23) Don't Send In The Clowns

Grissom walked off the elevator, his eyes on his folder. He walked up the receptionist desk, walking around the chairs that he had memorized the locations of, and stopped at the desk.

"Any message while I was out, Gina?"

There was no answer.

Grissom looked up. She was glaring at him.

"Any messages?" he asked again.

She stood, leaning over her desk and on the counter.

"Grissom, how long have I worked here?"

Grissom stared at her. He didn't know. This wasn't something he was in charge of keeping track off.

"I don't know," he honestly admitted.

"Twelve years. Started off days, went to nights, less stress. I've seen a lot of things go through here, a lot of crazy, crazy things."

"I'm taking it you've seen something crazy this morning?"

She stood up, putting her fists on her hips and shaking her head. "How could you, Grissom? How could you?"

Grissom was really confused. "How could I what?"

She sighed, sitting down and turning her back on him to start typing something.

"Gina… How could I what?"

"No messages. I've said my peace. Go away."

Grissom stared at her. He really felt like he should know what the hell was going on, but he didn't.

"Gina?"

"I said go away."

"I heard you, but I'm sorry, I don't know why you're angry with me."

"I'm not angry with you. Aghast, maybe, but not angry."

"And why are you aghast with me?"

She sighed, turning.

"Did you know that your CSI walked out tonight?"

Grissom stared at her. "My… Nick, Warrick, and Greg?"

"Yeah. They came in, handed everything to Catherine, and told her they quit. Then left."

"Did you hear why?"

"It's not my place to talk about it. But really, Grissom, you know how Nick hate's clowns. How could you traumatize him like that!?"

"Clowns? What?"

She turned her back on him. "Never mind. It's not my place to comment about things like that."

Grissom turned, hurrying out of reception. Now he had to find Catherine. This ended up not being very far away. She was in her office working on paperwork. She looked up as he came in.

"Gina told me Nick, Warrick, and Greg quit."

Catherine smiled, looking down at the paperwork. "They did. But they'll be back tonight."

"They told you that?"

"No. Just a gut feeling." She resumed writing.

"What happened?"

She looked up at him. "You didn't hear? It was all over the police band."

"I've been out at Indian Springs since the shift started. It was silent when I got back."

Catherine sat back. "First of all, Grissom, did you honestly forget Nick really hates clowns?"

"Is this about the circus murder?"

"Oh yeah!"

Grissom sat down a chair before her desk. "What happened?"

"It would be better to hear it from them. They're down at The Wall, nursing their pride and wounds."

"They were hurt?"

"Go talk to them." She leaned forward to start writing again.

Grissom sat the file on her desk. "I'll be back for that." He stood up.

"And Grissom," Catherine looked up at him. "Can I suggest not laughing at them? I'm pretty sure that's why they decided to quit when they were telling me what happened."

"I'll keep that in mind," Grissom told her as he walked out of the room.

#

Nick sat on the floor with an icepack pressed to either side of his bruised and swollen face. Warrick sat in a chair, one leg propped up on another chair, and holding an icepack to his knee. His face was just as swollen as Nick's. Greg sat on the table with his leg held out. His pants leg was torn from hip to hem revealing a bright white bandage dotted with blood. Each of them had a beer nearby and as if a choreographer had planned it, took turns taking a sip of their beverage. They were done talking. There was nothing left to say about the night or what had transpired. The three looked up when the door slowly opened and Grissom entered the room. Their expressions turned to hard, angry glaring snarls of detest.

"I understand there were some troubles at the circus tonight?" Grissom asked.

"Trouble?" Warrick snapped. "It was more than trouble, Grissom. It was a damned nightmare!"

"I hate clowns. Do you have any idea how much I hate clowns now? I mean, I really didn't like them before. After tonight, I really, really, really, REALLY, hate clowns!" Nick snarled.

"Does LVPD hire just stupid cops or do they only work on our shift?" Greg bit.

