Chapter 34

It was late afternoon by the time we got back to the lab. A look at my ticker told me it was 5:30. I wasn't sure how long we'd been going for, but I was ready to split. I'd been feeling a little low, watching Montoya walk, but had perked up a little on the drive back. As Grissom had said, we got the mug that put our dead canary on ice, and the Feds had both Vito Fava and Johnny Mathers on several other raps. Meanwhile, Harry Montoya was sure to do something stupid and get brought in again. He was the kind of mug who couldn't stay out of trouble for long. We'd get him the next time. In the mean time, we did what nobody else had been able to do before. We took down Ric's. We got the rumble on a Vegas institution, one hidden on the back streets, found out how the birds had lammed in all of those raids and nailed the mugs who ran the joint on several rackets.

Tomorrow, after the newshawks got the rumble and I got some rest, I figured I'd take a walk. Maybe I'd find a newsie and read about it in black and white. Notorious club, Ric's, taken down in wine grift. For now, it was almost time to call it a night.

There were a few things left to do back at the lab, including filing a report. Grissom had to meet with the g-men assigned to the case and go over things with them. They'd be stripping Ric's cellar at the same time, and gathering what they could from the joint. I finished putting my John Hancock on the report and went to find Catherine. Catherine had a few bottles of Bandols left over from the testing that we didn't need to log into evidence and the Feds didn't need for their part in the investigation. The juice was paid for but of no interest to the lab. As far as I saw it, the stuff was fair game. I thought maybe I'd grab a bottle and see what the buzz was about.

Catherine handed me over a bottle with an arch of one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows. I took the bottle, grabbed a couple of mugs and a corkscrew and headed for the locker room. Sara was there, sitting on the bench and staring at her open locker. She glanced up at me. Her eyes flickered over to the bottle. "What have you got there?"

"An extra bottle. We didn't need it for anything."

"So what are you doing with it?"

I gave her the up and down and grinned. Sitting down on the bench, I pulled the corkscrew from my pocket and held it out in my hand. Then, I cocked my head. "Taster's choice?"

"You want me to try the wine with you?"

I shrugged. "Can't drink a bottle like this alone."

Sara arched a brow. I gave her the eyeball. "Don't you want to see what the hubbub is about?"

"I'm more of a beer drinker. Besides the stuff we tasted earlier was awful."

"That stuff was young. It needed at least five more years to mature. This is a 1993 Bandol La Cabassaou - Domaine Tempier. It's a $195.00 bottle of wine."

Sara looked up at me, her eyes wide. "$195.00?"

"According to Catherine."

Sara shook her head. I figured she thought a $195.00 bottle of wine would be wasted on her, but if any dame deserved a little wining and dining it was Sara. No bottle would be a waste on her, and she just might like the stuff. She was thinking something else though and it took until she said it before I knew what that was. "No wonder they could sell the bottles from Ric's for over a thousand dollars a pop. They just have to market it as rare and the price would shoot up."

"It is rare," I said.

Sara shook her head again. "What did Grissom say about you taking the wine?"

"Catherine submitted one large bill for all the wine she brought in. The lab is paying for it, but there are a few bottles we didn't need and didn't open. The stuff's fair game." Besides, I figured the lab kind of owed me with everybody drinking the expensive java I brought in. Maybe not a couple of century's worth, but it did add up. Nobody else had made a play for the wine.

Sara gave her head a final shake. She stood up. "You can't drink that in the lab."

There were a couple of places I could think of that we could go to uncork it though, and I was about to suggest one of them, but Grissom took that moment to step into the locker room. He glanced between us and then glanced to the bottle of wine. He frowned slightly. His eyes flickered over Sara before they landed back on me. I watched as he drew his lips in. "A call just came in about a domestic. Neighbors also heard a shot fired. Can you take it?"

