Ch.2

New Year's Eve

11:32 PM

The average concentration of oxygen in the atmosphere was 21.0% by volume. At 12% a loss of consciousness was likely. His only question was how long can a person survive in a sealed box that was 2 feet wide, 6 feet long, and one and a half feet deep before they run out of oxygen? An adult of average weight consumes about 3.33 10-6 m3 s-1 of oxygen while at rest. The typical volume of an adult is 0.1 m3.

Now all he had to do was the math in his head while the ground shook around him as he tried not to panic. The answer was 7.8 104 s, or a person would likely suffocate after 21 hours and 47 min. In reality, it could be shorter due to carbon dioxide, breathing heavier, and panic. He most likely had sixteen hours, give or take. He couldn't panic.

His breathing was steady as he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on keeping his inhaling and exhaling evenly paced. The less energy he used the better. He had to stay calm, stay still, and wait. There wasn't anything else he could do except think. He could think, remember, and try to put it all together in case he was rescued. Even if he wasn't—

He reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out his notepad and pen. Turning to the last page, he left it resting on his chest, pen in his hand as he thought back to the start of all this mess.

December 25th, 1959

Six Days Earlier

Barstow, California

It was a cool Christmas night in the desert one hundred and fifty miles outside of Las Vegas, Nevada. Under the buzzing hum of the blue, pink, and green neon sign of the Blue Sparrow Motel off the convergence highways of route 66 and 91, private investigator Gil Grissom leaned against the driver's side door of the white '56 Cadillac and lit a cigarette at the same time he checked the time on his watch. It was 9:45. In the distance he heard the occasional motor of a passing vehicle out on the desert highway, coming from the radio of the parked blue and white '57 Pontiac Catalina coupe five spots down was Ray Charles singing "You know the night time, darling (night and day), is the right time (night and day), to be (night and day) with the one you love, now", and closing in on him were the clicking of heels on the sidewalk.

Tilting his head back to peer out from under the brim of his hat and through the smoke, he saw the woman who wore the heels. His eyes started at the black heels and worked up, admiring every inch of the beautiful woman walking his way. Brunette hair tied up into a purple silk scarf, her bangs framing her face, thick makeup around her eyes and on her cheeks, and a hint of red lipstick on her thin lips. Long sleeveless black dress that ended just past the knees. All he could think of as he blew the smoke out of his mouth was a poem by Lord Byron:

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies…

Stopping at the motel room number 4, she removed a key, unlocked the door, and then casted a quick sultry glance his way over her shoulder before slipping into the dark room. The door was left slightly ajar. That was enough of an invitation to get him off the car's door as he slipped through the door after her.

The blinds in the window were partly opened at an angle, causing the bright neon lights to illuminate the interior of the otherwise dark room. There was a table and chair by the window, a long dresser against the wall with a small radio on top of it. Across from it was a full-sized bed, blue duvet, and on top of the duvet, basking in the glow of the neon lights, sat the woman.

She was leaning back on her elbows, knees together but ankles apart, and she had a come hither look in her hungry eyes that had him reaching up to undo his tie. He also removed the hat and tossed it on top of the table beside the ashtray. He stubbed the cigarette out as he stared down at her. She was watching him under long eyelashes as he removed his suit jacket and tie that went on the back of the chair along with his gun holster. The newly bought and opened pack of cigarettes and lighter went on the nightstand next to the phone. Stepping up to the woman's legs that he wanted to get between, he used his leg to spread them apart. Her seductive eyes never left his eyes as she sat up and reached for her belt.

While she undid his belt, he unbuttoned his dress shirt to expose his bare chest. Feeling her kiss over his stomach, he let out a breath as his eyes closed. Then she eased down the zipper as he ran his hand through her hair. She really knew how to work him up into a sweat. She was also a tease as she only left red lipstick kisses on his boxer shorts before going back to licking his stomach. She also knew how to make a guy feel mean. Mean was what she wanted. Tangling his hand into her hair, he pulled her back by the hair as he leaned down and kissed her hard against the lips. Her moan reached his ears; he knew he'd never get tired of hearing that sound.

