Psych is not mine. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 1

"Look, Lassie-Frass, it's not my fault the clown almost got away. I told you he was the one stealing all of those purses on the boardwalk."

"Spencer, you didn't say it was an *actual* clown stealing the purses! Why didn't you make that clear?"

"I called and said 'I see the clown that's stealing purses! Send in the troops!'"

"And then you hung up, without giving a description of the guy..."

"I said clown! What more did I need to describe?"

Lassiter half-sighed, half-growled and turned away from the officers who were hand-cuffing the culprit clown.

Juliet O'Hara approached and said, "The carnival owner says this guy isn't one of theirs. He's been hanging around since the carnival set up on the beach. Crime of opportunity, it looks like. He had a disguise for being able to mingle in the crowds and snag the purses, and a good place to hide them after he grabbed them."

Shawn and Lassiter turned back to look at the clown. He was wearing a baggy one-piece suit with a big hoop around the middle. He had fashioned a large, pocket-like opening in the front of the suit, providing a convenient place to stash the purses. He had been getting them from strollers and picnic tables and any other place where they'd been left briefly unattended. The officers were pulling out a third purse from the pouch in the clown's midsection as they watched.

"Wow, give that guy some big ears and he could be Booga from Tank Girl," said Shawn, with a half-smirk.

Juliet looked puzzled for a moment, but then she smiled at Shawn and shook her head. Lassiter scrunched up his eyebrows, obviously clueless about the obscure reference.

"Once you've got this wrapped up here, O'Hara, let's get this guy into interrogation. We need to see if he's also been the one breaking into cars in the beach lots, or if he's working with one or more other...clowns," said Lassiter with a small smile at his own little joke.

"Sure thing, partner," said O'Hara, giving Shawn a warning look to stifle the response she could see he was about to make.

"I'll go start the paperwork."

She gave a thumbs up and turned back to speak with the uniformed officers. Lassiter headed out towards one of the unlit beach lots where he'd left his car.

"Oh, hey, Lassie, about that ride," puffed Shawn as he jogged to catch up with the long-legged detective.

"What? What ride?" Lassiter kept walking briskly across the dark parking lot. He had pulled in at one end of the long parking area only to end up running what seemed like a mile down the boardwalk in pursuit of a clown who had the benefit of a half-mile head start because Spencer hadn't been clear he was the perpetrator. Now his feet hurt. He'd have to think about getting some dress shoes that were more comfortable for running.

"The ride I need you to give me to the station so I can collect my fee for cracking the Great Carnival-Clown Caper."

Lassiter threaded his way between two vehicles and then turned to walk beside a long line of parallel-parked cars. "Well, where the hell is Guster? Didn't you ride here with him?"

"Yeah but he kind of drove away when he found out we were chasing an evil clown. By now, he's probably home, hunkered down under his sheets with all the doors barricaded."

Lassiter just shook his head as he continued along the line of cars. Headlights flashed as a Jeep turned the corner and headed down the lane they were on, trolling for a parking space. Lassiter scooted closer to the parked cars and Shawn fell into step behind him to make room for the Jeep as it passed them. Shawn caught the eye of the dark-haired girl driving the Jeep and gave her his patented Spencer smile-with-nod-and-raised-eyebrow. She smirked and turned to say something to her friend as they passed. He slowed down and stepped back out into the lane a bit to turn and watch as the Jeep cruised on past.

Just then, Shawn caught the sound of a car door opening. He turned back towards Lassiter just as the door of the parked car he was passing flew open, slamming into the detective. Shawn could see, almost as if it was in slow motion, how the door smashed into Lassiter's right knee as he was stepping forward, and then how the top of the door caught him across the chest. The force of the collision knocked Lassiter backwards. Shawn tried to step forward as the detective toppled, but he couldn't cover the distance in time before Lassiter fell back and cracked his head on the rough asphalt of the parking lot.

"Oh my god!" gasped Shawn, rushing forward and leaning over Lassiter.

He saw the detective staring wide-eyed at the sky, mouth open, almost like a fish out of water, as he tried to draw a breath. Then, Lassiter grimaced and drew in a strangled hiss of air that was half groan, half-gasp. He writhed on the ground, his left hand coming up to his head and his right hand moving down to grip his right thigh. He groaned again and coughed out, "God dammit!"

