I Have Dishonesty In Me
"I have dishonesty in me," Lisbon repeated under her breath as she climbed the steps up Sean Barlow's place of work. "I can put up a front. He's just a good showman doing a cool trick." She stopped in front of the closed door, shook out her shoulders and took a deep breath.
The sun had yet to break the horizon, another hour at least, and a salty breeze moved down the footpaths on the beach hitting her full on. She was glad for it and the little pick me up the cool air gave her. She lifted her arm to knock, hesitated, then remembered her reason for coming here. Jane.
She knocked three times then turned from the door and waited. It was early, but she had the distinct impression that he'd be awake. He like Jane, gave off the distinct impression of having too much to think about to be able to sleep.
A moment later she heard voices and the distinct click of a lock being disengaged. She looked back to the door as it opened and as Mr. Barlow came into view. Just as she'd surmised, he'd been awake. He was already dressed in a three piece suit, with shiny black shoes on a gold jewelry everywhere. He took her in and smiled brightly. She couldn't help the small shiver that shot up her spine at the idea that this could've been Jane if it hadn't been for the death of his family. Damned if they lived and damned if they didn't. Somehow it seemed supremely unfair.
"Agent Lisbon," Mr. Barlow chimed, "what a pleasant surprise," he looked at his big gold watch, "at a quarter to six in the morning."
"I apologize for the hour, can I come in?" She kept her cool, despite the thunderstorm that was currently taking up residence in her gut.
He nodded, stepped back and raised his arm signaling for her to come in. He led her to the back of the building where she and Jane had spoken with him the other day then gestured for her to take a seat. She took the spot where Jane had been seated.
"I had a feeling you'd be back here," he told her making his way to a small silver cart holding a couple of pastries, a coffee pot on a hot plate and two blue china tea cups on saucers. "Can I offer you a coffee?"
Lisbon breathed in the fresh brew and started salivating. It had been a long drive and a cup of coffee, sounded just right. She nodded. "Please."
"Let me guess," he continued in his slight Irish drawl. "One cream two sugars?"
She shivered noticeably again, and he smiled at her. She nodded at him and started running her mantra through her head again. I have dishonesty in me, I can put up a front. He's a good showman doing a cool trick.
He handed her drink to her and took a seat. "I knew you'd be coming back, I just didn't know it would be so early."
"You mean you didn't prepare these morning treats for me?" Lisbon probed.
He glanced over at the silver cart and smiled. "I had the tray ready for Marta, but I think we can find her another glass later."
"Ah," she lifted her glass to him, "Well, thank you." She then brought the coffee to her lips and took a long pull. It was heavenly. She took a moment to savor it before speaking again. "You left the carnival when Jane was a teenager," she asked trying to steer the conversation on course.
"Yes, I'd grown tired of the life, wanted to take Eileen away from it too. Funny that she never really went far from it, though." He pulled himself out of his reminiscing and looked back at her with a decided flourish. "But enough about that, I think what you really want to know about is Patrick." She avoided his gaze, wanting him to think he was seeing right through her. "I've known Patrick since he was just a small lad, I was near enough an uncle to him as he could come across in that life." Lisbon hid her disappointment at the notion as he studied her. "In many ways," he continued, "it's easy for me to see why he cares for you," Lisbon choked on her coffee, "and in other ways you're a mystery to me."
She wished she'd prepared herself better. Why she had thought this man, so like Jane in many ways, wouldn't want to mess with her was beyond her. She pulled herself together and put her head in the game. This was part of the reason she was here, right? "What do you mean?"
He smiled lightly and she was relieved to see that at least so far he hadn't figured out her real purpose for coming. "Well, Patrick was always one for the ladies always liked the ones with fire in um, which you've got in spades, but he also always loved the ones with equal desire for the limelight. Good showmen, as it were, and unlike most of his women, you are incapable of lying, or putting on a show. "
Lisbon sat her cup and saucer on the table in front of her, looked down and could feel her cheeks heating up. She just hoped that he saw this as embarrassment and not the fury that it actually was. What was it with these carnie men?
"Now, now, no need to be embarrassed. I suppose that after everything he's been through in his life, after spending the majority of his years with the kind of people he has I'd imagine it must be refreshing to be with someone as pure and guileless as you." He chuckled softly. "However I do admit to being surprised that he doesn't see you as a patsy. It's obvious that you are no pushover, you're stronger than his late wife, I think, and it must drive him crazy that he can't manipulate you as easily as he does most women."
