Lassiter spent a fitful night, dwelling on his argument with Shawn. Bringing Sylvia to Tom Blair's Pub had been a mistake. But Spencer had started it. And that woman he'd brought—Lassiter couldn't stop picturing her and Shawn together in increasingly more contorted sexual positions. It evoked a sour feeling in his chest. He'd been jealous often enough to recognize it when he felt it, but it usually reared its head in competitive work environments, not personal relationships. And while he'd been jealous of men before, he'd never been jealous over a man before. It felt unfamiliar, yet disturbingly real.
As he brushed his teeth and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, it occurred to him that Shawn was right. He hadn't had a steady relationship in years. The truth was, he hadn't made it a priority. If his divorce was anything to judge by, relationships weren't exactly his strong suit. But that didn't stop him from wanting one. And if his daydreams lately were anything to go by, he wanted a relationship with Shawn Spencer.
If his furtive online research was anything to go on, lots of straight men had had some same-sex experiences. So what he'd done with Spencer didn't necessarily mean he had to march in a parade or develop an appreciation for musical theatre. But dating another guy was…different. And even if—and it was a big if—that was something he wanted, it didn't mean it was a good idea. Pursuing Spencer would cut the legs off his career and make him the target of station house jokes for years to come. He could hear the puns on 'head detective' already. And if word got around town it was only a matter of time before it reached his mother. And that was not a conversation he was looking forward to having. Hell, she'd had a conniption when she found out that he and Victoria had separated. Even putting all that aside, there was the emotional risk to consider.
Spencer's too flighty to risk going out on a limb for, he reasoned.
But how risky was it? As he replayed the argument with Shawn over in his mind he become convinced that Shawn's words held some hidden meaning. He'd said, "you should learn to follow your gut, wherever it leads," and "don't make every decision based on what other people think." Was he hinting that they should have a relationship, no matter what people might think?
The problem was, he didn't have enough facts to base a decision on. Before he even considered putting himself and his career on the line, he needed to be sure. He'd had too much disappointment in his love life to risk having his heart stomped on again. Experience had proved that he couldn't rely on people like Spud to get information. He'd have to do it himself. But he never could get a clear answer out of Spencer, and asking direct questions just made it worse. He'd have to trick him into making his intentions clear.
He stared at the card that Lieutenant Mclaughlin had given him. If Shawn had used that yoga instructor to make him jealous, there wasn't really anything wrong with a little revenge, was there? He did need to get together with Keith to discuss the homicide case. He'd just need to make sure their meeting looked like a date. Taking him to Natalino's ought to do it. Lassiter pulled out his phone and paused. He felt guilty about using Lieutenant Mclaughlin in this way, but it was different for men like Mclaughlin—guys with perfect features, romantic jobs, and easy, sociable personalities. They could have anyone they wanted. Guys like Lassiter needed to take their advantages where they could find them. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in Keith's home number.
Keith Mclaughlin, wearing his light blue uniform shirt, navy pants, and Lieutenant's badge, walked into the station and stopped at the information desk where Officer Allen was chatting to a friend on the phone.
"I'll have to call you back," Allen said abruptly, and hung up. "And what can I do for you?" She straightened her posture and offered Keith a friendly smile. Although Madame Yolanda's daily horoscope hadn't mentioned romance, her Chinese horoscope had mentioned there might be new relationship possibilities opening up this month.
"I'm looking for Detective Lassiter," Keith said.
"Are you sure?" Officer Allen asked, not bothering to hide her disappointment.
"Keith!" Lassiter spotted him and waved him toward his desk.
"I brought that report." Lieutenant Mclaughlin held up a manila file folder.
"Great," Lassiter said, glancing over at Shawn. It had taken some manoeuvring to make sure that both men were in the station at the same time. First, he'd reminded Chief Vick to cut a cheque for Spencer's help on the Maxwell case. Then he'd suggested that O'Hara should call Spencer to let him know the cheque was ready. She'd taken the opportunity to arrange lunch with him and Guster. Finally he'd invited Keith to come with his preliminary report on the fire debris by for a working lunch.
Lassiter felt a surge of triumph. Keith cleaned up well. And if the badge clipped to his belt right at crotch level made Lassiter feel like he had a dirty mind it would certainly draw Spencer's attention. He pulled a chair up to his desk and invited the Lieutenant to sit. Keith opened the folder and began to walk Lassiter through the possible leads they'd found. He produced a photo of the floor of the burned out structure. Lassiter squinted at the image of a grimy concrete surface.
"What am I looking at here?" he asked.
"It's a shoe print." Keith traced the outline of the print with his finger. "The arsonist stepped in the gasoline, tracked it, and when the place went up the footprints were preserved."
"How do you know this print wasn't left by one of your guys?" Lassiter asked.
"These tracks could only have been made before the fire was lit. Chromatography shows it was gasoline. Gasoline burns quickly. This footprint was seared into the floor paint almost as soon as the fire was lit."
Lassiter smiled. Here, at least was something to go on. "It's not very distinct," he complained.
