Title: Murder and Mayhem and Monopoly, Oh My!

Author: greenrandomness

Rating: K

Warnings: Mild violence and some disturbing images.

Summary: A robbery and murder occur inside the Santa Barbara Police Department while multiple officers are present. Shawn and Gus try to find out who did it, and how.

Authors Note: Here is the 4th chapter, it would have been out sooner, but a power outage screwed up my Internet, and school started again. I am dreading being in that building all day…it is sooooo warm in there. The upside is that I'm a senior now…only one more year left! Yay!!! Anyways…happy reading, I hope you all enjoy this chapter because we are getting close to the end now people!

Disclaimer: Only the story line and any characters you don't recognize are mine…anything else belongs to the creators and owners of Psych.

Chapter 4- Follow the Leader

"Gus!" Shawn whispered urgently as another bullet whizzed by and hit the wall near their heads. "I need you to go to the station and tell them who did it."

"I hate to burst your bubble, Shawn, but I have no idea who did it!" He practically yelled in response before ducking as another bullet hit near by.

"Okay…listen carefully." Shawn began, crouching behind the dumpster as he tried to reach the knife again. "Sergeant Thomas Quinn organized the entire thing."

"Tom?" Gus replied in shock, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He had never even suspected the sweet natured man he had met months before. He was a family man, a grandfather, and a good, no, great cop. He was the last person you would suspect to be corrupt.

"Yeah, he, Mark, and Louis were all in on it. Tom blackmailed Louis into helping; he knew that Louis had a gambling problem. Unfortunately for Lou's family, his hobby had put them into some serious debt." Shawn explained; his voice strained as he tried to reach behind the trash receptacle. The metal was frigid against his cheek, and his shoulder was pressed against the wall as he tried to reach through the small gap between the brick and the dumpster.

The smell of garbage, wet asphalt, and dried blood was nearly nauseating, but he did his best to block it out. He didn't have the time for distractions. He had to explain to Gus, and get the knife before one or both of them got shot. He would not let Gus get shot because of him.

"How do you know that?" Gus asked in a slightly annoyed tone. "Or should I even ask?"

"How do I know anything?" Shawn paused as if waiting for an answer, when none came he continued. "I have an ethereal connection to the unknown." He smirked, but another bullet slamming into the brick near them wiped it away as swiftly as it had come.

As the small chunks of brick flew from the impact site, they ducked away. Cringing against the metal, they tried to stay away from the shrapnel while still staying behind the dumpster. Once it was safe to stand in a relatively normal position again, Shawn continued, "Anyway…" He said stretching the word out. "He got Mark into it by playing the family card. He used them to steal the Cocaine. He must have needed money for something…he's retiring soon." He added as if it was an afterthought.

"So, he used his own nephew for money?" Gus asked incredulously.

"Yeah, all my dad ever does is use me like slave labor." He grumbled before getting back to the matter at hand. "They must have planned to have Mark deal with the power. He set up the bomb, like we originally thought. Then, when he and Tom went to go check out the fuse box, they made a quick stop in Evidence." Shawn paused taking a breath. "Lou let them in and helped them load the drugs into…into where." He stopped in thought, ignoring the commotion around them. Gus was thinking too, trying to figure out where five Kilos of Cocaine could have been hidden.

"The bag!" Gus realized with a grin.

"The Bag…" Shawn said before a look of realization crossed his face. "The bag! The messenger bag he had with him when we met. He must have put the drugs in there." Shawn continued with a frown. "It was literally right in front of us the whole time!"

"I can't believe we missed it." Gus groaned, "Some detectives we are."

"We have it now, though! Louis must have tried to back out during the robbery. Thomas sent Mark back to turn the lights on and break the window, so that he could take care of Lou. He shot Louis with his own gun, stashed the gun somewhere on his person, and then ran to the garage where he 'saw something weird". Shawn continued, finally piecing it all together.

"Mark was horrified when he saw Louis, he didn't think that anyone would die. He was going to turn himself in, but Tom got to him first. " Gus added looking sickened at the thought of a man killing his nephew, his own flesh and blood, for drugs. This man was a member of the police force, he was supposed to protect life, not destroy it.

"He stabbed his own nephew in cold blood, and tried to pass it off as the drug dealers. Before he could leave the scene, he got interrupted and left the knife." Another bullet hit the garbage can, dinging the metal right next to Shawn's hand. A gasp of surprise escaped his lips. Turning to Gus he said, "You have to go now, Gus. Go tell Karen."