Pushing her down onto the bed, he draped himself over her body as he continued his hard desperate kissing until her breathing became breathless. He kissed over her neck as his hand ran up her thigh, under the dress and groaned into her collarbone when he felt only bare skin. His own hunger for her growing, knotting in his gut as he felt himself get hard as she moved her leg between his. Grabbing her leg under the knee, he lifted it to hook around his waist as he moved against her, inciting a deep moan from her lips.

"You are so beautiful."

Her hand reached down between them, into his boxers, and he gasped as she started stroking him. His chest was getting tighter as he fought to steady his breathing. "Do you like your Christmas present?" she asked into his ear, making him tremble as she licked it.

Trying to stay focused to make this last, he moved aside the dress strap and kissed her exposed shoulder as he told her, "You didn't have to buy a dress for me, you know I'm a suit and tie guy."

She started laughing. Her laughter brought so much joy to his soul that it was impossible not to smile into the kiss that he placed on her chest. Smacking him on the shoulder, she said, "Gil, don't make me laugh. This is supposed to be rough…risqué—"

"Believe me, darlin'," he said as he moved the top of the dress down to expose a breast, "it's about to get indecent."

As he took a nipple into his mouth, he pushed the dress up higher around her waist then slid two fingers deep inside as he heard the hitch of her breath getting caught in her throat. He bit, licked and kissed over her breasts and his fingers and thumb brought her to climax. Kissing up her neck, he locked his lips with hers until neither one of them could breathe. Resting his forehead against hers, he waited for her to open her eyes. He also wanted a moment to enjoy how good she felt. Her hands were kneading his back under his shirt, nails digging into his skin, and against his chest he felt her heart pounding. Then she opened her brown eyes and gazed up at him.

Upon seeing the smothering heat of her desire, and the love that burned inside her heart, he let out a deep breath as he relaxed against her as he said, "Sara?" When she hummed under him, biting her lip as she bucked up into him as her hunger grew, he told her, "I simply adore you."

Grabbing the back of his neck, he felt her fingers spread into his hair as a smile spread over her face before she leaned up and kissed him. "I love you too, babe," she spoke against his lips.

She wanted risqué; he'd make her beg for it. Pushing her down hard into the bed, he drove his tongue deep into her mouth. Then he ripped his lips away, grabbed her behind the left knee, and brought her leg up to his shoulder. His hand ran over the heel as he kissed her ankle before removing the heel from her foot. He took his time as he left a trail of kisses from her foot down her inner thigh to her stomach and then back up her other leg to the opposite foot where he removed the other heel. With her squirming, panting, and desperate under him, and both legs wrapped over his shoulders, he dropped down her body, kissed over her stomach, and then put his mouth where his hand had been.

She gasped as she grabbed at his hair, nails scratching his head and neck, as he devoured her. All he heard after that were the moans she was making, her pleas as she begged, and then the thump of the headboard against the wall as he used his knees to spread hers open as he pushed hard and fast inside her as she threw her head back into the pillow with a gasp. Resting his left arm next to her head for support, he leaned over her as he started moving slowly. She cupped his face, bringing him down for a kiss as his right hand ran along her side, over the bunched-up dress to grab her thigh. Her other hand was caressing his back under his shirt.

"I want—" she gasped and then bit her lip as she moaned out loud as he shifted his weight and filled her slowly and deeply.

"What'd you want?" he asked as he nuzzled her neck and kissed her skin.

"Please, faster—"

"Yeah?"

"—harder—"

As she panted into his mouth, he hooked her knee into his elbow and pushed her leg back as his own desperation grew as he gave her what she wanted. She reached her right hand up and latched it onto his left hand and squeezed tightly. Over the squeaking of the mattress and thumping of the headboard, he brought them both to the brink of ecstasy until she screamed out his name. With her name on his lips, he followed after her.