"If you don't like that one, try these." Keith pulled a series of close-ups from the folder. "Notice anything?" Lassiter leaned in close to examine a photo of the footprint framed by an L-square.
"Our arsonist has a pretty small foot," Lassiter said. He glanced across at O'Hara's desk. Shawn looked like a child being told there was no Santa. The plan was working better than he'd hoped.
"Exactly," Keith said enthusiastically, "It's a woman." He smiled. Lassiter noted that although Keith's teeth were white, one of his lower incisors had grown in behind the others. Maybe he was human after all.
"This is great," Lassiter said. "I'll run down some female suspects with previous arson convictions and I should have the autopsy report by this evening." He lowered his voice in what he hoped wasn't too furtive a manner. "You're still up for tonight?"
"Of course. Dinner and autopsy reports sound very appetising." Keith laughed. "I'll see you then." He slapped a friendly hand on Lassiter's shoulder and headed for the door.
"Who was that?" O'Hara asked, when Keith had left. "He's hot." She looked at Gus and quickly added, "If you like that sort of thing, I mean."
"Well I do," said Officer Allen, smiling widely. "He's total calendar material."
"It's okay," Gus assured O'Hara. "He is a nice looking man." He caught a curious look from Shawn and added, "If you like that sort of thing."
"His name's Keith Mclaughlin," Lassiter said. "He's helping out on my homicide case."
"I thought you didn't like arson investigators," Shawn said, all trace of jollity gone from his voice. "What was it you said? They always think it's arson because it keeps their jobs viable?"
"This case is definitely arson." Lassiter watched Shawn from under hooded eyes, holding his smile in check. "Plus, it's a pleasure to work with someone who's professional and diligent and doesn't need to go into obscene contortions every five minutes."
"I'd like to see that fireman go into some—" Officer Allen cut off her sentence as she noticed a blonde woman at the reception desk, her arms crossed and an irritated expression on her face. "Find out if he's single," she begged O'Hara, before hurrying back to her post.
"Actually," Lassiter said, "He just started seeing someone. But if it doesn't work out I'll let you know." He enjoyed the look of shock on Shawn's face as he walked past them and into the break room. He didn't actually need anything in the break room, but it had felt like such a perfect exit line that he couldn't resist. He helped himself to some ginger cookies he found in the cupboard.
"So, Lassie," Shawn asked when he returned to the bullpen a few minutes later, "We're going for Chinese food. Want to tag along?"
"No thanks," Lassiter said. "I've got too much to do here." He sat at his desk and pretended to sort his case files, but inside he was bursting with joy. Shawn was touching the back of his chair and standing close enough that Lassiter could smell whatever scent he was wearing. It smelled clean and citrusy.
"That arson homicide case sounds tough." Shawn said, perching on the edge of the desk as if he owned it. "Have you thought that a fireman might have done it?"
"Based on what?" Lassiter asked. "The fact that the only other arson case you worked ended with us arresting Army Johnson?" Shawn's leg was so close he could have reached out and touched it. He gripped his pen tightly as if to prevent his hand from stroking Shawn's leg of its own accord.
"That," said Shawn, "and on the fact that I recently saw Backdraft. You know the ride makes a lot more sense once you've seen the movie."
"Well we don't base police work on rides at Disneyland," Lassiter said. "Otherwise we'd have arrested Johnny Depp long ago." Attractive or not, the man had glorified piracy to a generation of impressionable youth.
"Actually," Gus pointed out, "Backdraft is a Universal Studios Hollywood ride."
"I've heard it both ways," Lassiter and Shawn both muttered.
"So you're working late then?" Shawn asked, running his hand suggestively across Lassiter's desk. The move made Lassiter imagine Shawn stopping by late, when it was almost dead at the station and they could be alone. He forced himself to overcome his desire to grab Shawn by the hand. He opened a drawer of his desk and took out a paper bag.
"Not tonight. I have a date." He tried not to smile too widely, lest his expression reveal how much he loved seeing Shawn getting a taste of his own medicine.
"With Sylvia?" Shawn licked his lips and lowered his eyelids. "I'm surprised she's still talking to you."
"No, someone new." Lassiter removed the can of Dr. Pepper he'd purchased for this very moment, leaned back in his chair and popped the tab. "We just met, but we've really hit it off." He looked up at Shawn and for a moment the desire to confess that the dinner was strictly work was almost overwhelming. He took a sip of the soda. "You know, I have to thank you for introducing me to this flavour of soda. I'm really enjoying it." He could actually see the man thinking, trying to puzzle out what Lassiter was doing.
"I'm so glad you've met someone," O'Hara said, breaking the spell between them. "It's nice to see you putting yourself out there. Where are you going?"
"Natalino's on the boardwalk," Lassiter said between sips of Dr. Pepper. "It's quite nice."
"Natalino's is romantic." O'Hara smiled approvingly. "I'm sure she'll love it."
"I'm sure we will," Lassiter said.
