Woot to Marlou like for rizzle.
Warrick Brown took a swallow of the water that sat in front of him. The ice in the glass tinkled pleasantly, trying the situation even more as the situation he was in was far from pleasant.
The man across from him had a large glass of what Warrick could only assume was vodka. Sammy Hardenbrook was rarely seen drinking anything that wasn't thoroughly fermented and expensive. Though the man had a taste for the finer things, the gaudy rings adorning his thick fingers pegged him for what he really was: a thug.
The man was tall, built and just a bit chubby. He looked like someone's 'favorite uncle Milton' with his quick smile and set of pristine white teeth. Warrick knew better, but that was only because he'd known Sammy for the last five years. Warrick checked his watch and waited for the other man to speak; no one spoke to Sammy before Sammy spoke to them.
"I hear you're getting out of the game, kid." It was indeed vodka that he was drinking; the scent trailed on his breath as he leaned in to speak to Warrick.
Warrick shrugged with a roll of his shoulders and took in the brimming casino once more. "I'm just... not as prime as I used to be. Got better things to do man." Warrick lifted his glass and spoke around the brim. "You know that."
A flash of anger passed over Sammy's eyes and his fingers tightened around the glass. No one told Sammy anything he didn't already know, so telling him 'you know that' was like a slap in the face.
"Sorry man, I don't know where my head's at."
Sammy nodded and gulped another mouthful of vodka. "Well, for your sake, you'd damn well better find it, kid."
Warrick nodded and bit his lip. Suddenly, his pager went off, inciting the larger man to heave an irritated sigh and slam a fist down on the table.
'419. Call Grissom.' the message read, and Warrick placed the beeper on the table to root around in his pocket for his cell phone.
Sammy reached over and scooped up the device, reading what it said on the display. "What the shit is a 419, and what's Grissom?"
"Who," Warrick replied and located his phone. "One second, man, I promise." He got up from the table and moved to the restroom, hitting 1 on his speed dial. The call connected almost immediately.
"Warrick, we have a 419 out in the desert, off of 15, how quickly can you get here?"
Warrick glanced at his watch and looked towards the door. "Maybe... forty minutes, if I break a couple of laws."
There was a smile in Grissom's voice when he replied. "Fine. Good. See you then," and with that, the call was ended and Warrick was tossing water on his face. There was no way to get out of this situation gracefully; instead, he chose to break the news to the mobster-like man quickly and take his exit.
"I'va, I've gotta go, work calls." Warrick explained, draining his water and sliding a handful of chips over the table.
Sammy smiled and finished off his drink, running a chip over his knuckles slowly. "I thought this was work, mister Warrick Brown," he taunted, slowly managing to get out of his seat. "I thought this demanded attention."
Warrick rolled his eyes and held out his hands, not knowing exactly what to say. "I'm not saying it doesn't. I'm just trying to ease out gracefully is all, not leave anyone wanting, you know?"
The man stared at him for a few moments and Warrick wondered if he had backed himself into a corner. There was nothing he would like less than having his legs broken for no other reason than upsetting this man; that would be far too ironic to handle. "Besides, Davis over at Mirage owes me a brick, I'll be done in a week and everything will be back to normal."
At that, Sammy smiled. "As normal as it can be without you around. We'll miss ya kid." Holding out a hand, he took Warrick's, shaking it.
"This Grissom guy, he's helping you out with all this, I take it?"
Warrick nodded, "He's my saving grace right now."
"Well, I hope you can stay afloat, there's so much shit in this town it's hard to swim clean, know what I'm saying?"
The mixed metaphor was not lost on Warrick and he chuckled a bit, nodding emphatically. "Yeah, he'll keep me on the straight and narrow."
They walked together through the rows of slots to the lobby. Sammy patted him on the back one last time. "I know I gave you a lot of bull over the years, but I'm really one big softie. Go easy on that boss of yours, it's kinda my fault you had to give him so much shit."
Warrick nodded and backpedaled to the door. "If Grissom's anything, he's reliable..."
With a tilt of his head, Sammy asked what the hell that meant.
Warrick laughed, fishing the keys out of his pocket. "Means if I don't shape up he'll can my ass."
And with a wave, Warrick left the gambling establishment and made his way to the crime scene. Grissom was speaking with one of the officer's when he arrived at the body. Grissom was gesturing wildly and laughing with the man; the officer walked over with him to the body and he noticed Warrick.
"Ah, never mind officer, my guy's here," Grissom said, patting the man on the back as he turned and walked off. "Lucky you, Warrick, you
get to help me lift the body."
"Joy," Warrick commented dryly, hunching down and maneuvering his gloved hands under the body's shoulders. "Why don't we wait for the coroner, again?"
"Because," Grissom grunted, "He's lying on his gun... and wouldn't want that to accidentally discharge into, say, my foot."
Warrick nodded and chuckled, lifting the man's shoulders as Grissom reached underneath to grab the weapon. "There we are," Grissom said and tossed the gun in an evidence bag. Warrick watched as he went about his process.
Grissom noticed the other man staring at him and rocked back on his heels. "What?"
"Nothing," Warrick said, shaking the litany of thoughts from his head. "Just thinking, you're a good guy Grissom, thanks."
With a little quirk of his lips, Grissom told his CSI to get to work.