'cause the sights that I'm seeing|sodapop/INACTIVE

[ichabod]

ARE PRICELE$$

---

clank. clank. clank.

"Crap.."

The young boy winced as the engine began to rattle. He might only be a scientist, but he knew enough about cars to know that when something started to sound strange, it generally meant something was wrong. Pulling the black SUV to the side of the road, Ichabod picked up the radio from the dashboard, holding it close to his mouth.

"CSI Crane to dispatch."
"This is dispatch, go ahead."
"I seem to be having some automotive trouble. The engine is making.. uhm... interesting noises."
"What's your 20?"
Ichabod glanced at his GPS before responding. "About 20 blocks west from the crime scene."
"Thank you, CSI Crane. I will notify your superior, but in the meantime I suggest you find the nearest repair shop."
"Thanks, Crane out."

With a sigh, Ichabod replaced the radio and turned his attention to the built in GPS system in the car's stereo. After pressing several inconspicuous buttons, he finally managed to tell the device to find an "auto repair station." Shifting the car into drive, he pulled back onto the dark street, following the direct "turn right in 0.1 miles" orders that echoed throughout the silent vehicle.

After several quick corners and turn arounds due to one-way streets, Ichabod was relieved to hear "arriving at destination on left" coming from the GPS. A spark of hope flew through the boy as his eyes caught sight of a flickering "OPEN" sign in a window. Flipping on the turn signal, he pulled across traffic and into the empty garage. After parking, Icahbod removed the key and got out of the car, glancing around the dim shop.

The tall boy stood even with the SUV, and he had a clear view of the room he was in, and how alone he was. Ichabod reached into a pocket of his black "Forensics" vest and pulled out his iPhone, only to find he had no service in the depths of the garage. After waiting a minute or so, he decided he had no more time to waste. He had to get to that crime scene. Taking a few steps towards a door in the back of the garage, Ichabod peered through the darkness.

"Hello?"

[sodapop]

Arguing with his boss was a daily thing, it wasn't your normal boss and worker argument either, it was more like Sodapop annoying Mr. Dean to the boiling point and being told to get out of his sights this usually came with the threat of money being deducted from his paycheck. That was usually when Soda retreated to the back room.
The back room of the garage was where most of the mechanics hung out when they had nothing else to do, and at the moment, that was Sodapop. He was sipping a coke and flipping through a really old magazine, his buddy Steve left about an hour ago and Mr. Dean left long before that. No one but girls ever came into the repair shop when they were gone, and at the moment no girls were around.

"Hello?"

He lifted his head to see a tall, blonde man peering into the room. He was in a uniform so it quickly came to Sodapop's mind that this guy was probably looking for one of his delinquent friends, "Look I already told you guys twice, that Dallas doesn't work here."
Sodapop wasn't skittish around cops, he didn't need to be. He was a good kid who just hung around not so good people, like Dally for example. Man that guy got Sodapop in a bunch of situations, "I suggest looking further into Windrixville if you- Wait your not a cop are you?"

[ichabod]

Ichabod jumped as the figure of a younger boy came out of the darkness, and instinctively (as all new CSI's and cops do) reached behind him for his gun. Fingers fumbled around his belt for a moment before he realized he had left his gun in the car. His eyes darted towards the car, quickly judging that he didn't have enough time to open the door, get the gun, remove it from the holster, prep it, and fire it with any accuracy. The stranged would be on him before he could even reach the door handle.

"Look I already told you guys twice, that Dallas doesn't work here."

Huh? What was this kid talking about? Ichabod tilted his head to the side, brow furrowed. Who was this Dallas character, and why were the police looking for him? And why here? Was this shop associated with known criminals? Darn that GPS, leading him to a crime syndicates auto repair shop. Ichabod continued to watch the boy as he continued to approach, speaking casually.

"I suggest looking further into Windrixville if you- Wait your not a cop are you?"

The sudden realization that the tall, terrified looking young man was not a police officer caused Ichabod to chuckle. He relaxed his arm, taking a few steps towards the boy. So he thought he was there to arrest him or one of his friends. Well, he wasn't, and that fact alone let a smile creep on the tall youths face.

"No, not quite." he grinned, extending his hand towards the boy. "CSI Ichabod Crane, at your service. Do you work here?" Dumb question, Icky. Dumb question. Of course he works here. No one else is here, and unless this really is some drug lords hideout, the kid obviously is employed as an auto repairman. Stupid, Ichabod. Just, stupid.

