A/N: You see, I made my promise! I even made it by missing the first seconds of the season finale of Psych to finish writing this and upload. I would like to dedicate this chapter to all of my reviewers, the whole five of you, and especially to RavennaNightwind, who reviewed my story twice. Later on, all of my reviewers will be asked to vote on an important story-deciding point, and your vote counts twice! And to all the rest of you, please review. You'll get to vote later!

Important note: There is a section in this chapter which may cause you to piss your own pants while laughing. I am not reimbursing anyone for pants or underwear lost in this manner.

Chapter 4 – The Passengers From Hell, Part 1

Still with Lassiter, just after take off

"This is your captain, David Caruso, speaking, here to tell you that we've got a nice wind out of the West and that we're ahead of schedule. We're due to arrive in Miami International Airport at …" Lassiter drained the rest of the Captain's talk out, he was too busy dreaming is La-La-La-ssiter Land, where he always had coffee, he had himself as his partner, he was allowed to draw his gun anytime he wanted, and most importantly, there was no Spencer. He was even chuckling lightly to himself, so much so that when the flight attendant came by to see if they had properly fastened their seatbelts, she just passed them by.

Most of the other passengers had already become convinced that Lassiter was insane. Upon seeing Lassiter's warped smile, the third person of their three person row immediately stood up and offered to buy someone else's seat for six hundred dollars, which he had been taken up on. That person looked at Lassiter's smile and decided to get off the plane and take a later flight. In addition, most of the travelers thought that the disheveled woman sitting next to Lassiter was equally as crazy, and there were already rumors going on through the plane about how strange their wedding must have been.

Normally, both detectives would have denied that idea faster that the Japanese Bullet train (which is pretty fast), but Lassiter was off in his own little world, and Juliet had by now fallen asleep on his shoulder.

At the front of the plane, Shawn and Gus sat comfortably in their amazing first class seats. The two had spent the first twenty minutes or so racing to see who could find the best feature first. It had been Shawn, who discovered that the chairs had massage machines in them, which both friends were now enjoying.

"Shawn, I cannot believe that this is actually happening." Gus said.

"What do you mean?"

"You're actually going through with something you said you'd do! You've always lied to me about vacations, or trips, or even nice pleasant walks that magically end up with us at crime scenes!"

"I'm glad you're happy Gus, but remember, I didn't lie about Mexico. I told you exactly what was going to happen!" Shawn insisted.

Gus' voice regained its bite at that comment. "You did lie about Mexico! You said that we were going to New Mexico, which is a state, not Mexico, the country! And you never warned me about that…" Shawn's hand clamped over his mouth prevented Gus from saying anything further.

"Heey! What's the first and last rule about Mexico?" Shawn removed his hand from Gus' mouth. Gus' face twisted into a look of deep resentment.

"I'm not going to say it Shawn. You made up that rule!"

"No, I didn't Gus, my great-great-grandfather did."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not!" Shawn said. "Do you want me to call up my Dad and ask him about it? Because I'm sure he'd be happy that you were questioning the first rule about Mexico."

Gus carefully weighed the options before him. He could call Shawn's bluff, and possibly face the one Henry Spencer lecture where he would be on Shawn's side, so he could just reiterate the first rule about Mexico.

"Fine, Shawn!" Gus seethed. "What happens in Mexico, stays in Mexico."

"Gus!" Shawn scolded. "Say it with feeling, like you mean it."

Gus showed his refusal of Shawn's request by flopping back over in his chair and pulling the shade down over his eyes.

"You're not going to do it, are you?" Shawn said. "In fact, you're probably not even listening to me right now. Yeah, I'm talking to no one. No one but the pineapples."

Gus could scarcely stand it when Shawn talked to himself, so he snapped up to face his friend again. "What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico, okay!"

"That's way better, Gus. The pineapple spirits will stop pestering you now." Shawn said, as Gus realized something.

"You couldn't have called up your Dad! He doesn't own a cell phone!"

"Oh my god, Gus, you're right!" Shawn said, realization spreading across his face. "I definitely could not have called up my Dad; he's been missing for weeks."

"And I never understood why your family's thing about Mexico sounds so much like that 'What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,' saying."

Shawn's face tightened. "We don't like to talk about that." He only said. Gus decided to leave it alone, because when ever Shawn's fact tightened, he was actually being serious. Most people just took it for a feign of being serious, as part of his whole act, but twenty years of friendship had taught Gus otherwise.

They remained in silence for the next half an hour or so, until a distraught looking flight attendant pushed aside the privacy screen protecting their seats. "I'm sorry to bother you, but are either of you qualified psychologists?" She asked.

Shawn stared at her blankly. "Well that was blunt!" he said. "I though t you flight attendants were supposed to be considerate people, but you didn't even ask that with a smile on your face." Gus just shook his head and pulled the shade over his eyes again.

The flight attendant smiled sweetly. Too sweetly. "Well, I'm sorry again, but we have a bit of a situation in the coach…" Shawn cut her off.

