The Psychic and the Math-Puppy
Rating: G/"K", one slightly naughty word that everyone else on the site gets away with
Summary: What (in one ficcer's humble opinion) should have happened after the psychic episode. That is: Charlie gets angry. Everyone else gets a clue.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters mentioned herein, or the quote I have stolen as a preface. The outrage, however, is all mine. And, unless I hallucinate, the phrase "math-puppy". But both of those are completely open-content.
Notes: This episode drove me crazy from the beginning, because I knew the psychic was going to be given unquestioned validity he didn't deserve. Then I got really angry when Charlie was the only one in the entire cast who showed a modicum of common sense in this situation-- and was universally derided for it. Oh, and I really hit the wall when Larry the parsniping PHYSICIST missed the point by 12 AUs.
But then I realized-- the show was actually wonderfully accurate in its portrayal of how helpful a psychic can be to investigators. See the fic for details.
Slightly OOC Charlie; it's intentional. He wouldn't get this angry-- but he should.
AU-- the distance between the earth and the sun; roughly 93 million miles
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"Normally I hate people who whine all the time... but in your case... it would be okay to complain-- say what you really want-- once in a while."
(-)
Don, Charlie, and Larry walked in the door of the Epps house.
"You know," Charlie said, "I can't quite remember who it was, but a Catholic scholar from several centuries ago once wrote that in order to prove a miraculous event has happened, the probability that all the evidence supporting the event is false has to be even lower than the probability of the event itself."
"Not more math," Don groaned.
"It isn't math," Charlie said testily. "It's not a restatement of an equation. It's what one man said, out of common sense."
"What's this about?" asked Mr. Epps, walking into the room with some glasses.
"He's still angry about the whole psychic thing," Larry said, apologetically.
"Gee. How childish of me. Why could I possibly be upset about that?"
"Charlie, he had a number of valid--" Don began.
"I didn't hear any. Did he make an accurate prediction while I was out of the room?" Charlie said, with elaborate false sweetness.
"Charlie, he said we'd find her near water--"
"Have-- for the love of god. Have you ever watched even five minutes of TV? Every psychic in the history of fraud had done that! You know why? Because on this planet, there is more water than land! The likelihood of not finding a body somewhere near water--"
"In a desert?"
"Did he even tell you it was in a desert? And yes! Killers need water, just like the rest of us! If she was being kept alive, she'd need water for that! If she was buried underground-- oh look! Groundwater! Or an underground river only thirty miles away! And even if she was in the middle of Death Valley, who would remember? You know what would have happened? I would have said, 'Gee, where's the water?' And you would have said, 'Stop being so closed-minded and insecure, Charlie. We don't like him more than you. Now go home like a nice math-puppy.'"
"A nice what?" their father queried.
"That's not true, Charlie," Don said, exasperated.
"Really? When I showed you how he CHEATED, that didn't affect you one bit. Or am I hallucinating?"
"Charlie, I think you should--" Larry began.
"No!" Charlie yelled. "No. I am sick of this, this patronization. I am not being irrational, or insecure, or even closed-minded! And-- for God's sake, Larry, you're a scientist!"
"And because I am a scientist, I know that science doesn't have all the answers yet!" Larry yelled back.
"True. True. Now how about you apply the scientific method to this?" Charlie ticked off the points on his fingers. "This 'psychic' is a man you arrested at a crime scene with a sketch. He wasted-- it looked to me like at least 90 of your interview time."
"It wasn't wasted," Don insisted. "We had to look into all the facts."
Charlie ignored him. "During this time, he lied, cheated, and made it abundantly clear that his only motive in the case was financial gain."
"It wasn't--" Larry started.
"Shut up and let me finish for once in your life! He gave you information. ALL of it, I repeat, ALL of it, was completely useless tidbits that could only be validated or INvalidated AFTER the crime was already solved."
"That wasn't true!" Don protested.
"Oh, really?" Charlie said. "Ever find out what 'three, two, three' or whatever had to do with it? Was it the highway number? License plate? Apartment number? Social Security? Year the state entered the Union?"
"That isn't fair," Don said staunchly.
