1985

Deep shadows across the yard stretched from the clusters of trees- painting the lawn with cool patches of dark green. Low sunset had cooled the heat of the day, lifting a rare haze with the encroaching twilight.

Two figures crept through the neatly trimmed brush, heads covered with plastic batting caps. One held a large flashlight- beam pointed to the ground, while the other kept a small baseball bat close to his chest.

Together they stared at the long indentations sunk into the ground.

“See! I told you Gus, Bigfoot lives in my backyard!”

Eyeing his friend warily, a firm believer in the possibility of undiscovered plants, animals, and hairy monsters, Gus couldn’t say the same about his faith in his best buddy. In all honesty, the last thing he wanted to do on a school night was crawl through moderately manicured property behind Shawn’s house. Yes, he’d finished his math homework… and Shawn’s… but did that make up for the mosquitoes?

“Gus, come on!”

Dragging across the dew saturated grass, Gus could say with certainty he’d rather be doing long division.

Working their way along the side of the house, following his flighty partner, Gus gripped his mini bat a little bit tighter. Just because he thought his friend was blowing this all out of proportion didn’t mean he was certain there wasn’t a Bigfoot at the end of that trail. He did know, however, that if a drooling furry nightmare was waiting for them around the corner, he was more than willing to sacrifice friendship in the name of a clean getaway.

And this whole thing had been Shawn’s idea anyhow.

Slither slide, breaths loud, attempt at covert tactics a complete wash- Gus nearly lost control of his bladder when a hulking form suddenly lurched into view.

“AAAAAHHH!”

Joint screams likely having close neighbors reaching for phones, Gus covered his head while Shawn turned to dart back the way they had come. Traitor!

Unfortunately for him, the monster had a long grasp, and halted his progress with one hand around the departing arm- the watch face enclosing a hairy wrist reflecting in the ambient light.

Wait, watch face?

Gus let his high-pitched pleading fizzle as he noted that the monster was wearing a familiar yellow and green high-collared number and a pair of worn jeans.

And by his dying shrieks, Shawn had obviously noted this as well.

“Shawn…”

Just one word in that scary tone, and Gus was pretty sure his friend would rather be facing Bigfoot.

“Hi dad.”

The man had released his son at this point, crossing his arms in a way that drew sighs from both boys.

“What are you two doing out here? And is that my good flashlight?”

Shawn looked his way, but Gus had already accepted the loss of his friend to parental doom, so he merely raised an eyebrow. The whispered “sell out” wasn’t lost on him either. Gus wasn’t worried. After all- who was trying to ditch whom?

“Me and Gus were hunting Bigfoot!”

Cringing at the sentence structure, Gus wasn’t certain he wanted to be lumped into this particular adventure- especially not when Mr. Spencer turned down his lips at both of them. Great.

“Okay kid, why do you think Bigfoot is nearby?”

Shawn pointed at the ground. “We found footprints! And they’re huge! They have to be from Bigfoot!”

Gus nodded at that- the footprints had actually worried him a little.

A smile then, and Shawn’s dad crouched down at eye level.

“Okay kid. Why do you think they belong to Bigfoot?”

Shawn shrugged. “Cause they’re big?”

Experience told Gus this wouldn’t be the end of it- and sure enough, Mr. Spencer made the two boys crouch beside him while he pointed at the ground.

“Alright- they’re big. But what else do you see?”

Looking more intently, Shawn tilted his head. “They’re long?”

Henry’s finger tapped at the deep print before them. “Come on Shawn, look at the pattern. What does it look like?”

Really paying attention, Shawn sighed. “Theeeey… look like shoe prints.”

Henry smiled. “What kind of shoe prints?”

Straightening, Shawn pointed to his father’s feet. “Your shoe prints.”

Finally standing as well, Henry patted his son on the back. “Remember Shawn, the clues will tell you what you need to know. What’s important, is to not let your own imagination get in the way of what’s actually there. Do you understand?”

Slightly wilted, Shawn nodded. “Yes sir.”

One more head rub, and Henry turned towards the house. “You two should come inside soon, Mom is making a Jell-O cake, and it should be ready in about ten minutes.”

And then he walked away.

Gus punched his friend in the arm as soon as Henry disappeared around the corner.

“You knew those were your dad’s prints the whole time!”

Rubbing his arm, Shawn grinned. “Well duh! I would have had you too if he hadn’t ruined it!”

Gus’s hand tightened around his bat.

“Shawn, you’ve got two seconds to run.”

“Gus…”

His grip tightened a little more. “One…”

Shawn took off. “Come on- it was funny!”

Gus darted after a second later. “You better run faster Shawn!”

He was never going on another monster hunt with that idiot again!

_)()()(_

Present Day

Shawn was convinced his guardian angel, whom he’d named Rufus- a sunglasses and trenchcoat wearing protector with a gift for the steel guitar, was working overtime that morning because finding last night’s strawberry rhubarb crumble dessert still resting unmolested in its Styrofoam leftovers box was the Holy Grail of rare occurrences. Clearly Burton Snack Snatcher Guster was off his game to a monumental degree to allow such tart succulence to remain in unchewed form when Shawn wasn’t there to guard it.

Of course, given that he obviously hadn’t stopped in for his weekend janitorial duties might have been somewhat influential in the consultant still having munchables for breakfast. Hey, it was fruit and some form of bread-like substance. Darn near wholesome if one disregarded the half cup of sugar baked into its delicious depths. Although, with the overripe stenchiness of garbage lingering from the past week’s discarded banana peel and coffee filters floating past the desks- enjoying this morsel became a highly questionable undertaking.

