Once again I've decided to let my inner Brass out to play – truth be told it's an excuse not to have to work on Song For the Solo Dancer, which is giving me fits at the moment, writer's block anyone.

Anyway, once again, I'm playing with the internal monologue thing, although this time I decided to actually put a bit more punctuation in, the first instalment was too lazy, even by my standards of writing it off as an 'experiment.' I've uploaded the correct version this time...the one with the punctuation

Finally, this chapter came about solely through the extremely positive feedback I received for the first instalment; I guess you're all as misanthropic at heart as I, sorry Brass, am...errr...is.

Thank You Thank You Thank You for your reviews and feedback.


There is something about bureaucrats that makes my hands itch.

No. It's more than that.

It's the urge to shoot.

I can see it now. The press and media adulation for the cop who took the law into his own hands and gunned down the entirety of the City Council's bureaucracy

Some people would give me a medal for that; I'd settle for a new car though, and maybe a good bottle of scotch whiskey, in fact, I'd take anything that blunted the effects of having to deal with the omnipresent stupidity of faceless, anal-retentive paper-pushers.

It's not just the smug, self-righteous attitude, the faux-cheerful, public service persona; or even the natty little button-down shirts that speaks of solid middle-class moral rectitude and mass-market clone values; it's the whole deal. It's the attitude that speaks to their being above you because they – ostensibly - speak for the law; that they are society's bulwark against the slavering hordes of chaos, and that they, and only they, and their pitiful pieces of photocopied regulations and seemingly endless rolls of red tape, can stop society's inevitable descent into barbarism.

I wouldn't trust these people to go to the bathroom alone; however, it's unlikely that they would attempt such a thing without a note from the teacher; or a legal amendment to the local by-laws

...and speaking of the morally upright and anally retentive...

...I've just had the dubious pleasure of Nick Stokes visiting my office.

Now, don't get me wrong, Stokes is a fine CSI and a genuine, good-hearted bastion of moral rectitude; even if he does have a tendency to befriend people who end up as his next case.

But, and it's a large but, he's just so damn wholesome that I have to fight the urge to scrub my office with Whiskey and paper the walls with porn just to reaffirm my more sanguine notion of reality. I'm not sure what it is about Stokes; maybe it's the Texan twang, but every time I see him I have to fight down the image of Michael Landon galloping over a hill wearing a pair of angel wings. God alone knows what the theme music would be; 'Jesus wants me for a sunbeam?'

The other thing I don't get is all the pathetic drooling that occurs from the female members of staff whenever Nick's around; with the exception, I gratefully hasten to add, of Catherine and Sara, whom, of course, work with him, and thus either have more sense or have developed some sort of natural immunity.

There's an interesting image, yearly anti-Nick Stokes shots.

So, what's the attraction? Yes, yes, he's vaguely attractive in that stereotypical block- of-wood, television-star way; you only have to watch television to come to the conclusion that these people are cloned; I wonder if Nick comes with a barcode?

...and I'm not old and bitter and if I repeat that often enough I might just believe it.

Anyway...Nick...attractiveness; let's take a look

He's not particularly tall.

He's skinny. Please, 'not fat' does not mean I have lots of muscle it means I don't eat donuts.

...and he has a bad haircut; it's more like a hair doesn't than a do.

If it wasn't for the fact that he is able to find his arse with both hands, and is vaguely useful in an investigation – if only to charm the prostitutes - then Nick would make a wonderful bureaucrat.

Maybe that's why Ecklie hates him so much? Like does call to like after all. Although, I don't think Ecklie charms the prostitutes so much as pays them; I'll have to ask Lady Heather.

Right, back to bureaucrats.

Bastards.

I sometimes think bureaucrats exist solely to see how many hoops they can get those of us who do the actual work to jump through before they'll give us what they want...

...If they feel like it.

I bet they're keeping score too, with the winner being the person who pisses the most people off in a given week.

I'm almost completely certain that the criminal code was written by paper-pushers to protect the criminals. I mean, why the hell do I have to prove the frothing psychopath with the gun in his hand, blood all over him, and a surveillance video showing him committing the crime, is guilty? Surely something that self-evident wouldn't require me to play the legal equivalent of naked twister on an oiled board.

