Chapter 28
"But I don't wanna go!" Shawn whined.
Gus stood in the bedroom doorway of Shawn and Lassiter's room, holding out one of Shawn's nicer shirts in his direction, a stern look on his face.
"Shawn, you haven't been out all week, and the fact that your dad came by last night to have dinner with you and you actually had a civil conversation with him tells me that you need to get out of the house! And, no, lunch with your boyfriend does not count as getting out of the house," he said, cutting his friend off before he could protest. "Now, you are going to put on the damn shirt and we are going to go out and have a good time. If nothing else, you can get a bit drunk while I try to get lucky. Does that sound good to you?"
Shawn stared at the shirt, obviously annoyed, and then said, "Fine. But dude…you know yellow isn't my color."
He pulled the shirt out of his hands and stepped past his friend into his room and wandered over to the closet, where he pulled out a purple button up. If he was going out, he was going to look damn fine, and so the purple shirt was the one he was wearing. It had gotten him lucky more times than he could count. Okay, so it had gotten him lucky once, but that was more than enough reason for him to wear it a second time. Hell, maybe if he wore it around his boyfriend, he would finally get laid.
Gus stared at him for a moment as he changed his shirt. He rolled his eyes and turned away, however, when Shawn dropped his jeans and reached in to pull out the tightest pair of pants that he owned. Of course. The man was an attention whore. It didn't take much deductive reasoning to figure that one out.
With his back still to him, he said, "Okay, then. We're going out. Since I am having to cater to your slightly broken state, where would be best for you?"
"Aw, man, you do care!"
Gus rolled his eyes.
"Shawn, don't make me regret doing this."
Spencer laughed and shook his head, and as he pulled his coat on and slid his wallet into his back pocket (how it fit, Gus did not know, it defied all the laws of physics), he thought about where he wanted to go. And then it hit him. A devious smirk appeared on his face (which did not go unnoticed by his friend) and he said, "Well, I know a good place on the other side of town. They make a mean Shirley Temple and everyone there is always looking for a good time. A place called D'Oro."
Gus's face scrunched up slightly at the mention of the name, and he replied, "It sounds familiar…didn't it open about three years ago?"
Shawn nodded.
"Yep. And they have an amazing set up, man. I've been there before, and let me tell you…it is definitely your scene…"
Gus looked at his friend, wary of his words, considering that only a minute before, Shawn had been protesting leaving at all, but then brushed it off. All that mattered was getting him out of the apartment.
"You brought me to a gay bar?!" Gus hissed in his ear as they approached the bar, Shawn needing to sit down as his sides were starting to hurt.
"Dude, you wouldn't have come otherwise! Besides, you blend in with your pink shirt and slacks, anyway," he replied, glancing at his friend's outfit: a pink button-up Armani shirt (Gus insisted that it was salmon, and not pink), tailored grey dress pants (generic store brand, but tailored by a professional after the fact to make them look nicer), and finely polished and buffed leather shoes which probably cost more than two weeks salary. Geez. He was more fashion conscious than a lot of the gay men that Shawn knew.
"Shawn, why are we here?" he asked, staying as close to him as possible as Shawn ordered them two drinks. "I thought you and Lassiter were doing fine. Why are you coming to a gay bar and dragging me along? You're not…you're not thinking about cheating on him, are you? Because, if you are, then I am out of here…"
Shawn grabbed his arm and pulled him close, ignoring the suggestive look the bartender shot him as he did and said under his breath only loud enough for Gus to hear, "Lassi's been working a case here, and I just want to see what he's up to, okay? I'm worried things are gonna go all sideways, so I decided it would be best if I came here to keep an eye on things. You know," he added, gesturing with his free hand, "Make sure that no one tries to…uh…well…you know…"
Gus pulled back slightly, suddenly realizing why his best friend was acting so weird.
"Oh. My God. We're here because you're jealous? You have got to be kidding me, Shawn!"
"I am not jealous!" he protested. "I am just cautious and careful and worried and—oh dear god, there he is, hide me!"
He ducked his head behind Gus while Gus rolled his eyes, but he looked anyway and was slightly surprised to see Lassiter walking into the bar appearing a bit rougher than he'd ever seen him. He had about two days' worth of scruff from not having shaved, and he wore tight jeans, beat up boots, and a leather jacket. Hold on…that leather jacket looked familiar. It looked really familiar…
"Shawn, isn't that the jacket you bought for Lassiter one year for Christmas but never gave him?"
The fake psychic nodded, while still trying to remain hidden, sipping on a virgin piña colada through a straw at an awkward angle as he practically plastered his upper body against the bar, trying to keep an eye on his boyfriend as he buried himself into the background. Shawn took a rather noisy sip, his straw slipping from his drink. The guy sitting next to them, a muscular, tanned blond, shot him a flirtatious smile and lifted the straw back into his drink. Shawn returned the look, but then ruined it by taking another long sip and then hissing, "Ah, brain freeze, brain freeze!"
He sat up, shoving Gus in front of him to stay unseen, and then said as he pressed a hand to his forehead to quell the headache brought on by his own stupidity, "Gus, tell me what he's doing."
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me, man! I am not going to be used as-"
"You can use my X-Box for the next two weeks."
