"Spencer?"

Shawn groaned, rolling over and searching his floor for the alarm clock he knew was around somewhere.

He already recognized the voice, and it was the last voice in the world he wanted to be awakened by.

"Lassie?" He growled. "Why are you calling me at..."

He paused until he found the clock and put it back on his nightstand.

"…Three o'clock in the morning?"

"I did it, Spencer. I cracked the case. And I did it before you."

There weren't any pauses in Lassiter's sentences, and the words seemed to slur together into one long run-on syllable.

Shawn groaned again.

"Why are you drunk and calling me at three o'clock in the morning?" He amended.

"Because I did it, Spencer. I beat you."

"Beat me how?" Shawn yawned, sitting up and stretching lazily.

"I cracked the case!" Lassiter said again, louder and more emphatically this time. Shawn could almost see him, holding the phone inches in front of his face and yelling into the mouthpiece.

"What case?"

"The case! The bank robberies! I know how they did it!"

"Good for you, Lassie. Can I give you your gold star tomorrow? I'll put it up on the chart right next to 'Didn't Have an Accident' and 'Didn't Eat the Paste at Art Time'. Okay?"
"Very funny, Spencer."

The slurring was getting worse now. Shawn could hear the bottle sloshing, Lassiter taking another drink.

Probably scotch.

He sighed.

"Look. I'm really happy you think you beat me…"

"I did, Spencer. I did beat you. I beat you good."

Shawn could barely understand what he was saying now, but he managed to get the gist of it.

"Fine. You beat me. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"No. I want you to hear this."

"Hear what?"

"I'm here."

"Where?"

"Where." Lassiter snorted. "You don't even know where I am. You're a psychic, aren't you? Shouldn't you know where I am?"

"It doesn't work like that…"

"Of course not…I'm at the warehouse, Spencer. The warehouse. Where else would I be?"

"The warehouse? The one where they found the John Doe this morning?"

"Is there another warehouse?"

"Several hundred, actually."

Lassiter laughed, low and gravelly.

"But this is the one that solved the robberies. This is the one that matters."

Suddenly, Shawn heard the almost-deafening sound of shattering glass.

"Lassie! What happened?" He demanded, sounding more concerned than he actually meant to.

"I told you. I'm here. They didn't leave the door unlocked for me. Bastards."

"You broke in?" Shawn shouted, jumping to his feet and searching the floor for his shirt.

"How else am I going to prove I beat you? They could have left it unlocked…"

"You don't have a warrant!"

"I don't need one. I have causeable prob."

"Probable cause," Shawn corrected.

"Sure. That….Aww, crap."

"What?"

Shawn found his shirt. He quickly dropped the phone and pulled it over his head, then picked it back up again.

"…just cut myself on the damn glass…" Lassiter was saying on the other end.

"Stay there!" Shawn ordered. "I'm going to get you back home before you get arrested for breaking and entering."

"It's not breaking and entering. I have a key."

"You broke the window."

"My key's a rock…. What the hell?"

Shawn was pulling on a sneaker, but the sudden change in Lassiter's tone made him stop.

Something was wrong.

"What?" He asked.

"…damndest thing…" Lassiter mumbled.

"What?"

"Blood…"

"You cut yourself."

"No…blood on the wall…what the hell?"

There was silence on the line for a few moments.

Shawn heard the dull thud of a heavy glass bottle being dropped on a cement floor.

"Lassie…what is it?"

There was no answer.

"Lassie?"

"Hey!" Lassiter shouted.

The exclamation was immediately followed by a groan and a loud clatter, like a cell phone falling to the ground.

"LASSIE!"

There was another groan, and the line went dead.