Warrick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to a non-existent beat in the car. The radio was off but the air was on full blast. His sunglasses glinted as the evening sun shone brightly in their reflection. The newest investigation involved the disappearance of a wife and mother of two young boys. Her husband's alibi was shaky, his whereabouts vague at best. He was a prime suspect; each partner knew it, but the trinity of evidence still needed to be discovered.
So, when the missing mother's Ford had been discovered ten miles away, with obvious signs of being involved in some sort of accident the vehicle had been towed to the lab and waited for the two criminalists to head up there and continue their work. The Swing shift was down a few people, out with the flu, and Nick and Warrick had been asked to come in earlier than their normal Graveyard shift.
Nick clasped the top two buttons of his blue-striped shirt. He normally kept his neck exposed, as he usually worked up a sweat working in such heat. However, Warrick had it so freezing in the car, he swore he could keep a frozen drink in hand, with no qualms about it melting anytime soon. He stole a glance over at the driver's side, noting the absence of their usual small talk. He fiddled with his ring, idly spinning it around his finger. He despised these long periods of non-communication; it was more exasperating than any kind of argument.
Nick cleared his throat, something he often did when he was uncomfortable. If he had been paying close attention he would have seen Warrick's body stiffen, noticing the unconscious gesture as he prepared for the inevitable.
"Is everything cool at the homestead?' Nick asked, trying to keep things casual, not overbearing.
"Yeah, things are good," Warrick responded.
Nick recognized evasiveness; he was quite good at it himself. His partner's answer lacked the usual excitement and happiness in his voice that he'd had of late. Especially since his new marriage seemed to have given him a whole new outlook and spark in his life.
"You sure?" Nick pushed, just a bit.
Warrick's mouth formed a thin line, his voice gruffer. "I told you-everything's cool."
Warrick coughed a little as rubbed at his face in irritation. He swore lightly under his breath and glanced at his watch.
Nick had noticed the signs of an impending illness in his friend: the scratchy voice and constant rubbing of his eyes. He stretched his body as best he could in the seat. "You feelin' okay?" He tried not to laugh at a question that he'd been asked many times since his leave of absence.
Warrick slumped his shoulders. "Nah. I think I'm catching a cold, ya know? I can always tell and I really don't want to deal with Tina. She'll get all worked up. If I get this thing that Swing shift has, I'll be so pissed… mind if we stop by the store or something?"
"No problem, man."
"Cool." Warrick found the nearest drug store and parked the SUV.
Nick got out of the car at the same time, hesitating as the other man gave him an almost paranoid expression. Nick could tell Warrick was trying to cover up his reaction, then saw him just shrug it off. Nick got the impression that he had been expected to stay in the car.
Both men entered the store, nodding hello to the employees. They always got odd reactions to their vests and side arms, or a simple nod of respect towards authority. Warrick went down the cold medicine aisle, picked up some Benadryl, and headed towards the counter. Nick stopped by the magazine area, his attention split between The Great Outdoors and Sports Illustrated.
Nick rifled through both, thumbing at the pages as his friend went to the drug counter and inquired about some asthma medication. Nick was never a very good poker player; whenever he got an amazing hand something always gave him away. So, while his partner spoke to the pharmacist about medication for a condition that he obviously didn't suffer from, he couldn't help but give off all the signs that he'd been eavesdropping.
"Sir, your check card has been declined."
Nick had been as nonchalant as possible, but now he stared over at his partner.
Warrick held onto his debit card confused, his body leaned over the counter. "What? Try it again, Man."
The older clerk simply shrugged and swiped it, waiting. Nick felt his body inch closer as the kindly gentleman gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Mr. Brown. Declined again."
Warrick riffled with the plastic cards in his wallet in confusion, grumbling under his breath. Upset, but obviously not wanting to make a scene. "Fine. Take my MasterCard."
Again the employee waited for his computer to dial out, then glanced at the screen, his expression indicating the negative results.
"Um. It's been declined as well" The clerk tried to busy himself with an over the counter display, evidently trying not to appear condescending with a person of the law.
Warrick, frustrated, tapped his plastic on the countertop. "Your machine must be having issues. I got no problem with my finances."
