By HarmZuay
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: Crime Scene Investigation or
any of its characters. They belong to Anthony Zuiker and CBS. This is purely
for entertainment purposes. Bloody Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov-ists. Oy… that's a
mouthful.
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence.
Author's Note: Thanks to spikes-storm for betaing. Sorry it took so long for this to post, I was waiting for some other feedback, but I never got it, and rather wait for however long it would have taken, I'll go ahead and put it up. Just so nobody gets the wrong idea about this chapter, a pornstar is an acid miszou (which probably means nothing to you) grind where your front foot is grinding in soul position (your toes are pointing down the rail), and you back foot is on it's h-block (between your middle two wheels) and your toes are pointing in the direction of which foot you used. So if your right foot is souling, your back foot is pointed to the right. Same with left-left. That was probably the worst description in the history of skating. And a disaster is when you get lots of air and/or pull a grab before landing into a grind. I realize that's not exactly the way it runs in this story, but I don't think Disaster to Pornstar fits quite as well. And now since I've wasted so much space on that… Rock on!
Chapter Four – Pornstar to Disaster"So what makes you think it wasn't just a suicide?" Greg asked as Nick maneuvered the Tahoe through the heavy Vegas traffic.
"It doesn't add up. No GSR on his hands, although his prints were all over the gun. Plus the trigger was sticky and considering the estimated time of death and our response time, he couldn't have been dead for more than two hours." He paused to switch lanes and Greg jumped back in.
"So… there was no indentation on his trigger finger?"
Sara flashed him a smile. "Exactly."
"So… there was no indentation on his trigger finger?"
"Greg, you just said that."
"I know. I just wanted you to smile at me again." He grinned, and Sara couldn't resist returning the infectious emotion.
"Hey, cut it out you two!" Nick groaned, leaning on the horn.
Sara laughed inwardly at Nick's obviously annoyance. There was nothing going on between Greg and her- not right now at least –just playful banter. They'd talked it over before, Sara wanting to ensure that she hadn't broken the lab tech's spirit through her constant rejections.
Greg's response had been, "Like I give up that easily. Besides, if all else fails, 53% of the Vegas population has boobs."
Catherine had entered at this point, casually mentioning that, "Of those, only about 47% actually have vaginas." Greg had run around the room screaming about his "virgin ears," and the conversation had gone downhill from there. So Sara was pretty sure they were cool.
"Greg, is it this left or next one?" Nick asked, bringing Sara back to the present.
"Next one!" Greg sang out before returning to his imaginary drum solo.
"This is going to be a looong day," Nick grumbled, turning off the main road.
* * *
Several blocks away, a shadowy figure approached the phone booth and rapped softly on the plastic two times. The person on the phone hung up, then exited, walking swiftly behind an alley dumpster. "Did you do it?"
"'Course I did. Whaddya take me for?"
"An insolent, ignorant incompetent. Why else would I choose you?"
"Whatever, I don't have to put up with this. I did your shit, now you give me the goods. You got 'em or what?"
"'Course I do. Whaddya take me for?" the figure mocked. They grabbed a backpack from behind the dumpster and tossed it to the other person. "Haffey Remz. Size 10. Fifty-50 Team Balance frames with white juice blocks and the black Xsjados are in there as well. Reign neoprene liners and Campbell Mindgame wheels."
The eager recipient quickly sorted through the pack to make sure everything was there. "Gangsta. Well, I'm out." He or she, it was impossible to tell, turned to leave, but a pale arm shot out and grabbed their wrist.
"Not quite yet. You remember what I said?"
"Yeah, yeah. I never seen you before, I got the skates for my birthday, and I been at the library studying all of today."
"Maybe we should change that to playing video games…"
"Whatever. Nice doing business with you."
"Peace," the other practically snarled at his retreating back.
* * *
They pulled into the relatively empty parking lot of Jackpot Skate Park and piled out, Greg going ahead to speak with Mr. Martinez. He came back out a few minutes later and waved them through the gate. "Good news. Owner says they're still here."
"Perfect. You see them anywhere?" Nick asked.
