"Hey, Mr. T. Does this fabric come in charcoal?"
The tailor shook his head angrily as he tugged on the pant leg in front of him.
"It is Tiftikjian. Tiff. Tick. Zhun. And you have already chosen the navy blue and I have already begun pinning it. Now please to stand still!"
"Okay, Mr. T. Just chill, Bro. Just asking. Maybe I want a second suit is all."
The grunted moan that emitted from the Armenian's mouth around the pins clenched between his lips spoke volumes. No amount of money in the world would be worth having to work with Kenny Longman again.
Kenny stood on a wide flat stool in front of a three paneled mirror designed to offer the user a view of their clothing as it was being altered. The little man kept craning his neck and fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt and playing with the buttons on the front while the tailor tried to work on hemming his pants.
Kasmir Tiftikjian, proud owner of Tiftikjian Tailors had worked with Nick and Warrick many times before. His shop offered deep discounts to the LVPD and the LVFD, and did the alterations on the police and fire department dress uniforms, as well as the suits the CSIs wore for court.
It was as a favor to them both that he worked on Kenny's suit for his upcoming trial. While the CSIs had both privately been reassured that the circumstances under which Kenny had hijacked the UPS truck would be given serious consideration, until he'd gotten his slap on the wrist and parole officer assignment the three of them were still a bit uneasy. Especially Kenny.
Because ironically enough, it turned out Kenny actually had something to lose should he face jail time.
About a week after Nick's eventual release from the hospital, Archie Johnson had been beckoned to Nick's house, the excuse given that while Nick recuperated he wanted to watch DVDs and he was having difficulty setting up a new player that had been bought for him what with his bum hand and all.
The A/V tech of course good naturedly showed up, tool kit in hand, only to be ambushed once he got in the front door by Warrick who gave him a startling bear hug, then proceeded to reach into a shopping bag and pull out box after box of sci-fi TV DVDs, piling them in the surprised tech's arms.
Introductions were quickly made between the still flustered tech and Kenny. Archie stuck a hand out for a shake that Kenny reluctantly returned, quickly stuffing his finger in his mouth to gnaw on a hangnail.
Warrick rolled his eyes at his childhood friend, his look clearly asking Kenny, hadn't he learned anything?
Nick was ensconced on the couch, his newly fixed left hand sitting atop the familiar pillow. He offered to scooch over for Archie but the tech just grinned and folded himself in front of the couch on the floor, eyes already avidly fixed on the TV screen in front of him. Kenny gave the Asian a sideways look, then plopped down next to him, back supported by the couch.
"So what kind of geek show we watchin?" he muttered. "Please don't let it be one of them Star Wars movies. That Jar Jar guy pisses me off."
Hours later the four were halfway through the first season of Star Trek. Well, not exactly all four of them. Archie and Kenny had stopped watching and were deeply entrenched in computer geek talk. Kenny had his homemade Blackberry and was eagerly showing Archie all the bells and whistles. Warrick was stuck staring at the TV, laughing in bemusement at the Styrofoam rocks and Kirk's intergalactic conquests.
Nick snored noisily on the couch, the conversation and surround sound phasers no match for his still worn-out body and pain meds.
That afternoon the week prior had led Archie to make a few calls to some contacts in Seattle. Kenny's work had been described to the Director of Product Development at Microsoft, and the other reason for the suit was the interview he had with them in a few weeks time. That is, if he wasn't in jail.
"Ouch! Damnit, man, you stuck me!"
"If you would only please to hold still I would not stick you with pins. You wiggle around like my four year old granddaughter."
Warrick and Nick were reclined sloppily in two overstuffed chairs at the back of the room, the scene in front of them providing boundless entertainment.
"Nuh uh. You did it deliberately! Old man sticking me with pins…"
"C'mon, Kenny. Just relax. Let Mr. Tiftikjian do his job. You need this suit, Man," Nick said with a smile.
"Yeah, well you get stuck with a bunch of pins and lemme hear what you got to say ab…" His eyes widened and he cast a leery glance at Nick.
