35) My (CSI) Wall Crew Family

Langston sighed. He stopped what he was doing, stepped back, and glared at the bed sheets. They were covered in blood, but whatever had happened before or during the murder, had tangled them so much they were almost knotted. The blood had time to congeal and turned into a sticky adhesive that only added to the mess.

He turned his head when Nick walked up beside him, also staring at the bed. He looked up at Langston.

"Problems?"

"You could say that."

"What is it?"

"The sheets aren't cooperating. I need to separate them so I can get them in a bag."

"Naw. You don't need to do that."

"But they could have trace."

"That's right, but the point is to get them, and the trace, to the lab. Sometimes, Ray, you have to think outside the box."

"I should put them in a box?"

"You gotta box that'll work?"

"No."

"Guess not then."

"You're not going to tell me how to fix this, are you?"

Nick shook his head. "If you haven't figured it out by the time I've finished the rest of the house, I'll help you." Nick headed for the door.

"Nick, that could be all night."

"I know it. Sucks, but after eight months, you gotta figure this out for yourself."

Ray stared at the door, and then glared as soon as Nick was gone. He was having a bad night. It had begun with bad dreams. Then he'd burned his supper. Followed by three crime scenes where nothing seemed to be going right. He was tired, he was hungry, he was cranky.

He turned back to the bed, trying to sort out a solution.

Crime scene number five. Langston and Nick hadn't even had time to get their evidence to the lab. They'd had to meet Hodges on the freeway, hand it off, and head on to the next one. Nick rode shotgun while he finished up notes. Langston pulled up behind a patrol car. The two got out, grabbed their kits, and started up the driveway.

"Thank we might have a serial killer," Brass said as the two walked up.

"Why's that?" Nick asked.

"Actually…" Brass stopped Nick, grinning. "Maybe you should send for Greg and let him handle this one."

"Why?" Nick asked with open suspicion.

"Well… He's dealt with this before. Maybe he's learned something in the last couple years."

Nick tilted his head a little. "Jim… What is it?"

"Hey, tell 'em to open the garage door," he told a nearby officer.

The garage door opened. Sitting in the middle of the garage on a chair was a person covered in black tar and feathers. To Langston's surprise, Nick started laughing. Then Brass. Then several of the policemen joined in.

"I don't see the humor," Langston admitted. "The person is dead."

Nick took a couple minutes to get a hold of himself.

"I'm sorry. Really sorry. But I keep going back to Greg's tar and feathered vic. He fought and fought with that stuff and to this day still can't figure out how to get it off…" Nick started laughing again. He patted Langston's shoulder. "Wanna take a stab at this one? Maybe you'll do better than Greg."

Langston heaved a sigh. "Fine."

He headed for the corpse, not noticing Nick's laughter die. Brass stopped too.

"He's not in a good mood," Brass commented.

"No. Been that way since the shift started."

"He doesn't know about this morning, does he?"

Nick shook his head. "We kept it secret. But it's time."

"I think so. He has a decent sense of humor, most of the time. He'll be a good edition. Hey, there's some things inside I want you to take a look at."

The two headed for the front door.

Langston finished typing the last paragraph of his report. He saved it and stood up.

"Hey."

Langston turned. Greg stood in the door. He smiled.

"Heard you gotta Tar Man too."

"I have."

"I hope you have better luck."

"I do too. I heard you didn't with yours."

Greg shook his head.

"Perhaps I can find a way to remove it without damaging the body and maybe preserving trace. If so, we could exhume your John Doe and see if we can't solve both cases."

Greg held up a key card. Turned it so Langston could see both sides. "Ever seen one of these?"

Langston picked his with his I.D. on it and held it up. "I have one. Remember?"

"Yeah, but have you seen one without any I.D. on it?"

Langston smiled. Was this a prank or joke? "I can't say as I have."

Greg narrowed his eyes. "Really? You haven't noticed them?"

Langston dismissed the idea of a prank or joke. "No. I haven't."

"Come, Doctor Langston. I will show you wonders like none you have ever witnessed before." Greg turned and started walking. "Come."

Langston smiled. After his hard shift, he was more than happy to give into Greg's antics. He needed a good laugh. The young man led Langston to the elevators and he let Langston on first. He tapped the button for the basement.

"Will there be cancan girls?" Langston asked.

Greg grinned. "No. No cancan girls. Ecklie wouldn't allow that." Greg thought a second. "Or would he? That back door is still broken…"

"What back door?"

"You have much to learn, young grasshopper."

The elevator doors opened at the basement and Greg led him off, and down the hall towards records.

"Las Vegas is rich with history. A lot's happened here."

"Yes. I know. This is about history?"