But then, that was why God invented the outdoors.

And hey look, the sun was shining!

Settling lightly on a bench outside the building, Shawn dropped his shades over his eyes and flipped back the cover on his dessert/breakfast- stabbing his fork into crumbly goodness and shoveling an oversized bite between his teeth.

Beyond his toe tips, the distant beach glimmered, ocean lapping just past the sandy ridge of low level dunes. Patrons of relaxation had arrived on the scene hours before his gung ho alarm clock suggested he drag his ass from bed seconds before snooze was smacked for the third time. Skimpy clothing a requirement, they offered entertainment for the time it took to polish off the last delectable crumb.

Then, a flash of his watch face leading to a pocket search for his phone, he pushed out his lower lip when he confirmed, again, that Gus hadn’t called yet. Of course, the fact that his cell had neither rung nor vibrated or a combination of the two tipped him off to that fact fairly glaringly.  Damn, and he’d thought things were square between them after Gus’s little brother visit. 

Unfortunately, around the same time that the Chief had retaken control of her station, Gus had drifted back into his green trashcan monster mode.  Not only that, but he’d also been spending a lot more time at his other, slash ‘more important’, job.  And even when he was around he spent half the time with his ear plastered to his phone- though attempts at eavesdropping only earned physical pain. 

Which all boiled down to the fact that nobody was around to take out the trash.

Sooo… Indoors was out. As long as that throat choking odor continued to circulate a noxious path around the room. Maybe an outdoor office could be the new hip thing. After all, they did live in California- and peddling their wares in open view of the public was certain to bring them foot traffic. Heck, it worked great for street cons.

Not that he was…

Well actually…

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t his best idea to date.

Unfortunately, his other option was going back inside. The thing was, though he didn’t have Gus’s olfactory gift, he was no slouch in sniffing. And death by stink was not the way he’d pictured himself kicking it.

He checked his phone again.

“Oh, come on dude!”

Alright, fine. Dialing, as his father had reminded him quite frequently, went both ways.

Two buttons managed to get punched before a shadow dropped the temperature a degree and cut off essential tanning rays from his exposed musculature.

Slow turn of his head brought into view denim, denim, and yet more denim. Craning until he was nearly looking straight up, he finally found a head floating among the seagulls above. Okay, was there a rodeo going on that he didn’t know about?  Who wore overalls these days?

“May I be of assistance to you?”

Stretchy LongPants bent down from his eye-level examination of the trim to study the man resting near his ankles.

“Yes sir, could you point me in the direction of a Mr. Shawn Spencer?”

Shawn stood quickly, unfolding to his maximum height. Well hello Mr. Beltbuckle, glad to make your acquaintance. Hmm- metal in the shape of Porky, and glance at well beyond their shine leather boots confirmed that wasn’t mud in those heavy creases. Seemed not nice smells were the theme of the day.

Time to establish credibility.  Crooked fingertips hovered at his temples, the mildest expression of pain to enhance effect, and his gaze snapped skyward.  “I think I can help you. Tell me.  Would you, by chance, happen to raise pigs for a living?”

That familiar raised eyebrow stare. Yes, we have a winner!

“Wow! As it just so happens! Man, that is something else!” Dinner plate hand shoved forward, nearly clipping his chin. “Ruger McDonald!”

Completion of handshake carried out with the tiniest wince, because indeed- that grip was as tight as it appeared to be- the consultant manfully kept his squeak to the lowest decibel before tugging his rumpled digits free. One afternoon visit to the ER and a few splints- he’d be just fine. “Shawn Spencer, psychic.”

“I sure am glad to meet you. Can we go inside to talk?”

Holding his hand behind his back as he shook out the tingles, Shawn advanced the other quickly to block forward motion. “Please, I must ask for your patience. It seems a rouge spirit has taken residence in my office. He’s demanding Oreos and Bubblegum Kool-Aid, and has left an ectoplasmic trail on most of the furniture.” Actually, it was good that Gus wasn’t around at the moment as he’d certainly have received an elbow in his sternum by now.

The large hand resting on the doorknob lifted away again cautiously.

“This sort off thing happen a lot?”

That was easy. Apparently the guy wasn’t much of an Ivan Reitman fan. He turned the tall fellow towards the beach- though the guy couldn’t have stood out more amongst the swimsuited flock moving back and forth across the sand than Hulk Hogan at a Baby Gap.

Choosing to stick to the sidewalk instead of finding a bench, the two men wandered alongside the inviting shoreline- Shawn needing to put an extra stretch in his stride just to keep up with his long-legged companion. Seriously, if the guy traded in the farm gear for gym shorts he could slam dunk a basketball without even leaving the floor.

“So, Mr. McDonald…”

“Ruger, please.”

Shawn smiled easily. “And you may call me Magnum.” 

Grunting, the humor somehow rising high enough to pass over his head, the large man slowed to a stop, jamming hands into his pockets and staring out at the water beyond.

Shading his eyes, Shawn looked on appreciatively as two bikinied ladies jogged past, still wet from a recent swim. To think Gus had ever complained about renting an office next to the beach. The man must have been drinking pepper spray that morning.

At his side, he noticed one large paw lift to rub at a bearded chin, followed by a somewhat congested throat clearing as the other man readied himself to speak once more.

“Son, I have a problem.”

