Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

A Mole, A Mobster, and Murder

by dragonnan

Santa Barbara

1985

Shawn swallowed nervously, glancing up every now and then to see faces leering at him from behind a row of bars.

At his side, his father stood, talking to another cop, who was twirling a set of keys in his hand.

"Caught him red-handed. Apparently he's been doing this for about a year." Said Henry, looking down at his son with a scowl.

The cop with the keys stopped twirling them; also looking down at the small boy who stood shivering next to his father.

"You know," He said softly, "forging someone's signature is a misdemeanor. It can mean up to a year in jail."

Shawn gasped, then looked up quickly as he felt his father's hand drop heavily onto his shoulder. "Last chance kid. I have to follow the rules just like everyone else. Anything you want to say before it's too late?"

Swallowing, the boy lowered his head. "I'm sorry dad, I did it."

His father crossed his arms sternly. "I know you did it Shawn. What I want to hear is what you plan on doing to rectify this."

Wincing, Shawn ran a hand through his hair. "Well… uuum…" At the sound of the keys jingling in the other officer's hands, Shawn raised his head. "I'll confess to the teachers."

Henry tilted his head back. "And?"

"And to Mrs. Jackowitz."

Shawn's father lifted his head, looking at the other cop. "His piano teacher." Looking back at Shawn, Henry tilted his head. "You're also grounded."

It wasn't unexpected, so Shawn just sighed. "How long?"

"A year."

"A YEAR??? Daad..!"

"I'll think about cutting it down, but only on very good behavior."

Shawn gritted his teeth. For the record, today was the suckiest day of his entire life.

Santa Barbara

Present day

He didn't know what woke him. However, as he sat up, he could feel the hairs on his arms rise. Gripping the covers of his bed tightly, Shawn resisted the urge to duck beneath them and hide. Although, he amended as he heard a muffled crash, hiding wasn't such a bad option just then. Working his jaw tightly, he reached over to the table next to his bed, fumbling around to find a weapon…. Or maybe just his phone. Unfortunately, the closest thing he could find to a defensive tool was a fork, slightly crusted with the remains of a TV dinner. Brandishing this miniscule defense, Shawn cautiously slid from the bed. He could hear more sounds now; someone was definitely doing something beyond his bedroom door. Edging closer to the wall, he swallowed thickly, fighting down the urge to return to the safety of his bed. Seconds later, his hand was on the doorknob, and he slowly eased it open. The room beyond was just as dark as his bedroom. Whoever had broken in was apparently trying to ransack the place without the help of a flashlight. It could explain the smashing sound he'd heard earlier

Or, he thought with a grimace, they weren't actually here to rob him. The feel of something cold and hard pressed between his shoulder blades seemed to support that theory.

"Dude, if you wanted my Hulk PJs, you only had to ask." The object in his back pressed harder, and Shawn automatically held his hands up. "I gotta warn you though, if you put any holes in them, the resale is gonna, like, totally suck."

The pressure in his back suddenly released. Before Shawn could decide if that was a good or bad development, however, something smashed into the back of his head.

As his knees hit the floor, Shawn's last conscious thought was that Gus was right; sometimes he did talk too much.

"…old you not to harm him!"

"I'm sorry, I acted rashly."

"We'll discuss this later. It appears you didn't damage him permanently."

Shawn blinked slowly, his eyes fighting to adjust to the brightness. After a moment, the light suddenly decreased, and he was able to focus on his surroundings.

"Mr. Spencer, I'm glad to see you've joined us at last. I do apologize for my colleague; he's a little… enthusiastic… in his work."

Turning his head towards the voice, Shawn realized he was lying on a fairly comfortable love seat. The man who had just spoken to him, an older man with elegantly graying hair and sharp amber eyes, smiled benignly as Shawn sat up. Slowly rubbing at the back of his head, Shawn examined his surroundings. The room he was in was well furnished. The walls were paneled in dark-stained wood, and covered with various paintings and photos. A large desk took up a large part of the back wall. It was nicely crafted and stained dark like the walls. On it, Shawn could make out a laptop, some more framed pictures, and what looked like a cigar box. Glancing to the left, he saw the other man who had spoken earlier. He wasn't smiling. Though not currently holding a weapon, his hand was resting on his belt, close to his handgun. Turning his eyes back to his captor, Shawn suddenly yawned. "Uuuh.. sorry about that. For some reason, I just don't sleep as well when the back of my head is caved in."

