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Karma The Chameleon
"Derek," Rossi said, gripping his phone in a white knuckled grip, the man's horrifying voice singing away. "Derek?" he repeated as the God awful noise continued, obviously now on a loop that would continue into infinity. "DEREK!" he roared, the need to stop that obnoxious warble a need that refused to be denied.
"That's me, my peep," Derek grinned on the other end of the line, propping his chin in his hand as he leaned against the sofa's arm. He'd never noticed exactly how brown his sofa was before. Very attractive shade, he thought to himself happily.
"Derek," Dave said shakily, rubbing his hand over his whiskered jaw, "I need to find this freaking lizard." Why couldn't this addled man grasp that failure wasn't an option. For either of them. "Garcia will kill me if I don't."
"Oh, yeah," Derek confirmed, bobbing his head. "Karma is the closest thing to a kid my Baby Girl has."
"Then help me," David hissed, his eyes darting frantically around the room.
"I aaa-mmmmm," Derek said, drawing out the word dramatically. "You gots to sing!"
"Morgan," Dave said sternly, closing his eyes against the sudden flash of pain in his head, "I am NOT serenading this reptile. I don't sing. And if I did sing, it would not be that crap you've been bellowing. It'd be Dean Martin...Frank Sinatra...one of the greats," he argued, pacing the kitchen.
"Yeah, but Fly Me to the Moon and That's Amore ain't Karma's jam," Morgan yawned, pressing his fingers to his lips. "Look, man, the drugs are kickin in hardcore."
"Morgan, I swear to God if you hang up this phone, the next bullet that goes in your body won't miss the vital organs," Dave threatened, prepared to carry out the violence himself. He was a dead man walking anyway if he couldn't manage to find the scaly varmint Penelope called a pet. He might as well take as many people down in a blaze of glory as he could manage.
And Derek Morgan had officially made the top of his hit list.
"Dude," Morgan sighed, "Just play the damn song."
"Dude," Rossi mimicked, his eyes narrowing, "I don't know the damn song!" Honestly, that bullet was going straight in the heart. God knew the guy didn't have a brain in his thick skull.
"Okay, okay, okay," Derek said quickly, his words slurring. "Here's whatcha do, Pooh..."
"Did you just call me Pooh?" Dave asked incredulously.
"Do you wanna solve the problem or not?" Derek whined, lifting an arm and propping it behind his head as he stared down his body at his stomach. "Man," he grinned, "I really do have a rockin' rack."
Grimacing, Dave pulled the phone away from his ear. He was going to need to drink bleach to get that image out of his mind. "Morgan," he begged, pressing the cell back to his ear, "Focus, please."
"On what?" Morgan asked blankly, stifling another yawn as his eyelids drooped.
"THE REPTILE!" Dave bellowed, his voice bouncing off the walls in the empty apartment. Cringing as he remembered Garcia's nosy neighbors, he lowered his voice. "Morgan, I lost the lizard, remember? You're going to help me find her." Hell, the damn green menace HAD to be a she. No male would ever be this damned obstinate.
"Oh, yeah," Morgan said brightly, snapping his fingers. "Karma the Chameleon. Just go play the song, Rossi. Easy, peasy!"
Sweet Jesus, he was trapped in a "Who's on First" skit and he could NOT find the fucking exit to this jacked up play. "Morgan, once more, what song? Where?" Dave asked desperately, yanking at his dark hair.
"Just go turn on the stereo," Morgan informed him easily. "It's preset to play. Just push the power button. Kick back on the couch. After a few choruses, she'll come a'runnin'," he assured the cranky profiler. "And take a chill pill, dude. Like I said, you have SERIOUSLY harshed on my buzzie mcbuzzerson!"
Hearing the line go suddenly dead, Dave's jaw dropped. Had that asshole actually hung up on him? Pressing his lips together as he impatiently threw his cell phone on the dining room table and stomped back into the cheerful living room, Dave scanned the walls for the stereo. "Aha!" he yelled triumphantly, although the feeling of achievement was transient.
Looking at the piece of equipment, Dave moaned again. Of course Garcia had a system that would rival NASA's mission control, he ranted silently to himself. Eye narrowing on a red button, Dave canted his head to the side. Red meant power on the cell phone. Maybe it would be true here as well.
Holding his breath, he quickly jabbed the button.
Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma chameleon…You come and go, you come and go!...Loving would be easy if your colors were like my dreams...Red, gold and green, Red gold and greeeeennnnnn…
"Oh, hell," he scowled, clapping his hands over his ears as the music continued to blare from the speakers. "What the hell is this crap?" he asked the plant to the left of him.
Thankfully, it didn't answer, but nothing at this point would have surprised him in this house of unknown horrors.
Blindly twisting dials until the volume lowered, he exhaled a sigh of relief. Walking back to Penelope's chintz sofa, he sat down.
And proceeded to drum his fingers against his thigh for the next hour.
Eyelids heavy, David Rossi stifled a yawn of his own as the damn song repeated for the sixtieth time. Reaching for a throw pillow on the floor to prop behind his now aching head, he flinched as a sharp set of teeth again pierced his flesh.
Eyes widening as he jerked his finger back, his mouth fell open as he raised Karma the Chameleon to eye level.
And then, he said the only words he could.
"Ain't Karma a bitch!"
And in that moment of stark reality, eye to eye with the elusive lizard intent on terrorizing his very life, David Rossi knew that he never had and never would speak truer words in his life.
And if he wasn't mistaken, he'd swear that damn lizard was grinning at him.