_)()(_

She should have worn sneakers.  That’s what most people slipped on when the weekend hit, right?  Sneakers, jeans, and a ratty yet comfortable T shirt emblazoned with something either mildly crude or obnoxiously sparkled.  The fact that Juliet actually owned such garments wasn’t completely surprising.  That she automatically donned station-wear was as strong an indicator as any that she really did need a day or two off.  It was a little sad actually.  Granted the enforced weekend break was more for her partner’s benefit than her own, him delving even deeper into his Dirty Harry personality traits since the Chief’s recent absence while recovering from her injuries.  Now that Vick was back behind her desk with only the occasional headache to contend with, her request that they take a few days to themselves was being obediently carried out.  Actually, it hadn’t really been a request as much as a demand that they ‘get the hell out of the station before I call security’.

Vacation in was then.

Driving her Volkswagen past tree-lined streets with kids playing amongst the spinning sprinklers in their yards, she found herself smiling with the barest nostalgia. Okay, yeah, Miami was more Baywatch babes than wives both Stepford and Desperate.  Still, she felt a bit of a tug seeing lawns neat and manicured, dotted with the random flower garden with nary a pink flamingo or ceramic gnome in sight.  One would never expect to find a certain Head detective frequenting such a locale unless some ballsy tot had dared set up an illicit lemonade stand without procuring the proper forms and paperwork for schlepping refreshment on the side of the road.

And yet, fifth house in, fronted by a lawn perhaps a tad less cropped than the ones around and bracketed by two driveways, one sporting a tan corvette and the other a somewhat battered truck and trailer- Juliet O’Hara finally parked her little green machine. Not a great deal different than his previous residence, though supposedly off the radar of Santa Barbara’s not-so-finest citizens- and she’d done her time in purgatory regarding the Birthday snafu of 2006, so he could just quit with the guilt trips- the house sat back from the street with a decent enough clearance to spot any approach from friend or foe.  Design chosen more for tactical advantage than homey appeal, he’d still done quite nicely in the architectural department.

Hefting a paper bag in one arm and a box of soda in the other, Juliet wrestled her load from the car and nudged the door shut with one hip.  The sidewalk was dotted with drying drops, Carlton’s automatic sprinkler system having recently finished its daily work on the slowly evolving ecosystem fronting his property.  For a guy that held himself so tightly together at work, he sure seemed to be embracing the bachelor’s existence. 

One heeled foot wobbling unsteadily as she mounted the three steps to the door, she used the toe of that same foot to knock against the wooden barrier, hoping her partner wouldn’t require her to show her badge at the peephole before allowing entrance into his sanctuary.  Come on, by now the whole bi-weekly ritual thing should have clued him in that a loud rap at his door on a Saturday afternoon was more than likely his partner and not a hitman- though suspicions suggested he liked to make her suffer because he was still carrying that vindictive torch.  It was a simple mistake! Who keeps America’s Most Wanted in their contact book, honestly!?

Still no response, and were she able to rotate her wrist she’d be checking her watch.

“Carlton!”

Another bout of toe kicking- little piggies protesting the mashing against the solid barrier- and jumping up and down on one foot was a guaranteed way of spreading sandwich making ingredients across the stoop.  Though really, he’d deserve it to have a combination of mustard and avocado spread decorate the eggshell hue of his domicile.

“Carlton!”

Nearly growling, she pondered the possibility he might be in the bathroom, certainly not capable of digging for her own copy of his house key while loaded down, she was preparing to drop the groceries into his pot of dying geraniums when a whisper-light and muffled response carried back.  Only it wasn’t from inside.

Pivoting, she looked behind and to the side, still not seeing the lanky form that had to be close by… somewhere.

“O’Hara…” Hushed, and with the second summons, it offered a direction.

Curious- though irritation would take some time to ease- she made for the driveway to the left, suspicion lowering her brows with every step.

Don’t even tell me he’s…

“Ooo- I hope there’s olive chutney in that bag.”

She wanted to rub her forehead.  She really wanted to punch him in the shin.  What she could only manage considering her victuals holding status was to glare heatedly.

“What are you doing- you call this taking a break!?”

Heavy rubber sheeting pushed aside to allow the upper half of his body to peek out, blandly ignoring her query, Lassiter hunched down from the back of the trailer compartment and easily relieved her of her baggage.  “Make sure you don some gloves before hopping up here.”  He tossed over his shoulder as he disappeared once again.

Mouth open, head shaking, O’Hara didn’t move as her partner’s body vanished inside.

“You know, if you’re wanting to play lookout, the fuchsia blouse sort of makes a bold statement… A bit along the lines of ‘hey, look at me, I’m standing guard while my partner digs through your truck’.”

Arms folded, eyes making a powerful effort to scorch through the heavy drape hiding the man from sight, she finally turned, giving the immediate area a scan.  Then, confirming they were still alone, she swiveled back in time to snag the spare latex coverings popping into sight from the edge of the enclosure.  Banking on an explanation for the sudden cloak and dagger, she followed his suggestion and snapped the thin gloves in place before gripping the tailgate and lifting her foot.

“You know, normal people might consider this overly suspicious trait of yours to be unhealthy.”  Muffling a dust induced cough, she levered herself into the truck.  “What ever happened to search warrants anyhow?”

Snort from the darkness followed by muttered response.  "My driveway, my trailer."

Juliet blinked as imprinted sunlight lit hazy afterimages against her vision. "I thought this was a shared driveway."  Her hand went out to brace against one plastic wrapped tower. Ahead of her, she heard her partner sigh.

"Fine, I'll only search half of it."  He grumbled.  “Besides, I’m planning on securing one once I confirm I actually need one.”

Dark and appropriately filthy, poor light offered an estimated view of about twenty pallets clustered about the interior.  A snick, and light bathed a narrow path towards one of the boxes standing open at the top of a short stack.  Inside, a somewhat ugly porcelain frog ogled up from a bed of bubble wrap in seeming mid-croak.