"More or less. Have you ever been part of living history?"

Greg stopped at the record's door to swipe his badge. Suddenly Langston felt tired. He wasn't interested in reading old case files.

"Greg, perhaps we could do this another time. I'm tired, it's been a long shift, and—"

Greg turned, leaning in. "You don't trust me?"

"Of course I do, it's just—"

"If you trust me, you'll follow me."

"Why are you being cryptic?"

"You'll know when you see it. Come on." Greg held open the door for him.

Langston turned to leave. "I'm going home. See you tonight."

"The others weren't nearly as difficult to convince.

That stopped Langston. "What others?"

There were others? Others for what? He turned and Greg grinned. He knew he'd just grabbed Langston.

"Wanna see?"

Langston sighed and followed him into records. Greg turned left.

"You see, this very building is full of history, which is fine and all, but trust me, being part of living history is something unique." Greg glanced up at him. "Does that make any sense?"

"Yes, although I have no idea what you're referring too."

Greg nodded. "You will."

He turned at the last row of shelves. Langston had been down here several times to dig up old files or cold cases, but he never recalled seeing a door back here. The only reason he noticed it now was because light was coming around the hard edges, defining what it was.

"Is that new? That door?"

"Nope. Been here all along. No one ever sees it until we let them. Watch the corner of the filing cabinet there. It's been biting people lately."

Langston heard talking inside, mixed with music and glass taping every so often. A spiel of laughter ran out the door. Now he was glad he hadn't left when he'd had half the mind to. He didn't have to see what was inside to know there was something special beyond that door.

Greg squeezed through the space between the wall and filing cabinet, and through the door.

"He's here!" he heard several voices shout.

"Almost had to drag him here by his hair."

"Wouldn't that have been difficult to do? There isn't much there?" he heard David ask.

Langston squeezed through the space and through the door into The Wall…

"Welcome to your induction to The Wall Crew, Ray!" Catherine called out with a smile.

Congratulations ran around the room, several pats on the arm and back. After the hearty welcome, and putting a cold beer in his hand, the group explained The Wall. Langston only heard about half of it. He stared at the lines and lines of rules. He'd always wondered where several of the night crew sometimes vanished to, but never thought much about it. After particularly rough nights, he'd go out to leave and see their vehicles still in the parking garage, but they were nowhere to be found.

He turned when something smooth and hard was pressed into his empty hand. Catherine held the chalk in his hand until he closed his fingers around it.

"So? Do you want to give it a try?" she invited him.

"I… Am not ready yet. I'll let someone else go first."

"We all said that our first time here," David said.

"Speak for yourself," Mandy said.

"Yes, but you didn't tell us you knew. You made us guess until you and Nick plotted and schemed."

"And it was a fine plot and scheme," Nick said.

"If you think so," Sara jabbed. "I'll go first. In ode to our wonderful bowler case – not to be confused with a bowler hat."

Most of the crew booed her terrible joke.

"Actually, that was one of Greg's – and so help me, if you people leave me alone at another bowling alley crime scene with him, there might just be another homicide." She wrote:

557. While working a bowling scene crime scene, it is bad to use every bowling joke, quote, one-liner, quip, remark, jab, parody, wisecrack, pun, and retort I have in my collection.

"Hey. You laughed every time," he argued.

"No. No I didn't."

"You looked like you were laughing."

"I wasn't laughing at your jokes, Greg. I was laughing at the images I had of cutting off your head and sending it up the ball return."

'Oooooo,' went around the room.

"She gets married, she gets crotchety. I'm staying single forever."

"You're staying single cuz no woman in her right mind would marry you," Mandy jabbed.

"What is this? Get Greg night?"

"No. We just haven't found anything good to get Hodges for, yet," Robbins told him.

Everyone but Hodges laughed.

"I resent that!" was the best he could come up with. Then he grabbed Sara's chalk and added:

558. There is no known religion that followers wear capes on their 'day of worship.' (Inspired by DustBunnyQueen)

He turned, glaring at Archie.

"Well… That explains a lot," Langston commented.

"What?" Archie asked.

"The cape you wore the other day. The yellow, satin cape," Hodges told him. "The one you said you had to wear on your day of worship."

Archie just smiled. "Yes. It was a pretty yellow cape, wasn't it?"

"Oh god. Kill me now," Wendy laughed. "Oh! I just thought of something we can make fun of Hodges for." She held her hand out for his chalk.

He held it to his chest, away from her.

"Give."

He wouldn't give.

"Giiiiive, Hodges."

"Have mine," Langston said.

She took his, smirking at Hodges.

"Whatever it is, I emphatically deny right now. I didn't do it. It was someone else."

