Chapter 2

The symptoms started sooner than he'd expected. It had only been a two weeks since Shawn had been back, and now, as he dragged himself from the bed to his bathroom, his stomach determined to turn itself inside out, he silently wondered if he should have said yes to the doctor.

That thought quickly vanished as he heaved into the bowl the contents of last night's dinner, which had consisted of taquitos, a stale donut, and three-week-old, slightly-dried-out cheese stick.

He sat on the cool tile floor and rested his head against the cabinet on the other side, trying to ignore the disgustingly bitter aftertaste that lingered on the back of his tongue. His dad would attest that when Shawn was sick, he was the worst patient in the world. Which was one of the reasons why, of course, he had decided to not receive treatment. Yes, it might have prolonged his life, but he knew that in spite of his best efforts, he would have only ended up putting everyone around him in even worse misery with his attitude and his complaining.

Vaguely, he thought he could hear something going on outside the door. With what little energy he had, he lifted his head slightly and soon discerned Gus's voice and that the accompanying sound was him pounding on the door.

"Shawn! Shawn! Dammit, you are not going to make us late again to another briefing! Now, open this door before I have to-"

"Have to what?" Spencer yelled back. "You have no upper body strength and you bruise like a peach. Now, be a doll and get the car started, I'll be out in a minute."

"What? I am not your personal chauffeur, nor do I take orders from-"

"Dammit, just do it, Gus!" he snapped back, and he almost immediately regretted it, and could practically hear the expression of shock on his friend's face when he replied, "Sure, Shawn. I'll be right outside." He could see him in his mind's eye walking away from the front door, looking like a dog that had just been unexpectedly kicked.

The psychic hit his head against the counter, mad at himself for breaking so easily. He was going to have to be a lot more careful than that if he wanted to keep everyone off the scent.

He dragged himself off the floor, threw some water on his face, brushed his teeth, and then put on some cologne to mask the smell of what had just happened. When he threw himself into the car, he tossed a smile in Gus's direction and said, "Sorry 'bout that, man. Hangover. Now, what's the case the chief wants us on?"

Gus seemed to forgive him and quickly told him on their way over.

"Looks like someone killed a security guard and got away with a very expensive painting from a local art gallery. The only lead they have is the owner of the gallery, but he's not talking, and they're hoping that we can get a psychic read on him to see what he's hiding."

"You mean they're hoping I can get a psychic read on him. You're just the distraction."

"Excuse me?! Distraction? I'll have you know, that my deductive capabilities are-"

"Nowhere near on par with mine. Now," he added, with a demonstrative hand motion, "If you could get us to the station in one piece, that would be appreciated."

Shawn knew that his usual bantering skills were lacking, but after what had happened that morning he found that he had less of an urge to be flippant. They arrived and the instant Shawn stepped out of the car, he felt his legs threaten to give out from under him. He shot a look in his friend's direction, relieved to see that Gus hadn't noticed, and then said, "You go on ahead. I'll be there in a minute."

Gus gave him a look, but then shrugged his shoulders and went into the precinct.

It took him a few moments, but he managed to regain sure footing, and walked into the station completely ready to do his song and dance routine. Literally, if he needed to. The instant he saw Jules, he raced over to her desk and threw himself on the edge of it, giving her a broad grin.

"Jules, light of my life, you are looking surprisingly radiant on this dark and gloomy day."

"It's seventy-five and sunny, Shawn."

"But it's nothing but storm clouds in my heart," he said, dramatically grasping his chest and leaning in her direction. "Storm clouds that can only be taken away by your radiance! If you'll have me," he added, dropping to his knees, "I will promise to never let clouds ever cover your sunlight, my dearest, darling Juliet…"

A hand on the back of his shirt pulled him up to his feet, and a familiar, cranky voice said, "Can it, Spencer! We don't have any time for your Shakespearean declarations of love, right now. We have a murder case to solve."

"Shakespearean? Do you really think I have the talent? Why, Lassi, I'm touched!"

The detective glared at him and roughly shoved him away from him…and Shawn's legs decided to give out on him a second time. He and Lassiter locked eyes, both of them looking surprised as the psychic proceeded to stumble and run shoulder first into one of the pillars, where he then slumped down onto the floor, unable to stand on his shaky, weakened legs. He deliberately avoided looking at anyone, even as Juliet rushed to his side, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his arm.

"Shawn!" She glared up at Lassiter as she helped the young man to his feet. "Geez, Carlton…what was that for?"

"I didn't even shove him that hard!" the detective protested, gesturing with one hand, looking both annoyed and confused at the attention that his partner gave the younger man.

Just as Jules was about to attack her partner once more, Shawn put up a hand and said, "Hey, it's alright. I know better than to egg him on." He shot Carlton a guarded look. "It was my bad. Now, let's go see what the chief has for us. I don't know about you, but I think this case will be fairly easy to put to rest."