"Looks like he's talking to some guy," he quickly replied, multiplying in his head how many hours he could get in on Call of Duty: World at War, and if it would get him ahead of his friend for once.
Shawn took another sip of his drink and then said flippantly, "Gee, that's so informative. 'Some guy'. Wow. I never would have known that if I had looked myself, but, you see, I can't, because if Lassi sees me, then-"
"You'll be sleeping on the couch again?" Gus interrupted, but Shawn protested and replied, "No! Instead, he will most likely withhold affection in the same way that I have been withholding it from him for the past few days. Hell, I even took to wearing peppermint chapstick. I'm not sure if he's forgiven me for that, yet."
Gus winced as he remembered Lassiter's allergy and said, "Ouch, Shawn. That's low, man. Even for you."
The fake psychic shrugged his shoulders and stirred his drink with his straw and then peeked over Gus's shoulder, trying to get a better look, but groaned under his breath when he realized that he couldn't see very well from where he was, as most of the bar was backlit, and he was directly under the lights, making him see nothing but indistinguishable shadows of people gyrating on the dance floor.
"Describe the guy," he muttered as he took another drink.
Gus squinted.
"Uh, tall. Like six foot one, easy. Brown hair, tanned. Nice clothes…uh, hell-o, is that a Brunello Cucinelli? How the hell did he get his hands on one of those in Santa Barbara?" he mused out loud, letting out a low whistle of approval as he also recognized the brand of shoes and watch. "Uh, Shawn, this guy has to be your drug dealer, because there's no way anyone around here can afford an ensemble like that, especially the suit."
Shawn snorted and took another sip through his straw and said, "Bruno Coo-coo-cachoo? Is that name supposed to mean anything to me, man? What, it's like, a couple hundred or something?"
His friend scoffed.
"Cucinelli, Shawn! And it's more like nearly five grand."
He coughed and spit up part of his drink as he retorted, "Five thousand? Who spends that much on a suit?"
"Drug dealers, that's who."
Shawn tilted his head and nodded.
"Hm. You have a point there." He then handed his drink to Gus and ignored his protests as he ran a hand through his hair and undid the first few buttons on his shirt…and then one more than was actually decent, and then said, "I have a plan."
Gus snorted this time.
"Yeah, right. You? A plan? You must be out of your damn mind…"
Shawn threw him a dirty look and untucked his shirt from his pants and repeated himself, "I have a plan. It involves you buying a drink for O'Daly, the guy in the Bruno Mars suit, so that I can distract Carlton long enough to get the skinny on what's going on with the cases that he's investigating and see if I can help."
"Uh, Shawn, there are nothing but holes in this plan. You do see how this is going to go wrong, don't you?"
His friend ignored him and instead turned around and then threw over his shoulder, "I can't hear you, man, because I'm too busy being fabulous. Now, order that man a drink or I'll end up ruining Lassi's cover. Now, you don't want that on your conscience, do you?"
He strutted away (it was a strut, and nothing anyone else said could convince Gus otherwise) and Gus panicked. Shit. He was going to have to do this, or else, just as Shawn had said, he would end up ruining the head detective's cover. Quickly, he turned to the bartender and gave him his most ingratiating smile and said, "Can I order that man over there a drink? The one in the Cucinelli? Whatever his usual order is will be fine."
The bartender smirked and began to pour JJ&S Dublin Whiskey over two ice cubes, and said, "You know your suits."
Gus shrugged and tried not to grin as he replied, "Not to boast, but I do know fashion..." He paused and glanced at the man's nametag. "…Cory."
Cory smiled, a perfectly white grin, and then made a motion towards O'Daly, two fingers in the air. The man looked over at just the right time. Shawn had sidled up to his boyfriend during the distraction and grabbed his arm, quickly dragging him away from the couches on the edge of the dance floor, over to the very shadowed corner of the restrooms. Cory nodded and pointed at Gus, showing he was the one who had bought the man the drink and O'Daly headed towards him, along with one of his bodyguards.
Gus's stomach clenched as it finally hit him that he had just bought a drink for a drug dealer.
"So," the Irish mobster drawled as he picked up his drink and gave Gus a once over that left him feeling decidedly uncomfortable. "Wha's a boy like you buyin' a drink for a guy like me?" He threw back the whiskey like a shot and Gus simply shrugged and decided to tell the truth. Well, part of it.
"I like your suit."
O'Daly grinned and then leaned in and offered a hand, saying, "My name's Evan, boyo. Now," he added as he pushed into Guster's personal space, his hand too tight around Gus's fingers, nearly crushing them as he hissed into his ear, "I 'preciate the gesture, but if you dare try an' buy me a drink again, I'll shoot your knees out. You're a straight man in the wrong place. Now get out, you piece of shit."
Sufficiently scared, and deciding that Shawn could fend for himself, he nodded and left the bar quickly, glancing over his shoulder as he went, only seeing the vague shadows of Carlton and Shawn, who seemed to be on his knees on the floor. Lassiter probably punched him, he assumed, and quickly walked out to his car, pulling it around the corner, deciding he couldn't abandon his friend completely. He would wait until he showed up with a nice bruise on his jaw.
Part 28/?