That afternoon Gus entered the Psych office and noticed that the screen of his laptop featured a topless man in low-slung fireman's pants covered in glistening beads of sweat or water. Shawn walked in from the next room eating a pudding cup and Gus pointed accusingly at the laptop.
"Tell me you're not surfing for gay porn at work, on my computer," Gus said sternly.
"Of course not," Shawn said, waving his spoon dismissively. "I'm Google-stalking Lassiter's new boyfriend." He pointed his spoon at the image. "That's his SBFD calendar picture from two years ago." He pressed a few keys and brought up a new photo. "And here's a picture of him rescuing a kitten from an apartment fire. Actually rescuing a kitten, Gus. It's obscene."
"I hate to say I told you so," Gus said, "but I did predict this would end badly."
"You thought that we'd have a bad breakup and Lassiter would go all Harry Callaghan on me. Neither of us could have foreseen this. It's like being cold-cocked by Betty White at an Emmy Awards dinner. It's unpredictable." Shawn made the motion of throwing a punch, pulled something slightly in his arm and spent a few seconds grimacing as he worked out the kink.
"True," Gus said, giving him a look that suggested he found Shawn's physical fitness level sad indeed. "Lassiter is the last guy I'd have expected to jump feet-first into gay dating." He looked suspiciously at Shawn. "Whatever you did to him, I never want to hear about it."
Shawn glared at the laptop. "This guy is gorgeous. And he'd dating my detective. It's wrong. Yet hot. Like masturbating to a Ke$ha video." Shawn ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily.. "I have to put a stop to this."
"He's a grown man, Shawn. He can date whomever he wants."
"No. I can't stand by and just let this happen. Come on, Gus!" Shawn pleaded. "Who knows how far Lassie might go?"
"It's not how far Lassiter might go that worries me," Gus said. "Besides, I know a bit about Keith from my volunteer work down there. He's a nice guy. You should leave him be.
"I don't care if he's a nice guy, Gus. He's moving in on my detective. " Shawn put on a high voice, "And he best come correct, or step."
Gus looked at him with a disapproving stare. "That wouldn't be a Wayans brother you were trying to imitate just then, would it? Because we have had this conversation before. You do not refer to the Wayans clan, however obliquely, without reverence. Now answer my question. Was that supposed to be a Wayans brother?"
"Yes, it was," Shawn nodded and looked abashedly at the floor, contrite.
Gus, no longer mad, asked. "Was it Shawn Wayans?"
"Yeah it was." Shawn nodded his head.
"I though it was Shawn." Gus nodded his head, too.
"I don't mean to sound all Single White Female here," Shawn said, his voice once again revealing his frustration, "but that should be my date with Lassie. It should be me going to Natalino's." He frowned and smacked the office chair so that it spun in a circle.
"It sounds more Fatal Attraction than Single White Female," Gus warned. "But may I remind you that neither of those movies ended well for their antagonist, Shawn."
It took a lot of begging on Shawn's part to make Gus accompany him to Natalino's that evening. Finally Gus agreed that they could walk down to the restaurant as long as Shawn didn't go inside. Shawn's plan to spy on Lassiter has included a phone call in which he pretended to be Lassiter confirming his reservation time, and the promise to buy Gus all-he-could-eat sushi at a place on the boardwalk. Gus was regretting agreeing to even this much when Shawn, his hands cupped around his eyes, peered through the window into Natalino's.
"Holy uniform fetish!" Shawn said loudly, "That fireman's stealing my police officer!" A woman studying the menu in a glass case by the door turned and stared at Shawn. Gus grabbed him by the arm and pulled him further along the bank of windows.
"If you're going to do this," Gus advised, "don't be so damn obvious. Show some cool." He plastered his back against the wall of the restaurant and then peered quickly and furtively into the window. He turned back to Shawn. "I can just make out Lassiter and Keith Mclaughlin."
Shawn shook his head. "Don't say their names that way."
"What way?" Gus shook his head and wrinkled his forehead in confusion.
"Like they belong together. Like they're McMillan and Wife. Like you're announcing them at their big gay Canadian wedding. Say either Keith Mclaughlin and Lassiter," he made quick chopping motions with his hands, "or Lassiter and Lieutenant Manstealer."
"Fine." Gus pointed a finger at him. "But when this fiasco is over, you still have to buy me sushi."
"Deal." Shawn nodded and the two bumped fists. Shawn imitated Gus' spy moves and lay flat against the wall and peered around the window into the intimate restaurant. "This totally bites," he said, frustration evident in his tone, "This is my date."
"Shawn," Gus said in a concerned tone, "What did I say about you getting all Glenn Close on me?"
"No—this!" Shawn broke his cover and gestured to the restaurant in general and to the two men at the table in particular. "This…this is my date. I took Lassiter here. We ate at that table. This was our first date! I bet he's even having garlic penne." His voice sounded almost wistful.
"And now it's his first date with someone else." Gus clapped a hand onto Shawn's shoulder. "I hate to say I told you so, but I think there's a lesson in this."