A/N: Sorry for the wait! I'm still trying to get used to my "randomly generated" work schedule. :P
But anyway, enjoy!
All the lights were off.
Long rays of orange light were stamped like prison bars across the once-carpeted floor, sprinkled with the shattered remains of blinds. Cold seeped through Shawn's thin clothes, and he shivered, pressing himself tighter up against the jagged wood of the desk.
Who even used wooden desks nowadays anyway? And why did people have the strange urge to combine three words into one, like... nowadays?
"I don't know," Gus hissed in answer to his whispered question. The smell of sweat rolled off him in waves. "This has got to be your worst idea ever."
Shawn glanced down at his watch. 6:45. Five minutes left.
"The night falls," he whispered, "as the psychic consulting detective and his sidekick, Burton—"
"I am not your sidekick!"
"—partner in not-crime, Burton Guster."
Gus gave an approving nod, scooting a few inches closer to Shawn and a few inches further away from the crooked cobweb.
A creak snaked into Shawn's ears, then the low groan of a floorboard.
"The infamous dealers are at it again," Shawn said, his voice little more than an exhale. "None have dared oppose them." He took another slow, careful breath. "Until now."
He turned his head just in time to see Gus make the slashing motion across his throat. Shawn grinned in response, glancing down to make sure his phone was still recording.
6:47.
Three minutes left.
"Mm, y' gah th' cash?" The nasally voice came from somewhere behind them, the words slurring together as if they weren't worth pronouncing all the way.
The question was answered with a short, barking laugh, then, "You got the drugs?"
"Hun'red hits on the meth, ten hits zanamiv'r. Mmhm, jus' like y' asked. That'll be ten thousa' for ya."
Shawn felt his face scrunch up. What the heck is zana... zanamivir?
He turned his head to the left and saw Gus flapping his hands in the air, his face contorted. "That must be the guy who broke in and stole some of the prescriptions!" Gus gasped.
"Dude, I already figured that out, like, a week ago," Shawn said, then froze. That was way too loud.
A sharp, cold voice. "You hear that?"
Shawn gritted his teeth, a streak of cold shooting through his body. Crap, crap craaaaap...
The slurring voice didn't seem to register the question. There was the sound of shuffling paper bills, then, "Mmm... looks legit. You, mmm, have fun, now, m'kay?"
Shawn slumped back down against the desk, his eyes flicking back to the phone.
"You idiot," Gus mouthed.
6:49. One minute.
"...Hello."
Shawn jumped, banging his head on the underside of the desk, just as Gus's hand shot into his pocket, his hand violently groping for the traitorous phone.
"Now, mhm, tha' I heard."
Shawn smacked Gus on the arm. "Shut off your phone, dude!"
"I'm trying!"
"Hello."
"What the..." The customer didn't finish the sentence. Instead came the slap of footsteps, coming closer.
Well, I guess we've done it now.
"SBPD! Get down!"
Shawn dove onto his stomach, his eyes glancing to his phone. 6:50. Not bad. Beside him Gus yanked out his own phone and raised it to his ear.
"Dude, why are you answering it?"
"It's a company phone, Shawn," Gus hissed. "It could be my working calling!"
"Your work is calling right now!"
Shawn jumped to his feet and looked around. Lassiter already had the two criminals in handcuffs and Juliet was reading them their rights. The one Shawn assumed to be the customer, a large, beefy man, was glaring right at him with murder in his eyes, while the dealer just looked bored and rather disappointed.
Caught red handed, Shawn thought, a grin spreading over his face.
"Nice work, Shawn," Juliet said, glancing up at him. Shawn felt his grin grow wider.
"No, now's a perfect time, Ava," Gus said, phone still at his ear. He edged closer to the door, his eyes darting between it and the two criminals.
Lassiter glanced at Gus, then Shawn. "I'm not going to ask."
Ava, Shawn thought. Wait, wasn't that Gus' long lost cousin? Maybe his aunt? He scrunched his nose. Maybe she was his sister's mom's cousin's third cousin three times removed.