Grissom took the anger with a grain of salt. They had all been mad at him about one thing or another, they had all voiced their anger, but this was the first time all three were angry with him.

"Could we start at the beginning? Perhaps—"

"No!" Warrick cut him off, pointing at the wall. "We quit. We don't have to start anywhere."

Grissom looked at the wall, reading through the rules:

355. The strong man at the circus generally isn't secure unless he's in a padded cell with elephant chains cemented into mile thick cinder blocks. (Warrick's handwriting)

356. Be sure that when they say a scene at a circus is cleared, they've include humans, lions, tigers, and bears, too. (Greg's handwriting)

357. Asking a CSI who hates clowns to interview a tent full of clowns leads to an inevitable brawl. (Nick's handwriting)

Grissom turned back to them. "Please, guys, tell me what happened. Warrick, what happened with the strong man?"

Warrick looked sidelong at him with a look that could kill. "He didn't like being interviewed," Warrick snarled between his teeth.

"I gathered that. What happened?"

"I was just talking to the guy. I wasn't accusing him of anything. I was trying to see if he had seen who killed the ringmaster. Suddenly he goes ape shit on me! The two officers with me, they tried to stop him, but there's a reason he's called the strong man. So he goes after me next. I tripped over… I don't know what it was – some circus thing, and starts wailing on me. Then the owner comes in and tranqs him. He says, as if I was supposed to know, 'You can't question John without me or his wife here. What were you thinking?' If my knee wasn't twisted, I would have started wailing on him!"

"Greg?"

"They told me the tent was clear."

"They who?"

"The retarded officers that said they'd cleared it. What they clear it with? Febreeze?"

Grissom cleared his throat, trying not to smile at Greg's unintentional joke. "What was in the tent?"

"A lion, a tiger, and a bear."

"Oh my," Grissom said.

All three men turned a death stares on Grissom and he immediately realized the accidental joke he'd made. "I'm sorry. That wasn't a joke, Greg, just a comment. These animals weren't caged?"

Greg twisted his leg toward Grissom. "Does it look like they were caged?" He motioned at his bandaged arm. "Twenty two stitches in my arm. Another sixty in my leg. Does that look caged to you?"

"No. Are you going to be okay?"

"I had to have a rabies shot, Grissom! It hurt as bad as getting attacked by a lion, tiger and bear. I'm lucky I'm not dead!"

"Yes, you are. Nick, what happened with the clowns?"

"You ever try interviewing a room full of clowns?"

Grissom again had to resist smiling at the unintentional joke. "Not professional clowns, no. It didn't go so well?"

"In the first five minutes I was squirted with water flowers, zapped with one of those hand buzzers, and this one thought it was a hoot to keep hitting me with a foam bat. I tried really hard to keep my cool, Grissom, but I hate clowns. You have no idea how much I hate clowns. And the more they dodged the questions or tried to make jokes… And then that one hit me for the last damn time. I ripped it out of his hand and told him to back off. This only egged on the clowns. And pretty soon, we were in a fight – me, the clowns, and five officers. I. Hate. Clowns."

Grissom looked down as his eyes started to water. Nick's story brought up very vivid images and it was like watching the clowns perform in the circus. Grissom closed his eyes.

"That's why we quit!" Greg snapped.

That shook Grissom's rising humor. He looked at the three beaten, bruised, and wounded pride men. Grissom didn't want them to feel they had to quit over this. It was simply a misunderstanding all around. Yet, he didn't know what to say to convince them that they should stay. Grissom looked up at the wall. He suddenly had an idea. He looked for the chalk and spotted it sitting on the table between Greg and Warrick. Grissom approached with caution, feeling their angry glares on him like radiant heat from a space heater. He picked up the chair, then grabbed a chair and walked to the wall. Grissom stepped up on it and added the next rule.

358. You are not allowed to tell the press or civilians we have a 7 year supply of CSI stored in tin cans back at the bunker, and that they taste good with Szechwan sauce.

