AN: It took me a hell of a time to write this. I had it done and re-done and then I wrote it new again, muse left and refused to return. If I were not so deeply buried in work right now, I'd be much farther. As it is, the next week won't see another key hit on the keyboard for fun-reasons. Be patient, I do have a plan
seems I cannot write without having a crime in the story. Well, after all it's a crime-series, right? This one, again is inspired by a really weird case that just got discovered this week here in Hesse. The human mind indeed is one dark, fathomless pit!
-- Work it is --
The rest of my vacation went by without anything happening. I was able to relax again and by the time the alarm went off I had nearly forgotten about any possible problems I might have to face at work.
Gambling.
I had done it again and they ALL knew!
Gil.
I wondered if Nick had told them THAT as well.
So I arrived at the lab rather tensely. Gil is away on some conference and Cath does the dispatching. She either doesn't know or she is on a really mean trip because Nick and me get assigned on a missing-person. Since when do you need two CSIs for one missing? Why us at all?
We arrive at the vic's place. His sister's there. She was the one who filed him missing – insisted in having somebody investigate the case. She's not looking that bitchy, to be honest
"Nice lady." I comment 'ere we get out of the car.
"Yup."
Ah, well at least he's talking. Nick was tacit and nervous during the drive and I was constantly waiting for some stupid comment. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing and that's just as scaring. I decide to let him to the talking. To observe is more to my taste anyway.
"Ms. Ramirez?"
"Yes, officer?"
"No, Ma'am. We're CSI-investigators. My name is Nick Stokes, this is Warrick Brown." Nick properly introduces us. Ramirez is irritated and immediately lets us know:
"I thought I had made clear that this is a possible crime..."
"Ma'am, that is why we are here. Why don't we go inside and you tell us why you are so sure about a crime happening?" oh man! Nick is so... so good with women. He really knows how to make them surrender almost immediately. Even bitchy Ramirez gets wrapped around his finger after a moment.
She turns and approaches the door, key in hand.
"One moment, please." I stop her. I'm anxious to keep her from the door. Anxious enough to interfere with Nick leading the investigation. He gives me a sharp, annoyed look. "Let's make sure there are no traces of forced entry at the door."
"Sure."
There's nothing. Scratches around the lock from fumbling with the keys in the dark or when drunk or stoned – I know these. Most of us have these scratches on their doors. Near the ground there are a few deeper scratches and in two places the lacquer is completely gone. But they are old: the wood has already grayed. The scratches are in foot-height. Maybe fresh, maybe old from pushing the door open with a foot. I take some pictures.
Nick has put on his gloves and instructed Ramirez not to touch anything so we won't loose fingerprints. She hands him the keys and when I nod my OK he unlocks the door. Right, he unlocks it.
Inside Nick switches on the light. Everything is neat and clean. If it weren't for the pictures that give the place a personal note, I'd say it is some kind of, well, set-up; scenery. I take pictures of this completely insignificant scene.
"Does this place look like this all the time?" I cannot help asking.
"Yeah. Josh is a neat-freak." Ramirez nearly excuses her brother.
We walk through all rooms and I take the usual load of general pictures. Nothing's missing: guy's personal stuff is in the bathroom, all drawers are filled with clothes, so is the closet. Damn! We're here for absolutely nothing!
Downstairs Nick is talking to Ramirez
"...He is never late, Mr. Stokes! In the past ten years he never missed any appointment. If he was late only ten minutes, he had always called ahead. Josh would never miss my birthday!" Ramirez is indeed very upset.
"You say the last time you talked to him was the day before yesterday?"
"Yes."
"And yesterday...?"
"Yesterday was my birthday. He wanted to drop by for teatime and stay until after dinner. He never came and he never called. I tried his office but he had not been there all day. He had not called in sick or anything. They did not know what to make of this. He never stayed away without saying a word." Ramirez is damn nervous, chewing on her fingernails.
"I came here –"
She glances at me and stops. Nick turns awating my statement.