Then they were kissing. Long, wet, lazy kisses that he loved so much. Their hunger quenched, bodies sedated, and all that was left was the afterglow. Resting on his back with her draped over his body, he grabbed the pack of cigarettes and lighter and lit one up. Her head was resting against his chest, fingers caressing his stomach as kisses to his chest punctuated the silence, while the pink, blue, and green neon between strips of dark shadow from the window blinds covered them like a blanket.

She shifted up and gave him a kiss on the lips. It lingered on his lips as she snaked her hand up his arm and into his fingers. She took the cigarette from his hand and he let her roll off his chest as she brought it to her lips. The loss of her weight and warmth were missed before she returned the smoke to his hand and stretched out against him. His hand trailed down over her body that was now free of the dress.

The longing and yearning for companionship was one thing, but what he knew he felt with her was something entirely different. He loved her deeply. It was a painful sort of love and it ached him all over. She was too much for him at times.

Sara Sidle wasn't nearly a prim or proper girl, but she didn't have to be. She was real and in his eyes she was perfect in every way; even when she decided to smoke his cigarettes despite the fact that she didn't smoke. He really didn't either, except for when he did, which included after sex. His girl liked sex, and drinking, and chasing leads around town with him at all hours of the day and night. She also carried a gun, which was currently in the car.

The black dress she'd worn for him was a rarity as she preferred pants and blouses; she didn't even wear skirts. No matter what she wore or how she wore it, she was just as beautiful, as classy and elegant. She was still the only girl that turned his head when she walked by.

She also was a risk taker, preferring to act on the spur of the moment just for the hell of it. He preferred thinking things through first, and as she'd told him many times before, sometimes thinking too much got him into trouble. She kept him on his toes with all the times she'd acted impulsively, but that was something he adored about her. Where he acted purely on logic, thinking with his head and not his heart, she was all heart. He needed the balance. They both did.

He reached up and moved her hair away from her face as his thumb brushed over her cheek below her left eye. The makeup came off on his thumb and he chuckled. She didn't normally wear so much makeup, if any. She wanted risqué, a "strangers in the night" scenario. Another spur of the moment act she'd come up with when they pulled into the motel parking lot very late that evening. All he was looking to do was get some sleep. All she was looking for was dirty, passionate sex. He wasn't one to complain.

Sara was a woman of few ambitions, wants and needs. Influence, power, money and a glamorous lifestyle? Never. His girl wanted meaning, love and adventure, but mostly she wanted him. She wanted the work they did because in their work was where they grew together. It had been where and how they had fallen in love. She'd told him four years ago that she was going to make him break his rules, and she'd been right. Not a day has gone by since where he hadn't noticed a rule broken, a boundary overstepped, and his comfort zone dwindling. It was never a bad thing. He'd spent nine years where some days he didn't feel alive at all, that was unless she was around. Now, every minute spent with her he couldn't deny that he was alive and living.

He needed her more than he needed air to breathe. She was his partner in crime, his confidant, and lover. Mostly, importantly, she was his best friend. He wanted to protect her always, fight any man for her. He had killed to save her life and he'd do it again. His love for her ran deeper than the ocean and higher than the sky. It was overwhelming, illogical, and all consuming.

Rolling onto his side, he stared down into her brown eyes as he felt his love for her consume him once again. Her hair was spread out over the pillow as she smiled up at him. "Marry me."

She stared up at him in resigned amusement and love as she placed her hand on his chest and started to rub. "Ask me that again in six months."

He nearly smiled but saw her hesitation in saying her usual response. Every six months for the past four years he'd asked her to marry him to the tune of the same answer. At first, it'd been a quip. Later, a running joke. But now, she seemed pained by it and he wasn't sure the reason.

She took a breath, let it out, and then told him, "You know I will marry you one day."

"Yeah?" Now he was the one sounding uncertain.

Her eyes grew heavy with concern as she continued to rub his chest. "I will, I promise."

"But not within the next six months?"

She was debating something. It was in her eyes, the way they nearly welled with tears and the growing concern, almost anger. Whatever it was, it was holding her back from saying yes. "I don't want to be your housewife."

