Author's Note:
First fanfiction ever! Please be nice, and please review/subscribe. I would rather hear what I could improve than nothing at all! ;) I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing.
Chapter 1: The Door to All Evil is Grey
Every hero has a story. And by hero, no, I don't mean super-buff guys walking around half-naked in spandex and Fruit-of-the-Looms. Sorry, no. Hero is a label for a lot of people. You, her, and yes, even the weird guy trying to read over your shoulder. . . Ok, maybe not him. Some heroes might even seem like the bad guy at first. . . until you learn their true intentions. Like me.
Sorry, I probably confused you. Anyway, I should start from the beginning.
Shawn(dramatically): Cue intro with ominous narration.
Gus: Shawn, do you even know what ominous means?
Shawn: Fine. Introduction with Morgan Freeman narration.
Gus: You know that's right.
It was sunny, as it always was in Santa Barbara. We had just hit a road block on a case, and it was my great idea to bring the case files to my two favorite detectives to review. I needed a new set of eyes. I had been stuck on this case for the past 2 weeks. That, and the fact that I hadn't been to the station in a while, which meant I was way behind in annoying Lassie. And, I admit, I missed Jules. So I hopped up the steps to the Santa Barbara Police Department- well, as much as I could hop with a stack of paperwork in my hands. Gus had a similar stack, grumbling all the way. I pushed the door open with my shoulder, and let it swing shut into Gus' face. Not on purpose, of course.
"Spencer, what are you doing here?!" Lassie growled. Hehe.
"Nothing. Gus, cue entrance!" Gus walked in just then, struggling with the tower of manila folders.
"Having some trouble there, Gus-Gus?" Gus frowned at the reference. He stormed over to Jules' desk and dropped the stack.
Gus didn't miss a beat. As soon as his hands were empty, he pointed a finger at me in his usual scold.
"Shawn, I swear," he started, ignoring the confused Jules who was trying to finish up an old report with a mountain of case files on her desk. Lassiter just looked miffed, as usual.
"Gus, it's rude to point." I said, like any kindergarten teacher would: calm and patronizing.
"Shawn! You don't even help me with the literal heavy-lifting for our cases, now you have to compare me to a Disney princess?"
"Gus, don't be a gloomy you! First, I actually did help. Second, you know just as well as I do that Gus-Gus was a mouse, not a princess. You of all people should know that; you've seen the movie at least 10 times. And third. . . Jerk chicken?" I said hopefully. The bribery always works.
Gus finally seemed to have taken note of his audience, if his response was anything to go by. Unfortunately, he completely ignored me when I said jerk chicken. "Hehe, no I haven't, Shawn. I mean, that was for my, uhm. . . my niece?"
"Burton Guster, you're a terrible liar. You don't even have a niece." I walked over to where Gus had so rudely plopped his stuff down, getting it off Jules' desk so she could keep working. Sweet angel me instead decided to throw it on Lassie's desk.
Lassie then cut into our argument, quite rudely, I might add. "Sweet lady of justice, what is this about? Either tell me now, or, so help me God, I will literally kick you two idiots out!"
"Pfft, please, Lassie. You were gonna try to kick us out anyway." I waved off the comment with my hand as best as I could with two armfuls of paperwork.
"Really, Shawn. What's with all the paperwork?" Jules asked thoughtfully.
"Well, Jules, me and Gus needed help on the Robert case. My psychic senses are clouded because someone-" I glared pointedly at Gus, elbowing him in the ribs, "-refused to make a stop for-oof- pineapple smoothies." I rubbed my side where Gus had elbowed me back, much too viciously. I decided to let it slide- just this once.
"Robert case? Don't you mean Robinson?"
"I've heard it both ways. Anyway, I need fresh minds. I'm afraid I cooked up Gus' brain with my psychic channeling." I reached over to put my hand on Gus' head, getting a smack on the arm in response. "See? Nothing."
Juliet looked like she was trying not to laugh. "Shawn, you do know that we have our own case files here at the Police Department, right? You didn't need to bring that all the way over here."
"Shawn!"
"Gus, what did I just say? Two words: Jerk. Chicken. Plus, you could use the exercise."
"Tsk. It'll probably still be on my card." He seemed to be in a better mood at the mention of food.
"Well, duh."
"Good Lord, would you two morons just get on with it already so we can wrap this up and you can leave as soon as possible?!"
"Sure thing, Lass. First, do you have any suspects that are in custody? "
"Just one, but by what he's told us, the only thing we can tell is that he's mute."
I gave a dramatic gasp, hand fluttering to my chest in mock amazement. "Lassie, was that a joke I heard? I think I'm starting to rub off on you." I gave him a sharp jab in the ribs with my elbow.
I noticed him look over my shoulder towards Chief Vick's office, and heard an intense whisper fight being waged. The Chief seemed to have won, by the someone-killed-my-puppy-now-I-will-find-them-and-I-will-kill-them Liam Neeson look on Lassie's face.
"Shut it, Spencer. Ughh. . . I can't believe I'm about to say this. . ." He turned away, trailing off with an incoherent mumble.
"What was that, Lassifrass?" I said innocently.
"I said canyoutwoembarrassmentstopoliceprocedureinterrogatethesuspect?" He crammed in a 1/2 breath.
"Sure, but why, Lassie? I mean, what could you possibly want our services for?" Here's a glimpse into what my convoluted mind was really saying: Whaaat? Me? Interrogate? Like, not just the slushee vendor outside the Psych office for what flavor syrup makes blue?
Next to me, Gus completely forgot about being mad and started doing his happy squealy dance thingy. Guess we know who'll be best at playing bad cop. Yippee.
"I think your- approach- will drive this man to the brink of insanity. Crack him. So please just go in there, ask some questions, do... whatever it is you do, and leave." He was gonna have nubs soon, if he kept grinding his teeth like that.
"Well, I don't know, Lassie. I mean, shouldn't we leave all that to the professionals?" Hey. I did say I was behind in annoying him.
"Huh. O'Hara, isn't that exactly what I said? You have more of a brain than I thought, Spencer."
"-Carlton..."
"Yeah, well, you learn something new every day." I interjected, "I'll be happy to help, amigo." I used my best Spanish accent.
"Ugh. I was worried you might say that." He continued to glare at me for a few awkward seconds until I decided to break the silence.
"So. Who will be our instructor for the day?" I said, using my nasally voice.
"Just. Go." He finally spat out. In my eye.
"Okey dokey." I turned to Jules, who was pointing down the hall towards Interrogation Room B.
"I'll just be there to watch and take notes, maybe give a few pointers. The speakers are down, and they're not supposed to be back up until tomorrow morning. Don't worry, guys, you'll do fine." She added. She walked us down the hall, stopping in front of a grey door marked Int. B. She unlocked the door, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion as...
Haha, totally had you there, didn't I? Psh. Okay, promise, no more cliffies from here on out.
So, anyway, she opened the door, and I stood in shocked disbelief as I saw who was handcuffed to the table...
Ha! Got you AGAIN! Naw, it was just some random criminal plucked off some random street in Santa Barbara by some random police officer for some random offense. Probably. But, hey, looks can be decieving...
A/N: And, as they say in the cartoons, that's all, folks! Evil cliffie, mwahahahaha. Bet you believed me when I said there'd be no more of those, didn't ya? Didn't ya!?
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