom asked.
"Nick handed her a glass," Archie told him.
Ecklie and Hodges came in. "What's going on?" Ecklie asked.
"Well, Nick is the writer's accomplice and he just gave Mandy a glass with prints."
"Where's Nick?" Hodges asked.
"He said he was going out for lunch," Mandy and Grissom answered.
"He told me he wasn't," Brass argued.
"Hey guys," David said as he crowded into the room with them. "Does anyone else have one of these?" David held up the clue.
Everyone else held up theirs.
"Wow. I guess tonight's the night."
"Is something exciting going on?" Gina asked.
She, Bobby and Warrick came into the room.
"Mandy, come on. Get us some prints here," Greg urged.
"You want to print this?" Mandy shot back.
She put it under a camera and snapped two photographs, then turned to her computer. The group waited in silence while it whirred away, going through its database to track down the Mystery Writer. The screen suddenly populated and Mandy's jaw dropped, followed by several laughs.
The Crew crowded in around her, staring at the information.
"I think we need to get down to The Wall," Grissom suggested.
As one the group made a beeline for the elevator.
#
Nick stared at the rules while he ate his fries. "I love Frank's fries," he said as the door opened. "Thanks for picking this up."
The Crew came in and stared at him and Wendy Simms. She couldn't hold her smile back, but she didn't stop eating her hamburger, either.
"Hi," Wendy said to them, and to Nick. "It was the least I could do for my diabolic accomplice."
"You had to do this?" Ecklie asked, holding up the papers.
"Yeah. It was fun. Kinda like Clue but without the silly names."
"You don't think Miss Bimms is a silly name?"
"That's my…" Hodges started.
She peeled back some wrapper, telling him, "That's what freakboy decided to call the game piece that represented me, huh? Mindy Bimms."
"Oh! How could I have missed that!?" Greg said, turning to a wall. He pretended to beat his head on the wall. "That was so… RIGHT THERE!"
"I don't get my clue," Hodges said.
"You woulda if you'd figured out Henry had three hundred and thirty-eight."
"What was it?" Henry asked.
Hodges showed him.
"Oh, that's the name of her horse."
"You have a horse?" Hodges asked.
"I have three. Foxy is actually a retiree. Had her since I was sixteen."
"You ride horses? Someone who can't keep from dropping her coffee cup on a nightly basis?"
She persed her lips, and then told him, "You are so slow."
"Hey, I—"
"Did you figure out your clue?"
"No. But—"
"Did you figure out Henry had the next one?"
"No! But—"
"Then you're slow."
Hodges glared at her. "If Henry had my clue, why'd you put the young doctor?"
The room went silent. He looked back at the others, then her.
"What?" he asked them.
"Henry has two doctorates, Hodges," Wendy informed him. "And he's twenty-four. So young, as in not real old; doctor, as in he has two doctorates."
Hodges looked at Henry. "You have two doctorates?"
"You really are slow," Henry answered.
The group chuckled. Hodges just glared.
"Well, welcome to the Crew," Catherine said. "So are we supposed to write our rules?"
"Naw. We did that." Nick said, motioning to the wall. "Can you believe we have three hundred and forty-three? I didn't realize that many had gone up since I was last down here."
They looked up at the list that surrounded them.
"Grissom, its fun making faces at people behind the one-way," Greg told him, pointing at his rule.
334. No CSI or lab tech behind the one-way mirror is allowed to make faces at the people interviewing or being interviewed.
"Because the last thing we need a suspect to hear is you guys laughing. And if you don't stop taping paper cut outs to the window tape over people's faces, I'm going to add that next."
"But it's so much fun!"
Grissom looked at Catherine. "You explain it."
She stared at him a minute then looked at Greg. "Greg, I said no. No!"
They all laughed. Ecklie's died first as he read the next one.
335. We are neither hackers nor the NSA, therefore we do not own, nor do we wish to own, 'The Ugly Red Book.' Stop asking.
"What on earth is that?" Ecklie asked.
"It's a book."
Ecklie shot him a narrow eyed glare. "Really? It is?"
Archie grinned. "It's a hacker thing."
"You're a hacker?"
"No. But every so often Warrick and Nick seem to think they are. Then they crash the entire network."
"I didn't even touch the computer when it crashed!" Warrick retorted.
"You were thinking of touching it. That counts," Greg told him. "The machinery felt threatened by the mere vibe."
"Lay off the coffee tonight."
"Hey, look what Catherine's doing," Greg said, pointing at the next rule.
