Disclaimer : Please see chapter one for disclaimer.
Authors note: Thanks ever so for the reviews. Glad some folks are enjoying a Brass centred fic. Hope you continue to enjoy.
SEVEN
The car doors clunked as both were shut. The beep of the alarm setting had Jim Brass turn. He half grinned, half grimaced as Warrick and Nick strode towards him. Nick held a hand in acknowledgement.
'Hey Jim, sorry we're late,' he beamed.
'Yeah Gris was filling us in,' put in Warrick. 'Thought we'd better come along and make sure you don't get yer butt kicked in the boxing club.'
'Yo ho, very funny Rick. Did Gris tell you everything?'
Nick nodded enthusiastically.'Sure did. Gotta say I'd have liked to have seen you waist deep trawling about the mud bath in yer undies.'
'Careful Nicholas, I have a big gun ,and I'm not afraid to use it!'
Warrick smiled to himself as Nick carried on grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
'Okay guys,' Warrick ventured. 'Gris said this place was closed when you got here this morning, but looks like it's open now. What are we expecting in here?'
'No idea,' Brass shrugged, ' But you can bet yer ass we'll find another clue waiting if this is the right joint.'
'So we stroll in and get it. Can't be too hard.'
'It's not the clue that bothers me,' Jim said humourlessly, 'It's what I'll have to do to earn it that scares the hell outta me.'
*******************************************************
The club manager looked the three strangers up and down with the scrutiny of a jeweller checking out his favourite diamond. When any of them tried to speak he put a finger to his lips and let out a loud 'sssshhhhh.' Eventually he stepped back and scratched his head.
'So you actually ever done any boxing?' He sounded doubtful. Warrick shook his hands loose in front of him.
'Manage a bit in the gym,' he said confidently.
'Not you,' came the gowl. 'The short middle-aged one.' He pointed a stubby finger at Brass whose eyes widened in alram.
'Me?' Brass turned his own finger inwards and pointed at himself in the chest.
'I don't see any other short, overweight middle aged guys here do you?'
The man tossed a key towards the detective. 'There's some gear in locker 22 over there. Be ready to go in ten minutes. I'll get my boy warmed up.'
All the while he was changing, Brass muttered unintelligable words, mainly to himself. Nick and Warrick stood close by scrutinising the club and the members that moved between disciplines. Finally Brass stood in front of them wearing a pair of oversized knee length blue boxing shorts. On his feet were laced up boxing boots.
'Whoa, Rocky Balboa mark 99,' whistled Nick. Brass shot him a warning glance.
'I don't like this.' Warrick sounded cautious. 'Have you ever boxed before Brass?'
'Nope. Closest I usually get to the ring is on pay per view. Actually I did a little in college but only to keep fit.' He slapped his waist, 'Looks like I need to get back in the gym anyways.'
The manager came over to them and handed over two sets of bandages.'Either one of you guys know how to wrap hands?'
'I do,' Warrick took the bundles.
'Well you two can be his corner seconds. Wrap his hands then put these on.' He threw a pair of gloves at Nick. 'The deal is he goes three, two minute rounds with my club champ.'
'Who the hell asked you to do this?' asked Brass getting agitated as Warrick wound the bandges about his hands.
'Can't say.'
'I'm a cop, of course you can say.'
'Look buddy, I don't don't care if you're the President of the damn US of A, the guy gave me a whole loada cash and said you'd be a good spar for my boy in prep for his first major fight. If you can't do it, then say so now, but you won't get the envelope he left. What's a matter, you too old for this?'
Brass's face went blank. 'Just put the gloves on and show me my corner.'
The bell sounded and the sullen looking twenty year old in the opposing corner, shot from his seat into the centre of the ring where he began to dance wildly, moving his shoulders and ducking his head. Brass stood up and took a deep breath. Warrick slapped him on the shoulder as Nick put the gum shield in place for him. He moved cautiously towards his opponent and put his hands in front of him. Brass had no idea where the first three punches came from but they hurt like the devil. The fourth blow landed in his midriff and he hit the canvas desperately trying to prevent his hamburger from re-surfacing. A standing eight count followed during which he reassured the referee he was able to continue all the while the other boxer bounced on his heel and hadn't broken sweat. After several more blows Jim almost screamed in relief when the bell sounded.
