Author's Note: Sorry it took me so long to update. Here is the next chapter. Now, I took some liberties with this chapter in how they track Shawn down. I have never understood how they knew where Shawn went so I came up with this. I hope it works and I didn't screw up too badly. Also, I did use one swear word that is a little worse than my normal foul mouth. I apologize if anyone is offended. Anyways, enjoy and please review!
When Carlton was ten years old a boy named Billy Etherton moved to his sleepy California town. The detective rarely thought about anyone from his childhood, but the memory of Billy had stuck with him over the years. Partly because it was hard to forget being chased down the street by a gigantic specimen of a child with a handful of rocks in his pocket that made perfect geological missiles of pain, but partly because it marked the first time Lassiter had stood up for himself. The first time he realized he didn't have anyone's standards to live up to but his own.
He could still remember the look on Etherton's face when Carlton had picked up a rock the size of a large egg and chucked it at the bully's head. Shock, mild panic at having the tables turned for once, and then…well, he would have liked to say that his sudden surge of courage sent Etherton running with his proverbial tail between his legs, but what followed was possibly the worst ass kicking Lassiter had received in his life. Ever.
Still, the following day, when Lassiter limped to school sporting a black eye and a split lip, Etherton didn't so much as look at him. Everyone else did, of course, but Carlton didn't mind the attention. For some strange reason girls seemed to find the bruises on his face mysterious and alluring and boys just thought he was a badass. For one whole week Carlton basked in his newfound celebrity status, but as soon as the bruises began to fade so did Lassiter's infamy. Suddenly he was just the extremely tall, skinny, and awkward boy he'd always been, but with one difference. When kids called him Mr. Bean Pole or his personal favorite Assiter he no longer cared. He'd stood up to Billy Etherton, a thug, and it had felt good. Even now, almost thirty years later, it made him feel good to bring a bad guy down, made him feel powerful. It was part of the reason he'd become a cop.
He'd checked up on Billy Etherton some five or six years earlier. The man had been divorced twice, was at least 100 lbs. overweight, and was currently serving twenty years in prison for armed robbery. Carlton would like to say he wasn't a petty man, that he hadn't visited the clink just to rub the man's failures in his face, but the prison visitor records would make a liar out of him. And Lassiter wasn't one to tell a lie, especially for a scumbag like Billy Etherton.
Why he thought of this now he wasn't sure. Perhaps it was because he was currently sprinting as fast as he could towards the gas station where Shawn lay injured or dead as if Etherton were behind him preparing to chuck a rock at his face. There was no Etherton behind him, however. Just Spencer…a gasping, sweating, old Spencer. Who was the old man now? Lassiter smiled. No, no he wasn't a petty man at all.
He was sure he'd be feeling differently in the morning when his adrenaline wore off and his age caught up to him. It had been so much easier ten years ago when he'd been nothing more than a beat cop with a dream of one day making detective. Still, the knowledge that he wouldn't feel nearly as bad as the younger Spencer brought him some comfort…and, if he were forced to admit it, some worry. A lot of worry, actually. Lassiter grit his teeth and ran faster.
"I knew it," Henry panted behind him. "I knew there was something fishy about that greasy bastard."
"What?" Lassiter wheezed. "The mechanic?"
"Yes, the mechanic. Who else? He was shifty from the beginning."
"We don't know anything yet Spencer," Lassiter grunted. "For all we know he may have been under duress."
"Duress my ass. I'll bet you my entire pension he was in on it."
"Has anyone ever told you that you are paranoid, old man?"
"Your one to talk, Bean Pole. How many spare pistols do you have hidden around your apartment?"
"I'll remind you that at least one of those pistols has saved your son's life, Spencer."
"If you had let me go back we could have found Shawn by now."
Lassiter rolled his eyes. He found it unfair that O'Hara regularly called him impatient. How the hell was he supposed to be patient with others when all his self-control and intestinal fortitude went towards not punching the Spencers in the face on a daily basis? Juliet was obviously holding him to impossible standards.
"We had no way of knowing Shawn was in there," Lassiter growled, balling his hands into fists even as he jogged. "There were no clues, Spencer. Nothing to make us believe there was anything wrong."
"We should have looked anyways," Spencer said. "We should have gone inside and torn that place apart whether the mechanic allowed it or not."
"And tell the department what, Spencer? That I entered a private business with the intent to perform a search without probable cause or a warrant? Or that I knowingly allowed a civilian to break into said private business to perform his own search for no other reason than that his son 'might' be inside?"