Shawn noticed that someone was coming out of the parked car and stood up again. The whole thing was so shocking because he had been sure there was no one in the line of parked cars, no one that he'd noticed. Was this guy lying down in there? Lying in wait? And now, as the shadowy figure emerged, Shawn noticed that he was wearing a knit ski mask. He also noticed the jagged edges of the car's window and realized the guy had broken into the car to get inside. This is the guy who's been breaking into the cars! What a crazy coincidence. The guy had to have been lying in the car, and must've kicked the door open with both feet, considering the force with which it had flown open and felled Lassiter. But why had he shown himself at all? Why didn't he stay hidden until we'd gone past?

Shawn felt a rush of adrenalin at the idea that they were facing down another thief, a more violent one, so far, as well. "What the hell, dude!" Shawn yelled at the figure, hoping an aggressive tone might just scare the guy off. "We're walking here!"

Then he saw the gun. It was a .38 revolver, and it was pointed right at him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Shawn said as he held up his hands and took an involuntary step backwards. So much for the aggressive tone. He looked from the gun back to the guy's face and realized with a shock that the guy was wearing sunglasses over the ski mask. What the hell?

The shadowy man kept the gun trained on Shawn for another moment, but then he pointed it down a bit towards Lassiter, who was glaring up at him, blue eyes burning with anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" said Lassiter, voice cracking with anger and pain.

"Shut up, detective. Give me your gun. And sorry about the bump, there. It was pretty hard, wasn't it?" The man grinned, white teeth shining through the opening of the ski mask, not sounding at all sorry.

Shawn felt a shiver run down his spine at the man's use of Lassiter's title. He knows who we are? Or at least who Lassie is? His heart started beating even faster. "Hey man, let's just all calm down here. I'm sure we can work something out."

"Shut up," said the guy, raising his head to Shawn briefly before focusing again on Lassiter.

Shawn stared at their assailant, trying to take in as many details as possible. The man was about 5'9" and medium build. Shawn was frustrated at the lack of facial details. He couldn't even tell what color hair the guy had, if any. His teeth were white, with no noticeable dental work. Otherwise, he couldn't get much useful information. His clothes were just some plain black trousers, black hooded sweatshirt, black ski mask, black gloves even; typical thief fashion. The sunglasses were the only identifiable item: Black Ray-Ban Wayfarers.

"Did you just say 'give me your gun?'" said Lassiter, staring incredulously at the man. His face flushed red, and he got a murderous look in his eyes as he tried to sit up. "Because, that's *not* going to happen. Who the hell do you think you are?"

The man pulled back the hammer of the gun and stepped closer, leaning down a bit more to aim it squarely at Lassie's chest. "I'm the guy taking your gun."

Lassiter let out an actual growl and made a lunge at the man. From his mostly-prone position, his attempt to rise up and grab at the man was awkward and, Shawn thought, hardly threatening. Nevertheless, the guy straightened and aimed a hard kick at the detective's right knee. Lassiter screamed and fell back, clutching his leg and curling up on his right side. "Sonofabitch," he gasped, taking in ragged breaths.

Shawn felt the bile rise in his throat, and he swallowed hard. The guy was just playing with Lassie, torturing him. "Stop it! Just stop, jeez. What do you want?"

The man pointed the gun at Shawn. "I want his gun. Give it to me."

"No! You can't," said Lassiter, uncurling a bit to glare again at their attacker. His eyes were watery and pinched as much with pain as with anger.

"Give me his gun, or I shoot him in the head."

Shawn started to feel like he was going to hyperventilate. "Man, I can't do that."

"One."

"What? Dude, are you giving me a three count?"

"Two."

"Dammit, stop."

"Three."

"Okay, okay, just... Stop! Okay!" Shawn waved his hands in front of him, feeling the worst sensation of helplessness.

"Now! I'm done playing here," growled the attacker.

Shawn sighed and looked down at Lassiter who stared back at him, wide-eyed.

"Shawn, do not do this."

Shawn leaned over and reached for the firearm in Lassiter's shoulder holster.

"Just two fingers," warned the man.

Lassiter's right hand clamped down on Shawn's wrist as he reached under the suit coat and started to pull out the Glock.

"Detective," warned the man, holding his gun just inches from Shawn's head.