"Hey, Lassie, what do you call someone's mom's cousin's third cousin three times removed?"
Lassiter shot him a glare that could make hell freeze over. "Scram, you two. The grown ups have to get to work."
"I can do a sweep of the building to make sure there's no one else."
Shawn waved his phone. "I think I've got something here you'd like to see."
"Spencer, I'm not interested in whatever sites you go on in your spare time."
"Alright, alright, so I guess you aren't interested in seeing my recording of the whole transaction."
Lassiter gave a grunt, his eyes still fixed on the drug dealers.
"C'mon, Lassie, you have to admit it makes for a pretty solid case."
Another grunt, then, "Turn it in to evidence when you get back to the station."
Gus was waiting for him outside, his face creased into an unreadable expression. He didn't even respond to Shawn's offered fist bump, at least not until Shawn's arm felt like it was ready to fall off.
At least the air was twenty times cooler out here, with just enough of a breeze to remind Shawn how sweaty he was. And there was the shiny blue Echo, parked on the sidewalk, right where they'd left it.
"Who's Ava?"
"She's my cousin," Gus said, tapping the "unlock" button. "I haven't seen or talked to her in over five years, so don't even start complaining how I bailed on you."
Shawn swung open the car door and sank into the seat with a groan. It felt so good to stretch his legs. "Five years? But doesn't your family have all those reunions and things?"
"Yeah, but around five years ago, she stopped coming. I kept asking my aunt and uncle about her, but they were almost as clueless as I was. The only thing they knew was that she had moved to Starling City and wanted to be left alone."
"Starling City," Shawn muttered. He pulled off his shoes and kicked up his feet onto the dash. "Wasn't that the place where the whole 'Undertaking' thing took place and killed, like, five hundred people?"
"Five hundred and three," Gus said, pulling the car out onto the silent street. "All in the same night. I'd bet that's more dead than Lassiter or your dad have seen in their entire careers. And that's not even counting the second terrorist attack that happened just a few months ago."
"And she still lives there... why?"
"She said she's been thinking, and she wants to get back in touch. Starting with me, I guess."
"And you said, 'Well of course I can't leave Shawn all by himself, he'll solve all the crimes and get all the money.' "
Gus frowned. "Actually, that's just the thing. She asked you to come along too."
o
Shawn scrubbed a hand over his eyes and squinted at the computer screen, the only source of light in the darkened office. If Gus was here, he would probably say it was bad for his eyes and flick on a lamp, but he had left hours ago, and Shawn didn't particularly feel like getting up and tripping and banging into half a dozen pieces of furniture just to grab a light switch. He didn't want to stop reading.
Starling City was rather interesting, to say the least.
Click.
First was the Undertaking, lead by a guy named Malcolm Merlyn, along with some other high and mighty rich people. He had apparently wanted to get rid of all the poverty in the city by killing all the poor people in the slums, or "Glades," as they called it, via man-made earthquake. Talk about messed up.
And then there was "Attack of the Super People," or whatever Gus had called it. All these super strong, super angry men, dosed with this weird medicine or something called Mira Kuru, or Miracle, trying to tear the city apart with their bare hands.
Shawn clicked on a gossip article, a smirk pulling at his mouth.
Then there was this guy, Oliver Queen. A billionaire—at least until he somehow lost all his money and his company—who spent five years alone on a desert island, until he was found by some Chinese fishermen or something. His own mother had been involved in the Undertaking.
To top it off, his sister had almost gotten arrested for driving under the influence of drugs about two years ago. She now ran a nightclub. Go figure.
He clicked out of the article, then slid his fingers to the keyboard. Seconds later, the screen was filled with news reports, opinion articles, blogs...
Starling City Vigilante.
Also known as the Arrow.
Shawn gave a yawn and scrubbed a hand over his face. From somewhere in the distance, thunder growled, making everything in the office rattle.
The letters swam before his eyes, the text blurring into images of a man in a green hood, a quiver of arrows on his back and a silver bow in his hands.