336. No matter how much they may or may not deserve it, I cannot arrest children for being rude.
"You didn't," Ecklie said.
She persed her lips and then smiled. "It was a very serious thought and I was that close to doing it." She held up her fingers to show the span of her patience. "The kid was a complete brat. Back talked his parents and everyone. He really deserved it."
"But you didn't."
"It was still a thought."
Ecklie smiled.
"What's wrong with one liners from that show?" Archie said. "That show rocks!"
337. Using more than two one liners from 'That 70's Show' in one night will result in all female co-workers having week-long PMS. Contributed by PigXiaolin101
"Because you seem to enjoy saying them, repeatedly, in my presence. I really don't want to leave this job being able to quote some show about teenagers."
"Amen," Catherine said.
"I second that motion," Mandy said.
"And with a unanimous female rule," Wendy told him. "You, Archie Johnson, are hereby banned from one liners from that show."
"You guys suck!"
"And you can't sing Eulogy when you visit the morgue," David told him.
338. You may not sing any song that is titled 'Eulogy' in the morgue. Ever. Suggestion by Gotsta Have My Hardy
Archie looked from the rule to him. "I don't visit the morgue."
"In case you did."
"I would never visit the morgue. Not unless I was dead. Very dead. No pulse dead."
"There's another type of dead?" Grissom asked him.
"There's the kinda of dead."
"How are you 'kinda' dead?"
"You know, like zombies and vampires and—"
"Why do I even bother?" Grissom asked. "Who is John McClane?"
339. Just because John McClane did it doesn't mean you can.
The entire room retorted, "You don't know who John McClane is!?"
Grissom looked calmly at them. "Should I?"
"You need to rent more movies. More action movies," Nick told him.
"So this is an actor?"
"No. A character," Catherine answered.
"He bounces a lot," Gina added.
"Bounces?" Grissom asked.
"Yeah. He falls off things, gets beat up, shot, but he bounces, still kills the bad guys."
"I see. I don't feel I'm missing much. I see, Conrad, you've discovered my crew doing something they're not supposed to again."
340. You may not use shoe casts as paperweights at or after a crime scene.
"Not all of them. Just the usual suspects."
"Nick and Greg?"
"Yeah."
"I did not," the two argued simultaneously.
The two men looked at them, and Greg was the first to crack a wide guilty grin.
"And you, Sanders, cannot do that anymore," Grissom said, pointing at the next rule.
341. Suggesting that there are 'scales of physical attractiveness' pertinent to any case are no longer allowed. Suggested by NoDakGrl
"But… It helps."
"Helps? How?"
"I get more answers."
"How do you get more answers?"
"I get more yes answers."
"Yes answers?"
"For dates," Nick told them.
Grissom smiled, "And then you wonder why we always suspect you when something goes awry."
"Yeah. Cuz I'm the CSI putz!"
"No. Nick's the CSI putz." Warrick motioned at the wall. "Between the clowns and suits, I'm not sure which he thinks is going to get him first."
342. The men in black are not here to zap our memories.
"Hey, I'm getting better. My therapy is helping."
"You're in therapy?" Hodges asked.
Nick turned his head, settling a cool stare on him. "Yeah. Eight hours a day."
"I don't get it," Hodges said.
"Hodges, you are so slow," Wendy told him.
"Do we have to let her into the crew?" Hodges asked.
"Yes," the rest answered.
She smiled when he looked back, but kept her eyes on her hamburger.
"Greg, you are going to be the death of me yet," Grissom told him.
343. A crime scene is not the ideal place to test untested processing theories. Author's note:This one should be Ryan, but that's that other series
"Hey. You always tell me to read the journals, but you never actually mention I shouldn't try anything I read in the journals."
"I wouldn't think I'd have to."
"You always do. I'm slow."
"That's Hodges."
"I'm still in the room, ya know!" Hodges cried.
Grissom only glanced at him, but Greg laughed.
All of a sudden phones started ringing.
"Well, so much for a quiet night," Nick said as he got up and started packing his supper into the bag it had come in.
Wendy watched the others leave, waiving and saying good-bye. She turned back to her hamburger. Hodges slunk back into the room.
"Uhm… Do you really think I'm slow?"
She looked up at him, holding his stare for several minutes. She smiled.
"Think of how you could use this entire Mystery Writer thing in your game. It would make an interesting round, wouldn't it?"
Hodges smiled. "Yes it would."
He left her to finish her supper alone.