"If you'd put two seconds of thought into it, I hope you'd realize that it is. And, in conclusion, what does this con man get for being a useless drain of your resources?"
"He wasn't a--"
"He gets a line on his resumé and the trust of seemingly every single person in the FBI branch headquarters!" Charlie yelled.
"Charlie, this is unfair!" their father protested.
"I'm not finished yet. Because there's another player in all this, in case you didn't remember. There's a respected mathematician who has helped the FBI successfully solve dozens of cases."
"We weren't trying to replace you!" Don yelled. "Why d'you have to get all pissy about it!"
"Because I gave you the information!" Charlie yelled back. "I wasted none of your time-- I even helped you interview him-- and I singlehandedly gave you virtually all of the information that you used to catch this guy! Are you going to deny that, too?"
"No, but--"
"And what do I get for my work-- hmm? What do I get? Let's see. The satisfaction of a job well done. The complete LACK of acknowledgment for this. And the bitter realization that every single person I care about is willing, if not eager, to believe the word of a random, useless con man over mine. After all these years. After all these cases. After overwhelming evidence that the man is at the very least useless-- and at the very worst, a danger to society."
"A danger to society!" their father exclaimed. "How on earth did you decide that?"
"Because," Charlie said. "They lie. And everyone believes them. WITHOUT EVEN A QUESTION."
"Without even a question?" Don repeated weakly. "That's a little harsh."
"No. It isn't. He was of no help to you. You have scientific proof that he faked his abilities on at least one occasion. And you ALL believed him over me."
There was a silence.
"So maybe I'm a little angry about that," said Charlie. "As closed-minded, insecure, and irrational as it is. It must be my time of the month."
He grabbed his coat. "I think I'll go out with all my teenage girlfriends in a childish display of defiance. After all-- we all know how much teenage girls like puppies. Don't wait up."
The door slammed. The three men stared at each other.
"Oh my God," Larry said, putting a hand up to brush back his hair. "Every single word of that was true."
"What?" Don exclaimed. "You're on his side now?"
"Yes. I generally like to agree with people who are right." He sighed a curse as he went to get his own coat. "I'll have to figure out a way to apologise."
"But-- what about all that stuff about it being scientifically possible-- with some kind of mechanics --" Don objected.
"It is. I still believe that. But that doesn't mean it's useful, or that it's already happened. And that doesn't mean that anyone who claims such abilities is necessairily telling the truth. He was right to be skeptical of his claims. I thought he was being defensive, but--" Larry cursed quietly again. "But he was just being a responsible scientist. And I was so focused on the theoretical possibilities that I forgot about the reality of the here-and-now. I'll have to buy him some chocolate, or a slide rule, or something."
"But--" Don protested. "What about that reading--?"
"Oh, that poor girl?" Larry said. "There's a thing called 'cold reading'. It makes use of probability, facial and vocal cues, and the tendency of people to focus more on statements that prove to be right than statements that prove wrong. You should look it up on the internet. It can be astoundingly powerful."
Larry sighed. "And I can't believe I forgot that. It's just-- who doesn't want to believe in strange powers-- in alien creatures-- in magic? They're wonderful dreams, and someday they might still become reality. But we can't let our yearning for fantasy make us forget what the world is like now. And the truth is, most, if not all, psychics are fakes-- even if they themselves don't know it. We can't let what we want to believe distract us from putting things to a scientific test. It's the oldest and deadliest trap in science. And I fell right into it. Damn."
He sighed again and opened the door. "I'll see you guys later. If he comes back home, tell him I apologized. And felt like an incredible idiot."
The door closed. The Epps looked at each other.
"You really do treat him like a math-puppy over there," Mr. Epps said, stricken.
"And that psychic guy was worse than useless." Don put his head in his hand. "He wasn't any help. And Charlie was. And I have no idea why I didn't realize it."
"Because he's your younger brother," his father said somberly. "And he's my youngest son."
"Yeah... yeah." Don sighed. "Larry's right, we're gonna have to apologise."
"You could get everyone in your office to chip in for a cake," his father suggested.
"Yeah. How 'bout we plan it over dinner? I'm starving."
"Yeah, let's."
They left to discuss their contrition over spaghetti and meatballs.
And then Charlie woke up.
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