Warrick closed his eyes, his disbelief at the things his childhood friend said evident on his face. He waited to hear what Nick's response would be, eyes popping open as he heard Nick laughing in the chair next to him.
"Good one, Kenny. I'll remember that," he said between gasps for breath. Laughing was one thing that still made his chest ache on occasion; that and the occasional cough would leave him rubbing his sternum for a few minutes.
Warrick rolled his eyes. "Man, I can't believe you can laugh at that. Kenny, you got about as much tact as a moose in a china shop!"
The smaller man mumbled a "sorry" under his breath, then brought a hand up to find a loose braid, finally pulling one free from the band when he found none available.
He shuffled his feet on the stool uneasily, rewarded with another pin stuck in his ankle.
"See? He is doin' it deliberately. Man, I've been standing on this stool for an hour. What you need all the pins for anyway?"
"You are small man. I need to make much alteration. Would be much faster if you would. Not. Move so much," he muttered angrily around his mouth full of pins, yanking firmly on the pant leg in front of him.
The two CSIs sat back to revel in the comedic turns of the tailor and the geek for a bit longer, each eased back into their chairs.
Warrick finally turned to his partner. "You get your check for your truck yet?"
"Yeah. The insurance company totaled it. Once I get this thing off I'll have to think about what to replace it with. And I can kiss my collision deductible away."
"No way for them to get it back, huh?"
"Nah. The carrier for the import company the Cherokee was registered under said that the loss occurred under unclear circumstances. And their calls to their insured aren't being returned. No surprise there."
Warrick shook his head. "Once that virus attacked his system, the way he had 'em all interconnected, probably crashed everything, even the legit businesses. Rangers reported the house was nothing but soot and ash after the fire. Course my car and Tina's were probably up there. I'm hoping there's enough wreckage left for my insurance company to find some VINs. Tired of driving around this crappy rental."
"Yeah, never thought I'd live to see the day Warrick Brown was driving an Econobox."
"Yeah, extra fun at six two, lemme tell you."
Nick smiled and laid his head back, the soft chair pillowing him in comfort. He lifted his left hand and rotated it slowly at the elbow, clenching his still slightly discolored fingers against the plaster.
The activity did not go unnoticed by his partner and Warrick watched with concern as he saw Nick's brow knit slightly.
"Knock it off," Nick muttered, eyes still closed.
"Knock what off?"
"You're starin' at me. Cut it out. I'm fine."
Warrick snorted. "Man, you are really something else, you know?"
Nick cracked open an eye, the other quickly following suit at the anger he saw in the green eyes fixed on him. "What?"
"You're tired. You're tired and your hand hurts. Is that so damn hard to admit?"
Nick sighed and sat up. "Now why in the hell would I be tired? My sum total activities for the day have been a doctor's appointment and sitting on my ass in this chair watching Kenny get stuck."
Warrick echoed his sigh, his tinged with more than a little frustration.
"Damn! I know they grow 'em stubborn in Texas, but you have got to be the stubbornest son that state ever birthed. Why is it so hard to admit things, Nick? You afraid I might think less of you cuz you're not Superman? Jesus, Nick, after all…"
Nick held up a hand to stop the rest of the tirade. "I sure as hell know I'm no superhero. You fill that roll quite nicely already."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you talk about admitting weaknesses and embarrassing things, yet your whole persona is built around the Uber-cool Warrick Brown. Mr. Single-handedly goes off to confront the supervillain in his Lair of Evil. Nothing bad ever happens to you, Warrick! You escape unscathed, your hair and clothes barely mussed."
"So that's what this is about…you're embarrassed because …because why? Because you got hurt trying to help me out of a mess I got myself into? A'ight…a'ight…lemme set you straight. You think you know from embarrassed?"
Nick sat forward slightly, intrigued by the idea he might actually hear about a time his ultra-suave partner might have had egg on his face.
Warrick leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes not quite meeting Nick's as he began his story.
"When I was in ninth grade I had this girl in my class. Teasha Washington. She was…she was hot. She reminded me of Janet Jackson, back when she was still young and had her original nose…" Catching Nick's eyebrows rise he shot him an angry look. "It was the eighties, Man. For the eighties she was hot. So anyway, I'm sitting in Math class and I'm starin' at Teasha. She's wearing some Flashdance sweatshirt thing, hanging off her shoulder, big plastic earrings. She had it goin' on. Next thing I know, my pants are getting tight and I have no idea what the hell is happening."