Slumping into the corner, he spat out the gum shield and gasped for air. Nick fanned him rapidly with the towel and Warrick squirted liquid into his mouth.
'Man you're getting creamed,' Warrick surmised.
'Like I need telling!'
'That left eye's coming up,try and keep it away from him. He lands a combo right twice then follows it with a left upper cut. Get that again and you're eye's gonna be cut or closed.'
'So what's your advice?'
'Don't get hit!' The bell clanged again and Nick stuffed the gum shield back. As he went for more punishment Nick called after him,
'Move your feet Jim!'
In the second round, Brass faired little better. The combination punches flurried again and he felt the blood from a cut mingle with the profuse sweat that poured down his body. He silently prayed for the bout to stop and have his injury tended to, but help did not come. Managing to move his feet, he suprised himself how fast he could move when the now not so sullen twenty year old attempted to land a left hook. Rebounding from the ropes he clutched at his opponent until the referee seperated then.
'It ain't a dancing competition old man,' the club champ stormed. 'Why don't you quit now. You're beaten and you're too old.' The bell signified the end of the round.
Jim winced as Warrick applied linament to his cut and Nick rubbed away the excess sweat and blood with a towel.
'Is this worth it?' asked Warrick, worry edging his tone.
'No, but I'm not quitting now.' Brass spit out a mouthful of blood.
'What's there to gain by going back out there besides some dumb envelope?' The bell again.
'He called me an old man, so I'm gonna knock the young pup on his ass.'
'And how do you propose to do that?'
'By my rules.'
'And they are?'
'Jersey street rules.'
With renewed enthusiasm and his blood on fire,Brass set about his task. Dodging a neat one, two, he brought his right arm over the top and smacked the boxer on the bridge of his nose. The young man staggered back suprised. Brass wouldn't let him get away so easily and went in towards him throwing a right here and a couple of left's there. For good measure he landed several punches in the stomach area and when the lad went to the canvas Brass followed in with a final left in the mouth causing the gum shield to fly out covered in blood and the referee step between them calling an end to the bout.
Brass leaned over. 'Old dog, old trick,' he growled menacingly at the prostrate boxer, then turning to the manager he shouted, 'I don't think he's ready for the big league, now where's my Goddamn envelope!'
***********************************************************
Nick recounted he boxing match in detail excitedly to Grissom, Catherine and Sara back in the CSI break room. Warrick draped himself lazily across the sofa nodding when he agreed with a point Nick was making and laughing to himself when the details of the outfit were described to a giggling Catherine and an extremely amused Sara. Grissom sat listening impassively as he looked at the envelope and the note inside. Jim finally appeared dressed casually for once on black jeans and open neck casual dark blur shirt,and the group burst out into applause.
'Yeah funny!' Brass grimaced. It hurt to smile. Catherine gave a low whistle and prodded a finger at the plastered left eyebrow and the now reddish purple bruise that had begun to form on the cheekbone. 'Hey careful,' he chastised lightly. 'I got two stitches in there.' Grissom cleared his throat and then read from the paper.
'Celebrate your anniversay with fifty they're small pieces. Take a pop, try your luck but don't be fooled now.'
'What the hell does that mean?' asked Brass rolling his neck on his shoulders. He felt that every part of his anatomy had siezed.
'Anniversay and fifty,'Grissom repeated.
'Six and six letters. Four across. something 'O' blah,blah something 'U'.'
'Hey you said it was on the map,' offered Nick. Grissom passed him the map and he began scouring it for a place.
'Anniversary,' said Catherine still fascinated by the multi array of colours Jim's face was rapidly taking on. ''Fifty. Fiftieth anniversary is golden.'
'Small pieces though?' Sara was thinking out loud.
'Got it!' shouted Nick.'It's obvious. Golden Nugget casino. Six and six letters.'
Grissom entered the answer in the crossword. 'It fits,' he said quietly.'But what about the rest of the clue? an instruction?'
'Do I have to lose fifty bucks on in there?' asked Brass sitting tenderly on a chair which caused Catherine to move behind him and start sympathetically massaging his stiff eck and shoulder joints.
'Probably more to do with a specific gaming discipline. Something we'll have to work out when we get there.'
'We all going?' asked Sara.
'This time yes,' said Grissom gravely, 'It's a big place and until we know what this is all about, we all go and cover each others backs.'
tbc...........