Mouth opening to comment on the mutated Kermit, Juliet gasped instead when her partner abruptly smashed the web-footed statuette with the butt of his flashlight.

“Lassiter…!”

Lambasting startlement wasted away as gloom adjusted eyes took in the powder-filled baggie nestled amongst the muddy green shards.

Looking back up at the triumphant expression on her partner’s face, O’Hara’s brow furrowed in bafflement. “How did you…?”

Nearly giddy grin as he lifted the substance a little higher into his beam.

“I’ve had my eye on these guys for about a month.  Finally got a bead on their little import export operation two nights ago when I tailed them to their warehouse.”  His smile was all gloat as he returned his prize back into the box before closing the lid once more. “One little traffic stop and they’re mine.”

Okay, possessive just a bit?

“You stakeout your neighbors?”

Blue eyes pivoted to take in her own, and nonchalant shrug answered where knowledge of her partner should have sufficed.

“Of course!  What, you’re saying you don’t?”

She was pretty sure the unblinking evaluation was lost on him when he abruptly killed their light source.

“Why did…”

“Shush!”

Though huffy, she still silenced the question as a heartbeat after him she too caught the sound that had prompted his hand on her lips.

Walking steps clipping against the cement, and two voices speaking.

“…diot! Next time don’t leave the back open!”

“Sorry, I thought we were only supposed to be a few minutes!  And besides, what difference does it make- like someone’s gonna mess with it here…”

A hand wrapping around her arm tugged Juliet back behind one of the standing pillars of cargo- pressing her against the side of the truck just as a cut of bright sunlight filled the rear of the vehicle.

“Hurry up; we need to get this thing moved!”

Lassiter tensing at her side- instinct having her feeling for her own weapon as something heavy slid across the floor- one foot was just rising for the forward lunge when the door covering abruptly fell in place one more, almost instantly followed by a clattering drop as the metal closure slammed down- clicking to lock in its shallow groove.

Blacker than Washington black, the interior was suddenly an unseeable maze as her partner shoved past and instantly collided with something solid and unmoving- a loud curse swallowed up by the sound of an engine galvanizing to life.

“Heeey!!”

Hand smacked against the side of the truck while Lassiter swore quite proficiently- all of it a complete waste as the shuddering jolt signaled the trailer backing out of the parking space.

“Damn!!” Another sound of flesh striking metal, and the momentum of the vehicle changed course- taking them forward- and onward- and away.

Oh… perfect.

Could she see, her expression would be reducing her partner to flash fried critter. As it was, a well placed and lucky kick did nicely for offering her opinion. And if anyone asked, she was aiming for a box.

“Ouch! O’Hara!”

A sharp turn, even taken at street speeds, still threw them both sideways- dang it she better not get flattened by collectibles!

And this was truly surpassing ridiculous.

"Where's your phone?"

Okay, that long and soundless pause was not earning brownie points. "... In my jacket... in my house.”

“What?” Spectacular.

“And what do you mean where's MY phone- where's YOUR phone?"

Juliet chewed her lip, because there was a reason she’d asked first. "In my purse... in my car..."

There had to be punchline because this was seriously a joke- evidenced by Lassiter’s immediate bluster.

"I can't believe you don't have your phone! I thought a proximity alert would sound if it was further than three feet from you!"

"Well I wasn't expecting lunch at your place would involve a scene from Breakdown!"

"Well maybe next time you'll be better prepared!" Petulant and muttered, he was lucky he’d moved because her second kick in his direction would have mutilated.

“Carlton- my hands were full! YOU try juggling ten pounds of groceries and a twelve pack of Lime-a-licious- while in heels- and see how well you manage!”

And argument ended that quickly as the truck made another turn before picking up speed, outside traffic becoming moderately louder as they obviously moved onto the freeway.

Throat clearing sounds were soon followed by her emotionless observation and unnecessary statement of fact.  “We’re trapped in here, aren’t we.”

Long long sigh as her partner clearly could be heard settling down on the floor.

“Yep.”

And yeah, there really wasn’t anything else to say.

Murder would leave her to deal with a corpse slowly escalating in stink, and they tended to pass over detectives for head of department jobs that slaughtered their partners.

And yet, somehow, she still managed a comment.

“You get to explain this to the Chief.”

_)()(_

Whomever scheduled appointments on a weekend, Shawn didn’t know.  But he’d been waiting outside the office for half an hour before Gus finally appeared.  Bags were already loaded in the car and allergy pills at the ready should the man attempt to be difficult.  Dirty player, thy name is Shawn.

“Great, you’re done, let’s go!”

Wrinkled brow curl smudging the perfect dome of smooth cocoa, Gus dropped a glance towards his toe-tip bouncing buddy.

“Go where Shawn?  I told you, I don’t have time for outside cases this weekend.”

“No case- just good clean air and water and fun!  Clean being a relative term…”

Already Gus was brushing past him, new briefcase in hand as he made for his car… and then stopped as he apparently spotted the additional elements resting in the backseat.

“Is that my suitcase?”

Shawn smiled, gliding around the side of the vehicle and popping open the driver’s side door.  “It is indeed.  Come on, I got you all packed and ready- all you need to do is say yay.”

“Wait a minute… Did you steal my car keys again?”

Why was it so hard to stay on subject?  “Steal would imply the intent not to return- apparently a universal misunderstanding.”

“And you broke into my house!”

Shawn tipped his head.  “I’m sorry, did I slide into some alternate Earth where the Kromaggs are in control and this is suddenly a new thing?  Besides, you’re missing the point.  Tell me- does the word kayak have any meaning for you?”