Grissom paused, glancing over his shoulder. They were watching. Good. He had their attention. Grissom slowly added the next rule:

359. Nor may you tell them lab rats taste a lot like pork.

"I never said we had a seven year supply of CSI," Greg argued. "I said Spam. That reported wrote it wrong."

"And we didn't say that about lab rats. That was Jared on days."

Grissom didn't argue, he just added the next rule:

360. If your CSI partner offers to let you go into a building or room first, refuse.

There was a soft chuckle from the three.

"Nicky!" Warrick poked.

"Hey, you said you were fearless."

"What happened?" Greg asked.

"He said this building we were going to was alleged to have ghosts in it. We followed the trail to the basement stairs and he tells me to go in first. I thought he was being chicken. He knew that there were bats in that basement. We woke them up and they weren't happy."

Greg chuckled.

Grissom waited until he was sure they were done talking and added the next one:

361. Load the gun, cock the gun, THEN shoot.

"Ah come one Grissom!" Warrick told him. "I don't do that?"

Grissom looked over his shoulder with raised eyebrows.

"Okay, so once in a while I'm a little tired and forget certain things."

"Lucky for you've got Irish luck or something," Nick said.

"What does that mean?"

"Because you forget that once in a while most of the time."

"Only when I'm tired!"

"Sleep. Sleep is key," Greg told him.

Warrick looked up at him. "Ya think?"

Greg grinned. "Nothing you wouldn't have told me if I was arguing that."

While they were debating the point, Grissom wrote the next rule:

362. So that victims don't suggest to their attorney that the crime scene is being processed by 'incompetent idiots of questionable morals,' avoid phone ringtones from questionable songs, such as: 'Break Stuff,' 'The Bad Touch,' 'Get Naked,' 'Closer,' 'Tonight I Fell Asleep at the Wheel,' 'Stupid Girl,' 'Mother,' 'Firestarter,' 'The Roof Is On Fire,' 'My name is Mud,' 'The Beautiful People,' 'The City Sleeps,' or 'Wynona's Big Brown Beaver.'

"Wynona's Big Brown Beaver," Nick laughed. "Greggo's ring tone for his girl."

"What are you laughing at him for?" Warrick asked. "You have 'Bad Touch' whenever you've got a girlfriend. Hey, why don't I know most of these songs?"

"Because you don't listen to rock or hard rock or metal or punk," Greg answered.

"So for the grand prize of nothing, can you tell us why the other songs are on that list?"

Greg smiled. "No."

Grissom turned to him, waiting for him to explain. Because he knew Greg, with his strange collection of trivia locked away in his head, could probably answer that question.

"Okay. I can," Greg admitted. "NIN's 'Closer' is right up there with 'Bad Touch' and 'Wynona's Big Brown Beaver,' and talks about sex. Lots and lots of sex. 'Tonight I Fell Asleep at the Wheel,' was the Bare Naked Lady's take on a guy that fell asleep at the wheel, dies, and the last thought is his girl or someone like that. 'Stupid Girl' is pretty self-explanatory. 'Mother' talks about this real scary dude that you should keep your kids away from – and some might interpret as a pedophile song. I'm not if it is or isn't. 'Firestarter' has some language, isn't really all that bad, but I can see how someone would twist it into something it's not. 'The City Sleeps' are about a pyromaniac and his obsession with fire. 'The Roof is on Fire' is about this teenage outcast kid and it's the lyrics that did that one in, huh Grissom?" Greg paused a second, but Grissom didn't answer so he went on. "The song 'My name is Mud' is about a guy that kills this rich guy for his digs and the decomposing corpse is still in the house, and now he has to bury him. 'Beautiful People,' is Marilyn Manson and for some stupid reason the world thinks he's bad news – most of those people haven't spent a day reading Danzig's lyrics so those people just don't have a clue."

He stopped talking, sipping his beer. When no one talked he looked at their stairs.

"You know far too much about these songs, Greg," Grissom told him.