He shook his head, saying, "I never want you to be, unless that's something you want. Sara, even if we get married, it won't change—"

"You can't say that. It'll change everything."

He breathed out as he rested his head on hers and gave her a kiss. He leaned on his arm so he could caress her face with his thumb. "Do you know what it's like for me to love you?" When she shook her head, he told her, "It's not hectic or chaotic. There's no turbulence on the inside. It's quiet, because I know that I'm not alone. You're always there. You're my home. That's forever, whether we're married or not."

She did cry then. Tears that broke from her eyes slid down into her hair as she cupped his face. He turned into her hand and kissed the skin on her palm. "Do you know why I love you so much?" When he shook his head no, she told him, "You love me for who I am. You're also the only one I can truly depend on for anything."

She depended on him. It got him thinking about how much he depended on her. She kept him going in life during the times when he didn't think he'd make it.

They were quiet for a while as they looked at one another. In her eyes he saw so much, including his future. She was his whole world. "Don't ever change, Miss Sidle. I'm depending on you as well."

"For what?"

"Giving me the air I breathe, the beat in my heart, the hope in my soul…You keep me alive."

They closed the distance between their lips, and as they kissed each other goodnight. He laid his head on her chest and closed his eyes as he heard the beating of her heart. Then he felt her fingers in his hair as he drifted off to sleep in the same way he had fallen in love with her: slowly, then all at once.

He awoke a few hours before dawn. As the neon poured in through the blinds, casting slated lines of light between dark shadows over the bed, he watched her through the open bathroom door. There was a pink towel wrapped around her body, a white one wrapped up her hair on her head, her feet bare, and in her hand was a hairbrush but she wasn't using it to comb her hair. She was singing into it as she danced in front of the mirror.

He couldn't help but smile as she turned around and shook her hips across the floor over to the bed. The towels came off, revealing the bra and panties she wore and nothing else. Not a trace of the thick makeup from the night before or the red lipstick. The dress was hanging up on a hanger on the back of the bathroom door ready for the dry cleaners. She stopped singing into the brush as she combed it through her hair, a hint of a smile on her lips as she kneeled on the bed, leaned over his body to reach for something behind him on the nightstand, and kissed him.

Breathing into the kiss, he deepened it as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. He never wanted to let her go, but he had to shower, he had to eat, and they had a job to do. Rolling her onto her back, he nearly melted into her body as she wrapped her arms and legs around him.

She was laughing. "Gil, I just showered and I'm starving."

"I'm hungry too," he said as he rubbed his hands over her arms, down her chest and stomach, he felt her through her panties and moaned at how wet she was. Good lord, she was going to be the death of him.

An hour later they walked inside the roadside diner next to the motel as Christmas music played on the radio. There were plenty of empty tables and counter chairs. He tossed his hat on the counter in front of an empty bar chair as he kept walking to the back of the diner. Sara had sat down at the counter and grabbed a menu.

Taking out some change from his pocket, he opened the door to the phone booth and slipped inside and shut the door. He dropped some money in and made a long-distance call to San Francisco.

It was picked up in the third ring as he heard Sofia say, "Thank you for calling Grissom and Sidle Detective Agency. This is Sofia, how may I help you?"

"Sofia? I was expecting to be transferred to the answering service. What are you doing at the office?"

"Well, I have this hard-ass for a boss who doesn't like me taking holidays."

He knew for a fact that he'd given her the week off. "Then you should quit," he said, joking right back, as he pulled out his notepad and pen. "You should work for me."

"Can't. He pays me for the overtime, besides, I'm in love with his associate."

That was her reason for being at the office. He smiled into the phone and asked, "Have you heard from Warrick?"

"He called last night. Said when you get to Vegas come by Pike's Gambling Hall."

He wrote that down and asked, "Did he leave a number?"

"Dudley 2-7383. It's a room and board place called Dolly's Inn. There's also a restaurant next door."

"Let me guess, Dolly's Diner?"

"Strike one, boss. Harold's Deli. Dolly's husband."

