Warnings: Angst, Violence
Summary: Crossover QaF/CSI NY... There's a crime in New York and Brian recieves a phone call that makes him run (and drag Michael) all the way to the big apple in order to discover what the fuck is going on with Justin. And that's a good question: "What the fuck is going on with Justin??"... ah, if they knew...
Go to: Chapter 1 || Chapter 2
Stepping out of the elevator, Mac checked his watch and wished he was anyone but the New York's CSI's department head, agent Taylor. He was a CSI, a damn good one, and he loved his job... what he hated was being the boss, because it usually meant that he had to spend more time taking vare of stupid little political things than actually solving cases. Like now, in example: He'd been heading for the reception straight after leaving the lab, but burocracy and a never ending phone call from the district attorney had slowed him down almost half an hour. Macey had sound pretty upset when she’d call about someone asking for him at the front desk. Now, while the elevator doors were closing at his back, he could already hear the problem. People in Siberia could probably hear it too.
There was this short corridor that went from the elevators to the building’s foyer that Mac usually used to assess his visitors before talking to them. Right now it served him to get a good look at the two guys standing in front of Macey, the recepcionist in watch.
One of them was tall and dark, his hair was dishevelled and he was wearing a creased suit that probably costed more than his month’s salary. He was talking loud enough to be yelling. The other man was shorter and paler, wearing simpler clothes, jeans and a plain long sleeved shirt. He was just trying to calm his friend down.
Now, who they were and why had they asked to talk to him... that was something he had absolutly no idea.
The performance went on, both men oblivious of his approaching.
“What the fuck do you understand for a few minutes woman? We’ve been waiting here for ages, you little---”
He tried to remember if he knew any Brian at all but failed... well, perhaps... nope, no idea. The CSI stopped a few steps away from the guys, listening.
The taller guy, the one who’d been yelling, turned to his companion who tried to talk in a low indignant voice, managing one of those motherly whispers that you can hear from the other side of an overcrowded mall.
“Insulting this fine lady here won’t be of any help, she already said that Justin was on his way here.”
“He better be or I swear to god all mighty that I’m sueing New York so hard the city will be paying Guss grandchildren’s dentist bills!!!” The taller one, Brian, turned to Macey with a death glare, raising his finger. “You said, five minutes! You said five minutes, it’s been almost two hours...”
“Brian, it’s been barely half an...”
“Don’t ‘Brian’ me, Mikey. Now, you...”
“Sir, I’m sorry but you will have to calm down or I’ll be forced to call security.” Macey, the queen of ice signaled at Jim, the security guard. The guy was build like a bear and even Danni would think twice before pissing him off... he would do it anyway, thought.
“There’s no need for that. Really, it’s been a long ride...” The shorter, Michael?, tried to appease the situation.
“Long ride?? I don’t give a fuck about the long ride!!” the Brian guy faced Macey again. “The fucking assholes from their police department called me to tell me that Mr. Taylor is dead and then they fucking called me again to tell me that he is not... Now, I just wanna know WHERE THE FUCK IS MISTER TAYLOR!!!”
That was his cue.
The brunette turned to look at him.
“I said that I’m here.”
The guy looked at him like he’d grown a second head.
“Good for you.” And just with that he turned around to talk to Macey, who’s eyebrow was starting to twitch.
“Excuse me, Mr...” he called his attention back, wondering what was all that stuff about phone calls and hoping nobody had messed up identities again. That would be like the third time this semester.
“Kinney, I’m Mr. fucking Kinney, I said it twice already!! What the fuck do you want?”
“Brian...” the shorter man grabbed his friend by the arm and pulled, trying to sooth him.
“Ok, Mr Kinney... I understand that you’re upset, but if you don’t start to behave I’ll get you arrested and out of my lab.”
That stopped Mr. Kinney, or at least made him give Mac a longer look.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m CSI chief, Mr. Taylor. You called for me.”
And THAT stopped the man on his tracks.
“You’re Mr... Taylor?”
Ok, he was gonna get this guy arrested and charged with... whatever he might be able to stick in him.
“He is Mr. Taylor...” Mr. Kinney went on, turning his friend with something between a smirk and a growl. “HE is Mr. Taylor??”
“You are... Mr... Taylor??” the other guy looked surprised to say the least, he even turned to Macey with a questioning look. The recepcionist nodded, easing the twitch of her eyebrow, probably she liked this guy better since he wasn’t yelling. “Holy shit!!”
“Novotny, I’m Michael Novotny, and he is...”
“Brian Fucking Kinney," he answered. "I got that... what’s wrong?”
There was a sighs and a short head scratching.
“Look, Mr.... Mr. Taylor, there’s been a big confusion. My friend received a call this early morning from your police department saying that his... hm... that a mutual friend was dead. Twenty minutes later we received a second call saying that he’d been involved in a crime and that we had to come here... we can't contact him and when we called the police they weren't of much help either...”