"What about you?" Gus asked, sneaking a peak at the street in front of the alley, but another shot sent him against the wall. "You don't know how many bullets this guy has."

"It doesn't matter, I need to get the knife before he does…I'll be right behind you." Shawn reassured putting a hand on his best friend's shoulder.

"Shawn."

"Go, dude, " Shawn demanded, "I'll meet you there." With a smile he pushed Gus towards the other end of the alley. As parting words he called, "And may the force be with you!" in an attempt to lighten the mood before he looked away from Gus's quickly retreating form.

He began to reach for the knife, but doing so caused the bullets to increased in number and frequency, sending stinging shrapnel into his hands and cheek. Pushing against the dumpster in desperation, he strained against its weight. "What the Hell is in here?" He mumbled, hitting it with his palm in frustration.

Swiping at the slightly bleeding cuts on his face, he sighed and thought for a moment. Pulling out a pair of black leather gloves, he quickly put them on. Flexing his hands in preparation, he readied himself for the next few moments. Taking a deep calming breath, he lunged for the front of the dumpster. He would be out in the open now.

He fell to the wet asphalt, reaching frantically for the knife. With his shoulder pressed against the ground, and his body parallel with the metal, he could see the weapon. Its gleaming blade was mocking him as a frenzy of bullets struck nearby. He was in plain view; he was a perfect target. He stretched again, reaching as far as a he could. He felt the blade as his gloved fingers grazed it; he was so close that he could almost taste it…although a bloody hunting knife probably wouldn't taste that great.

Another bullet hit the pavement near his head; swallowing a cry of surprise he turned his face to avoid the sparks and pieces of rock that were kicked up. Tom must not be as good of a shot as he use to be. He should have been hit long before now, maybe Tom didn't want to hit him, or maybe he was just lucky.

Straining again, he knew his luck couldn't hold out much longer. He felt the knife just barely touch his fingers and stretched again. Almost…There! He had the blade, pulling it out he shoved it into the large pockets of his jacket and jumped to his feet. He had to get to his bike, preferably without getting shot.

Staying low to the ground like he had seen so many action heroes do, he ran out of the dank alley and towards his bike, dodging bullets all the way. Jamming his helmet on his head before jumping on, he fumbled with the keys. "Maybe I should consider cutting back on the key chains." He thought, as his miniature Rubix Cube, potato Darth Vader, and multiple other trinkets got in the way. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Thomas hoping into his police cruiser.

Finally getting the key into the ignition, with shaking hands he turned it quickly, and the bike roared to life. It was the sweetest sound he ever heard. Kicking the stand, he peeled down the damp city street, with Sergeant Quinn following close behind. The buildings whipped by as Shawn traveled at a speed clearly higher than the limit. This was going to be one fierce game of follow the leader, the chase was most definitely on.

Gus pulled up to the station and jumped out as quickly as possible. Running up the steps into the building he burst through the door and dashed into Chief Vick's office with desperation. All eyes looked to him, as he stopped in front of her desk. He must have interrupted her meeting with Juliet and Lassiter.

"Shawn…had a vision…it was Thomas Quinn!" He panted, thinking he should get into better shape.

"Mr. Guster, we have reason to believe that Mark Spies was in league with the drug dealers. He was then murdered once he was no longer useful." Karen replied her hands folded in front of her. Her tone was all business, but he knew she would listen. She had to.

"It wasn't the dealers. Thomas Quinn blackmailed Louis McRory and guilted his nephew into stealing the drugs. He then murdered Officer McRory when he tried to back out, and he killed Officer Spies when he was going to turn himself in." Gus explained after catching his breath.

"There is no evidence to suggest—" Lassiter began, a smug look on his face.

"Shawn has the evidence, he's bringing it right now!" Gus cried, his worry for Shawn seeping through. He shouldn't have let Shawn stay alone. They could have just called, but it hadn't crossed either of their minds…or at least not Gus's. When he really thought about it, he knew that Shawn had just wanted to get him out of there, and he had panicked causing him to not realize it.

"Mr. Guster." The Chief began again.

"Please Chief, just wait. He'll be here." Gus pleaded before she could continue, but a moment later he mumbled, "I hope." And crossed his arms in worry, it was almost a self-hug.