"Nothing. Looks like he'd walk in any minute." I shrug.
"So…?" Nick cocks one eyebrow.
"Haven't been in the kitchen yet. Just a sec." I do that mostly to give Ramirez the impression we really really did the whole shebang, not missing a spot. "Bingo!" I call out. Ah, this is instinct! There's a magazine on the counter, the pages with classifieds are open and one in marked with an 'X'.
*flash*, *flash*, *flash* I take pictures. Nick is already at my side, gloves on. He tries to decrypt the text which consists of nothing but abbreviations.
"CBT. M seeks M for ult. exp. vid. BD, WS, SC, canib. snuff." Nick reads out. "What the hell…? Kind of a secred code, huh?"
"Dunno. Show me the cover." I do have an idea what it might be about, but I want to make sure. Nick turns the cover and it's some gay S&M magazine. Hard-core stuff, really sick and weird – I flipped through one quite a while ago.. The look Nick gives is priceless – on the negative side. It's clear that he thinks I do such things. I need to clarify yet I can't. We're at an investigation here.
"He probably called and went there." I suggest. "May take a while. Mrs. Ramirez, does your brother practice S&M?"
"W—what?"
I can see she has no idea what that is.
"Is your brother a homosexual?" Nick asks her. I roll my eyes. As if S&M had anything to do with being gay in the first place.
"Yes, he is. Why? Does that change anything?" she is ready to defend him and give us shit in advance.
"Mrs. Ramirez, it is possible that your brother had an appointment that took longer than he had planned it would. That happens sometimes. Do you want us to check that?" I explain carefully.
"Yes! Yes, please do so." She is relieved. I can see that she would gladly cling to any straw one would hand her.
"OK. We'll call you then. Good bye." I say. Nick glares at me.
"What the hell, Warrick? Why do we have to go after some pervert? We don't do missing persons."
"Oh, yeah. Like you know it all, huh? Why is he pervert? Because he's into S&M or because he likes it up the ass? And if he IS kink, does that cancel his rights to have a proper examination of his case or what?" here in the car I can let go, blow a gasket.
"Bullshit." Nick mutters.
"Bullshit? You think I'm blind or what? You think I can't see the looks you give me? You stare at that mag and think 'oh my gosh, what a sick bastard Warrick is!' don't you think I can see that? Mr. Righteous." I spit it out.
Nick stops the car, his face is red with anger as he faces me. "Shut the fuck up, War! I never had in mind to discuss that with you! You're into guys, fine. No problem. Only: leave me out of that, OK? Just don't fill me in and we get along pretty well."
"Oh, right: sex and job have nothing to do with each other."
"Exactly." Nick nods.
"God, what a bigot bastard are you? You tell me 'bout the chicks you got laid, but I shall not tell you 'bout the guys I had? Have I not the same rights only because I'm bi? I really thought we were friends, Nick!" I wonder if my voice sounds as bitter as the taste in my mouth is right now. God, I'm so angry, so disappointed! This guy was my best friend, I never tried anything, never ever hit on him and he – God, it hurts and that makes me angry.
"You can have all rights you want, just leave me out of that, OK? If you need to fuck the boss, OK. Go and fuck whoever you want, get fucked, just keep it for yourself. Do you get that?"
"You believe all those stupid stereotypes, huh? Gays do nothing but fuck their brains out, need to squeeze their asscheeks together because else their ass leaks and all that shit? God, Nick! It's..... It's not about fucking around! Do you think straights have a monopoly on falling in love or what? I have a heart like you! I fall in love, I hurt, my heart breaks just like yours. I fall in love with a person, not with a pair of boobs or balls like you seem to. – Ah, shit!" I slam my fist onto the dashboard. I feel reduced to …… I don't know. Some automaton. Like I'm not a person but a just a walking, talking dick.
