Summary: Sometimes Carlton Lassiter wishes that he beat Spencer at his own game. Be careful what you wish for Lassie!
Rating / Disclaimer: T for bad words and "total shenanigans". And no, I don't own Psych or it's characters.
A/N: Just one of those ideas that wouldn't get out of my head. Hope you like it. Takes place in a nonspecific point in time, but to be safe let's just say where the latest episodes left off yeah?
Life in Santa Barbra had almost become as predictable as a daytime rerun of CSI. Everyday had the same pattern. There was always a crime being committed. Sometimes it was just a bunch of teenagers causing trouble, other days a convenience store robbery, and more often than people wanted to admit, there was a murder that needed to be solved. Whatever the case was, the police were soon on it. It might be admitted that half the time the SBPD had to monkey around the edges of technicalities concerning the laws put in place and what they can and cannot do. For example, Carlton Lassiter would give more than anything to just be able to pull out his gun and intimidate a suspect in the interview room into giving him all the information he needed, but usually that led to something called "harassment" – as most lawyers would quickly point out.
So as the department danced around the laws, there were others who didn't hold such restrictions. Enter the next predictable part of the case, Shawn Spencer…and on occasion his trusted partner Ghee Buttersnaps, er Burton Guster. Lassiter cringed every time to "psychic" consultant made his way into the station, catching wind of the newest case because 'the spirits told him' that something was going on. And grudgingly Spencer knew exactly what they were working on without anyone having to tell him.
Phase three, Spencer would worm his way into working on the case, often time following on the heels of other officers to get a look at the crime scenes and promptly disappear for hours at a time, doing god only knew what in his twisted version of investigating. Every once in a while he would return if another crime concerning the case occurred to get new information, but most times he would seek out the police and tell them about a so called "psychic vision" and lead the department to a specific location. It wasn't long after this that Spencer would have another psychic reading and as he paraded about the scene doing the most absurd things – like talking to a shoe or something who apparently saw the whole thing happen or crap like that – and solve the case when the suspect fully confessed to their crimes or tried to make a break for it.
So it shouldn't have been a surprise when Juliet got a call from Spencer, telling her Lassiter and Chief Vick to meet him at 'Wong's Chinese Food & Go' in ten minutes. What chinese food had to do with their current case who knew. Sitting at his desk, the detective scowled. Surrounding him were files and folders on the case, a whiteboard filled with words and pictures and arrows and whatever kind of shorthand he could imagine sat behind him. A series of home break-ins were occurring over the last few months. Initially they were placed as low priority things, overshadowed by drug cases, gangs, and other more violent crimes. That was, of course, until one robbery had gone south and home invasion turned into homicide. It had been one week since the body of Jody Mills, a middle aged maid who was cleaning the home while the owners were away on vacation for the weekend, had been found with her head bashed in on the living room floor. Only one other reported robbery that fit the MO had happened since then, and that was only called in last night. Thus, it had only been six days since Spencer decided some psychic intervention was needed in this case. And if this was anything like the past few years of his life – which Lassiter had a sinking suspicion it was – it had taken Spencer only six days to solve the case.
Carlton wanted to do nothing more than sit at his desk and brood at the prospect, but the pointed look that the Chief had given him when he didn't jump into action right away dashed any hopes that he was going to be able to do that.
Approximately ten minutes later, give or take thirty seconds thanks to the hundred year old grandma crossing the street decided to move at the speed of a running snail, Vick, Juliet, and Lassiter were making their way into the small establishment. Carlton assumed that all hell would have already broken lose, this was Spencer after all, but things seemed strangely quiet. In fact, it didn't even seem like Spencer was here at first.
"Lassie, Juliet, Chief! You made it!"
One could only dream.
"Spencer you better have a damn good reason for why you dragged us down here," he said turning to face the overly happy man walking through the door, a smoothie held in each hand.
"Tch, someones moody today Lassie-Frassie. Don't worry though, it's really important. But first!-" Carlton gave an audible groan feeling like this was going to be a big waste of time. "-I thought we would have something to eat. Gus has a table for us and everything. We've been here for a while, but the place didn't have pineapple smoothies on the drink menu. Can you believe it? What kind of restaurant doesn't have smoothies?"