Authors note: Thanks ever so for the reviews. Glad some folks are enjoying a Brass centred fic. Hope you continue to enjoy.
SEVEN
The car doors clunked as both were shut. The beep of the alarm setting had Jim Brass turn. He half grinned, half grimaced as Warrick and Nick strode towards him. Nick held a hand in acknowledgement.
'Hey Jim, sorry we're late,' he beamed.
'Yeah Gris was filling us in,' put in Warrick. 'Thought we'd better come along and make sure you don't get yer butt kicked in the boxing club.'
'Yo ho, very funny Rick. Did Gris tell you everything?'
Nick nodded enthusiastically.'Sure did. Gotta say I'd have liked to have seen you waist deep trawling about the mud bath in yer undies.'
'Careful Nicholas, I have a big gun ,and I'm not afraid to use it!'
Warrick smiled to himself as Nick carried on grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
'Okay guys,' Warrick ventured. 'Gris said this place was closed when you got here this morning, but looks like it's open now. What are we expecting in here?'
'No idea,' Brass shrugged, ' But you can bet yer ass we'll find another clue waiting if this is the right joint.'
'So we stroll in and get it. Can't be too hard.'
'It's not the clue that bothers me,' Jim said humourlessly, 'It's what I'll have to do to earn it that scares the hell outta me.'
*******************************************************
The club manager looked the three strangers up and down with the scrutiny of a jeweller checking out his favourite diamond. When any of them tried to speak he put a finger to his lips and let out a loud 'sssshhhhh.' Eventually he stepped back and scratched his head.
'So you actually ever done any boxing?' He sounded doubtful. Warrick shook his hands loose in front of him.
'Manage a bit in the gym,' he said confidently.
'Not you,' came the gowl. 'The short middle-aged one.' He pointed a stubby finger at Brass whose eyes widened in alram.
'Me?' Brass turned his own finger inwards and pointed at himself in the chest.
'I don't see any other short, overweight middle aged guys here do you?'
The man tossed a key towards the detective. 'There's some gear in locker 22 over there. Be ready to go in ten minutes. I'll get my boy warmed up.'
All the while he was changing, Brass muttered unintelligable words, mainly to himself. Nick and Warrick stood close by scrutinising the club and the members that moved between disciplines. Finally Brass stood in front of them wearing a pair of oversized knee length blue boxing shorts. On his feet were laced up boxing boots.
'Whoa, Rocky Balboa mark 99,' whistled Nick. Brass shot him a warning glance.
'I don't like this.' Warrick sounded cautious. 'Have you ever boxed before Brass?'
'Nope. Closest I usually get to the ring is on pay per view. Actually I did a little in college but only to keep fit.' He slapped his waist, 'Looks like I need to get back in the gym anyways.'
The manager came over to them and handed over two sets of bandages.'Either one of you guys know how to wrap hands?'
'I do,' Warrick took the bundles.
'Well you two can be his corner seconds. Wrap his hands then put these on.' He threw a pair of gloves at Nick. 'The deal is he goes three, two minute rounds with my club champ.'
'Who the hell asked you to do this?' asked Brass getting agitated as Warrick wound the bandges about his hands.
'Can't say.'
'I'm a cop, of course you can say.'
'Look buddy, I don't don't care if you're the President of the damn US of A, the guy gave me a whole loada cash and said you'd be a good spar for my boy in prep for his first major fight. If you can't do it, then say so now, but you won't get the envelope he left. What's a matter, you too old for this?'
Brass's face went blank. 'Just put the gloves on and show me my corner.'
The bell sounded and the sullen looking twenty year old in the opposing corner, shot from his seat into the centre of the ring where he began to dance wildly, moving his shoulders and ducking his head. Brass stood up and took a deep breath. Warrick slapped him on the shoulder as Nick put the gum shield in place for him. He moved cautiously towards his opponent and put his hands in front of him. Brass had no idea where the first three punches came from but they hurt like the devil. The fourth blow landed in his midriff and he hit the canvas desperately trying to prevent his hamburger from re-surfacing. A standing eight count followed during which he reassured the referee he was able to continue all the while the other boxer bounced on his heel and hadn't broken sweat. After several more blows Jim almost screamed in relief when the bell sounded.
