Work Text:
Gil Grissom pushed his way through the line, flashing his badge to the bouncer and flashing a picture to him "Do you know this man?"
The man, Dark-skinned and intelligent looking, smiled at him. "He your boyfriend or something?"
"No he's dead." Grissom walked into the club without another word.
He walked up the stairs and came out to a balcony, a mass of huddled people jumping up and down in the 'Indigo' club, which was furnished with black and bright purple furniture, on corresponding black walls and blacklights. He grimaced as the sweat smell of sweat floated up to him, and tried to calculate the amount of heat that youthful crowd below must be generating.
His estimate?
A lot.
He frowned and made his way down the stairs, walking past the blonde girl and her brunette girlfriend making out and the two sandy haired men next to them put their arms around their respective counterpart's shoulders flirtatiously. He winced as a neon blue light flew over him, ignoring the bright lights flashing through his line of vision. He looked up and guessed that it must be talent night, 'Miss independent' ringing in music usually reserved for movie theater surround sound. A thin woman and a redhead were singing a duet.
He looked around and took in the making-out couples, the majority of them same sex. Indigo was the hottest gay club on the scene at the moment, and Grissom could see why. Good music, VERY friendly people, and a certain- yes he was going to say it -openness.
He looked around and noticed a pretty blonde woman quickly mixing drinks behind the bar, chatting to people and whipping the different kinds of vodkas into one fuity-tutiy mess. Ah the bartender. A perfect potential informant.
He walked up and sat down, trying to keep his eyes off the blatantly homosexual man checking out his ass. "Excuse me?" he called, loud enough to get the small woman's attention. She turned and scanned him with Light green eyes, smiling and shouting so she was heard over the music. "What can I get you honey?" Her texas accent reminded him that Nick was working a case with Warrick today, and he almost sighed in regret. He shouldn't have taken this case by himself....
"I'm looking for this man, I was told he came here often?" he showed her the picture of Richard Jones, the man found stabbed and shot In his own home, Inwardly wishing that Catharine was there to do this With him. If only Greg hadn't taken the night off then he'd be here with Cath or Sara instead of on his own.
The woman took the picture and gazed at it. "Yeah that's Richy. He in some sort of trouble?"
"I hate to tell you this, but Mr. Jones is dead."
The woman's face blanched, and she blinked at him.
"You wanna talk to Sandy. He's been here since the place opened and knows everyone here. He's got a system see? He takes a different day of the week off, sleeps in the day and comes here at night. He knows everybody...." She trailed off and shook her head. "Bright green shirt, spikey blonde hair. You can't miss him. He's the guy with a crowd of other guys around him." She smiled ruefully and pointed in the opposite direction.
Gil nodded and looked through the crowd, instinctively knowing that he was gonna have to push through the pulsing mass of hot, sweaty bodies to reach his informant. He shook his head. 'The things I do for my job.' He muttered softly, then started his treck.
It wasn't to bad he supposed. At least no of his co-workers were here to see him embarrass himself rejecting offers to dance. He smiled at a few of them, then held up his hands or shook his head slightly. Few looked hurt, they just moved on to someone else, but Grissom couldn't help feeling a slight ego boost.
Suddenly his eyes caught on a neon green shirt, and he smiled 'target sighted, firing!' automatically ran through his mind, and he grinned at the thought. He didn't realize that the song was over (something about since some guy had been gone) and now was a faster and more sexual beat. 'Hey Mama.'
So now horny adolescents surrounded 'Sandy', and Gil was tromping into their midst to find one guy, who had been seemingly swallowed by the other dancers. He sighed internally, and then grinned when a flash of green caught his eyes, and he adjusted his position and followed him. All the sudden, the entire group squatted down, and, as if by some unheard command, started moving up slowly.
So Grissom, his 'club sense' seriously out of practice, was left standing there like an idiot.
He nearly blushed, but reined in the urge before it actually happened. Unfortunately for him Sandy had spotted him, and was now rubbing up against him in a very sexual way, making Grissom bite his lip, He was aroused, he had to admit, but he didn't want it to go far...
At least he had found Sandy.
He tried to move back, but the mobs of people were blocking his escape route. He nearly got past them too, but at that moment the fashion disaster before him wrapped his hands around the back of his neck, not even turning around yet still effectively pulling him closer.
Grissom slowly started to move against the man, slowly walking back and forcing the spiky haired man to move back, until finally he was out of the group and off the dance floor.
"Listen Sandy, my name is Gil Grissom, I'm with the LVPD crime lab. I need to ask you a few questions about Richard Jones."
He felt the man stiffen and pull away, not turning around he answered. "He was a nice guy. Didn't have any grudges that I know of. He had a short temper and caused a lot of fights, but he always made up for them. Once he blew up at one of the guys for calling m-... my friend a fag. An hour later there was a wad of cash donated to the guy's church. If there's anything I can tell you it's that Rich was a caring, fun guy, and that.... I'm going to miss him."
Sandy started to walk away, but Grissom grabbed his arm and spun him around, planning on apologizing for the man's loss, But he found that his tongue had swollen twice it's size and his mouth had gone dry.
He was face to face with one Greg Sanders. AKA: Sandy