"He's tries and succeeds…often, still, Mr. Barlow, with all due respect, it's been three decades since you last saw him. The man he is, is not the boy he was."
He smiled again, his skin crinkling around his eyes. "Yes, I suppose that's true." He took a sip of his coffee, and Lisbon waited. After he swished the dark liquid around his mouth he sat it on the coffee table across from hers. "So, Teresa, tell me, to what do I owe this honor."
She kept herself from swallowing and plowed in. "It's about Red John. Jane doesn't believe in psychic abilities, but I do and I think," she looked at her hands in her lap, feigning nervousness, then peeked up at him through her lashes, "I think you do, have them that is. Jane would kill me if he knew I'd come here, but I can't figure out how else you could possibly know those things about me if you didn't."
Barlow leaned forward in his chair and reached out for her hand, which she gave him reluctantly. "He must be a better man, if he's won your heart. Still, you can't possibly think, that I would believe you could think of no other way I could come by those conclusions, especially after having worked with Patrick Jane for all the years you have."
"Are you saying you're not psychic?" She watched him scrutinize her for a moment, but he didn't speak, then she continued. "Jane's a good showman, and he does cool tricks. When we first met he figured out things about my father quickly, much like you did, but you knew where I was when Eileen was killed and what I was thinking." She made eye contact before spurting the half lie, "he's not psychic, and while he might have been able to place me in my apartment, I know he couldn't have placed me in my bed, thinking about," she stuttered, "w-what I was thinking about," now she swallowed, "but you—you could. Besides," she looked at her hands. "I felt it. I felt that you knew."
She looked up reluctantly and smiled, despite the absurdity of this entire conversation and ran her mantra through her head again. I have dishonesty in me. I can put up a front.
He appraised her for a moment. "What is it you want to know?"
"How do I stop Red John?" Even she could hear the desperation in her voice.
Barlow's face dropped and he leaned away from her a little. "You can't. It's like I told Patrick, there's a reason he's always a step ahead."
"Yes, but you're psychic too, couldn't you?"
He shook his head at her. "Red John is more powerful than I could ever be, not only in his abilities, but also in his connections." Lisbon thought through Jane's seven man list once more, as he continued. "I wouldn't even know in which direction to point you."
Lisbon studied his face, and while he kept an overall calm demeanor, and even though Jane was absolutely right about how difficult a man he was to read, she saw something that he hadn't meant to show.
Jane could hear the sound of feet making their way into his loft from his spot on the balcony, and turned in time to see Lisbon wave a hand in his direction, before stifling a yawn. The nerves he'd been feeling since the morning when he first came into work and found her absent and until now slowly started to quell. He pushed is already rolled up sleeves above his elbows, made his way inside and found her sitting on his makeshift bed. Her head was in her hands and she was rubbing her face. He moved around in front of her and looked her over.
"Lisbon, you okay?" he asked.
She nodded then dropped her hands and looked at him. "Yeah, just tired."
Tired was an understatement. She had dark circles under her eyes, her dark blue blouse was wrinkled and she was slumped over as if she didn't have the strength to hold up her weight. Aside from that she was sitting on his bed, a very un-Lisbon like thing to do. Not that she'd never leaned against it before, but it was as if she decided she just couldn't walk any further and crashed.
"Where have you been? I tried calling you earlier," he started but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.
"Seeing as I have no dishonesty in me," she was trying to be cross, but was failing miserably, "I figured I better wait until I got back to talk to you. The last thing I wanted to do was argue with you from hours away."
They made eye contact but Lisbon broke it as soon as she was sure Jane was trying to figure out where she'd been. The thought that she knew him that well made him feel safe, happy.
He lifted his hand and started rubbing his thumb over his index finger as he scrutinized her. "You went to see Sean Barlow, didn't you?"
She shrugged, raised her hands then let them drop to her thighs in one exasperated flow. "Okay, how did you guess that?"
"You smell like the ocean," she sniffed herself as he continued, "your hair is tussled, probably from driving over night, you said you were hours away, and I know it's been driving you crazy what he said about Red John being a psychic."
"It has not," she scowled.
He turned from her and ran his hand through his hair. "Teresa." He didn't want her anywhere near Sean Barlow, but he supposed she knew that, and that was why she'd gone without telling him that. He waited for her to speak, but she didn't. "I told you he's not psychic," he didn't try to hide his exasperation. Sometimes her naiveté was infuriating. "Why would you go there again?" He turned to face her.