The so called psychic was making his way further into the restaurant before anyone could object to the absurdity – not just to the fact that they had rushed here only to sit down to some lunch, but also why on earth an Asian place would have smoothies.
Juliet was the first to follow, giving a helpless shrug but knowing her boyfriend enough that he must have something planned. Vick gave her own sigh and eventually tugged on Lassiter's suit in a command to follow her and just go along with it.
Burton was sitting in a booth near the back and visibly straightened when catching sight of the group approaching. He wordlessly accepted the smoothie that Shawn offered when sliding into the seat next to him. Juliet, Vick, and Lassiter managed to fit themselves into the seat on the other side. A plate of untouched eggrolls sat in the center of the table. Carlton shifted his attention to take in the restaurant itself. It had the standard "flashy" appearance that foreign eateries decorated with. The amount of dragons and Buddha statues alone was more than enough to make the place feel crowded, but then there were the paper lanterns and lights and beads draped across the walls and ceilings. Overkill was putting it mildly.
O'Hara's voice speaking up suddenly caught Lassiter's attention. "Shawn, please tell me you have more of a reason for calling besides to have lunch."
Before Spencer could answer a young man with short dark hair came over to the table. "You folks know what you want," he asked holding a pen and pad of paper.
"Yes! I'll take chicken lo mien, white rice on the side." Shawn spoke up first.
"And Sweet and sour chicken," Gus added in. Vick and Juliet respectively declined anything and the glare that Lassiter gave the waiter was answer enough for the man to quickly hurry off to the kitchen.
Grabbing and eggroll from the plate Spencer began to casually eat and sip at the smoothie in front of him.
"Mr. Spencer….?" Vick prompted him after a beated moment of silence, one that was almost interrupted by Lassiter slamming his head onto the table if not for the Chief's timing.
"Oh right. I solved the case of course," Spencer said, spewing a mouthful of uneaten eggroll across the table. "Well almost, that's why we're here," he said punctuating with another bite of the snack.
"Spencer, what the hell are you talking about? What does eating in this grease pit have to do with anything in the case?" Lassiter interjected right away, already tired and ready to go back to the station to do some real work.
"Just wait Lassie. It'll all make sense in a second and - Oh look! My foods already here. Man these guys are fast," Shawn said abandoning the half eaten egg roll back onto the plate.
Carlton was about two seconds away from jumping over the table and strangling Shawn when the waiter came back holding a plate a noodles and rice in hand. "Lo mien and you're chicken will be out in a few minutes," he said to Gus.
"Thanks man," Shawn said reaching up to grab the plate from the guy. His hand brushed against the waiter's in the transfer and Spencer reeled back from the touch. "Whoa….whooooa man," he started and suddenly jumped to his feet with an unruly cry clutching his hand. Lassiter had just enough time to berry his face in his hands, knowing a theatrical and "Spencer's solved the case" moment was about to start.
"Ow….owww, ow wow! Dude, ah, my ear. I don't- I don't understand! Why does my ear hurt so much! It feels like someone's trying to pull it off!" At this point Spencer has managed to catch the attention of the few costumers at their tables and even the kitchen staff was poking their heads out to see all the commotion. An older looking Asian woman stepped out and had been approaching the table, a plate of Gus's chicken in hand, only to stop at the sight of the psychic consultant practically rolling on the floor holding the right side of his head.
The waiter stood dumbfounded looking at the man at his feet. "Ear… his ear of course! Lassie, look at his ear!" Shawn continued to yell from the floor.
"Spencer, what the hell does his ear have to do with anything?" But even as his spoke Carlton found himself looking at the waiter's ear. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He had a small silver hoop pierced at the lobe, but given this day a lot of guys were getting piercings on their bodies. "Spencer there is nothing wrong with his ear. It's just pierced and-"
"No! Check the other one. It's not what's there…it's what's missing!" The psychic continued to yell.