I frowned. "Can't swing take it?" It was their shift. Besides we'd all been going for who knows how long and I was dangerously close to being maxed-out on overtime and having to pull lab duty for the rest of the month. The lab was one of the last places I wanted to be stuck in for the rest of the month, especially when the mean streets were calling me and the weather was so warm. People did funny things in the heat.

Grissom didn't say anything. I watched as Sara just arched a brow and looked at him.

"Brass will meet you there," he said.

I frowned again. Why was a homicide dick going to a call out for a domestic?

Grissom handed me the slip. I looked down at it and read the address. "That's Harry Montoya's joint," I said.

Grissom nodded. "I want one of us to take it. Do you want it?"

That's what this line had been about. It wasn't just any domestic. Yeah, I wanted it. I jerked a nod.

Sara looked at me. "I'll go with you."

Grissom frowned again and I knew he probably wanted her to take off. She'd been going longer than me and was probably already maxed-out. Grissom didn't stop her though. He just gave her the eyeball and nodded softly before turning from the room.

I looked down at the bottle sitting on the bench. The bottle would have to wait. Picking it up, I held the $195.00 bottle in my hands and thought about all those bottles of wine being plucked from Ric's cellar. I looked at Sara. "Do you know what this is?" I asked.

Sara looked at the bottle in my hands and then at me. She smirked. "You aren't going to say that it's 'the stuff that dreams are made of,'1 are you?"

I frowned because I was thinking about saying something along that line. Instead, I shook my head. I put the bottle in my locker and closed the metal door. "No," I said, "that's the wrong movie."

Sara's smirk grew. She shook her head and followed me from the locker room.

I drove the route to the Montoya's joint, occasionally glancing at my passenger. Sara was holding her eyes open beside me, but without much luck. The eyes kept drifting shut. She had to be wiped to have that much trouble. I'd been tired earlier, but the call out to Montoya's joint wiped away any tiredness I had. I pulled into the lot and watched as Sara revived, the spark of a case or of what was going down at Montoya's getting her keyed back up.

There was a meat wagon parked before the doors to the building. We strolled by it with a sideways glance. When we got up to the apartment, two paramedics were kneeling beside Montoya and holding something against his hip. Neighbors had heard a shot, so I figured that was where he may have gotten a case of lead poisoning. Blood soaked through the white material and onto the paramedics' gloves. They had Montoya lay back and I gave Montoya the once over.

Here was a man that looked liked he'd gone a few rounds with a heavyweight pug. His chin had seen a little music. He had a ring of purple and red around his left eye that would turn into a nice goog after a little time. His cheek was swollen, his shirt was ripped and there was already some bruising showing up on his arms and chest. Somebody had given him the Broderick before they shot him.

My eyes glanced about the room. The gorilla from Ric's, Calvin Hellman was there, leaning against the wall. I glanced to his fists. His knuckles were a little red and had what looked like dried blood on them. I looked at Sara and nodded in his direction. She jerked a nod back and then nodded in another direction. My eyes followed her nod. Sitting in a chair, Lauren Perske looked as calm and cool as ever.

Sara moved towards Calvin Hellman. I strolled over to Lauren Perske, standing over her. She crossed one perfectly shaped gam over the other. Her blue-grey eyes peered up at me. An innocent smile danced over her lips. "Hello, Greg."

I gave her the up and down. It had been hot again that day and she was wearing shorts that cut just below the top of her thighs. She had a tank top on and her platinum hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her slender arm rested on the arm of the chair. "What happened here?" I asked.

Brass stood beside me. "Let's see. According to the statements made here, apparently Harry Montoya had a nice fall down his apartment stairs. Luckily, Calvin Hellman was around to help him up. Unfortunately they made a little too much noise coming into the apartment because Miss Perske here took a shot at Montoya. Her rod is over there on that table." I glanced to an end table and sure enough, a small rod sat on top of it. A uniform was standing beside it.

"It was an accident," she said. Her lips pursed into a smirk. "I came over to wait for Harry and heard a loud noise. There was a thump against the door. I thought it was an intruder. I took a shot and accidentally hit Harry." She shrugged, but the smirk still played over her lips.

