Author's Chapter Notes:
Many, many thanks to centipede for helping me make this chapter rock.
Disclaimers: Starbucks, not mine.
It was ten to two when Shawn drove into Los Banos and he couldn't help being relieved. The caffeine had begun to wear off a little and coming to replace it were a pounding headache and hands that were beginning to shake. He couldn't wait to crawl into a soft bed and just sleep for a couple of hours.
He resigned himself to staying in a hotel and pulled into the first one he spotted, too ready to be out of the car to really care where he stayed. Grabbing his backpack, he staggered inside and up to the extremely bored-looking desk attendant. Under normal circumstances, he would have flirted shamelessly with her because she was fairly pretty and he had just been in a car for almost five hours, but right now he was too bushed to really pay any attention. "I need a room," he blurted, sagging heavily against the desk and the attendant looked up, startled.
Her eyebrows dove downward and she said uncertainly, "Um…okay. What kind of room?"
"Just a single," Shawn said, and held out his credit card.
The attendant stared as she slowly took the card from his quivering hand. "…I don't mean to pry, sir, but are you all right?"
Shawn tried to flash her a winning smile, only succeeding in turning up one side of his mouth. "Fine. Just really tired. I think I may have had too much caffeine, too."
"Oh…" she said, still eyeing him doubtfully. She ran his credit card and then set a key and a bill on the counter with it. "Just for tonight, sir?"
He nodded. "With any luck. Thanks."
"Thank you."
He took the key and his card, folding the bill and putting it into his pocket. Glancing at the number on the key, he waved at the desk attendant, who watched him all the way to the elevator.
Inside, Shawn paced, unable to stand still. He was exhausted, but holding still for more than a few seconds made the tremors in his hands even worse. For the first time since having started his caffeine regimen, Shawn admitted to himself that Gus may have been right about the whole 'drinking caffeine is a really bad idea' thing. Getting out on the fifth floor, Shawn located his room and was fumbling with his keys when he saw a pair of eyes peering out at him from the room next door.
"Do you mind?" he muttered in annoyance. The other door clicked shut quickly and he pushed his way inside his own room, dropping his backpack on the floor and immediately collapsing onto the bed. There were always creepy people in places like this, and they were always the ones still up at this hour.
He was so worn-out he expected to be asleep within seconds, but he lay there…and lay there…and lay there, and continued not to sleep. Finally he moaned and opened his eyes to look at the clock. He had been lying there for over a half an hour. This was some form of really heinous torture; he couldn't sleep but he was so tired he thought he might implode. He stared at the clock, his eyes burning with the extent of their weariness, for ten more minutes before he finally forced himself to climb off of the bed. Well, if he wasn't going to sleep, at least he could clean off. He felt like he hadn't bathed in days. Which, when he thought about it, was actually a fact.
Pulling his change of clothes out of his backpack, he shuffled into the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he went. He turned the shower on, good and hot, and got in, nearly flinching away as the water first hit his skin. But as he allowed the water to wash over him, he exhaled slowly, realizing for the first time that he'd been breathing quickly, practically hyperventilating, and he grimaced. Gus was definitely right. CaffeineVery Bad For Shawn. The feeling of the water beating on his scalp lessened the pain in his skull and he sighed. It was really annoying that something that could produce such wonders as he had previously experienced could also lead to something as hellish as all this. He could barely stand up or even lift his arms to wash his hair, but sleeping was practically an impossibility. It was an injustice as far as he was concerned.
When he had finished washing, he stood in the shower, hands pressed to the wall to keep himself from falling over, just letting the water pour over him. He stayed like that until his arms began to tremble and he had to move, or risk falling over and possibly winding up unconscious and naked in a hotel bathroom where no one knew exactly where he was. And as fun as that thought was, he decided to save that adventure for a different trip.
He stepped out of the shower, dried off quickly and put on his clean t-shirt and boxers, taking the jeans with him out into the room and tossing them on the bed before flopping down beside them. He groped around for a minute and then, staring dimly at the glowing screen of his cell phone, set his alarm for 9 a.m. He would finish this tomorrow. He would get his proof, return to the station in Santa Barbara, make amends for his mistake via solving the case, and then promptly collapse on Chief Vick's desk of complete and utter exhaustion.
Smirking, he curled up, head on one pillow, another clutched to his chest, and tried to sleep because tomorrow promised to be a long day and he would likely need whatever energy he could get.
Sleep evaded him.