Brian was hearing Michael explain everything like his friend was talking from behind a glass. He’d been hearing everything that way for the past hours and would probably do so in the near future, at least until he got to hear Justin’s voice. The explanation was way too long for his liking, but at least it seemed to work on their benefit because the other guy relaxed.
CSI chief Mr. Taylor...
Which were the odds?
No, really... which were the odds?
What the fuck did this mean? Where was Justin? HIS Mr. Taylor. The paralizing fear he’d feel earlier was back... was he dead? Fuck!
“Your friend’s name...” Grudgingly, Brian tried to pay attention at what was going on.
“Justin” he answered, interrupting Mikey. “Justin Taylor. Short, blonde, early twenties...”
The CSI nodded and Brian had the feeling that he already knew all that.
“We really just want to know if he’s okay.” Michael said in his worried whiney voice, and Brian was about to say that he wanted mopre than that when his friend’s elbow hit him square in the rib cage.
“Let me make a couple of phone calls and get back to you, maybe we can solve all this mess.”
And so he walked away and Brian felt the need to kick something.
“That hurt.” He complained instead, rubbing his side.
“You were about to be nasty.”Michael snorted, and Brian wondered for how long had his friend been able to fake his whinny voice. “From now on let me do the talking, you’ve already managed to piss off a taxi driver, two telephonists, Ben, Cinthia, the guy in the gas station, a police man, the guy in the second gas station, the old man who gave us directions, that fine lady in reception, every driver we crossed in our way here and me... I don’t want you pissing off the CSI chief Mr Taylor... I don’t want to have to pay yours and Justin’s bail, we don’t have that many ‘get out of prison’ cards.”
Meanwhile, near by, Mac Taylor was trying to get a hold of Danni.
Justin Taylor was their witness of the new case, that much he knew, but to say the truth he didn’t knew much more but for that the guy was alive and in the hospital. Danni wasn’t picking his cell up and Mac wondered if his agent was consciously ignoring his phone call...
No, let’s face the truth, if anything, Messer was obsessive with his cases, meaning that he wouldn’t be ignoring Mac’s calls for nothing short of a cataclism. The CSI looked at his watch, Flack and Danni would already be in the hospital, maybe even talking to...
His agent answered the phone the second he was about to hang up.
“So what?” Kinney asked the second he came back. “Where the fuck is him?” Is he alive? the question was hanging there, between words and dripping of every inch attitude.
“Mr. Kinney and Mr...”
“Mr. Novotny... first let me assure you that Justin Taylor is fine.” He clarified, a little startled at the sudden change in the taller man’s body language. For a fraction of a second, all the antagonizing, all the tension, and the air of permanent cockiness faded and he almost saw his shoulder slump out of sheer relief but it lasted less than a heartbeat before the guy got his jackass attitude back.
“Then let us see him!”
“Unfortunately he is now in the hospi...”
“You said he was fine!”
“He IS fine, but he is in the hospi...”
“If he is in a fucking hospital, he is NOT fine!!”
Was this man able to go without saying ‘fuck’ for more than a minute?
“Mr. Kinney, if you keep yelling, I swear to god I’m going to kick your ass out of my lab and you’ll have to talk with your friend by phone from the jail.”
That and a well placed elbow from Mr. Novotny shut the jerk up... at least for the time being.
“As I was saying, your friend called the police this early morning reporting a crime. Since he was pretty upset the paramedics had to sedate him. That’s why he is in the hospital.” Mac finnally explained looking intently at mr. Kinney. The relief was back, so much that he half fell half dropped himself in a near chair with an audible sigh.
“You okay?” Mr. Novotny waited for his friend to nod to turn to him. "What the hell happened with the phone calls? Your people told us he was dead."
"I'm not sure, and I'm sorry." Mac apologised. "There's usually a list of protocols to follow before calling family, I'm surprised the called you this morning..."
The brunette said from his seat.
"Early morning. They called us this early morning."
There isn't such thing as police intuition. There isn't a spider sense that tells cops that something's wrong. Or at least Mac didnt believe in those things. He believed in hard work and experience. He believed in recolecting leads and extracting conlusions.
"Where do you come from?" they had said it had been a long ride. How long?
Sometimes if you paid enough atention and you remembered and you thought of it... then the case would draw itself in your head. Would form a picture. Not always a happy one.
"At what time did you recieve the phone call?"
Mr. Kinney stared at him before answering.
"Half past two, give or take a minute..." his eyes darkened. "Why?"
Sometimes the picture was downright scaring.
"Because your friend called the police at that same hour..."
"Then how could they call Brian..." Michael said, stopping at mid sentence. "Oh, holy shit!!"
Hey! Next chapter it's half done... it's going a lil' slow so far, but just because I wan't to make sure I set everything straight.
Hope you liked it ^__^