Shawn chanced a glance behind him as he raced down the wet pavement. He payed no heed to traffic lights or road signs, he didn't have the time. Zigzagging between the few cars on the road at 10:45 a.m. was an easy task. This was what his bike was meant for, high speed chases through city streets, or at any rate that was how Shawn saw it.

A Porsche here, a Jeep there, A Ford or two, none of which were any match for his maneuverability. His dad may have despised his motorcycle with every fiber of his being, but the vehicle was probably saving his life right now. Without it, Tom would have caught him right off the bat, police cars are bought with speed in mind. Most cars wouldn't have been able to evade the sergeant for too long, to do so would have meant massive detours and probably quite a bit of damage, if not to him then others.

As the police department came into view only a ways before him, he knew that Tom was closing in; he could almost feel the heat from the other man's car. This was the final stretch of the race, and it was practically neck and neck. Either he made it or he didn't at the moment. It was a life or death, now or never, last chance sort of thing.

It was parachuting from a crashing airplane when you're afraid of heights. It was asking out the girl you had been pining after for all of high school on your graduation day. It was pretending you are psychic, when all else fails, to avoid being accused of a crime. He was so close; he was going to make it. He had to, there was no choice in the matter.

He could hear the loud whirring of a police siren, and looked over his shoulder to see that Quinn had turned his lights on in a last ditch effort to reach him before he reached the station. It would draw attention, but so would Shawn producing a murder weapon to the cops.

Blowing through a red light amidst the honks and curses of other drivers, Shawn finally reached the station. Squealing to a halt, he nearly crashed his bike as he just barely avoided sliding. Parking as quickly as possible he jumped off. He could hear Quinn pulling up and slamming his door as he too reached the department.

The fake psychic made a mad dash for the doors, running up the steps. He could hear another pair of feet just behind him, and another pair of lungs panting with adrenaline. Pulling open the doors with a sharp tug, he leapt through the opening. He was safe. The whole of the Santa Barbara police department now had his back…or his front if you wanted to be literal.

A sudden force against his body slammed him into the floor. He let out a cry as one hundred and eighty-five pounds of rage and hysteria landed on top of him, knocking the air out of him and pinning him to the ground. His head bounced of the ground with a harsh smack, leaving his world spinning. He could feel a trickle of new blood joining the scrapes and dirt on his cheeks.

He must have looked terrible. Brick dust all over his clothes and in his hair, blood and dirt on his cheeks. Scrapes and cuts all over his face, and hands, although no one could see the latter due to his gloves. His hair was a mess because of his helmet, and his clothes were rumpled and stained. He imagined he looked like Hell, but now probably wasn't the best time to be worry about whether or not he could impress the ladies.

The knife was sent skittering across the floor as the fall jostled it from its precarious position in his pocket. It slid under a desk, and lay there innocuous and unnoticed. Trying to blink away the stars, he barely noticed the arm being placed across his neck. The world had stabilized slightly, but he could barely breath. The arm against his windpipe, and the body on his back, where forcing out what little air had returned after his fall.

A quick yank by Thomas Quinn pulled the still dizzy man to his feet. With an arm across his throat, and a gun to his head, Shawn was officially the hostage of a desperate murderer. All of the police officers in the room where staring at the pair in shock, the situation not quite sinking in yet. He could see Jules, Lassie, and Gus standing next to the chief in front of her office.

No one could quite process the scene. Shawn, the resident psychic, loved by most, and grudgingly respected by the rest despite their protestation, was being held captive by Thomas Quinn, one of the nicest men on the force, with years of service under his belt. A few months ago, if there had been a department betting pool over whether this would happen, even Shawn would have lost money.

With a flourish Shawn spread his arms wide, or at least as wide as he could spread them with a man holding him hostage. "Ladies," He nodded to Juliet and the chief, "Gentlemen," He continued with a quick nod to Gus and a group of male officers near him, "Lassie-face," He smiled at the detective. "I give you sergeant Thomas Quinn, Thief, murderer, and extortionist extraordinaire!"

Every cop in the room pulled their gun in one swift motion, holding them aloft and pointed at their former colleague. The clicking of holsters and safeties drowned out all other sound for over a minute. This was going to be what many would call a showdown.

TBC

Author's Note: Here is the forth chapter, I hope you all enjoyed it. If you did…review. If you didn't…review. If you didn't even read it you can still review (although I don't know what you would say…). Any feedback is good feedback in my books.