"You could have lied," Henry spat. "You could have told them you heard screaming or—"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Lassiter snapped, whirling to face the older man. "Lie to the department? I could be stripped of my badge, Spencer. And if it got out that I interfered without cause it would make any evidence found against him invalid in a court of law. The bastard would walk, Henry. And who do you think he would go after first? Your son can have all the voodoo psychic powers in the world, Spencer, but they won't stop a bullet. If you haven't realized that by now then God help you."
"But—"
"But nothing, Henry. The laws are there for a reason and you know it. How many times have you seen a thug walk because a rookie cop made the smallest of mistakes? How many times have you seen bad people walking the streets because the chain of evidence was broken? No, we do this by the book, Henry. Or not at all."
"You'd just leave him to die?" Henry yelled. "Just to prove a point? You'd let him—"
"I would go get Shawn," Lassiter said coldly. "But you wouldn't. I swear to God I'll handcuff you right now and leave you on the side of road if you don't get a hold of yourself."
"You wouldn't dare," Henry hissed.
"Try me, Spencer."
The two men stared at each other for a long moment neither willing to break eye contact with the other. Lassiter had been in testosterone matches like this one before and he had no plans to lose. Henry could make or break this case and with Shawn's life on the line Lassiter had no room for ill judgment. He knew they were short on time, knew that Shawn's life could end at any moment, but he had to be sure he had Henry under control or all three of them could end up dead.
"I am going to do everything I can to save your son," Lassiter said quietly. "But, I have to do it right. We can't afford to make a mistake here, Henry. Shawn can't afford it. So, tell me now…are you going to be a liability on this rescue, Spencer? Can I trust you to act like a cop…not a father?"
"Shawn was right about you," Henry said softly. "You can be a real asshole sometimes."
"That may be," Lassiter grimaced. "But, right now, I'm the only asshole you've got. Answer my question, Spencer. Do you have my back? Can I trust you to keep a level head?"
"Yeah," Henry whispered hoarsely after a long moment of silence. "Yeah, I've got your back."
"Good," Lassiter grunted, turning back to continue his jog back to the station.
"But Lassiter?"
"Yeah," Carlton sighed, looking behind him.
"If my son dies because you wouldn't do what needed to be done I'll hold you personally responsible."
"Don't worry," Lassiter said softly. "So will I."
The two unlikely companions didn't have much to say to each other after that and Carlton was secretly glad. He wasn't someone who wore his emotions on his sleeves nor was he any good at talking people off the metaphorical ledge of destruction. He counted himself lucky that he was speaking to the elder Spencer instead of the younger. Lassiter imagined that if he were ever faced with the task of keeping Shawn from leaping off some emotional precipice he would fail miserably. The two men were too different and Lassiter had no real understanding of how Shawn's mind worked. He'd always assumed that the young psychic was as superficial as he seemed, but according to Henry there were many more layers to the man than Carlton recognized.
Lassiter thought back on all the cased he'd worked with Spencer, all the times he'd possibly overlooked some emotional maturity from the faux psychic. The first that came to mind, of course, was the time Carlton had been accused of murder. Shawn had gone above and beyond the call of duty to prove his innocence and never once doubted him despite all the reasons Lassiter had given him over the years to turn his back on the detective. He could think of many times Shawn had come to his defense, perhaps in his own roundabout way, but to his defense nonetheless. Carlton even knew that Spencer had given up the spotlight to make the older detective look good in front of the chief and the general public although the psychic would deny this with his dying breath. For that matter, so would Carlton.
Still, the man was annoying as hell at times. It was hard for Lassiter to look past the inappropriate jokes, the childish pranks, the general lack of professionalism and see the mature adult beneath. There were times he wondered if the young man had a single shred of dignity in his body. The young man got results, true enough, but at what cost? Carlton didn't buy Shawn's psychic bullshit and he lost sleep over trying to figure out how Spencer could know the things he knew without doing something illegal or at the very least against police protocol. The kid was damn confusing at the best of times and down right irritating at the worst.
Lassiter looked up from the road and was surprised to see the gas station no more than a hundred yards ahead of them. The detective smiled grimly. Time flies when you're having fun as the saying went. He could see Guster's ridiculous blue peanut of a car coming towards them at a slower speed than Lassiter would have liked. His best friend may be dying and still the little twerp was worried about scratching his precious company car…if you could even call it that.
The Blueberry screeched to a halt just as Lassiter and Henry reached the far corner of the gas station. O'Hara was the first out of the car and had already pulled her gun from her holster by the time Carlton reached them. He pulled his own piece and put out a warning hand to keep Henry and Guster behind them. Not that he expected Henry to listen but he hoped that at least some of his earlier words had gotten through to the elder man. Juliet met his eyes calmly and he felt a surge of affection for his younger partner. He'd had his fair share of reservations about her at first, but she had more than proved her capabilities as a detective and her loyalty as a friend. Regardless of how this debacle ended he was glad to have her at his side.