He wanted it so badly it hurt, but he tossed and turned restlessly for hours. His eyes burned mercilessly in his skull and a sharp pounding headache thumped agonizingly just behind them and all he wanted was to slip away from it for a few hours, but his body refused to allow him the comfort. The caffeine had done its job, and now it was torturing him.
Several times during the night he got out of bed, pacing frantically back and forth until his legs began to turn to jelly and he had to lie back down or find himself lying involuntarily on the floor. It was literally the worst night he had ever experienced in his life.
At nine o'clock his phone went off, and it took him a minute or two to come out of it enough to realize what the awful racket was. He wasn't clear on whether or not he had actually fallen asleep or if he had just zoned out so far that he had lost track of what was going on around him. His head was still killing him and he was having trouble mustering the energy to move at all, let alone get out of bed to get the phone, which had fallen on the floor sometime last night while he had been thrashing around. When the incessant beeping started to make the pounding in his head worse, he shoved himself out of bed and grabbed it, mashing all the buttons at once to shut it up. Slumping back against the bed once it was quiet he looked at the clock on the bedside table out of the corner of his eye and grimaced.
He didn't want to be up. Really, really, really, really didn't want to be up. He felt like crap. The feeling reminded him overwhelmingly of a hangover. The same sensitivity his body had for caffeine applied to alcohol, and it didn't take much to get him completely smashed. The hangovers the next morning were debilitating in exactly the same way this was. He was just lucky he wasn't dizzy too.
That was, he wasn't until he stood up. Then the room decided to take a quick spin around itself and he practically collapsed onto the bed, his stomach lurching as he waited for the whirling to stop. A moment later Shawn got tentatively to his feet, knowing that moving slowly seemed to help. As he pulled on his pants, he thought, 'Note to self: Gus has still gotta come to work, angry or not.'
Down at the desk, Shawn handed the new desk lady with a name tag that read: "Manager, Lois," his keys, backpack slung over his shoulders, and pulled out the scrap of paper where he had written the 'Stanley' alias he believed Bell would be using. He had written down a last name too, but he had "accidentally" spilled a little of his energy drink on the scrap because he wasn't sure of the last name and it would be easier to fudge if he didn't have to go around asking for a Stanley Might-Be-This-This-Or-This. There were only three hotels in all of Los Banos, so he was hopeful that he could get the evidence he needed and then be on the road again before noon. Once he had settled all of this he could eat and then sleep for the next week.
Holding up the scrap for the woman to see he said in a sheepish voice, "I wonder if you could help me. I'm looking for an associate, but I accidentally spilled my drink on this paper where I wrote his name and number, so all I've got is a few numbers and 'Stanley'. A Stanley Khein? Ehnki? I can't tell," he squinted at the scrap. "I think it has a K, an E, maybe an N in the last name? Do you know if there's anyone here by that name?"
Lois gave him a look, but accepted the scrap grudgingly and peered at it over her eyeglasses, "Stanley, hm? Let me look, dear."
"Thank you. Thank you so much, this is really important and I feel like a total idiot, but…"
"I understand." She paused as she looked through the list of guests on the computer and then with a smile, pointed to the monitor and said, "Ah hah, here we are! Stanley Kehin. Here, I'll write the number of his room down for you."
Shawn stared, thunderstruck, as she wrote the number down. Okay, apparently his luck had improved vastly overnight. Bell was in the exact same hotel he had stayed in? What were the odds? …Actually, the odds were one in three, but that sort of killed his amazingly-awesome-new-luck theory.
"Here you are, dear," she said, handing a post-it-note to him.
He took it, trying to shake himself out of his shocked stupor. "Thank you, thanks so much. I really appreciate this," he said.
She smiled. "No trouble at all dear."
Shawn headed back to the elevator to go scope out the room he was going to have to find a way to sneak into, and glanced down at the number.
It was the one right next to his. The one where the guy had been staring at him as he had gotten in last night. He spazzed out for a second, hissing, "No freaking way!" He had looked into the eyes of a cold-blooded cop killer for a split second the night before. Unbelievable. Now he knew the odds of that happening were ridiculous.
Something struck him and his jaw dropped. He had recognized the guy's eyes. He'd been totally creeped out because, oh, that's right Shawn, you've freaking seen those eyes in a newspaper article detailing his death. That wasn't good. How had he missed something like that? How?