She stood up and placed her hands on her hips, her exhaustion immediately jumping to the background. "Oh, please," she narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't actually think Sean Barlow is psychic. Nothing he said or did the other day was anything different than the things you say or do to me on a daily basis. I get that he's a good showman, he is intense, and he did creep me out, but please, you do that to me all the time. I may be a spiritual person, but that doesn't mean that I believe everyone who claims to be psychic is actually psychic. As a matter of fact, I'd be hard pressed to believe anyone who openly claims that they are psychic is actually psychic, and even more so if you say they're not. You know him better than I do, and you say he isn't, so..."
Jane tried to hold back a pleased smile and asked her again. "So why'd you go?"
"I don't know how Red John got your seven names, or how he managed to pluck that memory from your mind, but two things struck me as odd that I just couldn't ignore." She sat back down on his bed and raised a finger in the air. "First, regardless of whether or not Barlow is psychic, I couldn't figure out why he would be motivated to say Red John is psychic. What does he get out of it? He knows you and your father well enough to know that you'd never believe him, if he just wanted to mess with you, right? And he knows what would happen if he tried to claim he knew about Red John. So why do it unless someone told him too?"
Jane's smile grew bigger. "And second?"
She reached up to her eyebrow and rubbed it subconsciously. "How old were you the last time you saw Barlow?"
"Fifteen," Jane told her, wondering where she was going with this.
"And you were how old when you saw Eileen's father lifting her in the air, again?"
Jane's brow scrunched. He could see where she was going with this. "I was twelve, and yes, Sean was there, but how could he have known it was a memory of mine?"
Lisbon shrugged. "How do you do half the things you do Jane? By listening, and paying attention, and snooping and making wild conjectures. You're not the only person who can do the things you can do. Yes, for all we know, it could've been a lucky guess. My point is, Barlow isn't psychic and neither is Red John. So, that memory came from somewhere, right?" She suddenly sounded very tired again and Jane could see that she was fighting not to drop her head in her hands again. "Besides, Sean Barlow is afraid of Red John. I saw it in his eyes. He may be difficult to get a read on, but when I asked him to use his psychic abilities to tell me how to stop Red John, he panicked. It was only for a split second, but still. I'm telling you Jane, that man knows more than he's letting on."
"I can't believe he bought your story, maybe you do have some dishonesty in you." Jane smiled lightly at her. "I'm impressed."
"Why do you think I went alone? He had a wall up against you, but with me. You practically told him I was incapable of lying when you said it to his assistant. I knew he wouldn't feel compelled to hide with me as he was with you." She shrugged. "Besides, lying is all about part truths, right? I used to ditch school as a teen. I told you I never got caught, that I could put up a front," she announced as she threw her shoulders back.
He chuckled at her pride and enthusiasm. "Still, I never would have bought it," he told her.
She scowled at him. "Oh, shut it." she yawned again and Jane thought about telling her to lie down on his bed for a minute, but then thought better of it. It'd most certainly make her uncomfortable after all this talk of love had been thrown around her lately. It wasn't until he saw her giving him the once over that he really decided it'd be a bad idea. "What are you gaping at?" he asked gently with a glint in his eye.
She made eye contact, but seemed to have missed his innuendo. "You do three piece suits so much better than Barlow," she announced. "Just, by the way. I'm mean I thought you started wearing them as a way to try and look less homeless and more put together, after a while they became charming, but after seeing Barlow in them," she shuddered. "Arrogant fraud," she said under her breath. "I'm so glad you're not like that anymore."
He smiled despite himself. She was very tired. She dropped her head to her hands again and he began to think. He wasn't sure if her theory was right, but if it was, it would sure lean into his. He kicked lightly at the concrete floor as he looked her over again, and made a snap decision. He'd been keeping it to himself, to protect her, but obviously it was driving her crazy not knowing.
"Someone broke into my loft a couple weeks ago," he said.
She sat up straight, eyes wide as saucers. "What?"
He nodded. "I stuck a toothpick in the door halfway up, jammed it in good, too. When I came back it was on the floor. I think that's how Red John checked his own list before sending the video. He's not psychic, but you're right, I'm not the only person out there like me. He's smart and he pays attention and he came to the same conclusion I did through hard work and deduction."
He watched Lisbon's face as her mind worked through what he'd just said. "What do you mean, 'checked his own list?'"