The clerk shifted away nervously. "It's been working fine all morning, Sir."
Before Warrick could press the issue, obviously ticked off at the turn of events, Nick calmly pulled out a few bills from his wallet and slid them over to the increasingly uncomfortable clerk.
"This should cover it, right?" Nick asked, not eying his partner. He didn't want to come across the wrong way. He simply wanted to put an end to Warrick's discomfort. There had to be some mix up at the bank. No need for his partner to get worked up.
The transaction complete, Warrick grabbed his items. He mumbled a "Thanks," to Nick under his breath.
Nick could understand his irritation: it was a humiliating situation, but he was still irked about the whole strangeness of it.
Nick waited for some off the cuff explanation for the purchase, but was treated to more silence on the ride back to the lab. He had never been a nosey guy, but as Warrick had gone to great measures to hide something from him, it only served to put him in a bad mood.
By the time the two men arrived back and changed into their coveralls, the tension between them kept them on edge. Warrick, miffed at an obvious financial foul up; Nick slightly hurt at the feeling of deception. To make matters worse, Warrick's cell phone continued to shrill in the garage every ten minutes. Each time, his partner walked away to answer it, and came back even more irritated. Nick's curiosity battled his discomfort at his friend's odd behavior.
Each CSI took an opposite end of the car and inspected the body for damage. The Ford had left tire tracks all over the road, indicating that whatever it had encountered, it had done so at a very high rate of speed. For whatever reason, the victim didn't or couldn't stop in time before her car made impact with another vehicle.
The accident was surrounded by suspicious circumstances. Both men worked in odd silence for the next hour, only speaking when it regarded something about of the car, or to point out clues of possible value in the investigation.
Nick was finished with the front side, and he rubbed his gloves over the front of his coveralls, smearing oil stains over the chest. Warrick grumbled under his breath, apparently still unable to find the cause for the odd accident.
Nick looked over. "Smashed hood, taillights, green paint transfer. Still don't know why she didn't hit the brakes."
Warrick suppressed a small cough and furrowed his brow. "I got some damage on the rear bumper. Like she'd been hit from behind and forced off the road." He looked over at Nick. "Think someone tampered with the brakes?"
Nick tilted his head to one side thinking. "Could be."
The Texan went over to one of the massive toolboxes, his eyes scanning the floor until he came across the piece of equipment he'd been searching for. He found the sliding board and carried it over as Warrick stripped off his work gloves and exchanged them for latex ones as he prepared to dust for fingerprints.
As Nick brought the board over, he looked up to see Gil Grissom enter the garage.
"This the vehicle in the Robinson case?"
Warrick sighed. "Yeah. Still trying to figure out what happened. We're about to check for a faulty, or tampered brake line."
Warrick walked over to where Grissom was standing, as Nick placed the board down in preparation for going under the car.
"I've got spill over from Day shift, so let me know your progress. Your labs are back from Trace," the supervisor explained.
Warrick nodded, as he caught Nick staring intently over at the equipment, a slight hesitation in his movement. Warrick eyed the car, then his cautious partner, and back over at Grissom who had finished talking. Grissom was apparently oblivious to Nick's reluctance.
"Yeah- will do," Warrick replied as he put his work gloves back on and walked over to Nick who was too engrossed in thought to take notice of his approach.
"I'll talk to you later." Gil waved, as he left the garage in a hurry, off to hand out more tasks.
Warrick walked over to Nick. "Hey, Grissom says our samples are back. You mind getting the results? I don't want to deal with Hodges."
Nick simply nodded, his demeanor a bit more relaxed and wandered away. Warrick followed him with his eyes and then lay down on the sliding board and went under the automobile to search for any signs of mechanical foul play.
Twenty minutes later he found himself seething under five tons of metal. He had already found the cut brake lines. They'd been partially soldered back into place so only his close examination of them had shown the tampering. The seething was because while he lay there his phone had rung three more times. He took several deep breaths and tried to bring his heartbeat down to more manageable levels. His head thrummed in time with his heart as his frustration built.
As the phone began to ring yet again he kicked off with one booted heel and shoved the rolling board out from under the vehicle in a rapid whoosh- winding up halfway out into the garage. He leapt up and snagged his phone from off the stool and snapped it open, noting the "ID blocked" message, and "3 missed calls".