That had Hershey hued eyeballs looking back with interest.

“Kayaking?  As in extreme rapids, water in your face, proving your manhood meddle kayaking?”

Shawn flipped the car keys back and forth in his hand.  “Maybe not so extreme or rapid-y, but there definitely will be water involved.  The meddling manhood is a given.”  Then he paused with his other hand still wrapped around the door frame.  “Did that sound dirty to you, or is it just me?”

Gus glared but didn’t answer as he glanced back at the office behind him. One hand clenched around the handle of his briefcase, he pushed out his lower jaw in that familiar, almost surrendering stance.

While the debate raged, a familiar figure walked towards the door, briefcase in a clamp-tight grip.  Seeing the two of them, he raised his hand in greeting.  “Guster, Jer- uh- Shawn?”

Leaning against the car in their best ‘casual look’, the two of them nodded back.  “Zenk.” they responded together.  Tight, industry approved grin, and the neat-as-a-pin salesman pushed through the doors.

Shawn immediately spun back to Gus.

“Dude- daylight’s burning man! I promise, I’ll have you home by Sunday night.”  Perhaps a bit more wheedling pleading than he’d intended had slipped in his tone- likely brought on by the relatively startling blow-up between them a little over a month ago.  He’d seen his friend furious before- but never before had his anger been so lasting.  Gus could outgrudge the Grudge, but he always filed his irritations away someplace where he could access them in times of need.  He didn’t typically carry them out in the open like this.

“Please?”

Still hesitant.  Always nice to know he could count of the famed Guster stubborn streak. Drumming fingertips against the top of the car, Shawn rolled his eyes.  “Look, I’ll even sign a waver!  Not to mention you owe me for Connecticut!”

And there went that odd little guilty look again that appeared every time he brought up his friend’s recent abandonment.  Then it was gone once more as the conceding glare resurfaced.

“Fine- but you’re writing it in ink.”

“I was thinking blood, but sure, it’ll be ironclad- now let’s go!  I’d like to get there before the sun goes down.”

Tugging open the passenger side door, sliding in just after Shawn settled himself behind the wheel, Gus adjusted the seat and buckled his belt before the words seemed to take on a significant meaning.

“Wait… Shawn, it’s only two thirty. Exactly how far are we driving anyhow?”

His friend shrugged, starting the engine and easing back out of his off-center parking job.

“Not to worry, we won’t be crossing any state lines- unless you count the small detour I need to take through Carson City- but that’s merely to avoid the toll booths.”

Gus really needed to stop glaring before he developed some serious eyestrain.

“You’re not going to tell me- are you.”

The other man took the next exit for the interstate.

“No, I am not.” He answered airily.

Pouting again, Gus slouched back into his seat, arms crossing tightly over his chest while the car picked up speed as it merged into the fast lane.

Flipping on the radio with a quick turn of the knob, Shawn began bobbing his head as Kevin DuBrow’s powerful vocals screamed through the vehicle. Keeping with the jerking motion, he grinned widely as he turned to the man at his side.

“It’s gonna be fun!”

Lips tight together, Gus adjusted the volume down several decibels before returning to his arm crossed state.

“I bought Queso chips.”

Still not looking, his friend snatched the bag- nearly taking fingers as he tugged the top open with a sharp jerk, hand burying into the depths.

Cramming a seasoned chip into his mouth, he finally pivoted towards the still grinning man at the helm.

“You’re paying for the gas too.”

Shawn turned back to the freeway, settling in comfortably with one wrist dangling on the wheel.

“Trust me Gus, you are going to have the time of your life.”

God, he hoped so.

_)()(_

Gus fell asleep about two hours into the drive. The smooth rocking motion and his friend’s inane chatter blended to background as his early morning and full belly finally took its toll.

The car was off and engine cooling by the time he reemerged from his impromptu hibernation. Blinking gummy lashes as he sat up achingly from his crampy bed, he glanced left and took in the fact that Shawn was no longer in the vehicle.

Examining more than his immediate surroundings, he realized the car was parked in front of a mock log cabin decked out as a small square convenience store and gas station combo. Considering its size he figured Spam and marshmallows would be the most exotic items available from their grocery section.

Slightly less aggravated with the rejuvenation of sleep, glancing at his watch- seven twenty-five?? he realized both his stomach and bladder demanded expedient attention.  Door shoving open, he dragged his joint popping length upright with a helpful push against the seat back.

Pine struck against his nostrils the moment he was free of the odorous vehicle with its blended scents of Cheetos and Twizzlers. Far removed from the city, the only sound of note was the airy shish of trees rocking their leaves and branches. Vague with distance, he could just make out the rumble hum of a miles-off generator. Then he huffed out in irritation. This was no time to get suckered in by postcard surroundings. After all, it wasn’t like any of this was really for his benefit anyhow.

Crunching across the short span of gravel, he eased to the right when an unleashed canine trotted around the side of the building. Plopping its misleadingly innocent self onto a patch of smooth dirt, it scratched at a crooked ear- jaws showing every tooth in its head when it yawned widely. The thing probably had rabies. No doubt Shawn would want to pet it. Making it to the stairs, Gus remembered that he was angry with the man. After all, that’s who this trip was really for. And of course Shawn wouldn’t bother waking him to see if he needed a bathroom break either. Typical. But then, why expect the man to change after all these years? As always, Gus was left to his own devices to deal with whatever was most important to him.