Lassiter frowned so deeply, Shawn thought he was about to cry. He had to admit he almost felt like crying, himself. This situation was really, really, not fun, and he was ready for it to be over, with as few people dead as possible. He met Lassie's eyes and whispered, "I'm so, so sorry, but I don't want either of us to die right this moment."

Lassiter's expression rippled through anger, pain and heartbreak before he closed his eyes and released Shawn's wrist. Shawn grimaced and pulled the Glock out of Lassie's holster and held it up with just his thumb and forefinger.

The man took it with a toothy grin, stuck the gun in his sweatshirt's front pocket, and gave them a jaunty wave. "Thanks guys, you made my day!" And with that, he turned and ran between the two nearest cars and off into the dark, towards the beach but away from the busy boardwalk.

Lassiter lurched upwards with a strangled yell, struggling to get upright. Shawn put his hand out as Lassie flailed, trying to gain support to stand, obviously unable to actually put weight on his right knee. Once upright, he stumbled forwards and leaned heavily on the hood of the parked car their attacker had been hiding in, staring into the darkness where the man had disappeared.

Shawn could almost feel the anger and despair radiating from the detective, even from behind, and he wasn't sure what to say. The attack had been so random and unexpected, and yet possibly not random. "Did you know that guy, Lassie?" he asked tentatively.

Lassiter's shoulders tensed even more, which Shawn thought would've been impossible, and he was glad he couldn't see his face in that moment. "How the hell should I know," said Lassie, voice sounding like he was chewing on broken glass.

"It's just that he called you 'detective.' He knew who you were."

"I caught that, Spencer. I'm not quite as dumb as you like to believe."

Shawn winced. He noticed Lassiter's arms, which were supporting most of his weight, were shaking. He gave himself a mental headslap and dug out his phone, finding Juliet's number. "Lassie, you should sit down, man. Please," he said as he waited for Juliet to pick up.

Lassiter's head was hanging down, but suddenly his whole body jerked as he raised both arms above his head and slammed his fists down onto the hood of the parked car, putting a large dent in the metal. Shawn jumped in surprise and missed Juliet's greeting over the phone. "Damn it, Lassie. Stop that and sit down!" He moved to stand beside the detective and lend support.

Lassiter was already turning back towards Shawn and sliding down the side of the car, apparently having spent his remaining energy on the outburst. Shawn held onto his upper arm and tried to help him ease to the ground as gently as possible. Lassiter clenched his teeth and couldn't quite stifle his cries of pain. His right leg bounced and scraped on the asphalt as he slid down to a seat with his back against the front tire and his legs stretched out straight. He leaned his head back against the fender and closed his eyes. Shawn could see a patch of matted blood on the back of his head where it had hit the asphalt in his fall.

"Shawn? Shawn? What's the matter, and where are you?" said Juliet, voice just audible from the phone.

"Oh, Jules! I'm here. Uh, we've had a, uh, situation here..."

"What? Where are you? I thought you were going to the station with Lassiter."

"Well, we didn't quite make it that far."

"What do you mean?"

"We're still in the parking lot. Are you still here? We need you, um, and an ambulance, too, I think."

"What!?"

"We got mugged, sort of. I think we ran into the guy who's been breaking into cars, kind of ambushed by him, actually. We're at the far end of the beach lot."

"Oh my god, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Lassie's hurt, though."

"I'll be right there," she said, and he could hear the concern in her voice under the surprised confusion.

"Juliet's on her way," said Shawn.

"Caught that too," said Lassiter quietly.

Shawn sighed. "We'll get this guy. We'll get your gun back, and find out what the hell that was all about."

"We'd better," said Lassiter with a fatalistic tone. He pulled his left knee up and leaned his elbow on it, then he rested his head on his arm. "I can't believe that bastard has my gun," he whispered.

Shawn suddenly felt tired. He sat down next to Lassiter and considered putting a hand on the man's shoulder, but then thought better of it. He figured he wasn't someone Lassiter would be willing to be comforted by right at this moment, seeing as how he was the guy who had just given away his weapon. I had no choice. And what the hell just went down, anyway? That had to be the guy robbing cars, right? But why would he want to mug us for a gun? Was he specifically after Lassie's gun? He knew who Lassie was, or at least that he was a detective. What kind of idiot wants to steal a cop's gun? Shawn wished Gus was around, and he couldn't wait to tell him everything that had happened. Somehow, his friend always made it easier for him to think through mysteries, especially the really strange ones, like this.