CSI: Crime Scene Investigation

Chapter Five

Greg Sanders

"Toxic"

Cynthia Williams wheeled about, her pretty yellow hair shimmering in the Vegas sun. She really hated this part of America; it was such a dry and pitifully hot place she couldn't stand it. She shook her head and focused on the wide screen TV mounted to the far brick wall. They could see the first of the cyclists coming in now, dropping their bikes and running for their partners. With dignified pride she could see her team member at the lead.

"San Francisco is cutting into a piece of the action here folks with a clear position of 1st place" announced the TV man.

Everywhere around Cynthia were murmurings of disappointment and wonder, some people even eyed her yellow uniform, which clearly marked her as one of them. She didn't care if she stood out like a beckon in the crowd; it wasn't her fault they all sucked. With satisfied pride she zipped up her vest and walked off through the onlookers of the TV screen (which had switched to the picture of a very large pile up) and onward to her SUV. It was time to get to her track course of the 10 mile running in the blissful scenery of Las Vegas. The course she would be competing in, against Sara Sidle, her former co-worker. That was another reason she hated Vegas, Sara. And like Cynthia Williams always, always said to the bad guys just as she caught them, 'her reasons were her own'.

"Let's go" she commanded the driver, who only nodded and started the engine.

The team from San Francisco were about to win yet again, and there wasn't anything anyone could do to stop them.

Greg tried to catch up to the other leading riders, he really did, but he might as well have been banging his head against a brick wall. He didn't want to let his team down, even though they treated him like a doll. He ran over to his bike, and equipped the baton to a safe section so it wouldn't fly back and make the engine explode. When he walked his bike to the track, there was nobody in front of him, nor behind. The pile up had ensured no one would be passing him for a while (thanks to Catherine). But what Sanders had to concentrate on was getting past the leaders of the race and giving Nick a good start.

"This is gonna be awesome" he said, looking down at the pink helmet nestled in his arms.

Greg hoisted it up, stuffed it on his head and pressed the 'play button on the side'. Music blared instantly and Greg twisted the handle of his bike a few times to test it out, fumes puffed out the exhaust like swirling clouds of stardust.

Baby cant ya see

I'm callin'

A guy like you

Should wear a warnin'

It's dangerous

Im fallin'

Yep, his helmet was inbuilt with an Ipod and everything. Greg had practically squealed when he had found it in that shop, causing all the tough Bikey men to stare at him with undisguised disgust. He kicked off from the road and his motorcycle went flying down the smooth road, the crowd cheering dramatically behind him, shrinking into the distance.

There's no escape

I can't wait

I need a hint

Either give me it

You're dangerous

I'm lovin' it

Oh, Greg was loving this! The music only served to pump his adrenaline and speed up. The dry, desolate scenery added to the music, shrub after bush was sent streaking past. The track was black cement, but sand and clay extended as far as the eye could see. It wasn't incredibly hot in his suit seeing as the sun was beating down on the land with a fiery fist. Greg had his fluoro suit to thank for that, so it had come in handy after all!

To high

Cant come down

Losin' my head

Spinnin' round and round

Do you feel me now?

Greg swerved around a corner and rode on. His heart soared as he saw a jumble of motorbikes racing ahead of him. He had caught up with the leading pack! This was his chance to show his friends he wasn't a moron! He managed to ride up in line with the back rowers, weaving in and out of them like a pro.

With a taste of the lips I'm on the ride

Your toxic guns slippin' under

With a taste of a poison paradise

I'm addicted to you

Don't you know that you're toxic

Greg laughed as a few of the other motorcyclists turned their heads to look at him, darting between them like a bullet, just like Britney Spears did in her music video.

And I love what you do

Don't you know that you're toxic

With a triumph cheer he overtook them all, kicking up dust from the soil of Las Vegas and parading on. He heard a few shouts of anger from behind him, but for all Greg could care it wasn't worth the trouble. He felt like he was flying, the two wheels spinning around in a perfect silver motion. Greg played a lot of those car games, 'Need for Speed: Underground", "Burnout Revenge" and let him tell you, the reality was far better than the fantasy.

Greg tore on and in another twenty minutes of dangerous fast riding, twisting through corners and climbing all over the Vegas desert landscape, his bike carried him closer and closer to his destination. The 'Silverwater Lake' to the 'Vegas' north, where Nick would be waiting. From what Greg could gather, he hadn't took the lead yet, there was still another 4 or 5 people in front of him, but he had certainly given their team a bit of leeway. The rest was up to Nick and Sara.

