Gus casually made his way to the counter and ordered his non-fat half-caff late. For once he wasn't in a rush. Having two jobs always meant that he was running from one to the other with barely enough time to do either. Of course, Shawn always monopolised what little time he did have. This was the first morning in a long time that Gus managed to sleep in, have time to get a cup of coffee and get to work on time.
"Gus!" His head spun round at the familiar voice and he smiled gently at the older man as he entered the shop.
"Mr Spencer." Henry joined him at the counter and ordered his own black coffee.
"When are you gonna call me Henry?" Henry asked, paying for his coffee. The pair walked to a small table and sat down.
"The day Shawn passes the police academy," Gus answered, taking a sip of the hot liquid.
Henry looked around, "Speaking of, where is he?" Gus shrugged. "Come on Gus, wherever you are, he's not far behind."
"Well uh, you see-"
Henry raised an eyebrow, "You too still haven't talked since the fight yesterday?...I've never seen you two angry at each other for this long." Henry thought back to all the fights the best friends had had. None had lasted longer than a couple of hours. No-one could stay mad at Shawn for very long, not even him.
"I asked him not to phone me for a week." Gus hung his head guiltily.
"Gus," Henry shook his head.
"I know. I completely blew up at him. I'd had a really really bad day and I said some things, quite a few things actually. I tried phoning him yesterday evening to apologise but I got no answer. I think I really hurt him"
"You're not the only one kid. I said some things to him yesterday too"
"I guess we've both got some serious grovelling to do."
"That's if we can find him, swung by his apartment this morning, there was nobody home."
Gus frowned, it was still early and Shawn was known for being a late riser. "Maybe he slept at the office last night, I'll stop by before work and see if he's there." Henry nodded. Gus rose from his seat, "I'll call if I find him."
"Likewise," Henry replied and then watched as his son's best friend disappeared out the door.
Shawn's eyes flung open as a loud bang of a door being slammed shut woke him. He tried to sit up and winced from the dizziness it caused and he was instantly reminded about his head injury. He squinted in the darkness and scanned the room for any clues to where he was. A sliver of light from underneath the door was his only light source and barely lit up the dusty floor in front of him. His fingers tingled from the tight duct tape holding his hands together and he could feel the same tape holding his feet together. There was no way of escaping from the tight bindings. Handcuffs, however, were a whole other matter.
He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position and leant his back against the nearest wall. The wall was cold and it sent shivers down his spine. In the silence, his mind tried to remember what had happened. He remembered Gus and his father shouting at him, he remembered packing, pulling into the garage and then…. He closed his eyes and shook his head but no new memories surfaced.
He opened his eyes when he heard footsteps. The door swung open and Shawn winced as the bright light hurt his sensitive eyes. A hand grabbed a handful of shirt and pulled him to his feet.
"Who are you?" Shawn asked. The man didn't answer. Shawn was pulled from the room and into a larger room. It looked like a workshop of some kind. Electrical wiring, pieces of metal and wood littered surfaces and rusty shaving and nails covered the concrete floor. A single exposed bulb lit the room and the harsh light highlighted the cobwebs and cracks in the ceiling.
"Who are you?" Shawn asked again.
He was answered by a fist in the face. Shawn's head swung back by the force and he heard his neck click painfully.
"Shut up," the man snarled.
"I'm sorry, don't know how." It probably wasn't the best time for Shawn to be insolent, but he suspected that he had a concussion and he always had trouble keeping his mouth shut when concussed.
Another punch to the face was his reward for speaking. "Adam," the man shouted. Shawn spun his head round and watched as a second man timidly entered the room.
"What is it, Danny?" The man asked.
"Get me the tape. I need to shut him up fast." Adam nodded and returned a second later with the silver tape. A section was ripped off and placed over Shawn's mouth. "Much better," Danny admired his work. Shawn glared at the man as he began breathing through his nose. Danny walked over to a workbench and lifted a newspaper off the top. He through it to Shawn and it landed on his lap. "Hold that up," he ordered. Shawn picked up the newspaper with his bound hands and held it up.
"Now," Danny picked a Polaroid camera off the workbench, "Say cheese!" He laughed before taking Shawn's photo.
Detective Lassiter lifted his arms up and placed them behind his head before leaning back in his chair. He sighed happily. "This is the life."
His partner Juliet looked up from her own desk "What is?"
"No Shawn Spencer," he explained.
"Ah," She nodded in understanding. "I like having him around," she shrugged, "Makes things a lot more interesting around here."
"There are enough weirdo's sicko's and murderers out on the streets making life interesting enough, without Spencer adding to the mix," Lassiter growled Shawn's name.
"Detective?"
Lassiter looked up and glared at the interruption. "Yes McNab?"
Buzz waved a plain brown envelope, "This was dropped off at reception. Doesn't say who it's addressed to."
Lassiter sighed and held out his hand, "Give it here." Buzz handed over the envelope before walking back to his desk.
"What is it?" Juliet asked.
"What, you think I'm psychic?" He ripped open the envelope and emptied the contents onto his desk. A single letter and a photo dropped out faced down. Lassiter picked up the photo curiously and turned it over. His eyes hardened at the picture.
"Carlton?" He didn't answer her. He picked up the letter in his other hand, rose from his desk and strode across the room. He burst into the chief's office without knocking.
"Detective!" Chief Vick admonished. He dropped the photo and unopened letter onto her desk without explanation. Her eyes widened at the photo and she immediately opened the letter. Letters cut out from newspapers were pasted back together into words.
"We have planted a bomb in Santa Barbara. Give us two million dollars and we will disarm it. If you don't give us what we asked or try to disarm the bomb, it will go off. If you try and find us, we will kill the psychic," Karen read aloud.
"This is not good," Lassiter spoke.
Karen looked up from the letter, her eyes landing on the photo of the psychic bound and beaten up, today's paper in his hands. "Get Henry Spencer on the phone!" She ordered.