Greg smiled. "Glad I could be of help."

"In a scary way you know too much about those songs," Nick added. "Do you spend your days off studying song lyrics on the Internet?"

"No. They just… I dunno. I just get them. They're just poetry, you know? If you can understand poetry, lyrics aren't that hard."

"You read poetry?" Warrick asked.

Greg drank his beer instead of answering.

"And I supposed you've had these songs as ring tones at one time or another?"

"No. Just Wynona's and Firestarter. I don't know why the others are there."

There was a pause. Grissom waited to see if they knew who had made him decide to add this rule.

"Catherine," the three said at once.

"Lindsey thinks it's funny to change her ring tones when she's sleeping," Grissom told them, and then turned back to the wall adding the next rule:

363. When dealing with survivalists, avoid the following topics: federal government, national politics, military, foreign politics, foreign policies, foreign governments, foreign anything, homeland security, gun laws, the constitution, amendments to the constitution, the legal system, local laws, local politics, local public figures such as the mayor and chief of police, anything to do with gambling or the strip, the media, censorship… A full ten-page list is available in Ecklie or Grissom's office, and is posted on the break room bulletin board.

"Mister Crankshaft," the three said together.

"Man, that guy was one cranky buzzard!" Nick said. "I thought we'd never get him shut down."

Grissom smiled, turning to them to listen while they reminisced about the cranky hermit on Angel Mountain.

"You'd'a thought we were asking to steal his truck when we asked to search his property for that body," Warrick said.

"Did you see how his veins popped out on his forehead when Nick told him the police chief and mayor would appreciate his cooperation?"

"Thought his head was going to pop off his neck and start spinning," Warrick added.

"With steam," Nick laughed.

"Oh, and then, after we get him calmed down and talking normal, almost get him ready to allow us on the property, her comes Catherine. She thinks it's a good idea to tell him about a senior club in town and BAM! He was gone."

Grissom turned, adding rule three sixty-four while they continued talking:

364. When dealing with a recluse, avoid suggesting how integrating with society might help them. (See rule 363.)

"Lucky for her she knows how to work people down," Warrick said. "He did not like you Nick."

"I was a little too hick for him, I think."

"Little does he know," Warrick defensively said. "Stupid hermit."

"So which is worse? A survivalist recluse hermit or a gang member with a Ph.D.?" Greg asked.

"Gang member with a Ph.D.," Nick and Warrick answered.

Grissom added:

365. A gang member with a college degree is the worst kind of scary.

"How exactly does one go from gangs, to a Ph.D. and back to gangs and drugs?"

"Money," Nick said. "It's always about the money. Not much money in mathematics."

"Yeah, but the dude had a Ph.D. And he knew the legal system like the back of his hand. He could'a done something so much better that wouldn't have landed his sorry ass in jail."

"The path of least resistance, huh Grissom?" Nick asked. He didn't wait for an answer. "He chose the easy way out."

"Talk about a waste."

The three nodded, sipping their beers.

Deciding that topic had ended, Grissom added:

366. If, after revealing your theory to a victim or witness, they say something like, "and is that for the record?" hold them until their newspaper lawyer appears to get them out.

"I hate Taylor Moore," Warrick venomously snarled.

"We all hate Taylor Moore, Warrick," Greg said. "That stupid journalist misquoted me about the tins of Spam, then posed as a witness to get the inside scoop of that case from Nick."

Nick laughed. "The devil wears Gucci!"

The men laughed, raising their beers. "Here! Here!"

Grissom climbed off the chair.

"Aw come on, Grissom. You're done?" Warrick asked.

"I'm afraid so." Grissom returned the chair and handed the chalk back to Greg. He walked over to the door, opening it. "I'll see you three tonight, okay?"

"See you tonight," Nick said.

Warrick nodded and Greg waved. Grissom slipped out of the room, hearing the three began ranting about the reporter Taylor Moore that they hated so much. It made him smile. The room hadn't lost its ability to soothe even the worst tempers.