"Oh for the love of god Spencer! If you don't get up and start to explain yourself I'm going to-"
"Um Carlton…I really think you should listen to Shawn," O'Hara quietly said from her seat. Something had caught her attention as she started intently at the waiter now, a slight edge to her posture. It was the same kind of edge Carlton saw when she was about to jump into action. What was she seeing? He looked back to the waiter trying to see it, but nothing was standing out. About to give up and demand that someone explain to him what the hell was going on, Carlton was caught off guard when the waiter decided to not stick around for him to figure it out.
He was off in an instant, but over ten years of police work had Lassiter's reflexes lightning fast. And if there was one thing even a rookie knew it was that a runner had something to hide. He was up and standing in the next moment, gun out and trained on the retreating, now, suspect. "Freeze! Stop running and put your hand up!"
The waiter seemed to sense the gun now trained on him, but instead of stopping and surrendering he grabbed a knife sitting at one of the empty tables where the silverware was being folded into napkins. Whirling the man went for the nearest person he could grab, the little old Asian lady who was bringing out Burton's food, and stood behind her holding the knife up to her throat.
"No! You are going to let me walk out of here, or the lady gets it!" He yelled bringing the knife's edge closer to her bare skin.
"Dude…seriously? That's like the corniest line you can say with a hostage. It's like you got that right out of a bad movie," Spencer said, on his feet again at this time.
"Spencer…shut up," Lassiter growled in a low voice, gun still held up and trained on their suspect. It didn't look terribly sharp, but he didn't want to take any chances with a civilian getting hurt.
"Sir, put the knife down and surrender. You got three trained officers with their sights set on you. Just let the woman go," he heard O'Hara say from beside him. She and Chief had also managed to get out of the booth and bring their guns out.
"No! It wasn't supposed to happen this way. No one was supposed to get hurt! I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt! I just needed to get ends meet and being a waiter doesn't put enough food on the table for three younger siblings and deadbeat dad!" the waiter seemed frantic, hand wavering as he held the knife. Hell, the old woman he was holding hostage seemed calmer than him at the moment.
"Sir! We're not going to ask you again. Let the woman go and put the knife down," Lassiter said, more menace in his voice that O'Hara's has been. Damn it, he didn't have a shot. He couldn't risk hitting the hostage even if just going for the guy's leg.
"I told you! I can't, I – " the waiter started again only to be cut off when something was thrown in his direction. He sidestepped as the projectile flew past and with sqeulch hit the far wall.
"Did you just throw an eggroll at me! Seriously, who throws an eggroll at someone!" The waiter seemed lost for words, but suddenly Lassiter saw his shot. By moving himself, but not the old woman, to the side his leg was left wide open for a shot. Carlton took it.
And single BANG! rang through the store, the other occupants screaming and ducking, seeming to be able to react for the first time. The waiter dropped the knife and tumbled to the ground holding his leg, screaming in pain. O'Hara was the first to rush forward and kick the knife away, pulling the old woman back with her and away from the assailant.
"Sir…whoever you are, you have the right to remain silent," Lassiter started the reading the man's rights as he stepped forward and holstered the gun. Looking back at Spencer he continued to scowl at the man, who looked peachier than ever as he held his plate of noodles and was eating. Of course, the idiot who would throw an eggroll at a man in a hostage situation would be enough of an idiot to be eating his plate of noodles as a man is bleeding on the floor from a gunshot wound.
After the waiter, Michael Chang was loaded into the back of the ambulance, securely handcuffed to the rail of the gurney, Lassiter found himself facing Spencer, Guster, and O'Hara trying to understand exactly had just happened.
"Lassiter, didn't you see his ear? The right earring was missing. And there was some puffy scar tissue on the lobe like someone had ripped it out. That single earring at the crime scene, the unidentified traced of blood on it. It bet you it's Mr. Chang's. The victim must have gotten hold of it and ripped it out in the struggle," Juliet said. And for that's Lassiter just stood there, a slight trace of 'dumbfounded' gracing his features before he rolled his eyes and slumped his shoulders. There were weirder things that connected a case's dots. He'd find out later the specifics of it all in the report he was going to have to write anyway.
"Alright, O'Hara, you and me will head back to the station with the Chief. McNabb and another officer will probably hang around the hospital for a bit with our suspect until the doctor give him the clear for us to interrogate him. Spencer, Guster," he said turning to the two men, one of which was still holding a plate of noodles. "…Just get out of my sight. The station will call you later for your statements."