Wendy printed:

559. Even though it makes everything pretty and neat, I may not gift wrap evidence before giving it to someone. (Submitted by CSIfreak24 and a friend)

"YES!" Nick said, raising his hands. "Someone finally put it on the wall! YES

!"

"Thank God, is all I can say," Ecklie said.

"But… They were pretty and neat. Great for birthdays. Nobody liked them?"

"One?" Sara asked. "Sure. Ten or twelve? Not so much."

"Oh. I see how it is."

David held his hand out for a chalk. Wendy handed her's over. He wrote:

560. I will not admit there is a whodunit betting pool anywhere in the building. (Submitted by VessaMorana)

"That's not really a rule," Ecklie said.

"No. It's more like a guideline."

"No. It needs to be a rule not to do it."

At different tempos, the room minus Langston recited, "Once it's written on the wall, it cannot be erased."

Langston laughed. "Conrad, am I to assume this is an unspoken rule?"

"Unfortunately. Chalk, Hodges." Ecklie held out his hand.

Hodges not only held it to his chest, but also pretended to hide behind Wendy. It made them all laugh.

David handed over his chalk and Ecklie added:

561. It is bad to give John and Jane Doe's 'unique and identifiable names.' For example: Blondie Dagwood, Barney Rubble, Nell Fenwick, Dudley Dorite, Tweet Bell, Heckle Jeckle, Twiggy Sanders, Boob Job, Dead Sayl S'Man, Cleanup Inaisle Slevin, Dead Drunk Dude, Betty Boop, Gril Killedby-Porkchop, Gotta Getta MeGucci-Feminis, Professor Pat Pending, Red Max Crimson, Devil Worn Prada, Morg-in Blues, Comex Artus, Voltaire Frenchman, Luke Bear, Rufus Ruffcut, Speedle Racer, Yogi Bear, William Barbera, Joseph Hanna, London Calling, Redshirt Dumed, Mightb MacGuyver, Fin Al Count-Down, En R. Gizer, or Running Paynt Sapien. (Inspired by Crimson Angel Winges)

"That's like half our list! That's not cool. Not cool at all!" Greg protested.

Ecklie smirked. "But once written, it can't be erased."

"You are disowned as a supervisor. Please check your rank at the door," Mandy told him.

Nick grabbed Hodge's chalk and wrestled it away. He wrote:

562. Murphy hates you. Don't tempt him. (Inspired by Augusta)

"Sadly, Nicky, that is far too true," Catherine said and sighed.

"And in so many ways."

She held her hand out for his chalk. She added:

563. We do not report to supervisors or press that a deceased victim is in 'fine,' 'cherry,' 'prime,' or 'outstanding' condition.

"Aw come on!" Nick and Greg cried out.

"No!" she told them, pointing at one nose and then the other. "Bad CSI. Bad!"

They laughed. She added under it:

564. White or light colored clothing naturally attracts blood.

"Hey. I wore a grey shirt to one and didn't get a spot of blood on it."

"You're a guy. You don't count," Wendy told him.

"Yes, but even we men have issues." Langston held his hand out. "May I?"

"You bet," Nick tossed him his chalk.

"This one is long overdue, I think." Langston printed:

565. Wearing a tie to a crime scene will result in it becoming evidence.

"Memories of your first day?" David asked.

"I loved that tie. It was my lucky tie, you know."

"And now it's your cut lucky tie," Catherine commented.

"You should have warned me, Catherine. You said I could wear anything without logos, clothes had to be clean, and no red T-shirts. You said nothing about ties."

"Are you telling me I have to buy you a tie?"

"I would never tell anyone to buy me a tie." Langston returned to his spot. "Never."

She laughed. "I'll take it under consideration."

"Oh. I have one. I just had a conversation with the Chief about this," Brass told them. He took Ecklie's chalk and wrote:

566. It is bad to premise a public apology with, "Against my will and better judgment…"

"I told you that would be bad," Catherine told him. "You should have listened to me."

"But it felt good at the time. It was worth it."

"What are we talking about? Where were we?" Greg asked.

"You were buying hair gel," Catherine told him.

"I don't use hair gel."

"For testing a theory at a crime scene, Greg."

"Oh!"

"Mom, I think Greg's blond is kicking in!" Many called out. "Either that or he's running on fumes."

"Don't call me mom, and I stop babysitting after they're twenty-one."

"That's not what I've seen," Ecklie jabbed.

"Ray!" Gina the receptionist cried, grabbing his arm. "You… Just… Witnessed… The rare and ever so illusive, Ecklie Joke. It's so rare, that women have been known to faint and has made men go insane. Are you okay? Do you need to lie down? What are your symptoms?"