The smiling man leaned back with a chuckle. "So, though you're a psychic, you're telling me you didn't see this coming?"

Shawn cracked his neck, then folded his hands between his knees. "You wouldn't believe how many times I've heard that." The other man regarded him skeptically, and in a moment, Shawn knew why he was there. If this was a kidnapping, he'd be tied up in a closet. If it was a hit, he'd be dead. However, considering he was still unshot and untied... that left only one other possibility.

Gasping suddenly, he pressed the fingers of his right hand against his temple. "Wait, something…. Something is here.." Jerking his torso, he lurched to his feet, peripherally aware that the unsmiling guy had drawn his gun. Continuously, Shawn made sure to flail away from the older man before him, not wanting itchy trigger finger to find a reason to shoot him.

"Gaaaahh… it's an animal…. furry… a rabbit, no…. squirrel…" He stumbled to the desk, his hands skating over the cigar box, the computer, and other various desk paraphernalia. Then he stopped, his hand extended over a gold pen set. Reaching out, he gripped the pen in his fist. Snarling dramatically, he began drawing jerkily on the first surface he came in contact with… which turned out to be the leather desk blotter. With a flourish, he completed scribbling. Gasping, he opened his eyes wide, dropping the pen as though it had burned him. Breathing heavily, he finally turned back to the other men in the room. The older man was looking at him bemusedly, while gun-boy stood a little further back, weapon still trained in Shawn's general direction. After a few moments of silence, the older man walked forward, followed closely by the goon. While his employer leaned over to examine Shawn's creation, the other man forced Shawn to back away towards the wall. Hands raised in compliance, Shawn tried to peer around the weapon held so prominently in his line of sight. The first man had his hands behind his back as he studied the drawing. Finally, he straightened, turning around to face Shawn with that same bemused expression.

"That was a four hundred dollar blotter you know."

Shawn smiled weakly, managing a small shrug. "When the spirits lead, I am but an unknowing vessel."

The man smiled. "Do you even know who I am son?"

Shawn tilted his head to the side. "You are Alexander Dale Hutchins, CEO of Vista Limited. You have a reputation as a surface businessman with alleged ties to organized crime. You were once brought up on charges for the attempted murder of Marissa Larkin, your ex wife. However, charges were dropped when witnessed refused to testify. You are also a fan of purple ties and chocolate covered pistachios."

Hutchins paused for just a moment. Then, his jaw dropped and he bellowed with laughter. Shaking his head, he slugged Shawn in the arm. "Is this more insight from your spirits I'm hearing?" He asked, still chuckling.

"Actually, I got most of it from the business cards on your desk. The rest I got from my dad." He said, rubbing his sore arm.

"Of course, Henry. How's retirement…. still spending most of his time on the water?"

Shawn stopped massaging his bicep to stare at the other man. "And you know my father why?"

Instead of answering, Hutchins turned back to the desk blotter. "Care to tell me what this is?" Shawn glanced at gun-boy, and Hutchins held up his hand. "It's fine, Brody, he's no threat."

Reluctance clearly shining from his eyes, Brody returned his gun to its holster. However, his stance remained rigid as he followed Shawn to the desk. Peering down at his own work, Shawn cleared his throat, mentally donning his psychic persona. However before he could even speak, Brody sidled up next to him, staring at the blotter.

"It looks like a beaver."

Shawn frowned, looking from Brody to the drawing. "You think? I was thinking more of a… I don't know… 'digging' animal of some sort."

Hutchins leaned crossed his arms. "I believe it's supposed to be a mole Brody." He rubbed at the pen lines a little, then gave up when they started to smear. "A shame these spirits of yours aren't better artists… I could have at least turned this into a wall hanging."

Brody's eyes swiveled to Shawn. "Aren't moles more like 'burrowers' than diggers?"

Hutchins walked past the two men. "That really isn't the point, Brody. What Mr. Spencer is saying is that we have a leak in our company. Which is why I had you bring him here." Turning around, the older man folded his hands before him. "Mr. Spencer, I want to hire you."