Shawn glanced, mesmerized, at a table stacked with day-old pastries on sale at half-price. He glanced around to make sure no associates were nearby, grabbed a box, climbed on top of the table, opened the box, devoured an éclair, and waved and made lewd gestures at the security camera before jumping back down. He proudly pulled off a clean landing, turned to Gus, and proffered the container.
"That's disgusting, Shawn."
"Actually, it was quite delicious. Curiously crunchy, but, ah-"
"I never took you for a thief, Shawn. I mean, I've known you my whole life, but I never noticed this creepy dark side you've got goin' on. Ever since we got to Miami, man, you've-"
"There's nothing morally reprehensible about eating ever-so-slightly stale pastries, my friend."
"There is if you wave your weird little ass around in front of a security camera and devour the poor things without paying a cent for them."
"Come now, Gus. Don't be an equilateral triangle of malcontent."
"Shawn, what does that even-"
"Don't question the wisdom of the phrase, Gus. Let it flow over you. Take it in."
"It doesn't make any sense. It doesn't make any sense at all. Don't you try to tell me that-"
"Take it in like a sponge, Gus. Take it in like a sea sponge. They're noble creatures, Gus, and-"
"You know what? You don't make any sense."
"Really? Is that... really, Gus? That's it?"
"Yes, Shawn! Really! You make less sense every day! I'm not even sure how you managed to drag me out here and risk everything that I've earned for- "
"For Lassiter."
"Don't pull that-"
"Hold that thought," said Shawn. He stared at the box for a moment, then quickly arranged the remainder of the éclairs and donuts into a small pyramid-shaped heap.
"What in the world are you-"
"It's a volcano, Gus. See, the box is the moat, and-"
Shawn paused mid-sentence. Gus raided his eyebrows. Shawn then motioned over his shoulder at a security guard. Gus shook his head with exasperation. Shawn thumbed toward the front of the store, and Gus reluctantly nodded.
They threaded their way through a few aisles of the supermarket, headed toward the checkout lines. Shawn glanced back and saw the guard examining the donut volcano and saying something into his walkie-talkie. The guard glanced around, put the walkie back in its holster, picked up a donut, and took a bite. Shawn laughed and turned to Gus, who was still frowning and angry.
After reaching the front, they paused at the doorway. Shawn returned back a few feet to the dollar DVD display near the front, grabbed five copies each of Manos: Hands of Fate and They Call Him Sasquatch, and ran through the doors, setting off the security alarms. Gus laughed nervously at onlookers, then quickly followed.
Shawn threw the DVDs on the ground outside in a hurry, paused, backed up a few feet, and picked up a copy of Manos. The car was conveniently (and illegally) parked in the fire lane, so the two men easily hopped in. Gus started the ignition and pulled out.
"Now that that adventure is over," said Shawn, throwing the stolen DVD into the backseat of the car, "back to Lassiter. Look, man, I'm serious. I snuck on someone's laptop at that creepy pretentious internet cafe near the airport- "
"I hated that place."
"Yeah, me, too. Anyway, I got on yesterday and and checked The Santa Barbara Independent Online for any news of our escapades, and, man, we're making headlines."
"Headlines?" asked Gus, letting on his curiosity.
"Yeah. Right there on the website's main page- 'Sexy Smooth Psychic Surreptitiously Astounds Santa Barbara Law Enforcement, Escapes Scene Without A Sign Of-'"
"Dammit, Shawn! There's no way that-"
"Okay, okay. 'Crazy Clairvoyant May Be Consumed With Contrition For His Acts of Contempt; Courageous Cop Carlton Contemplates Catching Of Contemporary Clyde For Cheeky Escapades Of-'"
"Shawn!"
"Fine! Sooomebody's in a bad mood."
Gus just stared straight ahead.
"Don't be like that. I mean, I'll admit, it wasn't a big article with a cool name, it wasn't even front page, but, man, there was an interview, and the chief was saying that while she was sure the whole thing was a big misunderstanding, she was taking full responsibility is sending her best men out to look for us."
"That's it? That, well, that doesn't sound too bad... Hey, why didn't you tell me earlier, Shawn?"
"There may have also a picture of Lassiter with some caption or another about him being too enraged to comment, and, uh, he may have been standing next to his car... I'm not sure why he was so angry. I mean, a new paint job can't cost that much. Why, in this economy, I'm sure that car, uh, car painter dudes would happily-"
"Shawn, you stole a dozen sombreros, nailed them to his home, and spray-painted Spanish profanities on-"
"Correction, Señor Gustavo; we stole a dozen sombreros and spray-painted his house. Well, a baker's dozen sombreros, actually. I, I couldn't help but keep one for myself. It's back there with the spray-paint cans and Manos."
"Manos?"
"Nothing, Gus. Nothing. Hey, losing the rent-a-cop back there and getting out of the place was easier than I'd thought it would be, but the éclair shenanigans earlier piqued my hunger. I'm in the mood for some cuisine Cubano, man. How about we head out to El Calbareraro?"
"What?"
"It's Spanish for 'place of delicious and exotic foodstuffs'."
"No, it's not!"
"It certainly is, Gus. And frankly, I'm offended that you would even think to suggest otherwise."
"No, Shawn. In fact, I'm fairly certain that it's not a word in any language."
"Whatever, man. Let's just find a place to eat."
"Fine, Shawn. Fine."