With a grin he entered the small stadium where he would finish his course with a circle of victory. This is where a flaw erupted in Greg's plan. There's a saying that says, 'Slow and steady wins the race', and quiet frankly it's true. Especially when you're driving a motorcycle at 120 miles per hour, and you're a complete idiot.

Greg was going so fast, he would have been fined in a heartbeat if this were the outside world. He drove his bike off a mini ramp, smiling as he sailed through the sky. The mid air motion was excruciating slow and he glanced into the crowd, to see if anyone was witnessing this glorious moment.

'Oww! There's a cutie lookin' my way!' he thought.

Just to be a total showoff of course, he let go with one hand and gave her the thumbs up. She stood and begun to pull up her-

Oh god! The motorbike landed on the hard gravel and Greg lost all control of the bike. It canoed into the side wall, sending the audience members scattering faster than Moses could part the red sea. The bike tore on, ripping through banisters and coffee tables, to finally crash right into the side of a public toilet, tipping the whole thing over. A very angry man with muscles as thick as telephone poles, kicked open the collapsed toilet door.

"What the hell?!" he shouted, pants still half down.

The people however were shrieking and running over to see if Greg was alright. He groaned and looked up to see his bike exhaling grey fumes; there was no way he was getting to Nick on that anymore….oh crap, he'd have to run.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach he got up, wrenched the metal baton from the debris and weakly pushed his way through the crowd. His right leg hurt a lot but Greg ignored the pain and continued on limping down the track road, trying to filter out everything but the finish line only 100 meters away. Then he heard a noise, the grumbling of an engine. He paused momentarily to look back. There were 13 or 14 motorbikes shrieking their way toward him in bright flashing colours, like a trained pack of wolves seeking their prey.

Greg did the only thing a man about to be ran over by bikes would do. He ran, wincing with pain at every step.

"Shit!" he cursed, as his boot caught in a small ditch.

Greg tumbled to the floor; the noise of the bikes was getting closer. There was no way he could get out of the way in time. So he did the best thing he could do and curled up, tucking his head in. The motorcycles darted past in light speed, the sound of them splitting Greg's ears open. In a flash 14 of them had passed and a very ruffled Greg, clutching the baton so hard he almost bent the metal, stood up on his bruised and shaky legs.

"Great!" he said sarcastically. This now set Las Vegas back 14 places! His cockiness had come back to bite him in the ass! So much for his victory.

10 minutes later the only sound the former lab rat could hear as he thundered down his ending strip was his heavy boots thudding along the cement. That had been one hell of a ride! And if given the chance he would do it again! That's just how stupid he could be sometimes.

Greg ran toward the corner, the audience members trying to touch him like he was an internationally famous bike racer, instead of a geeky Crime Scene Investigator he was.

"Hey Greg, you alright?!" shouted a voice from behind.

He looked over his shoulder, and was faced with an enormous black car, Catherine, Grissom and Warrick peering out at him.

"Nice fall out there" congratulated Warrick, blaring the headlights as if he was going to run the skinny man over with the bull bar of the car.

"Hey, you can take the crap outta me once i finish this alright" he said in defeat, a smile creeping to his face.

"Hurry up!" snapped Catherine, "Or we'll run you over! I didnt stack it for nothin' out there you know!"

She looked serious. Grissom drove the car beside Greg as he hauled the remaining few steps and stopped, almost pissing himself laughing. Nick was waiting there for him maybe 20 paces in cute little pink swimmers which suctioned his butt in.

"Here ya cowboy!" Greg clutched his leg, hobbling over.

"Whats wrong with you?!" Nick asked as he took the baton and slowly jogged away, concerned eyes still on his team mate.

Greg shook his head and waited for Nick to turn around again, before bringing his hand to his mouth and…whistling. Nick jumped, snapped his head back and gave Greg a disbelieving look, quickly checking the audience to make sure they hadn't heard it. Greg almost fell over from laughing…

A:N/ Thanks once again to reviewers. Sorry this one was late, I've been back and forth since its School Holidays and I wanna enjoy them before I go back to hell. I fed sharks the otha day! :D and went swimming with them!

Anyways, hope you like this chapter. Stay tuned for the next one, and its 'cute boy' Nick with his bumsucking undies next.

Sar'z