The cheery bell jingle above the door was a colorful offset to the interior of the dingy station. He spotted Shawn immediately as he wandered towards the back. His friend was idly contemplating the single pathetic hotdog rotating slowly in the interior of a battered rotisserie cooker that seemed to have been salvaged from the early nineties… the cooker and the wiener given its somewhat pruny appearance.  Next to him was a Styrofoam cup most likely containing flavored coffee.  Generally not a big fan of station brew, Gus had to admit that a cup sounded pretty good right then.  But first things first.

The hard smack against the other man’s bicep helped to alert him that he was no longer alone.

“Ow!”

“Five hours Shawn? And where the heck are we? And did you drug me again?”

Rubbing his arm, Shawn tipped his head towards the counter Gus had passed on his way in. “First of all, this fine establishment belongs to Dave and Janice Zerkal, those two lovely people behind the register.

"Zerkal? For real?" Gus turned automatically, offering a small and unreturned wave to the silent couple that eerily resembled American Gothic sans pitchfork- though he wouldn’t be overly startled if there wasn’t one of those pointy farm tools hiding beneath the counter.

“And second of all, there was no need for dosage- you were full blown grizzly bear cub dude.”  Tapping a few times at the plastic housing of the hotdog heater, Shawn lowered his hands to play invisible piano on the edge of the counter.  "You hungry?”

Tolerating, barely, the excessive energy burning beside him, Gus nodded at the only hot food within eyesight.  “Do they have meat that doesn’t contain ground snout?”

Shawn grinned.  “Well it is one hundred percent pork.” 

Rubbing his eyes, still trying to work his sleep soggy brain back to life, Gus squinting at the picked over rack of condiments next to the heating wiener.  “I think I’ll pass.”  He yawned.

Grabbing his coffee, Shawn took a long swallow before leaning his shoulders into the plastic rack filled with fairly dried out looking pastries.  “According to Big Dave over there, the town used to be the best place in three states to get 'damn good eatin’ ckicken'- his words, not mine I might add."
 
Gus grunted. "That a fact."  He offered without interest.
 
"Yup.  Guess business took a nosedive when the processing plant burned down about a year ago.  Kinda puts a damper on that whole picnic I had planned." 

“Hm.”  Glancing around himself, searching for the much needed door to relief, Gus abandoned his friend to his hotdog perusal and approached the unblinking double gaze still staring him down from beyond the rack of mini horoscopes.

“Excuse me, do you have a restroom available?”

Wordlessly, the man slid a hubcap across the scuffed wood surface; a small tarnished key attached by a knotted length of cord.

The woman jerked her chin.

“Toilet’s outside- round to the left.”

His smile weak as the two continued to look on expressionlessly, Gus grabbed the clunky disk- glancing once more at his distracted friend before finally exiting back out of the building.

Following the simple instructions offered to him in accented monotone, he strode steadily around the corner of the station. There was only one door on this side; metal, with a peeling coat of whitewash that only accentuated its battered attributes. Sighing, Gus unlocked the door, reached inside to flip on the light… and nearly gagged.

Oh no. Oh HELL no.

Unfortunately for him- his bladder had hit the any port in a storm stage. And there was no other choice.

Sucking in one last clean breath, one hand clamping on his nostrils, Gus eased inside the tiny odorous room and shut the door.

“Oh God!!”

_)()(_

“Explain to me why I shouldn’t punch you again?”

Shawn slid a little further from his friend as they walked up the gravel driveway towards the cluster of buildings just ahead.

“How was I to know you’d be willing to risk botulism because you had to take a leak?”

“How was I to know I’d be beating your ass Shawn? And you could have told me our cabin was on the same property. That way I could have used a bathroom that’s seen a can of Lysol more than once this millennium!” Then his nose wrinkled. “God, speaking of smells!” His hand immediately rose to cap his nostrils while the other waved back and forth in front of him.

Rubbing at the elbow shaped bruise forming on his ribs, Shawn pushed open the squeaky metal gate blocking the rest of the driveway. At this point, Gus had postponed his complaints long enough to actually lift his head and take it the structures just ahead.

“Shawn- this is a farm!”

Tipping back his chin, Shawn appeared vaguely baffled. “Huh, so it is.” He picked up his pace.

Gus sped as well, keeping alongside his friend as they neared the small farmhouse behind its hedge of lilac bushes.

“I thought you said we were going to the kayak rental place!”

They’d reached the cement steps leading to the front door by now, and without hesitation, Shawn rapped his knuckles against the wood surface.

“Don’t be a frozen cherry popsicle Gus, I just need to check something out really quick. Besides dude, the rental place is just down the road.”

Another double rap, and clomping steps could be heard striding towards to door.

“I’m comin’, hold yer horses!”

Gus was still watching him closely, eyes half-lidded in that evaluating way that usually meant the man was nursing a grudge. It was also an unspoken promise of further physical assault. In light of this, Shawn took another sideways step away from his glowering friend.

“Shawn, are we here for a job?”

“You think so little of me. I’m hurt. Shame on you Gus. Shame.” Doable insult; about a five for indignation, but he’d have to give himself a three for committed glare follow through.

As it was, Gus didn’t appear ashamed. Actually, Gus appeared to be busy pulverizing his molars into a fine pearly-white powder. And he was so proud of his teeth…

Clomping feet inside interrupted the mini stare down, door opening with a sharp tug to reveal…

“Mr. Spencer- thank you so much for coming!”

Andre the Giant’s older, grizzlier, and taller brother once more engulfed the consultant’s tiny and delicate hand in his own baseball mitt palms, shaking vigorously and surely dislocating a few key joints.

The gleeful eyes twinkling down at him turned to the man at his side- eyebrows rising in the obvious question.