Nick laughed. "You got your first woody in ninth grade?"
"Shut up! I told you I hit puberty late. Anyway, the teacher, Ms. Sanders, she was this real sweet older lady. Never had any kids of her own, never married I don't think. Real motherly looking though, big and soft, like Nell Carter?" Nick nodded at the reference.
"So she calls me up to the board to answer some algebra problem, but I got a problem of my own I'm tryin' to deal with. So I pull my shirt out from my pants and try to kinda tent it out in front of me, to hide it like? Anyway, I make my way up to the board and I'm standin' there, with my back to the class. I scribbled down the answer and dropped the chalk back in the holder in front of me. When I turned around to go back to my desk, I knocked the chalk off the holder."
"Wait a second…you mean you knocked it off with-"
Warrick's hands were already rising to cover his face in the remembered humiliation. "Yeah, yeah. So I bend over to try and pick up the chalk, but it's hard to bend over what with my situation and my fingers are fumbling for the chalk and I stand up just in time for Ms. Sanders to have come over to help me. She's bending over, I hit my head on her huge breasts, knockin' her backwards. I fall back on my ass, the shirt now accentuating the hard-on sticking out of my parachute pants. The entire class erupts in laughter and I turn my head to see Teasha Washington giggling with Desiree Dominguez, the other class hottie. Poor Ms. Sanders is rubbing at her breasts where my big old head hit them, and I'm laying on the floor with the whole class staring at my less than impressively sized tent pole."
To give him credit, Nick tried to keep it together. But the scenario painted for him was just too much and he dissolved into laughter, ignoring the pain in his chest as he raised a hand to wipe a tear from his eye.
Warrick just sat there, fighting his own smile, then grinning widely as he nodded. "Yeah, yeah, laugh at the poor pre-pubescent geek. So, we settled the myth of my never being embarrassed?"
Nick took a minute to take a few breaths. Nodded in appreciation at what had been offered.
"A'right, you were just treated to one of my finer moments…hows about you fessin' up on something?"
Nick sighed and leaned back in the chair again, his expression pensive. After a minute, he finally looked at his partner, his reluctance painted in broad strokes on his face.
"Okay." He took in another deep breath. "Ever since last summer, I … I hate auto detail back at the Lab. Goin' under the cars on the rolling board? I dunno, must be the whole flat on my back, bottom of the car inches from my face deal, but I hate it. It freaks me right the hell out…… What? Are you--? Why the hell are you laughing?"
Warrick shook his head in disbelief. "Man, that ain't no secret! You really think you're that good at hiding things, huh? Damn, a little claustrophobia ain't nothin' to be embarrassed about! Shit! So that's your big confession huh?" He kept shaking his head.
Nick frowned in annoyance. "Alright," he began slowly, "you remember that case we had where the cult offed themselves?"
Warrick stopped laughing, acutely aware that Nick was taking this seriously. "Yeah," he prodded.
"Well, they were all down below in this bunker, buried under the desert." A tongue slipped out to wet his lips at the memory of the oppressive heat that day. "It had to be a hundred and fifty in there, at least. Heard some patrol officers talking about how hot and enclosed it was inside. Don't think I've ever not wanted to do something more than I didn't want to go down there. Then once I manage to make myself go down there, I find all these empty bottles. They all smelled like cheap alcohol…like ether," he added quietly.
"By the time I'd finished up I lurched my way up to the top, elbowed past some poor uniform, nearly knocking him on his ass. Barely made it to the truck and I lost my breakfast. Took me fifteen minutes before I could even get behind the wheel," he finished, collapsing back in the chair.
Warrick sat back stunned. "Man, that was rough. Can't believe they had you goin' down there… guess you've been hidin' things better than I gave you credit for. Damn, Nick. You keep hiding everything, no one's ever gonna know when you need help."
Nick nodded, confirming the unspoken words that said that was the whole point of his efforts.