"Economy." Shawn said. "The Boeing spirits are very distressed that you called them coach seats. In fact, you might not want to call them that again, unless you want to anger Uahfcudo, god of all airplanes, and make him make us crash into the side of a mountain." Shawn said, all with a straight face. "You wouldn't want that, would you?"

The flight attendant was beginning to wonder if they had more than two crazy people on the plane, and started to back away slowly.

"But to answer your question, no, I am not a fully qualified psychologist. But I am a crazy good psychic!" Gus gave off a slight huff from the seat next to Shawn.

"So, you can help?" the nervous flight attendant said. "Like, how good are you?"

"Good enough, Betty, for the Santa Barbara Police Department." Shawn said, as if this claim was all the proof he needed.

The flight attendant jumped in surprise. "You knew my name! And I didn't even have a nametag on!"

"You see, I'm absolutely for real." Shawn said. "Now let me see if I can help you with your passenger problem." Shawn snapped his right hand to his temple, the 'classic' psychic vision pose for him. "Let me guess, there are two of them, one male, one female. One of them has salt and pepper hair and a slightly receding hairline, and he looks happy. Oh, but there's something else." Shawn pulled the other hand up, as if trying to get a better 'picture' from the spirits.

"He's happy, but it's odd, scary almost." Shawn said. "And the woman next to him, she's blonde, and they look like a couple, but anyone can see that she's way out of his league, and…" This time, it was Betty that cut him off.

"Uhm, I hate to interrupt your vision, but can you please get back there and help me? The passengers are getting panicky."

"Oh, okay." Shawn said, sounding disappointed. "I guess I can go tell the spirits to stop telling me stuff and save it for the good part. Because the spirits have an excellent flair for the dramatic." Shawn then got up from his seat and walked with Betty to the back of the plane.

As soon as Shawn was gone, Gus sighed, figuring he'd have at least a few minutes of privacy before the annoying man returned. But then, Burton Guster thought a little bit about the descriptions of the two people Shawn had given to the flight attendant.

And then, the realization hit him like a sack of laxative samples. Salt and pepper hair. Receding hairline. Blonde. Way out of his league.

He had been describing Carltion Lassiter and Juliet O'Hara. He knew these people.

And they were police detectives.

Who don't take vacations with each other.

Which meant that he wasn't on vacation either.

Gus yanked back the privacy screen over his seat, and let out a throaty, angry cry of "Shawn!"

Shawn had heard the gorilla-like roar uttering his name and winced. "Yeah, he's not gonna be happy." Shawn muttered. But now he was up close with the oblivious Lassiter and the sleeping Juliet. Shawn smiled. "Yeah, I can definitely help out with these two."

Inside Lassiter's dream land, which looked exactly like the police station at Santa Barbara, Lassiter was surrounded by an entire police department which was made up of exact copies of himself, and were solving cases at an unimaginable speed.

"Police Commissioner Lassiter, here is your coffee." One of the Lassiters, a basic uniformed Lassiter, said. Lassiter smiled at the lower ranked Lassiter before him.

"Thank you, Officer Lassiter." Lassiter dismissed Officer Lassiter, and turned to Captain Lassiter and Lieutenant Lassiter.

"Captain Lassiter, Lieutenant Lassiter, have you made any progress on that international smuggling ring?"

"Yes sir, Commissioner Lassiter!" Lieutenant Lassiter responded. "We've almost caught the ring of terrorist smugglers, but don't worry about our case; we know you need to focus on your case about that presidential death threat."

"Yes I do, Lieutenant Lassiter. But I'll figure it out. After all, no one is better at detective work than Carlton Lassiter." Commissioner Lassiter said.

"Commissioner Lassiter!" Lassiter heard Detective Lassiter call out, at a perfectly calm inside voice that betrayed no hints of fear or excitement. "Commissioner Lassiter, you have an urgent call from President Lassiter, and don't forget about your meeting with General Lassiter later in the day!"

"I most certainly will not, Detective Lassiter." Commissioner Lassiter said. "Junior Detective Lassiter, where are those reports I asked to be filed?"

"Already done, Commissioner Lassiter." Junior Detective Lassiter responded.

"Good, and make sure those reports get filed out, you know I hate it when…"

Commissioner Lassiter was interrupted when a huge flying horse burst through the window of the police station, landing on the floor in front of Commissioner Lassiter. Atop it rode his mortal enemy; Shawn Spencer.

"Spencer!" Commissioner Lassiter yelled out. "What the hell are you doing here? This is my world, not yours!"

Shawn just sat there, atop his Pegasus, until he uttered three words "Work the laces."

Then, he threw a pineapple at Commissioner Lassiter.

Then, that pineapple exploded.

-End-

I would have continued with this chapter, but I felt that I had to end it there. And I know it seems like I've been making a lot of fun of Lassiter in the last two chapters, but that's because they're not even in Miami yet, and this stuff is simply not going to fit in once the real story begins. And by the way, expect the chapters to come faster and be longer. First person to point out the secret in this chapter wins a special prize!

So hop to! And review! Hey, that rhymes.