Ripping his crushed hand free, Shawn gestured with the other towards his silent buddy.

“Ruger, this is my associate, Edger Slip an’ Slide Jones.”

No chance to evade, Gus also had his palm bear-trapped for several seconds until he was finally able to wrench it away- shaking his fingers while returning his heat-seeking missile eyeballs to his best friend.

“I’m so glad you made it! I lost another one last night!” Ruger shook his head sadly. “Poor Penny, she was one of my better sows.”

Gus turned quickly, looking up at the tall man. “Did you say sows? As in pigs?”

Ruger nodded. “You don’t smell it? Sweet perfume!” He closed his eyes and sniffed deep.

Shawn was actually quite proud of his friend for not vomiting on the welcome mat. Meanwhile, the older man had dropped his head again and begun scratching at his beard. “I can’t afford to lose any more of my herd. You gotta promise me you’ll do everything you can to catch this thing.”

Gus went from green to dusky pale. “Wait a minute- what thing?”

“Hang on, I’ll show ya!” Said Ruger before Shawn could drop his mouth.

Leaving the door hanging open as he darted back inside with more grasshopper agility than a man of his age and stature should manage, the old man vanished into his house.

Which left only one victim for the Guster glare of death.

“Dude, I’m starting to get two little burn marks in the side of my neck!”

“I can’t believe you’d do this Shawn! So all this- the whole weekend getaway was just a big ruse!?”

Shawn massaged his fingers as he hunched his shoulders in agitation. “Okay, first of all, who says ruse anymore? Who are you, Doctor No?”

The second argument in five minutes was again broken by the return of Mr. McDonald, this time with something clutched in his hands.

“Here, the issue just came out today!”

Black and white pages were thrust between the duo, and Shawn took in the cover just before Gus snatched the newspaper from Ruger’s grasp.

One long look, and his friend shook his head- shoving the paper into Shawn’s hands.

“Uh uh!! No chance Shawn!” And pivoting he started walking at a fast clip away from the house, arms swinging little-soldier-like at his sides.

“Guuuus!!”

“No Shawn!!” Emerged distantly from beyond the gate, followed by the very clear sound of a small blue car roaring awake… and roaring away.

“Gus!!”

One finger tapping against the paper, Shawn chewed half a lower lip between his teeth.

Beneath his index was a photo of a blurred and shapeless form floating on open water. To the side of the image, in bold, capital print, was the shock inducing headline;

Local Lake-Monster Strikes Again! Sassy Snatches Another Sow!

“He’ll be back…”

After all, his buddy would never ditch him… right?  Of course not.  Just like Henry had fully understood his choice to borrow the neighbor's car to impress little miss hot and gothy.

This was going to be a long walk.
 
 
 

Rocks kicked and bounced with every sliding step- forcefully propelled with the toe of his shoe as he wandered back toward the shady cabin surrounded by the closely grouped cluster of tall pines. Heat was already baking the top of his head- the mist that had filtered through the valley earlier completely evaporated.

In spite of the shower after their return from the lake, Gus still felt the clammy crawl on his skin from his unintended dip upon hitting the shore. It was Shawn’s fault too- the fool freaking him out like that after capsizing his own kayak. It didn’t help either when he’d started going on about a real, live lake monster- especially knowing how Gus felt about such things. Granted, he didn’t buy into a lot of the overblown theories about mothmen, werewolves, and others of that ilk- but he did believe there were a lot of things that could potentially exist in the animal kingdom. Only a few years ago, scientists had discovered a previously unknown species of deer in Vietnam that had bizarre flaps behind its nose. Had anyone come across one of these things in the dark- yeah, he could bet stories of a monster Bambi would be told around a few campfires.

So California’s own Loch Ness? Not so far-fetched.

And according to Shawn, he’d just nearly been eaten by her.

Of course, this is the same idiot that tried to convince him Henry’s footprints were from Bigfoot. Momma didn’t raise no fools- but the Gullible Guster tag had to be shed with a lot of pain and repeated lessons. At this point, his friend wouldn’t be convincing him even were he to provide digital photos and an HD quality video clip.

The oversized paper bag in his hand crinkled as it brushed against the side of his leg. Shawn better be ready to fork over the cost of this most recent purchase- no way Gus wanted his account saddled with flannel lumberjack print boxers. And that was the better choice- the only other option on the shelf being wool, brown, and three sizes too large for a yeti. Besides, the idiot owed him for the agony alone. After all, it wasn’t Shawn that had to poke across dusty shelves populated by Styrofoam containers of meal worms, metal cans of kerosene, and week old hotdog buns- yes, all on the same shelf and under the dual myopic stare of the little store’s proprietors; all because a certain someone had issues with handling undergarments not his own.


Shawn’s back was to the door when Gus pushed past the screen, slipping off his shades as he entered the cabin. Busy with something at the kitchen table, his friend didn’t look up when Gus dropped his bag on the checkered cloth next to his elbow.

“You get my super glue?”

Peering around hunched shoulders to try to catch a peek at whatever had his friend so occupied, Gus rolled his eyes and frowned. “No. The only adhesive of any kind in that place was a gallon jug of rubber cement; and unless you’re planning to play the antigravity version of Top Design- again I decided to pass. Besides, I only had enough on me for essentials. Which, incidentally,” he tugged the receipt from his wallet, “you’re paying for.”

Sideways glance at the slip of paper. “Flannel? Really? I had no idea you were so Paul Bunyan.” Then, sitting back, Shawn wiped his hands on a wadded rag before spreading his hands. “Okay, I admit the accuracy may be slightly off- I did what I could with found objects and my high school knowledge of papier-mâché…”

“Shawn.”