Lassiter felt he could go without a witty and sarcastic retort for the day and turned to head back to his car so he could go back to the station. He stopped short when an old man and the old woman who had been the hostage from earlier blocked his path. Both wearing warm smiles…the kind that only made Lassiter want to frown at them.
"Can I….help you?" He asked, almost stumbling over 'help' like it was a foreign word he wasn't used to saying.
"I Mr. Wong, owner," the man started, still giving a smile that was personally just freaking Carlton at this point. "You saved my wife's life. Thank you. Thank you. We want to give you reward," he said reaching into the pocket of the shirt, that looked more like a robe of sorts, and bringing out something concealed in his hand.
"No need to thank me sir. It's part of an officer's job. And I can't accept any reward you have to offer. It would be-" Lassiter started and bulking up to his noticeable deed of saving someone's life. However, he stopped mid sentence when Mr. Wong opened his hand…revealing a wrapped fortune cookie.
"No, no. We insist. You deserve reward. Take it," Mr. Wong said taking the detective's hand and putting the cookie into his palm. Lassiter wasn't exactly sure how to react to this. It's not like he's given a cookie as a reward for his job every day. "Special cookie. Before you open, make wish. Then break and wish come true," Mr. Wong continued as he folded Carlton's hand's over the cookie.
"Uh….huh…" Carlton mumbled with skepticism. He had a feeling the man was going to be insistent on keeping the fortune cookie so rather than try and argue he put it in the pocket of his suit pants, where it was likely to be forgotten for the rest of the day.
"Just one wish though…make it count." And with that Mr. Wong was leading his wife back inside their restaurant. He looked over his shoulder one more time, giving a small nod to the detective before disappearing inside.
Psychics…fortune cookies granting wishes….yeah. This was definitely going on his list of days that couldn't get any more paranormal and downright stupid.
Many hours later, Carlton found himself still sitting at his desk at the station. It was well beyond his usual work hours at this point, but the report he had was far from finished. The station was nearly empty, save for the few night patrols that hung around in case of an emergency. Empty, but quiet at least. If there was one thing Carlton appreciated these days, it was blissful silence. Still, silence came at a price. It was late and Lassiter was pretty sure he was going to be tired the next morning. Leaning forward he cupped his face in his hands and let out a slow yawn. An all-nighter was not going to be fun, but he had work to do. Tomorrow wasn't just going to be a magical day off where nothing happens in the world because one bad guy was caught today. There was just going to be another to take his place…maybe even more.
Straightening back up Lassiter's attention was caught at the crinkling noise coming from his pocket. With a startled expression he fished out whatever had caused the sound, and sighed when he held up the fortune cookie the owner of the restaurant had given him earlier that day. He had practically forgotten about it at this point. Contemplating the idea of just throwing it away, his stomach suddenly grumbled in protest at the idea. Lassiter had skipped lunch and dinner this day and his body was finally starting to realize it.
Scrunching up his nose Lassiter finally gave into his stomach's wishes and unwrapped the plastic around the fortune cookie. About to just break it, he stopped himself in time to remember Mr. Wong's words about the cookie. The wish cookie. What was he thinking? Seriously, it was just superstitious nonsense that the old man had given him to make his reward worth more than it really was. Yet, Carlton just looked at the offending snack, brows furrowed at the thought of a wish.
What the hell was he thinking?
"Yeah…fine. I'll play along. I wish that just once I can beat Spencer at his own game. Make him the idiot while I go parading about solving cases," he muttered. And with that he snapped the cookie in half with a pleasing crunch. Popping one half in his mouth right away he slowly chewed the treat and pulled out the thin slice of paper from the other half. Holding up the paper he went to read his fortune, but instead of some cryptic and meaningless message he was given a shorter than average even more meaningless message.
Letting out a huff wondering why he was even still thinking about this, Carlton put dropped the piece of paper and turned back to his desktop while finishing the other half of the cookie. The paper lightly floated to the wooden surface landing face up upon it. Only two words were written upon the paper that Carlton has so easily discarded.
WISH GRANTED.