Man... it'd be cool to be a vigilante, Shawn mused silently. Something right out of the pages of a comic book. Prowling through the darkened streets at night, leaping effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, shooting a zip-line arrow—however that worked—and riding down, down... into...
When Shawn woke up the next morning, his face was stuck to the keyboard. Again.
o
It took them a full day by Blueberry to get to Starling, and by the end of it, Shawn was sure he'd gone stir-crazy. Permanently.
Sure, he'd taken long trips before, but those were on his motorcycle, going where he pleased, stopping when he felt like it, seeing the sights.
At least Gus had given in and let him drive for a while. They'd talked about movies, some of their favorite cases. Shawn shed a little light on what he'd done all those years he'd been away from Santa Barbara, and Gus told of the misadventures of being a pharmaceutical sales representative and some of the weirdest co-workers and customers he'd had.
But once they entered Starling, both fell silent.
Shawn had never seen anything like it before. It reminded him of New York City, or maybe Chicago, but yet... somehow, much more regal, more proud. Everywhere he looked, tall buildings scraped the sky, their windows reflecting the bright sunlight, their white logos contrasting sharply with the darkness of the glass. Shawn even thought he glimpsed a large building with the words "Palmer Technology" blocked out on the front. Palmer... Shawn thought, something clicking inside his mind. Hey, isn't he that guy who took over the Queens' company?
Then his eyes snagged on a cluster of broken buildings.
So, this was the Glades, or what was left of it. Huge piles of rubble still littered the cracked streets along with the usual piles of garbage. People in ragged clothes huddled around weak fires, rubbing at hands encased in fingerless gloves.
Five hundred and three of their people dead.
Jeez.
At last, they arrived at Ava's apartment complex. Gus kept digging the piece of paper out of his pocket and squinting at it as they climbed the steps to her apartment. Apparently whoever built the place didn't believe in elevators.
"You don't think... I've got the number wrong, do you?" he asked Shawn for the millionth time. "What if... we've got the wrong build—" His foot caught on a step, and his hand flew out to latch onto the railing.
Shawn let out a snort between wheezing breaths. "Why don't you just... call her and make sure?" he said, dragging himself up another step. "Out... of all the floors... why... does she have to pick... the top?"
"Shawn... what if this is a bad idea?" Gus pushed open the door of the stairwell and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. "What if... what if someone decides to launch another terrorist attack while we're here? I mean, this whole city gives me the creeps, I mean, something just feels... off."
Shawn offered him a grin. "C'mon, what happened to fearless Guster?" he asked, then stepped in front of the door and gave it a solid knock.
Shawn had barely lifted his fingers from the door when it swung open, revealing a woman with softly curled black hair, looking as if she were in her thirties or so. She let out a gasp and grabbed the startled Gus into a hug, nearly bouncing up and down on her heels.
"Gus! I'm so glad you're here!" She drew back, her hand rubbing down her pants. "Has it really only been, what, five-and-a-half years since I last saw you?"
Gus let out a nervous laugh. "More or less."
She turned to look at Shawn, cleared her throat, and held out her hand for him to shake. "And you must be Shawn. I've read a bit about yours and Gus' adventures in Santa Barbara. Or, should I say... misadventures?"
Shawn grinned. Finally, someone who really appreciated what they did. "The one and only head psychic of the SBPD," he said.
Ava raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching ever so slightly. "You know, in all the times Gus talked about you, he somehow always failed to mention how you were a psychic."
"Well, that's because I didn't always have the gift. The spirits didn't decide to start visiting until I came of age, as they say." He narrowed his eyes and peered behind her into the apartment. He could see a small piano with several books laid out on the bench. One was opened. There was also ample evidence of takeout on the counters and table, and part of the ceiling above the stove was... burned?
He must have shown something in his face, because Ava said, "All right, psychic. What are they telling you now?"
"They say that you love playing piano, but you're a terrible cook." He glanced at her sleeve and caught a glimpse of cat hair. "And I'm surprised they let you keep a cat here."
"It's amazing what you can get away with around here," Ava replied. Then her eyes shot wide open. "Ack, I haven't even invited you in... oh, come on inside, you two."