But no.

No only does this guy, or girl - as we're an equal opportunity ball of cotton wool, get the benefit of the doubt, but he/ she also gets a fully paid-up vacation at a five star 'hospital' while they assess the impact his mean mother, who maybe spanked him once, had on him/her, which maybe, might have turned him into an anti-social little dirt-bag; heaven forefend that the perpetrator is actually responsible for their own actions; but then, if we look at our wonderful society, we're never responsible, it's always the other person's fault...

...When I was a kid and I fell out of a tree I went home to my mother, got a Band-Aid and a kiss, and was then sent back up the tree nowadays you're more likely to see a civic action group taking out a lawsuit against the owner of the tree for reckless endangerment, and the child not being let out of the house for the next ten millennia; if they're lucky.

Where was I?

...oh yes...

...And while our nut job is getting the bed-and-breakfast treatment, the poor cop who found the victim is writing out fifty page reports – in triplicate – and then having to justify his arse in five different directions to IAD in order not to get an official censure for doing their job.

Maybe there is something to be said for shoot first and ask questions later. 'Oops, sorry, my gun accidentally went off and shot him six times in the head', sounds wonderfully appealing; although it would be a fair question as to why I would want to waste six bullets on a bureaucrat. As for the actual criminal, if I had my way the conversation would probably follow along like this:

IAD: "You found him like that?"

COP: Nodding vigorously. "Yup."

IAD: "Shot. Execution style."

COP: "YUP."

IAD: "With your gun."

COP: "Nope."

IAD: "We have a ballistics match."

COP: "Maybe it was a bureaucrat?"

IAD: "Like the one, for example, who managed to shoot themselves six times?"

COP: "..."

IAD: "In the back of the head..."

COP: "..."

IAD: "With your gun..."

COP: "...Oops..."

IAD: "Well that's fine then. Have a nice day."

Of course the reality of the situation would see, the cop strapped into old Sparky, the psycho pardoned and the bureaucrat elected for canonisation; and people wonder why most cops quit and become security for multi-million dollar organisations that can afford expensive lawyers.

Now lawyers are another thing entirely.

The best description of a lawyer I have heard compares them to the after-effects of an oil slick where the residual oil has coated innocent wildlife. My job, and that of all fine, upstanding citizens everywhere, is to ensure that the lawyer sorry, oil is wiped off with as little residual damage to the innocent creature in question as possible.

Of course, it's no coincidence that lawyers represent criminals...or maybe it's criminals who represent lawyers; it's sometimes hard to differentiate between the two. For what it's worth, I'm pretty sure that one stands up in front of the jury and attests to the innocence of the other...

...As I said, they're pretty interchangeable; I mean, who ever heard of an innocent lawyer? To be fair, of which I seem to be doing a lot lately, lawyers have their uses – and I don't mean as in the very old joke sense of blocking drains or baiting rat-traps – for example lawyers can...

...errrr...

...As I was saying, there's no known use for a lawyer whatsoever that doesn't involve impaling or grinding up and using for fertiliser.

I just had a horrible thought. What would happen if a lawyer and a bureaucrat mated? The offspring would resemble something from the fifth level of hell. Actually, I think Ecklie's mother was a bureaucrat and his father was a lawyer. I wonder what Nick's mother does? I know his father is a lawyer.

I would also like to take this opportunity to apologise to all creatures from the fifth level of hell, comparing them to the described abomination was completely uncalled for.

Grissom just popped into my office, apparently there's been another nun explosion; at the city council offices no less, who says there's no such thing as an act of God, or that God doesn't have a sense of humour. Now God would make a great CSI. All it would take would be one 'Let the truth be revealed' and the case would be solved. He – or she, or even it, for that matter – also has that whole 'looking into people's hearts' thing going on, which I guess would be useful.

GOD: Did you do it?

Criminal Scumbag: No

GOD: You're lying.

Criminal Scumbag: No I'm not.

Cue Lightning BLAM /Cue Lightning

GOD: Yes you are...sorry, were.

Captain: Intercom You better clean that mess up...and the chair's coming out of your pay /Intercom

...Oh well, a man can dream.