With the others, Langston started laughing at the joke.

"I'm still in the room, you know," Ecklie told her.

"There it was again! Are you doing okay, Ray?" she asked, grinning. "Do I need to get you medical help? Do you need another beer to help ease the brain pain?"

"You do know I can fire you, right?" Ecklie asked her.

"O.M.G! It happened again. Seriously, Ray, are you okay?"

Ray pushed her hand off. "My sides are killing me. Stop! Stop, please!"

After a few minutes of laughter, Ecklie pulled himself together enough to add another rule:

567. When someone of the public asks what my job entails, I will not say, "Have someone kill you, and then I'll show you."

"But it was fun!" Greg whined with a dramatic stomp.

Nick looked at his leg, then his face. "Drama queen."

Greg made a face and another stomp.

"Greg, you really are running on fumes, aren't you?" Catherine asked. "This is what… You're fourth wind?"

"Seventh."

"Oh Jesus!"

"I've heard of a second wind, but a seventh?" Langston asked.

"Yeah. See, some people just drop when they get tired or get supper grouchy, like me," Nick explained. "Greggo, here, he goes through cycles of dead tired to bouncing off the walls with each new wind of energy. The more winds he gets the more annoying and like a drunk he acts. We try to avoid keeping him around after the third or fourth wind."

Greg let out an evil laugh.

"Stop. Now." Sara ordered him. "I will stuff you in a locker if you do not stop now."

Greg sidled up to her. "Make. Me. Butter buttons."

The room erupted in laughter.

"I do remember one that we men need to nip in the bud," Nick said. He added:

568. Female co-workers are not to taunt men who are testing 'feminine products, toys, or items' just because they don't know how the item works, is used, installed, or worn.

"You mean like Hodges has no clue how to use tampons?" Wendy asked.

"I do to!" he protested, and then quieter added, "Now."

It made the room laugh.

Ecklie added:

569. It is wrong to make employees write 'I will not set the lab on fire' one hundred times after they have done so.

"It works in classrooms and you just insinuated that I am in fact in charge of children," Catherine told him. "Surely you can't be serious, Conrad."

Greg started giggling.

"I am serious."

"And don't call him Shirley," Greg howled. "OH! I have one for Nick!"

"Oh God," Nick groaned.

Greg wrote:

570. You are not Tevya, and he never actually fiddled on the roof.

"All I said was I felt like a fiddler on the roof, not that I felt like Tevya."

"Uhm… You actually said you felt like Tevya fiddling on the roof," Sara said. "You told him that over your police radio where we all could hear it."

"No, no, no. It was on my phone."

"Nick, we all heard you. You said you felt like Tevya fiddling on the roof," Catherine said.

"Okay. Fine. Maybe I did. But he didn't know anything about the movie or play or book. He'd never read it."

"He asked me about it," Langston said.

"New CSI should avoid finding creative ways to annoy the assistant supervisor."

"Why? You can't fire him," Catherine told him.

"Catherine! How am I ever supposed to control my subordinates if you take away all my good threats?"

She shrugged. "I guess you're going to have to resort torture tactics."

"Uh. No." Ecklie said. "You, Stokes, will find new and creative ways to keep your subordinates in line. I recommend chocolate."

Nick stared at him but Ecklie didn't crack a smile to reveal his joke until Nick was laughing.

"Damn! You're on a role today," Mandy told him.

He just smiled.

"And since Sara was so kind to back up the room clown," Nick said, and added.

571. I should not retort to an unruly reporter or suspect, "I'm not the girl your mother warned you about. Her imagination was never this good."

They laughed.

"But that reporter had it coming. I mean, he was being rude, he kept grabbing me and Catherine's butt, he kept sneaking past the line, he stole evidence, and he deserved it!" She looked around the room, and then added, "And he was the killer."

"And that makes saying it right. Of course. How could I have missed that?" Ecklie quipped.

She grinned. "Yes. See, you are a wise Under-Sheriff?"

"What do you want?"

She just smiled. It was better to let him wonder.

"I have one. I've already been warned never to do it again." Nick wrote:

572. When dealing with a person with multiple personalities, we do not ask an alter to come back because it was 'more cooperative and in a better mood.'

"And even though I can't let you ever do it again, Nick, I have to admit I've watched that interview just for amusement several times," Catherine told him.

"Wait! What did we miss?" Robbins asked.

"Nick got this man with four personalities," Catherine told him. "He was having issues getting him to cooperate with two of the personalities, but this one was very talkative and pleasant. When another personality took over, he demanded to have that other personality back for those reasons."

