Chloe and Rob joined Warrick Brown to watch Michael Redding fidget through the two-way glass when Grissom arrived. A couple of uniformed patrol officers picked him nearly an hour earlier behind the Luxor. Grissom quickly briefed Warrick on the case and handed him a file.

"Hey, Brass. Don't empty my lighter, this time." A voice trailed Jim Brass into the room.

"Yeah, whatever." Brass muttered. He had a manila envelope, a soft pack of Camels and a Zippo lighter. He practiced flipping the Zippo open a few times until he was satisfied he could do the trick on command then emptied the contents of the envelope on the table. He set a pack of Kools and a purple Bic lighter to one side then put the remaining items back in the envelope. The Camels went in his jacket and the Zippo in his right front pants pocket.

"I think I'm ready." He announced.

"For what?" Chloe asked, perplexed by his theatrics.

"About all a gutter punk with dread locks and white, middle-aged cop have in common are cigarettes and smoking. Rick, come in after I give him the spiel about co-operating and doing what's right, Okay?"

"You got it."

"Hey, Michael." Brass greeted as he entered the interrogation room. He set the pack of Kools, the Bic lighter and an ashtray on the table in front of Michael Redding. At Michael's questioning look, Brass said. "This is just to show, you're not under arrest. I figured you might like a smoke. If this was an interrogation, I wouldn't give you your smokes."

"What do you want?" Michael Redding asked as he nodded, fiddling with the pack of Kools and the lighter.

"A little help." Brass stated. He made a show of searching through his jacket to locate the pack of Camels. He shook one out with the long practiced ease of a life-long smoker and caught it between his lips. He retrieved the Zippo and lit it. "Man, I love that first drag. Got that butane kick to it, nothing better. How `bout you?" The boy eyed him for a moment, then opened the pack of Kools and put one between his lips. Brass performed his little trick with the Zippo and lit it.

"Hey! Man, That's cool. You're right, it tastes better this way." Michael said, in appreciation after he sucked in the smoke laced with butane fumes.

"Bingo." Warrick chortled, Grissom merely smiled. Brass placed his cigarette in the ashtray; tendrils of smoke wafted into the air as it slowly burned down to the filter. Brass taught Michael how to do the lighter trick.

"You can call me, Mike."

"Okay, Mike. I have a serious problem. A man was murdered Tuesday night, and I think you might be able to help us identify his killer." Brass softly began; he watched the young man resume a defensive posture, arms folded across his chest. "Mike, even if you did something sorta wrong, at the time. I assure you, we won't press charges. I hope you'll co-operate with us, do what's right."

"That's my cue." Warrick stated, but he waited a moment longer to watch Michael make eye contact with Brass, weighing his words and intention. Warrick knocked gently on the door before entering.

"You must be Michael, I'm Warrick Brown, I'm a Criminalist with the LVPD."

"So?"

"I study stuff left behind at crime scenes and try to figure out what happened. Then, I use my scientific knowledge to prove who did it. Sometimes, other people, witnesses, leave stuff too. Such as, a spray paint can with fingerprints on it." Warrick showed him the picture of the can. "Look familiar?" The boy glanced at the photograph but did not respond.

"There are a lot of ways to see what happened. A lot of places have surveillance cameras that record what happens, inside and outside. Are these your hands?" He asked, placing photos of the hands searching the duffle bag in front of Michael.

"They could be anyone's hands."

"Yeah. But, not just anybody, walked across the front of the Magness, ten minutes later." Warrick placed the third photo, a grainy black and white shot of Michael passing in front of the Magness on the sidewalk, in front of him.

"Mike, even if you didn't take it, you probably saw who did. A man was murdered, violently. Will you help us?" Brass pled.

"There was a billfold and a little leather credit card holder. It had about thirty dollars in it, the billfold was empty." Michael replied after studying his hands for a minute. "I ain't been in trouble in over a year, but it was too easy."

"What did you do with it?" Warrick inquired.

"It's hidden, in a drain pipe behind the Luxor. I was supposed to meet somebody who would give me a hundred, in cash, if the credit cards were good."

"How about, we go get it? Then we'll call your Mother to come get you."

"I don't get along with my Mom so good. I live with my Uncle Sebastian, here in Vegas; he's a sculptor. Man, he's gonna be pissed."

"Okay, we'll take you to him. I'll smooth things over." Warrick placated.

"Good job, Jim." Grissom acknowledged, as they met outside the interrogation/ room.

"Yeah, but I'll crave a cigarette for at least a week." Brass grumped.

"The sacrifices we make." Grissom responded with a small smile.

"Christ, I could go back to smokin' two packs a day just like that!" Brass snapped his fingers.

"But, you won't."

"Nope. I better give Carter back his smokes before temptation gets the better of me." Brass replied, he squared his shoulders and headed down the hall.

TBC