"Yeah? … Yeah, I know… yeah, all right…I said all right! Damn!"
He popped the phone shut with a muttered curse, his eye catching sight of Nick, standing a few feet away with a manila folder under his arm.
His friend looked at him with a cocked eyebrow and an expression of concern.
"Everything all right, Warrick?" he said slowly.
"Yeah, fine. Just something I gotta take care of." He began to unzip his dark blue coverall as Nick stood where he had entered.
"Something about this case?"
"Nah. It's nothing," he said as he tossed the dirty coverall into a pile next to the stool.
"I got those results back from Hodges…you have time to go over them?"
"Nope." He snagged his ID badge and his service piece, throwing the necklace on and under his shirt, and snapping the piece on to his belt.
He saw Nick cast his eyes downward, a slight hurt expression on his face.
"Is this about the car..?"
"What? No. No- I told you- just something I gotta take care of. Tell Grissom I'm on dinner if he asks." And with that he half jogged to the back door off the garage that lead to the parking lot, leaving Nick standing where he'd been since he entered, folder in hand, and not a clue what was going on with Warrick.
Five minutes later Warrick stood in the parking lot, patting down his pockets for the second time. He glanced up to see his partner walking across the lot, a set of keys dangling teasingly out of his hand.
"Forget something?" Nick asked with a half smile.
Warrick grabbed the keys, no sign of gratitude in his manner, and turned towards the truck. As he put his hand on the door handle he felt something touch his arm. He whirled around to see Nick standing there, his expression of mixed anger and concern.
"You mind telling me what the hell is going on with you?"
"None of your concern, Nick. I'll see you in a bit." He turned back to try the door again when the hand on his arm pulled him back around.
"You think I'm stupid? Or deaf? Man, your phone has been ringing nonstop the last couple hours."
"It's personal, Nick- just let it go." He shook the hand free of his arm, turning and finally succeeding in getting the truck door open. He had just hauled himself up into the seat when a man on an old-fashioned looking bicycle pulled into the parking lot, its driver obviously looking for someone.
Warrick sighed and shook his head as he climbed back down out of the truck, slamming the door shut with another muttered curse, and gave the bike rider a wave with an upheld hand. The bike rider quickly turned towards them and pulled up along side the truck. He stood over the bike, balancing it between his legs, obviously poised to take back off on the bike at an instant. The rider cast long looks at Nick, his expression clearly that of suspicion verging on distaste.
"Kenny, Man. I told you I was coming by. Why you gotta be showing up here like this?"
Warrick cast an uneasy eye over at Nick, his friend clearly intrigued by the presence of this stranger that Warrick was talking to. He sighed, knowing this was just gonna complicate things, but that he'd have no choice but to offer at least an introduction.
"Nick, this is Kenny. Kenny, this is my partner Nick."
Kenny gave Nick a surly half nod, as if unwilling to even acknowledge his presence. Then turned right back around to face Warrick, giving his back to Nick still standing there.
"Ricky, you said you'd be by an hour ago." Warrick raised both eyebrows and gave him a death ray look. "Sorry. Warrick. Look man, you can't be leaving me hanging like this. You know what this guy can do. I gotta keep movin'. Can't let him find me, Bro."
His words came out in a breathless wheeze of panic, tumbling over each other, his voice raising another octave from its already higher pitch.
"Okay. Okay, man. Just relax. Hold on a second…" and he opened the truck back up, reaching over to a brown paper bag sitting in the center console. He grabbed the bag and took out an asthma inhaler, ripping the box open and handing the medicine to the wheezing man.
Kenny popped the cap in a well-practiced motion, gave it a shake, and held it to his mouth, taking in a large breath and holding it. As the medicine entered his lungs he slowly exhaled.
He quickly resumed talking, his voice slightly more modulated, his breathing a bit easier.
"Thanks, Bro. Haven't had any for a few days. This guy's had me chasing all over the city. I don't think there's anyplace left. I don't wanna go back to our place. It's too dangerous. We gotta do something, Bro. I gotta go somewhere. You gotta help me, Man."