With that, he walked away, Juliet and Gus falling in behind him. Unseen by any of them was Lassiter staring at Shawn's retreating back, an odd look on his face. He stared longer than he probably should have, and broke out of his daze when he saw one of the cops staring at him.

"What are you looking at? Get back to work!" he barked out, and quickly caught up to the other three.

As they walked into the chief's office, she greeted him.

"Mr. Spencer, so good of you to come in. As you know, a security guard was murdered and the owner isn't talking, so if you would be willing, do you mind, uh, 'reading' him for us?"

Shawn nodded, his good spirits back as he proceeded to pivot on his heel and say, "Of course, Chief. So long as I know that my energies won't be disrupted by any…unbelievers." He subtly turned his head in Lassiter's direction, who looked ready to strangle him as he protested.

"Chief, I don't think it's a good idea for Spencer to be alone in interrogation with a suspect. He's not-"

"What? Fully licensed?" the chief interrupted. "Actually, I got the paperwork earlier this week. He just renewed his investigative license, and is fully cleared to be in the same room with a suspect without having any police or law enforcement present."

Both Shawn and Gus smirked and bumped fists at hearing that, and then the psychic placed a hand on Lassiter's shoulder and firmly said, "Don't worry, Lassi. If he cracks, I'll give you all of the credit. I'm certain that you've already softened him up for me, for which I am very grateful. Gus and I can take it from here, now."

Before the head detective could brush Shawn's hand off his shoulder, the chief spoke up once more.

"Actually, Mr. Spencer, only your investigative license was renewed. Mr. Guster will be observing with the rest of us."

At this, Gus looked offended.

"What? But he and I are a package deal-"

"Don't worry, Gus. I'll still give you fifty percent of the check. You know I will," Shawn interrupted, and at that, his friend relented and simply nodded.

"No work, all the pay? I'm alright with that."

"I knew you would be."

Finally, Lassiter yanked the psychic's hand off his shoulder and glowered, saying in a low, almost threatening tone, "I'll be watching you, Spencer. If you make one wrong move, if you so much as step an inch out of line, I will be in that interrogation room faster than a bullet through a hay bale."

Shawn grinned.

"Wow, Lassi! I'm impressed. Your threats are getting more creative. Nicely done. But, with that, I believe I have an interrogation to get to. Feel free to watch."

He turned and sauntered down the corridor, while Lassiter glared daggers at his back and silently fumed. O'Hara threw him a look, however, and he slowly dialed it back. Fine. If Spencer was going to do an interrogation on his own, he would let him. And he would grin as he went down in a mass of bumbling flames. There was no way that the psychic would get through this without messing things up.

Lassiter, along with O'Hara, the chief, and Gus, now watched Spencer from the other side of the glass, the head detective hoping to see him crumble under the pressure. Nothing would please the him more than to discredit Spencer in such a way: by his own ineptness.

He fully expected Spencer to sit down and try to buddy up to the suspect, as he did with most of them, to take them off guard and get on their good sides before blindsiding them with one of his "visions". However, Spencer didn't sit down. Instead, he stared at the art gallery owner, Marcus Fitz, looking all too serious, a look that Lassiter was not used to seeing on the comedic psychic's face.

"So," Spencer started. "Your gallery was robbed. Looks like a professional hit. Surprising, considering you're a lesser known gallery in the city, and not a prominent figure in the art community. Of course," he added nonchalantly, "The fact that he killed a guard is probably what took you by surprise the most. I mean, you paid him to take the painting, that much is obvious, but murder? That wasn't part of the deal…"

At this point he was sitting on the edge of the table, right next to the suspect.

Fitz looked down, tightened his jaw, and simply said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

The psychic smirked.

"How long have you owed them, Marcus? I'm guessing…about four months?" Fitz looked up from the table, shock registering in his eyes. Spencer continued. "I figure you owe them around, oh, fifty grand, at least." He paused and put a finger to his forehead, but it seemed more mocking than it should have been. "And I'm seeing an exchange of money. A pay off. You drained your brother's savings and promised them the rest afterwards…even though you didn't have it. Problem was, before you could get more money, your brother found out what you did and tried to follow you, and so they took him hostage, as leverage so you would keep up your end of the bargain. So, you decided to rob your own gallery, cash in on the insurance, and then hand it all over to them."

Fitz looked more than uncomfortable; he looked downright terrified, like a deer caught in headlights.

"Your next problem," Spencer added, "Was when the guy you hired to do the deed found out that he was getting bupkis from the actual robbery. So, he double crossed you and told the money sharks about your little plan to rob your own gallery. Now, he's got the painting, which can easily be fenced on the Black Market or deep-net sites, and considering your hundred-thousand-dollar life insurance policy, you are worth more dead than alive, especially since they have your brother, who is the sole beneficiary of your policy. They've probably already put a bounty on your head. Am I close?"

At this point, the art gallery owner seemed to collapse in his chair, as though someone had pricked him like a balloon, and he looked pitifully up at the psychic.

