It had been a very long night for Chisato. After obtaining a warrant for Miss McCloud's DNA, she and Grissom managed to match it to the DNA found on the fingernails. She then accompanied Grissom and Brass in the interrogation room, where they got a confession from McCloud, that she indeed took part in the murder of Gary Johnson. By the time Chisato plunked down opposite Greg in the employee lounge, her once-neat bun had been plucked askew and bags had begun to form underneath her eyes.
"I don't know how you people put up with him," she said, almost panting. She gratefully accepted a cup of coffee, and inhaled the scent of it before taking a scalding gulp.
"Who, Grissom?" Greg smirked, a dimple showing in his cheek.
"That man works on robot-standard time," she shook her head and dove into another gulp of coffee. "This is excellent, you're an angel."
"Cheers," they clinked their Las Vegas Police Department mugs together and drank deeply. Although he'd given up complaining about late nights years ago, Greg still felt the demons of working twenty-four hours at a time.
After they'd spent a few moments in silence, Chisato nursing her mug as though it were a dear child, Greg spoke up. "You off tomorrow?"
Chisato nodded.
Greg reddened slightly. "Would you like to go out, sometime? Maybe get some dinner? Catch a movie?"
Chisato smiled. "I would love to." She rinsed her empty cup in the sink and put it on a rack to dry. She swung her purse (limited edition Chanel) over her shoulder and winked. "This isn't a date, right? Just a friend thing?"
Greg tried to look casual. "Of course," he forced a laugh, "You think I'm going to try and put the moves on you? Sorry, Chisato, I've got standards." She laughed.
"See you tomorrow, Greg." She shut the door and Greg watched her turn the corner, punching a cushion the second the tip of her right Chuck Taylor disappeared.
Greg buzzed Chisato into his apartment and hovered around the door, waiting to let her in. He'd done the Greg-unthinkable: dusted, vaccumed, and scrubbed every square inch of his place. He'd even changed the sheets (just in case).
There was an abrupt knock and he swung the door open. Chisato stood, wearing a pinstriped shirtdress over jeans, holding a large pizza.
"I brought dinner," she said politely, half-curtseying before walking inside. She left the pizza on the kitchen counter and wandered around. She paused to smile genuinely at Greg.
"You're so clean!"
Greg blushed. "Er… thanks?" After a brief silence, he rubbed his hands together. "So, what are you in the mood for?"
Chisato pondered this while rifling through the coffee table books (that Greg had purchased that very day on sale at Linens n' Things) and peering closely at the Buddha statue perched atop 'Faberge' (the statue was yet another recent purchase). "It doesn't matter, really. What do you have in mind?"
Greg figured that if he told Chisato what he really had on his mind (more or less an all-night fuckfest between the two of them) they'd never speak again. Plus, he found something almost little-sisterly about the way she was scavenging excitedly through a wicker basket under the television stand.
Before he had the chance to speak, Chisato brandished a beaten system, tangled with wires. "Greg?" She asked, practically bouncing. "Is this a Nintendo SIXTY-FOUR?"
"Hey," he said mock-defensively, getting on his knees so that they were face-to-face, "I save all my systems. They're like my children. I have an X-Box if you prefer."
"I used to play Nintendo all the time in Japan with my friends!" She hugged the system to her chest, and made an "uulll" sound when the game cartridge sticking out of the top dug into her ribs. "If you don't have anything exciting planned, do you think we could play some games?"
"Why not?" he said, rather pleased. After they'd hyperventilated getting the system to work (Greg hadn't cleaned EVERYTHING), the pair had eaten half the pizza and beaten the first four temples of Zelda: Ocarina of Time when Chisato's cellphone rang.
"Hello?" She asked, holding up her fingers so that Greg would stifle his laughter.
"Chisato? It's Grissom," his voice sounded tinny over the line. "We've got a big case, and we need an extra investigator and a translator. I know it's your day off, but…"
"…you wanted to kill two birds with one stone? Got it." Grissom gave Chisato the directions to the crime scene and she hung up, looking at Greg.
"I'm so sorry, Greg," she said, frowning. "I've got to-"
"I know. I love eavesdropping," he smiled, trying to hide his disappointment. She sighed, and cupped Greg's cheek in her hand.
"I've had such a great time," she hugged him briefly and got up to leave. "Next time, I play hostess." She pointed at him and winked. "See you at the lab!"
Greg nodded, and waved goodbye. He watched her Cadillac CTS leave the parking lot, two red taillights on an otherwise empty street.
"Victim is a fifty-two year old Yoshitoki Mitsuda, Japanese businessman on vacation," Grissom said, briefing Chisato from his notes. They ducked under the yellow crime scene tape and stood before the scene. The Tangiers hotel suite was trashed. There was blood everywhere, on the sheets, the carpet, the walls. The victim lay in a pool of it on the bed, pants around his ankles. His slashed neck seemed the evident cause of death, as did the machete left next to him the murder weapon.
Grissom wrinkled his nose, and then led Chisato to the left of the body. "Chisato, this is David, the coroner."
"Hi, David the coroner," Chisato said, crouching next to him. "What's our estimated time of death?"
"I'd clock it at roughly two hours ago," David replied, impressed by the newbie's professionalism. "Look forward to working with you, by the way."
"Thanks," Chisato smiled, and then turned to Grissom. "Who found the body?" Grissom pointed to a hysterical Japanese girl on the patio.
"I think it's his mistress," he said, shrugging, "Her name is Saiyuki Tendo, but she doesn't really know English. That's where you come in." Chisato nodded.
"My name is Chisato, I'm with the Crime Lab," she said in courteous Japanese to the girl, "I understand that this is has been a traumatic event for you. Please answer a few questions for my associate, Dr. Grissom." Chisato looked expectantly at Grissom, and he took a deep breath. For every question he put to the witness (and suspect), Chisato translated it into eloquent Japanese, and the answers back into practical English.
"What was your relationship with Mr. Mitsuda?"
"I was his entertainer."
Grissom paused. "Was she a prostitute?"
"I don't think so," Chisato replied, "Japanese men merely enjoy the company of women. She could have been an aspiring singer, or actress."
"Ask her, please."
Chisato did as she was told. Her eyes widened at the response.
"Gil," she said slowly, "Miss Tendo is saying that this was a hit on Mr. Mitsuda. That he is part of a Tokyo-based Yakuza clan named the Blood Orchids."
"Have you heard of that clan before?"
Chisato nodded solemnly. Jim Brass appeared behind her. "The hotel manager says that Mr. Mitsuda was a white-collar businessman, not a mob boss," the Captain said, narrowing his eyes at Chisato. "Where's her proof?"
Chisato asked Saiyuki if she could prove that the affiliation was true. The witness wiped her eyes and pulled Chisato into the shadows. They both returned, Chisato white-faced.
"She's an orchid alright," Chisato said regretfully, staring at Grissom and Brass with wide, reproachful eyes.