"An accident?"

"Ask Harry."

I jerked a nod. "I'll do that," I said.

"If Harry hadn't told those coppers it was an accident, I'd be in bracelets."

I looked at Brass. He nodded to confirm it. Montoya had told the uniforms that it had been an accident. "Montoya's not pressing any charges."

I gave Perske the up and down. She'd just shot her boyfriend in the hip and was as cool as she was the day I first say her, the day Camille Vanasse was murdered. She hadn't even attempted to leave after, just took a seat to watch the show and waited for us to show up. Now I knew what the game had been earlier. She hadn't let Montoya off the hook. She'd been waiting for things to blow over a little before she got back at Montoya for playing around on her. Then, rod in hand, she waited for Harry to come back to his apartment.

It was no coincidence Harry Montoya got shot in the hip. Perske was sending a message. I had no doubt the dame had good aim. She could have gone a couple inches to the left and another inch south if she wanted and Montoya knew it. He'd have time to think about it too, as he sat in the hospital and had the lug removed. She had to have something on him too if he wasn't ratting on her.

I moved over to where the paramedics were putting Montoya on a gurney. "You don't want to tell us anything?" I asked.

Montoya looked up at me and spit some blood to the side. "Don't be a bunny," he said.

"You've gone a few rounds and been shot and you have nothing to say about it."

"I already told that flattie it was an accident."

"The shooting, or the fact you're black and blue?"

Montoya just looked gave me the eyeball. I stared back at him. "Quite the accident," I said.

"I fell down the stairs."

"Sure," I said. "That's quite the fall. And when you did manage to get back up to your apartment, with your boy Fava's Bruno giving you a hand, your moll shoots you in the hip."

Montoya spit out another mouthful of blood. "Another accident. It's been one of those kind of days."

I jerked a nod. "Yeah, from the sounds of things, you're lucky to still be sucking air, the way your day was going."

Montoya just glared at me. The paramedics lifted the gurney. Sara came over. "I'm going to get a ride with one of the officers and collect the bullet and any other evidence at the hospital."

I nodded. I'd process the joint. I watched Sara follow the paramedics out and then glanced back to Perske and Hellman. This was no accident, but if Montoya wasn't going to spill on Perske, there was no way he was about to spill on Calvin Hellman. I figured Hellman had been sent there to deliver another message, this one coming from Vito Fava. I wasn't sure if it was because Montoya had assaulted Fava's girl, or because Montoya had been the mug who put Ric's in the pinch, but whatever the reason, that message had been received. If Montoya even thought about singing, the next message would come express and it wouldn't be so pleasant.

I snapped a couple of photos and swabbed Hellman's knuckles. Brass stood beside me, playing the tough cat and making my job a little easier. I tested the swab and found blood. I had no doubt it was Montoya's blood, but that didn't do me a lot of good with Montoya keeping his trap shut about what happened. "What's with the blood on the hands," I asked.

"I was helping Harry out. He was bleeding."

"So you just pressed your knuckles to him?"

Calvin Hellman didn't say anything. I didn't figure him for a bird who'd sing easily, but it didn't matter anyways, not with Montoya clamming up. Letting Hellman go, I moved back over to Lauren Perske. She stood before me, stepping close to me and holding out her hands. She arched a brow. "Aren't you going to process me?"

I gave her the up and down and jerked a nod. Her intense gaze was on me as I tested her hands for gun shot residue. She'd fired the rod, but she was going to be the rap as well. She dropped her hands and brushed by me slowly, her shoulder pressing into mine. Her head turned back. "You didn't need me for anything else, did you?"

I shook my head. "Maybe later. We're done for now."

Her lips turned up into that dangerous smirk. "Well, you know where to find me."

"Yeah," Brass said. "he can find you downtown. I'm not done with you yet."

Perske looked at Brass. "Honey, this is downtown."