"How'd you…I mean…" He hesitated and then started sniveling as he whispered out, "They're gonna kill me, man…"

Lassiter was shocked. The man had just confessed. How the hell had Spencer figured all of that out? They didn't even know that Fitz had any type of gambling problem, let alone a sibling, so how the hell had Spencer known all of that?

Spencer gave the man a reassuring smile, but Lassiter could see something else in it besides reassurance. Something that reminded him of the moment when the psychic had fallen down out in the corridor. A look that he couldn't quite explain.

"We'll protect you and get your brother back. I promise."

Fitz nodded, but then asked, just as Spencer was about to leave the room, "How'd you know?"

Spencer's mouth quirked into a wry smile.

"I'm psychic."

It was said without any dramatizing and almost sounded, to Lassiter, bitter and resentful. It took the head detective off guard, and he shook his head at the feeling, trying to rid himself of it. He was used to the younger man doing things that drew unwanted attention, and being a general pain in his ass, but this was something darker than he'd expected. And, as much as it pained him to even think it, he preferred the irresponsible Spencer to this one.

Turning to O'Hara, he said, "Well, that was—"

"You," she said, as she faced him, her arms crossed over her chest.

Lassiter gaped for a moment, and then glared at her and retaliated with, "What are you talking about? How was that in any way me?"

His partner smirked and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, c'mon. You use those tactics all the time, Carlton! Serious voice, stern countenance, a slight know-it-all attitude. The reason why it worked for him and not you, this time, was because he was the one holding all of the cards, instead of none," she quipped, her hands dropping to her hips. "You should be proud of him," she added. "He's using your methods, after all. They say that imitation is the highest form of flattery."

He thought about it for a moment, and then just as he opened his mouth to reply, Spencer burst into the small room, his arms outstretched.

"Did you see that? He caved like a spineless jellyfish!"

The chief nodded, ignoring the fist-bumps he was exchanging with Gus, who also looked impressed.

"Good work, Mr. Spencer. I'll go ahead and get some manpower on it. I'll put a detail on Mr. Fitz, and send someone to scout out where his brother is being held. We find his brother, we find not only the men extorting him, but we'll also find our killer. Now, go home."

At this everyone in the room expected to hear a violent of outburst of, "No way you're taking me off this case chief," but it never came. To everyone's surprise, Gus's more than anyone else, the psychic nodded and said, "Yeah, good idea, chief. A civilian isn't a good mix when it comes to kidnappings and extortion. I'd probably just screw everything up. Oh, and by the way," he quickly added, "I couldn't say it in front of Fitz, but his brother's in on it."

Lassiter looked at him, but before Spencer could say anything, he quickly deduced out loud, "The brother knew about Fitz's gambling debt and set it up, but he didn't know his brother would go so far as to hire someone to rob his own gallery. When it happened, I bet the brother cut a deal so that he would live, but they would still get the money."

Spencer looked at him, an approving smile on his lips.

"Very good, Lassi. See…I knew there was a genius detective in there somewhere."

Slightly surprised, but obviously pleased, the chief said, "Nice theory, Carlton. I'll have someone look into his brother's records. We might be able to get a location if he's been in contact with Fitz's money sharks the whole time."

Lassiter glanced back at Spencer, still expecting him to secretly find a way to follow them and finish up the case on his own, as was his usual purview, but was taken off guard when he saw the psychic head towards the parking lot, with Gus in tow behind him, looking once more all too serious. He had the impulse to follow them, so he did, making sure to stay at a discreet distance, carefully listening in to their conversation to see what Spencer's real plans were.

"So…how are we approaching this one?" Gus, of course.

"We're not," said Spencer. "I'm serious about what I told the chief. When it comes to kidnappings and extortions, you don't want a couple of amateurs coming along and throwing a wrench into the works. All that does is make more problems, put too many people in danger, and only ruins our relationship with the department."

"Since when do you care about the department?"

"Since, oh, I don't know, they started helping me pay off my bills? Radical, concept, I know, but this is the only job I've kept for more than six months. I mean, it's been six years, man! And I've never been happier. Why would I want to ruin that?"

"Okay, who are you and what the hell have you done to my friend?"

Carlton smirked at that and had to silently nod in agreement. There was something different about Spencer, and everyone had seemed to pick up on it, but it seemed that the head detective was the only one who liked the change to some extent. For once, Spencer seemed to be thinking of people other than himself, and was acting more like an adult. It was different, but Carlton could only see it as mostly a good thing. The young man was finally taking responsibility for his actions. Took him long enough.

Lassiter turned and headed back into the precinct…and then stopped.

There was still the unidentified issue of why he was acting that way. Spencer was a good enough actor to get away with anything, but there was no point in acting for Gus, which meant that he was serious about the change that he was making…but something must have triggered it.

The only thing that had changed in the psychic's life recently was having his appendix removed, but Lassiter didn't see how that could have such a life-changing effect.

It had to be something else.

So, like the good detective that he was, he was going to find out.