I can feel Nick's stare on me for a while, then he looks straight out the windshield. Silence grows like a wall between us. Stretches like the growing distance that is suddenly between us. Chokes whatever could have been said to mend this sudden rupture. Shit. Fucking shit – literally. After some five minutes I think he just wants me out and I really think about taking a walk.
seems I cannot write without having a crime in the story. Well, after all it's a crime-series, right? This one, again is inspired by a really weird case that just got discovered this week here in Hesse. The human mind indeed is one dark, fathomless pit!
-- Work it is --
The rest of my vacation went by without anything happening. I was able to relax again and by the time the alarm went off I had nearly forgotten about any possible problems I might have to face at work.
Gambling.
I had done it again and they ALL knew!
Gil.
I wondered if Nick had told them THAT as well.
So I arrived at the lab rather tensely. Gil is away on some conference and Cath does the dispatching. She either doesn't know or she is on a really mean trip because Nick and me get assigned on a missing-person. Since when do you need two CSIs for one missing? Why us at all?
We arrive at the vic's place. His sister's there. She was the one who filed him missing – insisted in having somebody investigate the case. She's not looking that bitchy, to be honest
"Nice lady." I comment 'ere we get out of the car.
"Yup."
Ah, well at least he's talking. Nick was tacit and nervous during the drive and I was constantly waiting for some stupid comment. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing and that's just as scaring. I decide to let him to the talking. To observe is more to my taste anyway.
"Ms. Ramirez?"
"Yes, officer?"
"No, Ma'am. We're CSI-investigators. My name is Nick Stokes, this is Warrick Brown." Nick properly introduces us. Ramirez is irritated and immediately lets us know:
"I thought I had made clear that this is a possible crime..."
"Ma'am, that is why we are here. Why don't we go inside and you tell us why you are so sure about a crime happening?" oh man! Nick is so... so good with women. He really knows how to make them surrender almost immediately. Even bitchy Ramirez gets wrapped around his finger after a moment.
She turns and approaches the door, key in hand.
"One moment, please." I stop her. I'm anxious to keep her from the door. Anxious enough to interfere with Nick leading the investigation. He gives me a sharp, annoyed look. "Let's make sure there are no traces of forced entry at the door."
"Sure."
There's nothing. Scratches around the lock from fumbling with the keys in the dark or when drunk or stoned – I know these. Most of us have these scratches on their doors. Near the ground there are a few deeper scratches and in two places the lacquer is completely gone. But they are old: the wood has already grayed. The scratches are in foot-height. Maybe fresh, maybe old from pushing the door open with a foot. I take some pictures.
Nick has put on his gloves and instructed Ramirez not to touch anything so we won't loose fingerprints. She hands him the keys and when I nod my OK he unlocks the door. Right, he unlocks it.
Inside Nick switches on the light. Everything is neat and clean. If it weren't for the pictures that give the place a personal note, I'd say it is some kind of, well, set-up; scenery. I take pictures of this completely insignificant scene.
"Does this place look like this all the time?" I cannot help asking.
"Yeah. Josh is a neat-freak." Ramirez nearly excuses her brother.
We walk through all rooms and I take the usual load of general pictures. Nothing's missing: guy's personal stuff is in the bathroom, all drawers are filled with clothes, so is the closet. Damn! We're here for absolutely nothing!
Downstairs Nick is talking to Ramirez
"...He is never late, Mr. Stokes! In the past ten years he never missed any appointment. If he was late only ten minutes, he had always called ahead. Josh would never miss my birthday!" Ramirez is indeed very upset.
"You say the last time you talked to him was the day before yesterday?"
"Yes."
"And yesterday...?"
"Yesterday was my birthday. He wanted to drop by for teatime and stay until after dinner. He never came and he never called. I tried his office but he had not been there all day. He had not called in sick or anything. They did not know what to make of this. He never stayed away without saying a word." Ramirez is damn nervous, chewing on her fingernails.
"I came here –"
She glances at me and stops. Nick turns awating my statement.
"Nothing. Looks like he'd walk in any minute." I shrug.
"So…?" Nick cocks one eyebrow.