He didn't realize he was frozen until a room maid nearly ran into him. "Sorry," she said cheerfully, and didn't sound like she meant it. Shawn shook himself out of it. Now was not the time to analyze why his powers of perception were apparently failing.
He needed to get his room key back. Not to mention figure out exactly how he was going to get Bell's key. He went back to the lobby, smiling at Lois again and she returned the smile. "Now what is it you need?"
He grinned. "I'd actually like to get my room key again, if that's possible."
"Forget something?"
"I did," he said sheepishly, and she bent to get the key. He tapped Gus' car key idly on the counter, glancing around the lobby as he waited for her to find it. It wasn't until he looked out into the parking lot that he figured out what he was going to do. He knew how he was going to get the key to Bell's room.
"Here you are, dear," she said, holding his room key out for him to take and he accepted it, simultaneously hitting the Emergency Alarm button on Gus' key chain with the hand in his pocket. Outside, Gus' car began making an unholy racket with alarms, bells, whistles, blinking lights…the whole works, and he and Lois looked up.
"Oh, what on earth is it now…?" she muttered and put a hand on Shawn's arm apologetically. "I'm sorry, I have to go see what this is about, I'll be right back."
Shawn smiled, waving her away. "Oh, no, no problem. Go on." He watched until she had disappeared out the doors of the hotel and then with a quick cursory glance around the lobby, rushed around the counter, and grabbed one of the spare keys from the hook under the counter labeled with Bell's room number.
He quickly resumed his place on the other side of the counter, taking on his most casual pose as he surreptitiously hit the Emergency Alarm button again, shutting it off. A moment later Lois came back in looking exasperated and said, "I'm sorry about that. I don't know what happened."
He smiled. "No problem. Am I good to go?"
She nodded. "Yes, dear. Just bring the key back down when you've gotten what you forgot. Thank you for your patience."
"Thanks for your help." He flashed her one last mega-watter and then turned and walked back to the elevator, a smirk taking over his features. At this rate, he would be eating lunch with Gus in Santa Barbara.
Upstairs once again, he set up camp in his room, leaning up against the backboard, waiting for the sound of Bell leaving his room. Thank God for the paper thin walls of hotels. He sat there, staring at the wall, analyzing his reflection in the small television screen, picking at his nails… After fifteen minutes of listening to Bell watch TV, Shawn's head had begun dipping precariously as he drifted off and he decided he needed to speed the process up a little. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the front desk.
"Hello, Los Banos Days Inn, how can I help you?"
Shawn used his best imitation of a panicking woman. "There's been an accident—an accident—it's an emergency! Please, please, ask Stanley Kehin to meet me at the Starbucks up the road, please, I'm begging you, it's an emergency!"
"Oh—oh—okay! Just hold on a minute dear, I'll get him—"
"No, no just tell him to meet me! The Starbucks, please!" Shawn promptly hung up, and waited for the sound of a ringing phone in Bell's room.
Not even thirty seconds later he heard it, and smirked. The phone was picked up after just one ring, a muffled conversation took place, and then Shawn heard the sound of Bell's door opening and closing. He grinned to himself, waited a moment, and then went out into the hallway, backpack over one shoulder. He was getting the hell out of here as soon as he had what he needed. He glanced down the hallway and then pushed his way into Bell's room. It was identical to his own room, except reversed. There were clothes piled beside the bed, two suitcases stacked in the corner, and a duffel bag poking out from under the bed. He promptly decided that was his best option and knelt, already pulling it out and open.
Jackpot.
Inside he found a gun, and more importantly, the badges of the officers Bell had murdered. Shawn unshouldered his backpack, rooting around in it for something to use to pick up one of the badges, finally just using yesterday's boxers. He wrapped the badge in them and then tucked the bundle inside his bag. The smile on his face blossomed. This was it. The end to all his problems—no one could stay mad at him (okay, Lassiter could, but that was his default setting anyways) now.
Behind him, a key slid into the lock.
All the color from Shawn's face drained. Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit SHIT. Why hadn't he been paying closer attention? Why? He was so screwed.
He glanced around, saw nowhere good to hide, and bolted behind the door, backpack in hand, just as it swung open. He flattened himself against the wall.
Humphrey Bell didn't look like a serial killer from behind. Shawn peered out the gap between the door and the wall, taking in his dark, thinning hair. It was less greasy than he had expected, like he actually shampooed it, and he was wearing a hoody. It was hardly fear-inspiring.
