Chapter Four

Sara is interviewing Generic Deadbeat Dad #324. She is personal backstory-related angry.

"Yeah, so, I hates ma kids, but when I found out Lil' Suzie could dance, I got her to strip, ya know?"

"I find that unspeakably disgusting," says Sara, deepening her permanent scowl.

"What do you expect?" demands #324, "I'm just a stock character. Why don't we just cut to the chase: I'm far too obvious and far too likely to be the killer. Instead of spending the next time-elapsed twenty minutes suspecting me, why don't you just move on?"

"I can't do that," says Sara, frowning so hard her face might collapse. "Otherwise this show would be half-an-hour long."

"You, uh… you wanna just skip to the part where you badger me?"

"Sounds good," says Sara, characteristically losing her temper. One would think that after years of having to do this, she could do it well. One would be wrong. "How could you do this to your child, you sick scumbag?"

Ecklie enters the interrogation room, his black cape billowing behind him and a curl of smoke at his heels. "Sidle! You're on one-week leave without pay effective immediately. I'm so sorry, sir – Sofia and Warrick's wife will show you to the Plot Device Character Lounge. I'll be in shortly."

Sara is really angry. Her forehead is now permanently wrinkled and she no longer has lips.

Catherine and Brass knock on the front door of the child's Mother's house. Brass cracks dry, inappropriate jokes that are only okay because he is pudgy, balding and middle-aged. It's best if you ignore the fact that he carries a gun.

"Hey, Cath – what's worse than one dead baby stapled to a tree? One dead baby stapled to fifty trees! I love your tight ass."

"Oh, Brass – you're too much!" says Catherine laughing audibly if not visually. "Remind me to mention Lindsay or Eddie during the interrogation."

The Mother opens the door. She has tacky bleach-blonde hair, smudged make-up and a cigarette dangling from her mouth.

"The Writers aren't even trying anymore, are they?" says Catherine, as the cameraman adjusts the focus lens for her age so it appears that she now has the ability to glow. "You're just classic Deadbeat Smoker Mom, possibly with a dash of druggie or hooker.

"They pretty much just have a fridge magnet poetry set that they use to put stories together. That, and the World Fetish Encyclopedia," says Brass. "Now tell us about your daughter, you crazy whore!"

Everyone laughs because this is hilarious and not offensive.

"Do you by any chance have a Teenage Son or Daughter?" asks Catherine.

"Yes, I have a Teenage Daughter. She loved her sister and she works as a Blackjack dealer at the Casino - "

"No, no – stop," says Catherine. "Real suspects have to wait until the 40-minute mark."

"Okay, so do you have any questions?"

"I understand the deep pain of divorce," begins Catherine.

"Oh holy Jesus," says Brass as he contemplates shooting himself with his useful but unused LVPD gun.

Across town, Nick, depressed and drinking from a jug marked with three X's has grown The Ugliest Moustache Known to Man.

"Dear God," says Greg as Nick answers the door. "Have you become a State Trooper?"

"No," says the moustache attached to what used to be Hot Nick. "When you've worked the CSI Graveyard Shift for a long enough period of time, you have to grow facial hair. It's a cheap way of simulating seniority; Doc, Grissom and Warrick have been here a little longer, but I feel it's time.

"Oh," says Greg, trying not to stare directly at it. "I always figured Grissom was just trying to hide his suddenly noticeable double-chin."

"Well… Grissom did come up with the rule."

"So I'm right, then."

"Pretty much," says the Moustache. "So, uh… so… why are you here?"

"Oh. Well, I came to have sex with you but… you see… I was never a fan of Magnum P.I. so… I feel I may just have to awkwardly leave now."

"Oh. Wow. This is awkward. It's… it's not really that bad, is it?"

"Nick, if I don't leave soon, I may throw up. I also don't believe I'm capable of erections any longer."

"So… no sex, then?"

Greg turns green. It's not that comical.

Back at the Lab, Grissom holds up one of the betting chips found in Lil' Suzie's hands to the light. His mouth forms an "O" and his eyes are focused in a hard squint. We've now reached the triad of Grissom's emotions.

"Wait a second, this isn't right…"

For no reason, Horatio comes into focus in the background and removes his glasses. "C'mon, we're gonna get these guys!"

"What are you doing in my lab 3000 miles from yours?" demands Grissom.

"Your cut-to-commercial out-tros suck. I was just helping you out," says Horatio not smiling.