"Samuel. Samuel writes me a letter once a week. Tells me all about the naughtiness the other personalities keep gettin' into."

"Naughtiness?" Wendy asked. "Who says naughtiness?"

"Apparently Nick," Hodges answered. "I guess he's just one of those really old assistant supervisors."

Another round of 'ooooo' ran around the room, with laughter on its heels.

"It's all right. It's all right. I wasn't going to do this to you, Hodges, but you left me no other choice!" Nick told him.

"What? What are you going to do?"

Nick wrote:

573. You do not spell Cheeseburger as Cheezburger, and then blame it on the hours you were forced to surf the Internet for information, IBIS for bullets, or CODIS for fingerprint matches.

"It's all his fault," he pointed at Archie.

"What I do?"

"You had to take a vacation and left me to do my job and your job."

"I had nothing to do with crazy spellings."

"I went into system overload, and there wasn't a Bing to make it better."

Archie slugged his arm.

"Ow! What is that for?"

"Now you have something to whine about."

"I don't like you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Nope. Don't."

"Damn. So much for giving you that copy of Star Trek like you wanted."

"I like you again."

They laughed again.

Langston walked up to the wall and added two:

574. Always keep a Popsicle stick in the top of your kit for when your nose itches after you've gloved.

575. Doctor Raymond Langston is not to be referred to as Dr. Feel Good – either.

"Hey, yeah. Ray taught me that little trick. It was a great trick," Greg said.

"And he apparently didn't like adopting my nick name," Robbins commented.

"Not when I read the lyrics of the song it refers too. I felt perhaps it would make people questions my real job."

"Wait. Real job?" Ecklie asked.

"Yes."

"What real job?"

"Oh? You didn't know?"

"Know what?"

"I tame lions on my days off."

Snickers started until Ecklie cracked a smile. "Right. Okay. Why does the joke always seem to be on me?"

"You're a supervisor. I think it comes with the territory," Catherine told him.

"Hm." He took Nick's chalk. "I was considering finding creative ways to dock wages for these, but now that we're here, I'll just write the rule and see how inventive my subordinates really are." He wrote:

576. Nicknames for Under-Sheriff Ecklie that are to never be seen in a report ever again: the lab's Turtle Shell Wax endorser, Uncle Bad, Go-Getter-Yo-Yo-Ecklie-Man, Ecklie The Shiny Head, Chrome Dome, The Plan Man, The Steal-Your-Danish Man, or Lex Luther.

"The steal-your-Danish Man?" Catherine asked.

"Yes. Came from day shift. Don't get it, but there it is."

"Whoa. So if you steal Danish, did you steal my salad too?" Greg asked. "Cuz it wasn't in there and I'm starving. If you like put your ear right here—" He lifted his shirt up and jabbed his finger into his belly button. "You could hear it asking my spine if my throat's been slit."

"Okay! Time to get Greg home before he gets an eighth wind!" Catherine announced.

She grabbed her purse, Greg's arm, and headed for the door. Nick hung back as the group left. Langston noticed and waited until the other's had left. He walked back to Nick and held out his hand.

"What?" Nick asked.

"Thank you for including me in this."

Nick grinned, drank some of his beer. "You were voted in, man."

Langston dropped his hand. "I was voted in?"

"For most everyone in this group, we were voted in by the predecessors. We'd been talking about it for a while, but there was the shake up with Riley leaving, some crazy cases, and it got pushed back two months. After the hell of a night you were having, I reminded them we'd voted you in a while ago. So no thanks needed, Ray. I'm glad to have you involved with this."

"So am I."

Nick laughed, looking at the wall.

"What is it?"

"I dunno how superstitious you are, but we all believe, at different levels, this room holds white magic. When you need help, a pick me up, going through a rough patch, this room helps you."

"I think it's the group dynamics I saw here that does that."

Nick looked at him, shrugging one shoulder. "Maybe. But isn't that still some kind of magic?"

Langston smiled. "It could be. Well, I'm beat. I need to get home."

"Hey, there's a stair well on the way out. On the ground level, the door alarm's broken and the camera points at the wall. If you're taking your beer, use that exit. It'll bring you out at the back of the parking lot."

"Okay. Thank you."

"One other thing, Ray. We take this secret serious. We'd hate to see what would happen to this place if the wrong people found out about it, especially considering our work. You gotta keep it secret."

"It goes to my grave with me, Nick. I wouldn't want to destroy something this creative."

Nick raised his beer to him. "Good man. Good man."

Langston left. He knew he'd think a lot on what Nick said about the power of the room. Regardless of what he decided, he was glad they had included him today. Leaving this morning he felt more connected to the team than he had since he'd started.