Warrick felt a small flare of anger that his partner could continue to be that stubborn. But having a full on argument in the middle of a tiny tailor's shop was not the best idea so he held his tongue.
He turned his head as he heard another loud sigh from his friend. "So, since you got me in full confession mode, I'll allow one last thing." A hand rose to rub at his face, then drop down to work at his arm where the cast rubbed on his flesh. "I'm tired. Okay? There I said it. I'm worn to the bone, ass dragging, wrung out like a wet dishrag tired. I'll probably fall asleep in that little four-banger rental of yours before we even get back. We about ready to ditch this place?" he asked wearily.
Warrick punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about! I'll go roust Kenny. He's gotta be more than ready to get outa Mr. Tiftikjian's clutches."
He heaved himself out of the armchair and strolled over to see if he could help speed things along.
"You two about done here?" he asked with a none too subtle flick of his head in Nick's direction. Kenny glanced over to see Nick's head resting on the back of the chair, eyes closed.
Before he could answer the tailor spoke up. "I have enough to make proper alterations. You will please to pick up suit, Mr. Brown?" he asked pointedly, meaning no Kenny when he came back. Warrick chuckled, placing a warning hand on Kenny's shoulder as the little man was about to start yammering at the tailor.
"Yeah. His hearing is in a couple weeks, Mr. Tiftikjian. That give you enough time?"
The Armenian nodded his head brusquely and grabbed up his tape measure to stalk into the back room behind the counter.
Kenny took a slow spin on the stool, checking out the alterations to be made to the suit. Even with the pins and chalk marks, the suit looked good on him, although very odd considering Warrick had never seen the man in anything but Army surplus clothing.
The CSI let out a low slow whistle showing how impressed he was.
"Looks good on you, Bro! The navy was a good choice. And stop worrying about the hearing. Told you- we got an in with The Man. We'll make sure everything goes all right."
Kenny nodded as he took another look at the suit in the mirror.
"Hey, Kenny, the suit looks good on you," Nick spoke up from his seat. "You look like a man of wealth and taste."
Warrick looked at Kenny. Kenny looked at Warrick. Then both heads turned slowly to stare at the Texan in the chair.
"What?" Nick started. "What are…"
Warrick shook his head. "You'd have no way of knowin', Nick. It's just … Man, this is just … the password on Kenny's Doomsday Virus I unleashed?"
Nick nodded slowly, waiting.
The password was the first letters of thirteen words. "Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste."
Nick swallowed, as the words sunk in. He could hear Mick Jagger's voice and the eerie chorus running behind him as he sang the opening refrain to "Sympathy for the Devil".
The flight attendant was a beautiful Chinese woman, very petite, hair done up in a tight bun, makeup accentuating her dark eyes. She carried a small notebook as she made her way down the middle aisle of the first class section of the plane.
The captain's voice floated in over the loudspeaker. "Ladies and gentleman, on behalf of Lotus Air I'd like to welcome you aboard our non stop flight from LA to Macao. Our flight time will be approximately fourteen hours, so please sit back and relax and enjoy your flight. Our lovely flight attendants will make sure all of your needs are met. Please don't hesitate to let us know how we can make your trip more comfortable. The boarding gate is closed and we will be completing our final check list and departing shortly. Thank you again for choosing Lotus Air."
She approached the passenger in the third row, his legs crossed in front of him as he paged through a very old looking red leather bound book.
"May I get you a drink, Sir?"
His head turned slowly to look at her. She would have thought him very handsome for an older man, but for his eyes. Ice cold and devoid of any life. She drew back a bit at the sight of them, shivering slightly even though the plane was already uncomfortably warm from sitting on the California tarmac.
"Single malt scotch. Neat," he replied frostily.
She stammered a bit, then mumbled a, "Very good, Sir," hastily jotting his drink order on her pad.
The passenger moved a hand to pluck at a non-existent speck of lint on his expensive suit trousers, revealing the front cover of the book. She noted the Chinese characters embossed in gold leaf on the cover and instantly translated them in her head.
Sun Tzu. The Art of War.