Slumping into the corner, he spat out the gum shield and gasped for air. Nick fanned him rapidly with the towel and Warrick squirted liquid into his mouth.
'Man you're getting creamed,' Warrick surmised.
'Like I need telling!'
'That left eye's coming up,try and keep it away from him. He lands a combo right twice then follows it with a left upper cut. Get that again and you're eye's gonna be cut or closed.'
'So what's your advice?'
'Don't get hit!' The bell clanged again and Nick stuffed the gum shield back. As he went for more punishment Nick called after him,
'Move your feet Jim!'
In the second round, Brass faired little better. The combination punches flurried again and he felt the blood from a cut mingle with the profuse sweat that poured down his body. He silently prayed for the bout to stop and have his injury tended to, but help did not come. Managing to move his feet, he suprised himself how fast he could move when the now not so sullen twenty year old attempted to land a left hook. Rebounding from the ropes he clutched at his opponent until the referee seperated then.
'It ain't a dancing competition old man,' the club champ stormed. 'Why don't you quit now. You're beaten and you're too old.' The bell signified the end of the round.
Jim winced as Warrick applied linament to his cut and Nick rubbed away the excess sweat and blood with a towel.
'Is this worth it?' asked Warrick, worry edging his tone.
'No, but I'm not quitting now.' Brass spit out a mouthful of blood.
'What's there to gain by going back out there besides some dumb envelope?' The bell again.
'He called me an old man, so I'm gonna knock the young pup on his ass.'
'And how do you propose to do that?'
'By my rules.'
'And they are?'
'Jersey street rules.'
With renewed enthusiasm and his blood on fire,Brass set about his task. Dodging a neat one, two, he brought his right arm over the top and smacked the boxer on the bridge of his nose. The young man staggered back suprised. Brass wouldn't let him get away so easily and went in towards him throwing a right here and a couple of left's there. For good measure he landed several punches in the stomach area and when the lad went to the canvas Brass followed in with a final left in the mouth causing the gum shield to fly out covered in blood and the referee step between them calling an end to the bout.
Brass leaned over. 'Old dog, old trick,' he growled menacingly at the prostrate boxer, then turning to the manager he shouted, 'I don't think he's ready for the big league, now where's my Goddamn envelope!'
***********************************************************
Nick recounted he boxing match in detail excitedly to Grissom, Catherine and Sara back in the CSI break room. Warrick draped himself lazily across the sofa nodding when he agreed with a point Nick was making and laughing to himself when the details of the outfit were described to a giggling Catherine and an extremely amused Sara. Grissom sat listening impassively as he looked at the envelope and the note inside. Jim finally appeared dressed casually for once on black jeans and open neck casual dark blur shirt,and the group burst out into applause.
'Yeah funny!' Brass grimaced. It hurt to smile. Catherine gave a low whistle and prodded a finger at the plastered left eyebrow and the now reddish purple bruise that had begun to form on the cheekbone. 'Hey careful,' he chastised lightly. 'I got two stitches in there.' Grissom cleared his throat and then read from the paper.
'Celebrate your anniversay with fifty they're small pieces. Take a pop, try your luck but don't be fooled now.'
'What the hell does that mean?' asked Brass rolling his neck on his shoulders. He felt that every part of his anatomy had siezed.
'Anniversay and fifty,'Grissom repeated.
'Six and six letters. Four across. something 'O' blah,blah something 'U'.'
'Hey you said it was on the map,' offered Nick. Grissom passed him the map and he began scouring it for a place.
'Anniversary,' said Catherine still fascinated by the multi array of colours Jim's face was rapidly taking on. ''Fifty. Fiftieth anniversary is golden.'
'Small pieces though?' Sara was thinking out loud.
'Got it!' shouted Nick.'It's obvious. Golden Nugget casino. Six and six letters.'
Grissom entered the answer in the crossword. 'It fits,' he said quietly.'But what about the rest of the clue? an instruction?'
'Do I have to lose fifty bucks on in there?' asked Brass sitting tenderly on a chair which caused Catherine to move behind him and start sympathetically massaging his stiff eck and shoulder joints.
'Probably more to do with a specific gaming discipline. Something we'll have to work out when we get there.'
'We all going?' asked Sara.
'This time yes,' said Grissom gravely, 'It's a big place and until we know what this is all about, we all go and cover each others backs.'
tbc...........