Nick stood by, arms crossed in front of his chest, as he watched the man, who was obviously petrified by something, pleading for help from his best friend.
Warrick just stood there, with a hip cocked to lean against the truck and an angry but resigned look on his face, while Kenny blabbered.
"Kenny. Kenny!" Warrick interrupted the next ramble before it started. "Put your bike in the back of the truck."
Kenny opened his mouth to protest or begin another spiel- unknown which one it was going to be because Warrick held up a hand, stopping him in mid breath. "Put. Your. Bike. In the truck." The smaller man shook his head and cast another glare at Nick, but kicked a leg over the bike and began to roll it to the back of the truck.
Nick leaned forward to begin to ask Warrick for an explanation but the hand went back up in Nick's face.
"Leave it alone, Nick. I'm gonna take Kenny back to my place. I'll explain later."
"Rick, Man. Who is this guy?"
"He's an old friend, " he said with attempted finality.
"What's his deal, Warrick? Why is he blathering about somebody trying to get him? Are you guys in some kinda trouble, cuz--"
Warrick leaned in to put his face closer to his friend's. In a lowered voice he ground out between clenched teeth, "I don't want to talk about this right now. I have some things to take care of. So, please. Leave it be."
Kenny in the meantime had emerged from behind the truck after struggling with getting the bike, which probably weighed more than he did, into the back. He adjusted an old looking knapsack, around his shoulders, checking the inside contents quickly for anything amiss. He moved up close and darted an angry look at Nick. "The man said back off, Buddy. Best you do as he says."
"Kenny! Leave it alone. Go get in the truck."
Kenny hesitated, puffing his scrawny chest out and giving Nick another glare.
"Kenny. Get in the fucking truck. Now. And, Nick, I'll talk to you later." With that Warrick heaved himself up into the driver seat, and had the truck moving within seconds of turning over the key.
Nick was left once more, this time abandoned in the parking lot, waving a cloud of exhaust fumes from in front of his face. His emotional leeway for his best friend could only take so much before breaking loose with the need for some honest answers.
Warrick sat rigidly in the driver seat. He was pushing the truck's speed well over the limit, and his eyes scanned constantly for cops. He just wanted this man out of his truck. His eyes had begun to water and a small tickle was building in his nose and the back of his throat. He cast an eye down at the brown bag in the console, wishing he had some water to take some of his Benadryl with. He coughed and cleared his throat, his rigid posture causing an ache to build in his neck. He raised a hand to rub out the knots he found there.
Damn it. This was all wrong. How did he get stuck in this situation? Old loyalty could be a major pain in the ass. Warrick shook his head. He'd been rude to Nick ever since Kenny showed up, but he just wanted to keep his partner distanced from his current problem. And Kenny was definably a problem, a big one. He didn't want to drag Nick into it, and being a lousy, abrupt asshole was the only way to keep his buddy far away from everything as possible.
Kenny hadn't stopped yammering since they had left the parking lot. He knew Kenny was in a bad way, and the guy was harmless. They had history, and that meant Warrick cut him a good deal of slack. But his patience was just about through, and he could only listen to so much more before he lost it.
Just in time, they arrived at his townhouse. He pulled into his narrow driveway and as he pocketed the keys he glanced up at the front porch. Damn light bulb burned out again.
He thought Tina was supposed to have the night off. The townhouse was dark, not even a table lamp or TV glowed from within. Huh. Tina must be out.
He gestured for Kenny to follow him up his short walk; his stride pulling up short as he noticed the front door was partially ajar. The hair rose on the back of his neck and something made him pull his piece from his belt. He eased the front door open, and noticed immediately that their formerly neat abode had been ransacked. He pushed the door open further, fear for his wife making him forget the fear and he charged forward into the living room, punching the switch on the nearest lamp.
"Tina? Tina?"
His words echoed, the house feeling empty of life. He approached the stairs leading to the second floor, his gun still held front and center when he was startled by the sound of his phone ringing.
He raced over and picked it up, the receiver held to his ear as his eyes continued to scan around him.
"Hello?"
"Good evening, Mr. Brown. I believe you have something I want. And I believe that I have something you want."
Warrick's blood solidified in his veins as he heard Tina's voice in the caller's background screaming out his name