Disclaimer: (Oops, knew we forgot something last chapter) CSI does not belong to us even though we wish it did. This story is loosely based on the song "The Night Pat Murphy Died" which is a folksong in public domain, but most people know the version by Great Big Sea. We don't own them either, though we wouldn't say no to Alan as a Christmas present…or any of the guys from CSI.

A/N: This chapter is lovingly dedicated to our reviewers HYPERPICES, awesomepossum, Jewelmarie, babsji, ibreak4CSI, Cate, peeka. boo, Maddy-CSI, and MadGeorge. Cybercookies to all! These have been cooked on the George Foreman Grill in our kitchen.

Brass and Nick were hiding from Ecklie in the breakroom. He hadn't been the same since he got back from that case where the murderer mistook the mail drop for the incinerator in a building. Dealing with all those irate postal workers had not improved his disposition any. The two were working on the current bet among the nightshift, trying to perfect complete meals that could be cooked using only a Magic Bullet and a George Foreman grill. So far, Catherine was in the lead with her grilled chicken, asparagus and rice cooked in the bun warmer. Grissom was in second place with his Morning breakfast, of bacon, eggs, and toast. Sara and Warrick were tied for third, Sara's contribution being tomato soup, grilled tofu kebabs and couscous. She won a lot of points for making tomato soup on a grill. Warrick managed waffles with whipped cream and berries. Brass had made grilled peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and Nick perfected a steak marinade using fresh herbs. Greg was in last place for burning Spaghetti-Os. Sara had told him that burning and cooking aren't the same thing. Even Ecklie was in on the act, unintentionally. He thought the list kept by the grills (red for meat, green for vegetables, and blue for desserts) was a sign up sheet for who used it, and recorded his cheese and bacon sandwiches along with the other contest entries.

Brass was working on another entry involving fresh vermicelli, mushrooms and copious amounts of pepper when the call came in that there were 80 inebriated witnesses on their way. "Nick, we need to make a temporary drunk tank. Where do you think we can put eighty people?"

"The only place I can think of is the waiting room. The interrogation rooms are too small, and anywhere else, they'd hurt themselves." The two men cleared the room of sharp objects and placed empty wastebaskets around the room in strategic locations, on the off choice the incoming drunks would use them instead of the floor.

As they finished, they heard the vans pull up. The drunks were reluctant to leave the vans, probably due to fear of ninja attacks. Luckily Catherine pulled up, and most of them seemed to follow her. The few remaining stragglers noticed a "ninja" in the back of the vans and ran screaming for safety. Greg had the task of retrieving the cat from the van.

"Is this a witness or is it evidence," he asked. The orange tabby cat was hissing, spitting and had succeeded in covering his exposed skin with scratches.

Sara came and took the cat from him. "I don't know, but he's my new best fwiend," she said as the cat snuggled against her and started purring. "You're a good wittle kitty-witty, aren't you. What's your name?"

One of the "guests" in the waiting room noticed this scene, pointed and screamed "NINJA!" causing six others to hide behind the couch.

"Ninjie, you're a pwetty wittle kitty-witty. Sawa's going to take good care of oo." With that she turned around and brought her new best friend to the locker room so he could sleep on her coat.

Catherine walked up to Greg. "I suppose, you're jealous of the cat now. Rubbing all over Sara's Tatas."

At the mention of Tatas and Sara in the same sentence, Greg's brain ceased to function, and his only response was an incoherent gargling sound reminiscent of Homer Simpson. He even had the drool in the corner of his mouth. Catherine slapped him. "It's time to get to work. We have to interview eighty witnesses. You drooling over Sara will not help matters."

Nick and Brass were trying to get people to sit down, but they didn't have much luck. One man insisted that he was perfectly sober and wished to prove it by spinning in circles. Luckily, he passed out after a couple of minutes. Catherine had more luck getting people to settle down, but was not able to get names from most of the men and a couple of women because they all thought their name was Bra Strap, and a few people hearing this, insisted that their name was Jaques Strappe.

Brass was trying to interview two people wearing matching toilet paper sashes with "KARRIE OKIE ҖONTӘΣT Wiил" on them in green ink. "Could you get Sara? I think these people are deaf."

"How did they win the Karaoke Contest then?" asked Greg, incredulously.

"You can read that?" asked Catherine.

"I've been the winner of many drunken Karaoke Contests."

"It kind of looks like one of Grissom's reports. Especially the use of Pi."

Sara sidled in from the locker room. "Ninjie's sleeping on my coat. Isn't that cute."

Brass nodded in agreement, but wanted her to get to the matter at hand. "I think these two are deaf. Can you get their information from them? They don't seem too drunk."

"Ok, Brass." Sara's nimble fingers asked a few questions. "Their names are Lisa and Dave Doyle. They were with their friend The Green Avenger? Oh, that must be that guy with the cape and lampshade. They're having a party for their friend Pat Murphy. Part of it was a Karaoke contest. The Green Avenger was the judge and he made the sashes."

Catherine wandered over after they were done. "I didn't know you could sign, Sara."

"Yeah, I kinda felt like a tit after that case a few years ago, so I got Grissom to show me the basics, and took a couple of courses at the college for the deaf. At least now I can get by when I have to. If these folks were any more drunk, I probably wouldn't be able to get as much across, since I fingerspell so much."

At the mention of tits, Greg went back into a trance. "Don't worry," said Catherine. "I know how to handle this." She slapped Greg in the back of the head. He shook himself a few times and went back to work. "Works every time."

Nick was trying to interview the large kilt-wearing man who led so many sing-a-longs in the street. Up close, they realized he looked like a football player by the name of Jamal Washington, a quarterback for the Jets. "What is your name, sir?"

"O'Leary"

"It says on your driver's license, that you're wearing on a lanyard around your neck, that your name is Jamal Washington."

"No, I'm O'Leary! I'm Irish!" With that, he picked up a set of bagpipes that he had strapped to his back. Much to the chagrin of everyone except the Doyles, he started to play a lively jig. Ecklie, ever in a bad mood, promptly went over to the exuberant "Irishman" and seized the pipes. Unperturbed, O'Leary reached into his sporran and produced a penny whistle and continued the tune. Ecklie grabbed that too. O'Leary's hand went back into the sporran and came up with a kazoo. Ecklie grabbed that almost immediately. This time, O'Leary produced a comb and a piece of tissue paper and continued the song. When Ecklie grabbed this, the man standing next to O'Leary handed him another set of pipes.

"How'd you get so good on the pipes, O'Leary" asked his neigbour.

"Internet" was the reply, and O'Leary started to play another tune. The man wearing green house paint, a cape and a lampshade took notice.

"The Green Avenger does not stand for misguided cultural impressions! A true Irish man would never play the highland pipes. I will avenge the IRISH!" He made a rush for the piper, but did not notice the blinds hanging between himself and O'Leary and became hopelessly entangled.

Catherine went over to help the man. She had some sympathy for him, having to free Lindsey from the banister at home several times. "There now big fellow. Let's get you out of here. Maybe this would go faster if you took off your lampshade." Catherine reached over and removed the headgear. "Holy sh…"