She reached out her hand and tugged on Gus' sleeve, pulling him inside while Shawn followed.
"Can I get you anything? Water?" she asked.
"Ooh, do you have flavored water?" Shawn asked, his hand shooting up to emphasize the question. " 'Cause if you do—"
Gus elbowed him in the side.
"Ow!"
"I'm fine," Gus said. "But what about you? How have things been since... you know..."
Ava opened the door to the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of water. "Uh, well, alright, I suppose."
"We all heard about the two terrorist attacks," Gus said, his voice soft.
"Yeah... it was pretty crazy." Ava gave a dry laugh. "Especially that second one. I mean, it felt like I was Lot, watching God rain fire and sulphur down upon Sodom and Gomorrah."
"Except you weren't turned to salt," Gus said.
Ava let out a quiet snort. "Yeah, I guess that's one thing I can be thankful for."
Shawn glanced at Gus, searching his memory for those times he had gone to church. Turned to salt? "Wait, what are you talking about?"
Gus rolled his eyes.
"We've been rebuilding," Ava said, handing a glass of water to Shawn. "It's taking a little longer than everyone would like, but this man—his name's Ray Palmer—he's been a huge help. He keeps talking about renaming the city 'Star City.' I mean, I don't know what's up with that, there's STAR labs down in Central City and that pretty much blew up—literally—and so..." She stopped. "Sorry. Anyway... like I said, I've heard about some of your strange and unusual cases in Santa Barbara. And I was wondering... as long as you're here... Okay, I saw something weird in the Glades last night. A murder."
Shawn spit his mouthful of water back in the cup.
"D-Did you go to the police?" Gus asked.
Ava shook her head. "Um, well, it was a dog."
"Who would murder a dog?" Shawn asked.
"I don't know; it was weird. I was near the Glades the other night, walking home, and I heard this dog snarling. I turned a corner and suddenly saw this man standing in front of a dog. He was dressed in all black and had his back to me. I mean, the only thing I could tell was that he was tall, at least six feet even. He grabbed the dog by it's scruff and stabbed a needle into its neck. The dog dropped almost instantly.
"Then," she said, "then he muttered something. It was... 'Now only the girl left' or... something like that. And, well, then I decided it would be a good idea to leave."
"Did he see you?" Shawn asked.
Ava shook her head. "No, he must have left the opposite way of me."
"That was close," Gus muttered.
"And I thought, since you're here, you could maybe take a look around the crime scene...? I wasn't about to go check it out, and I doubt I would be able find anything anyway, but maybe you two could find something? It's not too far from here, located near a nightclub called Verdant. Here, I'll look it up on my phone."
She got up and all but ran to the kitchen.
Shawn turned to Gus. "Well?"
"It's a weird case," Gus said with a nod. "I'm in. But... just one thing, Shawn. We're not asking for payment, alright?"
"Fine. But that means you have to pay the electricity bill."
Gus opened his mouth to protest, but just then Ava came back, her phone cupped in her hand. "So, what do you guys say?"
Shawn stood up. He bowed. "As you wish."
A/N: Alright, so here's some trivia, for those of you who like knowing this sort of stuff:
Ava kind of started out as my rant character, since when I wrote this, I was having an especially hard time with decisions. It doesn't actually show up a whole bunch in the story, but I imagine Ava is a terrible decision-maker.
When I was first figuring out this story, I didn't know if Ava was going to be Gus' aunt or cousin, or some other relative. So I kind of had Shawn "reference" that in the beginning of the chapter.
For her name, I actually just looked up "popular girl names" and picked out the most unique.
I wrote out her backstory while walking on a treadmill and watching a very interesting sunset. It was raining, but the clouds were light enough so the sun just turned the whole sky yellow, then orange, then red. Very pretty.
And finally, I got inspiration for the drug dealer's tone from the beginning of this one book called "The Sweet Running Filly" where the auctioneer doesn't bother pronouncing his words all the way. It's one of my favorite books, so I guess it's not a surprise I ended up sort of referencing it. :)
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