But Bell was moving way too slow for anyone's comfort, muttering angrily to himself. He was an inch away from Shawn. An inch, and the fake psychic could actually smell his aftershave. Shawn's heart beat in his throat.
Don't turn around, don't turn around, don't turn around…
Bell didn't turn around. He walked forward another slow step, and Shawn watched the way his eyes darted around the room. He was paranoid (the phone call had to have made him jumpy) and the psychic really didn't like the fact that, standing almost directly behind him, he could tell, even from here, that Bell was nearly a head taller and had probably fifty pounds on him.
Not cool.
Bell finally moved completely past the door, and Shawn pressed himself as flat as he could against the wall, trying not to breathe as Bell glanced right and left, still cursing softly under his breath. Now was the time to make his move.
Shawn snaked a hand out, catching the door as it swung shut, trying to silently slip past the closing door. He glanced back at the room, and it was then, his back half-turned away, eyes taking in Bell and the beds in front him, that he realized his deadly mistake.
He hadn't shoved the duffel bag back under the bed.
All attempts at inconspicuously sneaking out were done. He banged the door against the wall but Bell had already seen the duffel and had turned, catching sight of the fake psychic making a break for his door. He screamed something truly disgusting, but Shawn was already out in the hall, legs pumping.
He smashed into the side of the hall with a choked cry when Bell body-slammed him. Bell forced him to the floor, face scraping along the wall as the bigger man shoved his head into the hotel carpeting, his already muddy brain swimming with the force of the blow.
Shawn lay stunned, staring dazedly up at the ceiling panels sliding past his vision, choking as his shirt collar tightened under his chin. A second later the door jamb of Bell's hotel room met his gaze and he was pulled into the darkened room. It wasn't until Bell jerked him up by the shirt collar, grasp tight on the shirt on his back, that Shawn realized he had been dragging him by the shirt down the hall. He blinked, vision clearing and the ringing dying in his ears.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Bell demanded, slamming him up against the wall. Shawn's head smashed into the plastic-like walls, his mind reeling. "Who are you with? WHO ARE YOU WITH?"
Shawn's thoughts spun. "I—"
He couldn't think of anything. Nothing. His mind was a complete blank. Shit.
Bell snarled, shoving Shawn's head harder into the wall. The backpack was suddenly ripped from his shoulders and he could hear the sound of Bell rummaging through the pack, one hand still on the psychic's head. Bell suddenly cursed.
"You little thief," he hissed into his ear. He shoved the police badge into Shawn's line of vision. "WHO ARE YOU WITH?" he half-screamed, spittle flying as he dug into the smaller man's back.
Shawn let out a strangled sound as the pressure on his head increased, grinding the side of his face against the wall. And it was then, staring at the desk a foot to his left, that he got one last, desperate idea.
"Okay," he said, forcing his hands up in a surrender-gesture. "Okay! I give." Bell backed off slightly as the psychic started to turn.
Shawn glanced at the desk, then back at Bell. His mouth shot into a triumphant smirk. "Raining on your parade dude," he said, and grabbed the ice bucket, swinging as hard as he could.
There was a loud CATHUNK and Bell dropped heavily to the ground. Shawn whacked him again for good measure but was already moving, dropping the bucket on his head as he leapt over the prone figure. He fumbled for the duffel bag (no point in being sneaky now) then grabbed it, already leaping for the door. He sprinted down the hall.
It didn't hit him that he'd done it until the doors to the elevator had closed and he was halfway through the second floor. Holy crap, he had done it. He had gotten his evidence. He started dancing around, singing in falsetto, "Iyeeeeee am the chaaaaaaampioooooooooon, and youuuuuu are the looooooooooser, 'cause Iyeeeeeee am the chaaaaaaampiiooooooooon…of the world!" A moment later the doors to the elevator opened in the lobby and he was standing quietly in the center of the elevator, hands folded composedly and very tightly around the handles of the duffel bag.
Lois had one second in which to yell "Your room key!" before Shawn had shot past her. He was out the front door before she realized he had thrown it in the middle of the floor, and she shook her head bewilderedly, bending to pick it up. They got the weirdest people at these hotels.
Shawn pulled Gus' keys out of his pocket as he ran, and an ecstatic whoop could no longer be contained. This was as good as it got. Everything would be back to normal soon and he wouldn't have to defend himself anymore. He flung the door to the car open and jumped inside, grinning like he hadn't in days. One road trip more and he would be redeemed.
Chapter End Notes:
Woohoo! Things finally start to wind down:D
