Shawn's eyes widened as he stared at his computer screen. "Dude, pack your bags. We are moving."
"Say what?"
"We're moving. As soon as possible. Get going."
Gus looked around in panic. "Did you see one of those roaches again? I knew that exterminator looked incompetent."
"Gus, please," his friend replied calmly. "The exterminator was very competent. Especially considering you called him in based on"—he reached into a drawer and pulled out a rubber cockroach—"this guy."
"I think I would know the difference between a rubber cockroach and the real deal. The one I saw was moving."
The cockroach dropped out of Shawn's hand and swung in midair.
"Is that...."
"Fishing line," said Shawn. "Snuck some out of my dad's tackle box last time he dragged me out to the lake." The rubber roach dropped to the floor and began skittering realistically in time to Shawn's jerky hand motions. "What can I say. I missed my true calling: insect puppeteer."
"Not funny, Shawn. You know I have a roach allergy. And we can't afford to pay an exterminator for doing nothing."
"First of all, you are such a hypochondriac it's truly frightening. Secondly...of...all...we didn't."
"Good."
"I took him down to the beach and we tossed a Frisbee around for a while. Then I paid him for that."
Gus gaped, but couldn't seem to find the words to reply.
"You've been spending way too much time at your little 'other job' thingy and I have been missing out on some excellent Frisbee weather. You have no one to blame but yourself. And speaking of missing out, you are missing out on the point. I don't see you packing at all."
"You're not packing."
"I pack very swiftly."
"Shoving everything off your desk into whatever box you happen to have lying around isn't packing."
"Nonsense," retorted Shawn. "If it needs to be done better, you'd repack it for me."
"I do."
"Exactly why I don't need to start packing now. You can't be repacking my stuff at the same time as you're packing yours."
"We're not moving, Shawn."
"Oh, come on! We have to! Look what I found!"
Shawn turned his laptop around and pointed at the screen, which for some reason Gus couldn't fathom was displaying a map of Ohio.
"I can't see anything."
"Gus, don't be a chocolate truffle cheesecake with mint swirls. Obviously you can't see it from across the room. Come closer."
Gus sighed aggrievedly, turned his rolling chair backwards, and kicked himself over to Shawn's desk. He swatted Shawn's hand away from the screen and squinted. "Spencerville."
Shawn thrust both fists in the air in a gesture of triumph.
His friend met his eyes, not a glimmer of amusement on his face. "No."
"Aww, come on, Gus. It doesn't have to be forever. Just a little while."
"No, Shawn."
"You wouldn't be this down on the idea if we were talking about Gusburg."
"That's not even a real place."
"Sure it is. It even has an official theme song: 'Life is like a hurr-i-caaaane here in Gus-burg…."
"That's the theme song from Duck Tales."
"We could adjust the lyrics. It could totally work."
Gus got up and grabbed his pharmaceutical case. "Forget it, Shawn."
"Okay. Maybe just a road trip to Spencerville? A quick one?"
The office door slammed.
The very next case....
"Hi, I'm Shawn Spencer, and this is my partner, Orville 'Launchpad' McQuentin."
"Shawn!"