"Umm…" Greg quickly scanned the surrounding area. "If they're not out here, they could be in the indoor section. There! Skating around by that quarter-pipe. Surge has the green shirt and yellow helmet, and Petey's the grey sweatshirt, red helmet. Go ahead and talk to them. I have to see a man about a porcupine." He headed back toward the entrance.
"Porcupine?" Nick and Sara burst out in hysterics. Finally composing themselves, the two walked over the concrete to the indicated quarter-pipe.
"Surge and Petey?" Nick called out. Two sweaty teenagers obligingly skated toward them.
"Yeah?"
"I'm Nick Stokes and this is Sara Sidle. We're from the Crime Lab, and we have a few questions to ask you."
"Is this about Shroven?" the one in the yellow helmet- Surge – asked in a heavy Russian accent absently switching between toe and heel manuals.
"So you both are familiar with the victim?" Nick queried.
Two "yeah"s confirmed what Greg had already mentioned.
"Do you know of anyone who didn't get along with him?" Sara asked.
Petey removed his helmet, running a hand through short blonde hair. "Well his girlfriend, they had a fight about a week ago. He was pretty put out over it."
"Yeah," Surge added. "I think she was really jealous about you and Shrov hanging out so much and going to the movies those times."
Nick frowned. "Did Shroven show any signs of homosexual tendencies?"
"Huh?"
"No way!"
"So why would his girlfriend be jealous?"
Surge struggled to keep a straight face while Petey rolled his eyes. "Gee, I sure am glad we've got the best and brightest on this case," he quipped dryly. "We're gonna walk through this nice and slow. Shroven is a guy. Girlfriend, Marile is, surprise, a girl. And insanely possessive. So when he hung out with me- girl, she got jealous. ¿Comprenden?"
Nick flushed. "Oh. I, uh, see. You're a girl. Yeah."
Petey groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "No shit, Sherlock. Er, sir."
Greg jogged back toward the group. "What'd I miss?"
"Oh, nothing." Petey glared at him. "Just me getting taken for a guy. Again. Maybe I should wear a sign. 'I am a girl.'" As an afterthought, "'And not a lesbian.' Why do I get the feeling you were behind this?"
Greg put on his innocent face, which was much like his guilty face only with his mouth open. "Hey, I just pointed you guys out, that's all."
"Anyway," Sara looked disapprovingly at her companions. "Maybe we should get formal names for the report?"
"Er, right," Nick mumbled, embarrassed.
"Sergei Nikoloz Belousov," Surge supplied.
"And Ashley Elizabeth Pete." She made a face as she spoke her name. "It sounds like a slutty cheerleader."
"Right. Hey, uh, Surge? What happened to your arm?" Greg gestured toward his left arm. A an ugly cut ran down the length of his forearm; the area around it was heavily bruised.
"There's a piece of metal up there, on the quarter-pipe, torn or something. I slipped off a grind on the coping and fell on it. I can show you if you want. I think we're the only people who've skated this ramp in the past few weeks. Most everyone else either hangs out on the half-pipe or skates the wooden ramps inside. They've got air conditioning," he sighed.
Greg glanced at Sara and Nick. "I'll check it out," he volunteered.
"Go ahead," Sara agreed, turning her attention back to Petey.
Greg clambered up the side of the ramp while Surge circled, picking up speed. "Greggo, lemme show you my pornstar!" Greg, now standing, turned to see Surge fly up the ramp. He swiftly locked both feet onto the coping for a smooth grind. "Pretty sweet ride, huh?" he asked jumping off the coping onto the platform.
Before Greg had a chance to respond, he heard something under him snap, and suddenly the ramp was collapsing. He was aware of several sensations. Falling. Pain. Dark.
A/N: Ooh, cliffie… Hehe, I had fun writing the ending there, and the beginning of the next chapter. The next chapter that I'm not quite finished with, but will hopefully complete this weekend and post sometime next week. I was trying to go with an every other day update, but I just don't have the time to write like that. But don't worry- there will never be a delay longer than a week. Promise. If I do, you can force-feed me balls of cotton. Have you ever actually tried to eat one of those? Gah, I almost died. Anyway, like the Republicans, advocate Rum, Romanism, Rebellion, and… Reviews. Catch ya later.