"Haven't been in the kitchen yet. Just a sec." I do that mostly to give Ramirez the impression we really really did the whole shebang, not missing a spot. "Bingo!" I call out. Ah, this is instinct! There's a magazine on the counter, the pages with classifieds are open and one in marked with an 'X'.
*flash*, *flash*, *flash* I take pictures. Nick is already at my side, gloves on. He tries to decrypt the text which consists of nothing but abbreviations.
"CBT. M seeks M for ult. exp. vid. BD, WS, SC, canib. snuff." Nick reads out. "What the hell…? Kind of a secred code, huh?"
"Dunno. Show me the cover." I do have an idea what it might be about, but I want to make sure. Nick turns the cover and it's some gay S&M magazine. Hard-core stuff, really sick and weird – I flipped through one quite a while ago.. The look Nick gives is priceless – on the negative side. It's clear that he thinks I do such things. I need to clarify yet I can't. We're at an investigation here.
"He probably called and went there." I suggest. "May take a while. Mrs. Ramirez, does your brother practice S&M?"
"W—what?"
I can see she has no idea what that is.
"Is your brother a homosexual?" Nick asks her. I roll my eyes. As if S&M had anything to do with being gay in the first place.
"Yes, he is. Why? Does that change anything?" she is ready to defend him and give us shit in advance.
"Mrs. Ramirez, it is possible that your brother had an appointment that took longer than he had planned it would. That happens sometimes. Do you want us to check that?" I explain carefully.
"Yes! Yes, please do so." She is relieved. I can see that she would gladly cling to any straw one would hand her.
"OK. We'll call you then. Good bye." I say. Nick glares at me.
"What the hell, Warrick? Why do we have to go after some pervert? We don't do missing persons."
"Oh, yeah. Like you know it all, huh? Why is he pervert? Because he's into S&M or because he likes it up the ass? And if he IS kink, does that cancel his rights to have a proper examination of his case or what?" here in the car I can let go, blow a gasket.
"Bullshit." Nick mutters.
"Bullshit? You think I'm blind or what? You think I can't see the looks you give me? You stare at that mag and think 'oh my gosh, what a sick bastard Warrick is!' don't you think I can see that? Mr. Righteous." I spit it out.
Nick stops the car, his face is red with anger as he faces me. "Shut the fuck up, War! I never had in mind to discuss that with you! You're into guys, fine. No problem. Only: leave me out of that, OK? Just don't fill me in and we get along pretty well."
"Oh, right: sex and job have nothing to do with each other."
"Exactly." Nick nods.
"God, what a bigot bastard are you? You tell me 'bout the chicks you got laid, but I shall not tell you 'bout the guys I had? Have I not the same rights only because I'm bi? I really thought we were friends, Nick!" I wonder if my voice sounds as bitter as the taste in my mouth is right now. God, I'm so angry, so disappointed! This guy was my best friend, I never tried anything, never ever hit on him and he – God, it hurts and that makes me angry.
"You can have all rights you want, just leave me out of that, OK? If you need to fuck the boss, OK. Go and fuck whoever you want, get fucked, just keep it for yourself. Do you get that?"
"You believe all those stupid stereotypes, huh? Gays do nothing but fuck their brains out, need to squeeze their asscheeks together because else their ass leaks and all that shit? God, Nick! It's..... It's not about fucking around! Do you think straights have a monopoly on falling in love or what? I have a heart like you! I fall in love, I hurt, my heart breaks just like yours. I fall in love with a person, not with a pair of boobs or balls like you seem to. – Ah, shit!" I slam my fist onto the dashboard. I feel reduced to …… I don't know. Some automaton. Like I'm not a person but a just a walking, talking dick.
I can feel Nick's stare on me for a while, then he looks straight out the windshield. Silence grows like a wall between us. Stretches like the growing distance that is suddenly between us. Chokes whatever could have been said to mend this sudden rupture. Shit. Fucking shit – literally. After some five minutes I think he just wants me out and I really think about taking a walk.