The End
That's it! Ride's over folks! Please wait until the vehicle has come to a full and complete stop before exiting.
Feel free to stay a while and read our Authors' Note!
We would like to thank the readers for all of their support during this endeavor. We've been thrilled by the constant feedback. People's comments have been some of the best: detailed, constructive, and just plain curious. It means a lot when readers try to analyze things, or react in certain ways…sort of like feeding the happy bunnies. Thank you.
Big Thanks to Amy! You did an amazing job researching some of the tougher aspects of this story without having a clue what the plot was about. Your data and suggestions made writing the evil Madame Chu scenes as accurate as possible and all of your tips really guided us in how to handle Nick's reaction to the scorpion toxin.
Kristen:
Foremost, I'd like to thank my co-author Beth for this wonderful experience. I remember e-mailing her back and forth one day after Off Road and mentioning this idea; a very basic premise for a story. Then I wrote Dark Days and she wrote Tabula Rasa. Some time in between we agreed it would be fun to write it together. This was the first time where I experienced writing chapters as cohesive things together. We each took parts and wrote them out, fiddling and editing. We each took time to research, send notes, random ideas via e-mail, IM, and so forth. I'm so pleased by the results. Sometimes I forget who wrote what part.
This was an amazingly fun thing to write. We both wanted a break from deeper character studies and this was sort of an open book to do whatever the heck we wanted since the pretext was action/adv...Something not typical for CSI, while remaining as realistic as possible. No matter what, realism is the key and the devil is in the details! Thanks, Beth, for being such a great co-author. You're the best!
Also thanks to Poncholives for reading things over from time to time, when I needed a second opinion and for any pre-feedback. You've been great Ann!
My next project will be parts case file, character study and some action. I've been molding it for quite some time and it will be the most layered story to date in terms of themes and plot. It will be set during season 6 and the undertone will be reactions from the season and some much needed dissection from DLG, during a very grueling, grisly, case. It's Nick and Grissom friendship, although it will be different from what I've written before.
Beth:
I want to thank Amy personally for her help with all the medical hoo-hah. The torture scene just wouldn't have been the same without it! Kristen told me how she asked you for weird esoteric medical information, without divulging the reasons or plot behind it, and you gamely came up with everything we needed to keep our boys bloodied but unbowed. Thank you, again, as it truly added the "realness" we both strive for.
And, Kristen…. Ahh, Chickie. What can I say, except to share with everyone the story I told you about the first review I ever received from you. I was so very new to the site, had no clue who anyone was behind their funny looking pennames. I had read a series of stories by someone named Kristen999, and loved each and every one of them for the way in which she captured Nick's character. Of course, it helped that she liked to whump on the poor soul! I began my first story, feeling completely out of my depth and wondering if anyone would ever care about my little endeavor, after more than a couple chapters went by without a review. Chapter 9 gets posted and I get the most incredibly gratifying review ever. It is of course, from the still mysterious Kristen, and SHE LIKED MY STORY! I haven't told any of my friends or family about my writing, and I had this incredible thing that I needed to share. I called my sister and babbled to her about how I was actually writing this story, and there's this author that I really liked and really respected and SHE LIKED MY STORY! My sister, to her credit, tried to be excited for me, but just didn't get it. It was like being a Little Leaguer being tapped on the shoulder by Babe Ruth and having the Babe tell me, "Nice job, kid."
And here we are, mere months later, and first she helps me up when I stumbled on Tabula Rasa, and now I am humbled to say that I wrote a story with the Babe. It was an incredible experience. She is so unselfish and easy to work with, and I have never had more fun or been happier at the new friendship made. My dearest hope is that an opportunity presents itself to do this again. That said, I am happy to let everyone know that I have been given the privilege of getting a First Look at her newest epic. And Holy Mother of My Dog… it is shaping up to be the best thing I have read from her yet. Truly awe-inspiring.
And our readers are the best! What incredibly well thought out, constructive, wonderful reviews we received. Thanks always for taking time out of your busy lives to drop us a line or twelve!
(Just read Beth's comments, now I'm cheeks are very red although I doubt she'll let me edit them. LOL)-K