He wrote all that down. Glancing towards the counter and saw the waitress placing two coffee cups in front of Sara and a pot of coffee. She left the pot. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. The owner of Pike's Gambling Hall is Walt Braun. He's Sam Braun's son."

"Thanks, Sofia. Go home."

"Why? What I wanted for Christmas isn't there."

He leaned against the wall of the booth and let out a breath. She had a point. "Why don't you book a flight? Come out here to Vegas and surprise Warrick. My dime."

"If you're willing to pay for the ticket, I'll book the first flight out."

"Good. Warrick will be thrilled. I'll call back before we leave here and get the flight number and arrival time. We can pick you up at the airport."

"Thanks, Grissom."

They hung up and he headed past the rows of empty booths to the counter where he sat beside his girl and poured himself the first cup of coffee of the day. Taking a look at the Coca-Cola clock on the wall decorated in silver and gold tinsel, he saw it was 5:15 in the morning.

Picking up the cup of coffee, he heard Sara tell him, "I ordered your usual. What did Sofia say? Has she heard from Warrick?"

"He called last night. He's been staying at Dolly's Inn, eating lunch at Harold's Deli, and spending his nights at Pike's Gambling Hall, which is owned by Sam Braun's son, Walt Braun."

December 26th, 1959

Las Vegas, Nevada

Nearly three hours later they were driving along the strip, convertible top down and headlights shining out against the rising sun as he slowed to a cruising speed. The first casino off Highway 91 which turned into "The Strip", was to the right, the Tropicana Hotel Casino, as well as the Dunes was off to the left. Next up was the Flamingo, and then the Sands. Across from the Sands on the left side of the street was the Rampart Hotel Casino, which was the biggest and luxurious of Sam Braun's many casinos. He owned several smaller establishments, including motels, restaurants, gambling halls, and a golf course and horse stables.

He took a passing glance at the Rampart and drove on by so he could take in the entire four-mile strip of desolation. Further down was the New Frontier, the Desert Inn, Royal Nevada Hotel, the Riviera and the Stardust. To the left he saw the high tower before he saw the building for the "KENO" radio station which was next to the Hotel El Rancho and across from it on the right side of the street was the Sahara Hotel. Crossing San Francisco Avenue, he was no longer on "the strip" as he made a left onto Main Street, towards the area of the city that housed the courthouse, police department, city hall, and bus depot, and the Union Pacific train station.

Next to the bus depot and train station was a car rental service. He pulled into the parking lot and got out of the Cadillac. He turned around and shut the door then kissed Sara who had slid across the seat to take the wheel. She was going to get them a room for the week and then head to the airport to pick up Sofia while he was going to track down Warrick. They were to call the answering service and leave a message for each other once they had something to relay.

"Be careful," she told him.

"You too, darling," he told her before heading into the building.

After he rented a car, a black with white hood '57 Buick, he spread the map of Las Vega over the hood and found where Pike's Gambling Hall was located. It was off Paradise Road, on the corner of San Francisco Avenue, and across from the horse racetrack. There was an ad on the map for Dolly's Inn advertising it as the "future of hospitality" in comfort, professionalism, and ethical operation with free parking and "no tipping". The address listed was off Paradise Road, but the address listed for contacting the "corporate office" was a P.O. Box in Reno, Nevada.

Flipping the map over, he scanned the listed street index and all the other ads featured on the sides of the map. One of them next to the "All Roads Lead to Las Vegas" map of the continental United States was for Mesquite Club Estates "Las Vegas Land Boom!". It was an investment opportunity to invest for profit, security, and income in up to 20,000 square foot lots. The developer, Silver Key Inc. 250 Fremont Street, or call Dudley 2-7286, would finance ninety percent of the cost. Next to the ad was a message to re-elect the local sheriff, Claude Montgomery, with "five years of honest dedication". Seeing how Las Vegas was practically built by the mafia and the Teamsters union, aka the International Brotherhood of Teamsters (IBT), he wondered about that "honest dedication" as he folded up the map and got into the car.