I watched as Brass gave her the up and down. He cocked his head slightly to the side. "Well, what do you know. It is. I guess we'll just have to go back to the clubhouse, then."

Perske smirked. She looked back at me and winked. "You still know where to find me."

I jerked a nod and watched her go and then lifted my camera to snap some shots of the joint.

After I finished processing the rest of the joint, I headed back to the lab and logged in all of the evidence. I had taken a lot of photos of the joint and had lifted the gun for Bobby Dawson to test. Just as I dropped Lauren Perske's rod off, Sara phoned to say she was already heading back from the hospital. Montoya had gone straight into surgery and the slug had been cleanly removed from Montoya's hip. A uniform was giving Sara a ride over. I waited for her at reception. "Montoya still calling it an accident?" I asked.

Sara scoffed and jerked a nod. "He's not going to talk."

"No," I said. "He got the message." Montoya hadn't gotten off scott free after all. Some old time Vegas justice had been brought down on him. When I thought about the bruising and the slug that had been put in his hip I shuddered. He'd be in pain for a long time and he'd been lucky. Back in the day, he might have got his head put in a vice. I was sure he was thinking about how some time in the cooler might have been a better alternative. I signed the report and let Sara take it to Grissom

I was in the locker room changing my shoes when Sara came in. She gave my shoulder a squeeze and looked down at me, her chocolate eyes melting. Her palm was bleeding warmth into my shoulder. "Great job on the case, Greg."

I shrugged. We'd been behind the eight ball for most of it, but had found out where we stood in the end.

Sara shook her head. "No, really, you did great. If you hadn't dragged us back to the scene, used your history of Vegas underground and found the cellar, we'd still be back at square two and beating ourselves against another dead end."

Her hand stayed on my shoulder for another few seconds, bleeding more warmth into me. Then, she dropped her hand, opened her locker, grabbed her jacket and strolled from the room, with one last backwards glance as she said goodnight. I watched her go, watched that Sidle sway and felt pretty good about myself. I had found the cellar and I had found Johnny Mathers' connection to that vineyard in France. I tied up my laces, stood up and grabbed my fedora out of my locker. Placing it on my head, I thought about the heat of Sara's hand on my shoulder and the warmth in her mocha eyes. I may have just used up the last of my overtime for the month, but things were looking up. I'd just played a pretty key role in solving a monster case, had the night off, a free bottle of expensive wine, and there was a leggy brunette that I figured I might finally have a chance with. If I hurried, I figured I might even be able to catch her in the parking lot.

I moved to the dark lot, lit by some high overhead lights and glanced around. Under the glow of one of those lights, Sara was standing by her car, but she was not alone. Grissom was with her and they were talking softly. I stopped to take a peek.

Grissom was leaning into her, so close they were nearly touching. His arm rested against her roof and a soft smile played at his lips. Sara was leaning back against her car, smiling up at him and looking at him with shining eyes that could make a guy dizzy and a gaze a guy could only hope to ever have directed at him. She was nodding softly. Grissom reached around to open her car door for her and his hand brushed against her side as she slid into the seat. He paused beside the open door, held it for a moment, and then closed the door for her. I turned away.

Huh, I thought. I shook my head. "Myrna Loy," I whispered to myself, smirking. I strolled back to my own car. So much for the lanky brunette. So maybe I didn't have a shot but there were still a lot of other dolls out there. Vegas was full of them. We had more knockouts than any other city in the world. I adjusted my fedora. Maybe it was time I changed my type. What was that old adage? Gentlemen prefer blondes?

That's the crop…

1: The closing line from the 1941 film, The Maltese Falcon, based on Dashiell Hammett's book. While the film was very faithful to the novel, the epigraph is from the film alone.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed my little Greg fic. It was a ton of fun to write. A huge thank you to everybody who gave this fic a shot. A even bigger thank you to those of you who let me know what you thought with a review. And my biggest thanks is reserved for aninom and SylvieT who followed me over here and so faithfully reviewed every chapter.