The two detectives split up on either side of the door and Lassiter pointed towards the door handle. Juliet nodded once, face flushed but eyes clear and determined. He would never admit it, but his fingers shook as he pulled on the door handle. His hands had never shook before. In fact, he prided himself on his capability to keep his body and mind calm in intense situations. If Shawn was alive he promised to pummel the kid for making him break his career long record of steady hands.
As soon as the door was open Juliet moved forward, gun hand steady and strong. Lassiter followed closely behind her and grimaced when his hip bumped a metal rack filled to the brim with yellowing smut magazines. A redheaded girl winked alluringly at him from the cover of a magazine with the uncreative but effective title of "Busty Broads from Around the World." He hadn't meant to look at the woman's…assets…but he had and when he turned back to face Juliet with an apologetic frown she rolled her eyes and sighed in disgust.
"What?" he hissed, keeping his voice low. "I didn't look on purpose, O'Hara."
Juliet turned to him with her eyes wide and glared, lifting a finger to lips angrily. Lassiter sighed and nodded, moving forward to make sure nobody lurked behind the sales counter. It was clear the station had not been used to sell gas or anything else for some time. Half the freezers in the corner weren't working and the ones that did work were filled with an array of T.V. dinners and beer. He glanced at the generic brand scrawled across the cans and sniffed disdainfully. Not even good beer.
Juliet pointed at the doorway on the far side of the room and the two moved inwards together. Carlton glanced behind him and was glad to see Guster and Henry had remained at the entryway. He motioned with a hand and the men all but fell through the door stopping only when Carlton put out his hand. Henry had the nerve to make a 'hurry the hell up' gesture with his hand and Lassiter had to squelch the urge to strangle him.
Ignoring the elder Spencer, Lassiter moved to the doorway and motioned for Juliet to follow him. Both cops entered the room, guns drawn and ready, but nothing was there to meet them, no criminals lurked in the shadows. Except for the one behind the tool box. The very, very dead one dressed in a mechanics suit.
"Where's Shawn?" Juliet asked breathlessly, looking at Lassiter as if he were hiding him somewhere.
Lassiter wasn't sure what to tell her…what to tell any of them. He was sure that they would find him there, positive they would walk through that door and see Shawn, hurt but alive and annoying as ever. All he could do was stand there like an idiot, gun pointed to the floor, and gape around him in utter confusion. He couldn't turn and face Henry. He was sure the look of blame and anger he saw there would bring him to his knees with guilt. He'd been on the receiving end of that look once before, from a woman he loved like a second mother, and he had never been the same. Never forgiven himself for failing her daughter, his friend.
It wasn't supposed to end this way. Carlton was supposed to be the hero in this scenario, but without a damsel in distress to rescue there could be no knight in shining, bullet proof armor. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Lassiter took a moment to grimace at his chosen analogy. Fucking damsel in distress? Seriously?
"Where the hell is my son?" Henry spat at him. "You said you'd get him back, Carlton. So where the hell is he?"
"I don't know," Lassiter whispered. "Jesus, Henry. I don't know."
Henry was about to open his mouth to reply, but the sound of sirens and screeching tires interrupted him. All four of them looked towards the door, but only Juliet and Guster seemed to have any idea what was going on.
"That will be the ambulance and Buzz with your car," Juliet said quietly. "Someone should go let them know what's happened."
With that the young woman left, leaving Lassiter alone with Henry and Guster. Neither of them said a word to him and Carlton was glad he didn't have to defend his actions…if he even could.
"Carlton," Juliet called, barely concealed excitement in her voice. "Carlton, get out here. You need to see this."
Lassiter jumped on the chance to get away from the two civilians that were currently glaring at him. He half walked, half jogged outside and found Juliet bent over something on the ground. He barely acknowledged the paramedics and beat cops scurrying around him, his eyes focused entirely on the thing in front of him.
"That brilliant bastard," he breathed. "He left us a goddamn trail."
"What?" Henry barked. "What do you mean he—oh."
Henry stared down at the trail of onion tasting snacks that led across the blacktop, taking a sharp right on the road and continuing on until it dropped out of sight. It might have been a coincidence had the snack been anything other than Funyuns, one of Shawn's favorite snacks. The fact that they were smeared with blood didn't hurt either.
"Good thinking kid," Henry muttered.
"Right," Lassiter barked, filled with renewed purpose. "O'Hara, what do you say we catch this son of a bitch?"