[sodapop]

He had no idea if the guy was trying to be discrete when he reached for his gun, but Sodapop noticed it and gave a smile, he scared the shit out of this guy and didn't even try, wait 'til he told Steve. When he asked if the guy wasn't a cop, because it was pretty obvious this guy was scared out of his wits, the guy admitted he wasn't with a grin and held out his hand for Sodapop to shake. He set his coke down on the toolbox and shook the guys hand, now just realizing his palms were covered in grease. Oops. Quickly he wiped his palms on his jeans, Mr. Dean was picky about keeping things clean and that included his customers, Soda and Steve weren't allowed in the main office until they took their shoes off and their hands were clean. So naturally they spent most of the day in the garage, talking to the neighborhood girls and occasionally fixing up old fords.


"CSI Ichabod Crane, at your service. Do you work here?"

Did he work there? So not only was this guy a wimp but he was stupid too, Sodapop grinned even more adding in a cocked eyebrow, a trick he'd picked up from his friend Two-Bit, "Ichabod?" Sodapop gave a soft chuckle while tossing his can into the trash, "Well, Icky, I'm Sodapop Curtis, and yeah I work here, you got car troubles?"

[ichabod]

Ichabod grew easy as his companion smiled, creating a more relaxing atmosphere. Yes, he was a tense person. He almost always was. It was in his skittish nature. When faced with a "fight or flight" situation, his body always picked flight. His younger brother Mason had always founght his physical battles for him. As far as the intellectual ones, well, needless to say Ichabod won those hands down.

Hearing the boy say his name, and having it being just as, if not more, unusual as his own, caused Ichabod to chuckle. And to make things even more interesting, the boy called him Icky. Icky was his childhood nickname, given to him by just about everyone who didn't want to call him Ichabod. It even seemed more fitting as the young boy could often be found dissecting bugs or small animals or strange "icky" things of the like.

"Uh, yeah, car troubles." Ichabod stammered, somewhat forgetting the reason he had come to this place. "Oh yeah! The engine. It's.. it doesn't sound good." he laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry I'm not too much help. The extent of my automotive knowledge goes about as far as filling up the gas."

[sodapop]

"Well," Sodapop said, rubbing the back of his head, "I'm going to have to go on a lot more then just the engine sounding bad."

He looked at the SUV already parked in the garage and glanced back at Ichabod, he grabbed a clipboard with various questions, such as license plate number, name, date of birth, type of car, etc. Soda handed it to Icky and walked toward his car, lifting up the hood and staring intently at the engine.

He didn't see anything physically wrong with it, damn, now he had to seriously had to take a look at it. "So your CSI?" Sodapop said, making small talk while he further investigated the engine problems. Glancing at the clock occasionally.
5:30, 5:45, 5:55....

So he wasn't dying to go home, he liked it her at the garage, but today was a slow day. No cool old cars had pulled in, and no girls had shown up, so there was no use hanging around...

He finally found to problem, the belt came loose, it was a real simple fix. But not a five minute fix, so he was doing overtime... No big deal except he wasn't going to get paid for it. He grabbed the rubber belt and put it back in it's place, turning to Ichabod he said, "Keys please?"

[ichabod]

Wincing, Ichabod bit his lip as Sodapop made a comment about his lack of automotive knowledge. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he was handed a clipboard full of useless information the owner of this shop was probably going to sell to telemarketers that would unsuspectingly hound the police department with calls about pills for erectile disfunction. Glancing at the paper, Ichabod sighed and opened up the drivers side door, sitting half way in the seat, long legs dangling out to the ground as he mindlessly filled out the questionaire.

"Huh?" The boy looked up, half hearing what the mechanic had said. What was it? Something about.. CSI! That was it. "Oh yeah, sorry." Ichabod gave a throaty chuckle in a failed attempt to hide his awkwardness. "CSI. Yeah. Dirty job, but someone's gotta do it." he laughed lightly, then stopped, realizing he was in a filthy mechanics shop. Grease stains and dirt and grime lined the floors and walls. This was a dirty job, not his.

He had just finished the form when Sodapop asked for his keys. Ichabod handed over the clipboard, then reached into his pocket for the keys. He stalled, thinking over in his head just how much trouble he would get in if this boy was in an illegal carjacking ring and had already fixed the car and would drive off as soon as he got his hands on the keys. But when Ichabod looked back at the boy, looked over his face, he felt, completely against his instinct, that he could trust him. "Here," he said, holding out the keys. "It's the stations car, so try to be careful." he laughed. "How long is this going to take?"