Electricity
By LMR
Disclaimer: Hello, LMR. I want to play a game. For years you have wasted hours on a computer typing out the lives of imaginary people you didn't even create - characters who belong to Dick Wolf, not you. Now we will find out how much you appreciate your creativity. Your computer is wired to a system of electric shocks. You have three hours to type a ten chapter story. If you do not, LMR, there will be enough electricity in your body to light your entire city for five days. And I should tell you, the keyboard is wired to give you a small reminder shock every time you mention the name of someone else's character. How many dumb clichés will you use to make a disclaimer? Live or write fanfiction: Make your choice.
Goren (OUCH!) and Eames (EEEEK!) don't belong to me. Neither does $#in' Jigsaw (AACK), but the Saw Uncut DVD taught me that if your fanfiction is bad enough, they might mention it in the commentary! Hey, Vincent, Kathryn; are you reading this garbage???? (Yay! Saw iv! Yay!)
A.N.: Super thanks to Claire who not only Betas, but teaches me cool new words like "chuffed." Those crazy English!
Chapter 2: Thrown Away
xXx
Alex scowled across the double desks. Everything on her partner's desk was in its place. The replacement Santa mug bridging the gap between his desk and hers. Coffee left and center. That portfolio right in front of him. The reminder pad just above it, with that dumb little caterpillar.
Stupid caterpillar.
Stupid caterpillar with no note above it. No profession of how much she cared. No joke about his precious geekiness. No nothing. She couldn't believe it.
After just three short months, Bobby had thrown it out.
Petty? Yes. Childish? Yes. Pathetic? Probably. But he's supposed to keep it, she thought ruefully. He's supposed to remember. It's supposed to be there to solidify and bolster his precarious and always fragile self-confidence, damn it!
Apparently her displeasure was on parade. "You okay?" Bobby wondered, brows furrowed in concern.
"Hm? Yeah I'm fine." You big insensitive meanie.
A serious voice shook her out of her self-pitying stupor. "Goren, Eames." Captain Deakins gestured for them to come into his office.
She looked at her partner and raised an eyebrow, abandoning her hurt in anticipation of the challenge their new case might have in store.
Maybe some entertainment, too. Lately, their cases had been kind of... well, funny. Huh.
Goren shrugged back at her in a gesture of we'll see.
In the office, Eames sat absently tugging at the fabric on the arm of her chair; looking at the commendations, memorabilia, and decorations on the wall and... was that a ceramic cat?! "It's good to be back, Detectives," their captain said cheerfully once they had settled.
Eames looked at him quizzically and vocalized what she and Goren were both thinking, "From where?"
"The break room," Deakins answered incredulously, leaning forward on his desk and glancing between the two. "Where do you think? It feels like I've been in there for a year."
Goren agreed, somewhat confused. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd missed something. He glanced at his partner, who was wearing a similar expression. Nah.
Their captain, satisfied that everything was settled, started the briefing. "New case: Kid found a body that'd been dumped in a shallow grave on the corner of Turtleman and Timbuktu. Looks like he's been there a while. You're on it," he continued, seeing a question on Eames's face. "Because the kid who found the body is filthy rich and it brought a bunch of press attention," Deakins explained, gesturing to the morning paper on his desk which screamed "Goodenhoppen Heir Finds Body," followed closely by "Suspect Apprehended in Great Pinochle Heist" and "Yak Wins Lassie Look-a-Like Contest."
"He's the heir to the tape tab fortune," Deakins explained.
Both detectives just stared. "The...?"
"Yeah, you know, you get a roll of Scotch tape, there's that little tab at the end so it doesn't stick to itself before you hook it up on the tearing dealie?" He pantomimed this for a moment until he realized just how ridiculous he looked; cleared his throat in a dignified way and continued. "His great-great-great grandfather patented that thing. Still brings in an obscene amount of money. Everyone calls him the Paris Hilton of the adhesive industry."
Eames just nodded, glad she didn't hang around with "Everyone."
He nodded. "That's all. And on your way out, wouldja' send the others in here?" He gestured to the alternate Major Case team outside the office. They nodded ascent and left, catching the beginning of what was sure to be a completely pointless conversation.
"Hey, Logan," his partner snapped. "Ya' miss me?"
"I didn't even notice you were gone, Barek. Where'd you get to?"
"The bathroom, 'course, where'd you think, oh Brilliant Deductor?" She smacked his arm playfully.
"Don't call me that!"
Wow, Barek thought. My partner is showin' modesty. Some semblance of humility. Some indicator that-
"Makes me feel like I'm going to get audited!"
Never mind.
"Our captain wants you in his office," Eames said simply, while Goren simply watched the two, obviously amused, listening to Barek utter some insult under her breath that he could have sworn was Swedish.
xXx
Turtleman and Timbuktu Streets - Monday, July 2 - 10:47 a.m. Doink, doink.
The sun was hot on the detectives' backs as they out of the SUV at the crime scene. Turtleman and Timbuktu were roads off the beaten path of the city. There was actual grass, not pavement, around the intersection, though said grass was now brown in the July heat. The body was stashed under only a few inches of sandy soil.
"He was stabbed in the throat, several small punctures. No weapon. White male, early twenties, approximately six feet, and blonde's all we can tell at a glance," the CSU officer reported as they approached the scene. "We wanted to wait until you got here to do anything beyond that. Looks like he's been here for about a week."
Eames scrunched up her nose. "Smells like it, too." The officer got a nod from her before going back to conversing with the photographer.
"Body was called in by the Goodenhoppen nanny, Cherish Ross," Goren said, repeating what he'd heard from another officer on site.
"Don't say that name," Eames hissed, suddenly irritable.
Goren's face scrunched up in puzzlement. "Why not?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "Just don't." He shrugged, and giving no indicator that he even noticed the smell, crouched down by the shallow grave.
He busied himself examining the boy's hands for defensive wounds. There were none. His hands were clean but contained no clues as to what he might have been killed for or who he was (other than the fact that he was probably single. Big whoop). Goren started determinedly fishing around the man's jeans, gently lifting the body to get to the hip pockets. He triumphantly pulled a wallet out from under the kid; opened it. "Justin Buck," he reported, looking at the driver's license he'd found. "Three twenty nine Shrewsbury Street. Twenty-four years old." He rifled through the money section. "Few dollars. Several credit cards. Not much else, he kept a tidy wallet." He frowned, slipping a finger into another little section, pulling out a business card. "Hair She Blows Salon."
He slipped the wallet into the evidence baggie Eames was holding out for him.
"There's a phone number, no name with it." Goren held the business card delicately in his fingers, looking at the back. "And it could have something to do with why he was killed."
"Even you don't have the phone book memorized. It could be anything. Probably some girl."
"Well, I definitely know this one: It's our phone number. This guy was going to tell us something."
"He was planning to rat someone out. Maybe a partner."
Goren nodded. "His having this card doesn't make sense. This guy's no meterosexual. I mean, his hair's a mess, even besides the fact that he's, you know, dead," he added in concession. "Not the type to care about a salon. No other business cards on him. He's carrying this one, it means there's something special about that place."
"I'm guessing it wasn't the mousse," Eames ventured.
xXx
Next week:
"'Bobby, I found a note. 'Justin, the house isn't the same without you. Get well soon and come back to us. Koto.' Sounds like he was in the hospital. But there's no indication he was living with anyone, he's never owned a house. And 'us' makes it sound like there's kids, and he didn't have any. None of it makes sense.'"