He turned the radio on once he started south down Main Street. As Johnny Cash's "Walk the Line" played, he passed the courthouse and several business centers then crossed over Charleston Avenue past the Chambers of Commerce on the right and a lot of palm trees. Then when Main merged into "the strip" that was Las Vegas Boulevard he took a left onto Paradise Road and headed one block south. On his right was Dolly's Inn, Harold's Deli, and across the intersection was an open lot and in the distance of the flat desert he saw the horse racetrack and the sign that read "Las Vegas Jockey Club". It looked abandoned in the barren desert. Further down was a construction site with equipment, machinery, and building materials. On the opposite side of the street, he saw peeking out of the palm trees and mesquite trees, the very tall and very beige sign for the Sahara Hotel.

Since he was facing the back of the hotel where the outdoor pool was located, he saw the sign that advertised the hotel as "a mirage come true". Beside that sign, he saw one that announced the comedian Red Skelton would be playing the hotel New Year's Eve party. Next to that was a fake cardboard cutout of a palm tree.

Turning his eyes away from the view, he pulled open the door to Dolly's Inn and walked inside. There was a brochure table immediately to his left along with a newspaper stand and to the right were restrooms and a room labeled "Shower". There was also an opening that led into a small communal kitchen. He continued over to the counter along the far wall as he heard the radio softly playing Christmas music and he took in the array of decorations, including a fully decorated, though incredibly small, palm tree that was in the corner.

There was no one at the counter and was okay with keeping it that way as his eyes searched over the room keys hanging on the side wall over the counter. Four were missing. If he wanted, he could grab his own key. A registry book was open in front of him on the counter next to a bowl for payment. He scanned the names and saw that Warrick had gotten a room, 3E, two days ago. He'd been in Vegas for a week. When he first arrived, he was staying at a motel off the strip.

Checking the mailbox for 3E, he didn't see any envelopes or correspondences. Glancing at the keys as he headed to the staircase, he saw that the one for 3E was missing. There were stairs that went up five flights and room 3E was on the third floor at the end of the hallway on the left side.

He knocked on the door and announced himself, saying, "Warrick? It's Grissom." Without receiving an answer, he knocked again and then tried the doorknob. It turned and he opened the door and walked in.

The room he entered was lit up by only the sunlight that was pouring through the front window that faced east. Going to the window, he looked out east toward the mountains and then south towards the abandoned horse racing track. He moved away from the window and headed to the open door on the far wall. Next to the open door was a sofa and standing lamp. There was also a small round table, two chairs, and a desk with stationary for Dolly's Inn and envelopes, ashtray and rotary phone.

Walking into the next room, he saw a made bed, chair and an open closet. There was no luggage, no clothes, and no Warrick. Going back into the other room, he picked up the phone and dialed his office number in San Francisco. It'd be transferred to the answering service. As he waited, he picked up the stationary and tilted it in the sunlight but didn't see any indentions in the paper.

A woman answered the call. He gave her his information to verify who he was and that he was seeing if he had any messages. There was a pause on the line and then she came back on and told him, "There'd been no calls for you Mr. Grissom. Would you like to leave a call back number—"

"No, thank you," he told her before hanging up.

As he went to leave the room, he stopped as he noticed something on the small round table. There were dry droplets over the surface of the light-colored wood top. When blood dried it appeared brown. And he was definitely looking at dry blood spots. He also smelt bleach and saw a discoloration on the wall over one of the chairs. He checked the floor and saw droplets leading out of the room and into the hallway.

He followed the blood trail all the way down the stairs to the "Shower" room and when he opened the door, he saw the missing Inn manager in a shower stall. The name tag on the bloody jacket worn by the dead body read "Steven". Backing out of the shower room, he shut the door and then walked behind the counter and picked up the phone and dialed the operator.

Once the operator answered, he told her, "Get me the police." He had to report a murder.

Closing his eyes, he ran a hand over the back of his tense neck as all he could think about was that none of this looked good for Warrick. He was the last one to sign-in for the room and he was currently missing.

TBC…

Disclaimer songs mentioned: "(Night Time Is) The Right Time" by Ray Charles. "Walk the Line" by Johnny Cash.