She was getting good. "Lorelei was dead before my loft was broken into. He could've sent his list right after it happened, but he wanted me to have my list down to the obvious seven." Lisbon rolled her eyes at his use of the word obvious but he ignored it and continued, "and he wanted to be able to check it before sending it. He's a showman, and a smart one."
He watched as a very noticeable shiver ran up Lisbon's spine then closed the space between them and grabbed her shoulders. "Teresa, he's not psychic, he's just smart. Plus, if you think of the names on the list, there's not one of them, as themselves and not as Red John, that doesn't have contacts or ways of getting information, then you put Red John on top of that and it's a very effective combination for his purposes, but I can assure you-he's not psychic."
He watched as she slowly pulled her eyes from her lap with a big breath and brought them to his. "This is freaking me out Jane."
He crouched down a little to be level with her. "Aren't you always the one telling me we'll get him and that everything's going to be okay?"
She swallowed hard and looked away, but he reached out and grabbed her chin bringing her attention back to him and raised his eyebrows waiting for her to answer. After a moment, she nodded.
"Well, you were right. We may not know his means, but we know more than we ever have before. We're going to get him." He surprised himself with the strength he heard in his own voice. He dropped his hand from her chin and put it back on her shoulder.
Lisbon smiled. "When did you get so optimistic?" she teased through glossy eyes.
"My revenge has always fueled me, but after all these years of you telling me we're going to get him, I guess somewhere along the line I started believing it."
She leaned forward and placed her forehead on his chest. He swallowed and patted her back lightly.
"I have something else to tell you too," Jane admitted.
She leaned back and looked up into his eyes and waited.
"I think you were right about Barlow. I think there's a good chance he's in league with Red John."
He released her shoulders and made his way to the desk in front of the window, rolling down his sleeves as he went. He then picked up his jacket and put it on as he explained. "I was first suspicious when he said that you were 'a little bit in love' with me." He turned to face her again, and ignored the slight stiffening of her body. "When we had Lorelei in custody, she used the exact same words, telling me that she thought I was 'a little bit in love' with you."
Lisbon's chin went back and her eyes went as big as saucers again. "I remember that," she confessed.
"Maybe it's just a coincidence," Jane continued, "but I'm not so sure. It's not something one just says for the heck of it; it seems highly unlikely that they'd both say it, unless they had heard it from someone else."
Lisbon blinked a couple times, smiled then bit her lip. "You mean someone like Red John."
Jane moved back toward her again. "Exactly. The other red flag was when we were leaving and he told me to take his "honest advice from a friend,'" he used air quotes, "What does that remind you of?"
Her face dropped again. "Ugh, that is seriously creepy."
Jane gave her a baffled expression. "He's a serial killer, what do you expect?"
"Don't patronize me," she said smacking his arm. Then she blanched as if something had just occurred to her. "He's not going to ask for my head in a box again, is he?" she rubbed her neck.
"Not likely. Now come on," he extended his arm for her to take. "Let's go."
"Where?" she asked, taking a handful of his jacket sleeve.
He led her to the door. "First, to get some food in you, you're starting to get cranky."
She nodded her acceptance of his remark. "And then?"
They stepped through the door and Jane turned to shut it, before stopping abruptly. He didn't have to shut it anymore. There were no more secrets in this room, not from Red John, not from Teresa. He smiled, then turned back to her.
"And then back to Venice Beach," he said placing his hand on the small of her back as they headed to the stairs.
"What? No, I'm not going. I just got back from there," she protested.
Jane glanced over at her and scowled a little too. "And whose fault is that? If you'd come to me first, then this wouldn't have been a problem."
"And it's not a problem now, because I'm not going," she told him matter-of-factly.
"Teresa, I need your help," he said with sad eyes. "You can sleep in the car."
She huffed. "He's right, you are a manipulative bastard."
"Who said that?" Jane queried honestly dumbfounded.
"Mr. Barlow. Only, he just said manipulative. I added the 'bastard.'"
Jane dropped behind and looked at her with furrowed brow as she continued onward. Insulting him apparently put a little spring in her step. "That's hurtful, Teresa."
She glanced at him over her shoulder and smiled. "And whose fault is that?" she asked before strutting down the steps.
Jane waited a minute in shock, then shrugged and chased after her. He could live with being a manipulative bastard if it meant she'd make the six hour drive with him. He smiled at the thought before catching up to her.
A/N Thought I'd get another theory out there. the next chapter for In The Details will be up shortly. Thanks for reading, and I'd love it if you let me know what you think.