Stepping out of his chair quickly, the man revealed his hidden handiwork. “Behold! The Lake Monster!”

Gus studied the lumpy creation for a moment before flicking his eyes to his friend. “The lake monster is Rawhead Rex?”

Shawn deflated slightly in offended pride. “Okay, granted, I was drowning at the time so a few of the details might be off- but I’m telling you dude! This is what I saw!”

Prodding the creation that had clearly taken up way too much of the other man’s time considering the end result, Gus looked more closely at an odd little detail. “It only has one eye.”

Leaning across the table, Shawn planted his hands flat and nodded. “Apparently it lost the other in an epic battle with Uma Thurman.” He tapped out a quick beat before shifting the little sculptural attempt, possibly to allow the sunlight filtering in from the nearby window to highlight the thing’s better features.

Gus’s opinion, of course, was that his friend should stick with drawing.

“You’re doing this because you want the extra five grand aren’t you.” Of course he was. Either that or he was embarrassed about flipping his kayak after boasting at the rental place about how skilled an outdoor sportsman he was.

“We only get that if we actually catch the lake monster. And I know what you’re thinking- and it has nothing to do with me flipping my kayak! I SAW this thing! Besides, I thought you believed in… this stuff.” He circled his hands around the sculpture again, apparently to highlight the example of the stuff Gus was supposedly a believer of.

“I never said I didn’t believe in the possibility of cryptozoology. I just don’t believe you would run into an elusive lake beast, that’s somehow evaded discovery for the past fifty years, fifteen minutes after you paddled out onto the water.” Man, he knew he shouldn’t have come with. Not only because his friend had misled him about the reason, but also because there wasn’t a decent masseuse within one hundred miles. And like heck would he be asking old Mr. Zerkal to recommend someone. That guy was just creepy.

“Gus, all our years as partners and you choose now to doubt my psychic ability?”

He might have fallen for the wounded expression, were it not for several factors. Those being A. Shawn couldn’t stop one side of his lip from twitching if his life depended on it. B. There was no lake monster. And C. A plastic ficus was more psychic than his friend. Actually, there was a D. as well. It was noon, and Gus was hungry. In his book, food mattered more than accommodating stupidity.

“No can do.”

Gus stopped in mid-spin at Shawn’s words. “No can what?”

There was that look again- the ‘I know what you were thinking’ smirk that went a long way towards creating the tightening knot in Gus’s shoulder.

“We’ll grab something on the way. Come on buddy, we got places to be!” Shawn jogged towards the door. “Come on!”

Like hell he was going all blind leading the blind!

“Shawn, hold on! Where are we going?”

His friend was already at the door clutching car keys that he’d filched, yet again, as he shoved his feet into the pair of loafers he’d kicked off earlier.

“To prove me right!”

Gus folded his arms tightly. “No chance. I’m not going near that lake if the purpose involves us trying to find some mythical monster.”

Reaching down to hook the back of his left shoe to work it over his heel, Shawn smiled. “Nope! No lake this time. However, I did spot a house not far from where I almost became bait that was on a hill overlooking the lake. How much you wanna bet they’ve had a few scaly run-ins?”

Well, there wasn’t any really good reason not to talk to these people… Other than the fact that he wasn’t completely willing to continue indulging this fantasy.

“Seriously, do you want to stay here by yourself?”

The man did have a point.




_)()(_




Long grass parted as they snuck towards the machine shed opposite the small house at the top of a long and shaded driveway. Several feet back, Gus was still quietly grousing about tick infestations, seizure inducing odors, and health insurance plans that didn’t cover Lyme disease.

“Dude, this whole town stinks! You just had to bring me to farm country didn’t you!”

Shushing with a flapping hand, finally having to employ a full body spin and finger to lips universal signal for zipping it, Shawn ducked down until he was crouching amongst the sun yellowed blades. Sneaking up beside him, Gus brushed uselessly at the scattered seedpods littering his shirt; weekend-long pouty face still firmly affixed.

“I still don’t see why we have to do this by sneaking around!” He hissed intently, abruptly giving up on the useless reclamation of his garment from the firmly imbedded foliage clusters. “Why can’t we just go ask him if he’s seen Sassy?”

Shawn wrinkled his nose before whispering back. “Who names these things? Seriously, is there a handbook on monster handles?” He pulled down a clump of grass to peer towards the house. No vehicles could be seen, and there’d been no movement for the past several minutes.

Gus huffed lightly. “You’re one to talk. Is there anyone you’ve met that you HAVEN’T saddled with some off the cuff appellation?”

The grass was released as Shawn turned towards his buddy. “Alright, what does fruit have to do with my nicknaming? And I’ll have you know, there isn’t an off the cuffer in the bunch apple or otherwise! A great deal of serious planning and thought goes into every title assignment.”

The look back was steady, one eyebrow shooting skyward. “Shawn, the first time we met you called me Gooey Chewy Guster.” Arms would have folded tightly before him were he not currently crouched in a half bent shape.

“Obviously a name with a lot of wholesome, friendship-making connotations. Trust me, I had that one planned out since I was three. The hard part was waiting for someone with the name Guster to come along.”

Turning back to his study of the buildings, Shawn finally determined that the structures were presently unoccupied. So, half crouched, he ignored Gus’s exclamation as he darted from the shrub cover and made for the closest edifice.

Pressing his body against the warm wood siding, he snuck towards the edge, eyes searching carefully for movement as Gus finally joined him- somewhat less crouchy and stealthy than his partner.

Slivered bits of faded wood flaked off as Shawn brushed against the dilapidated building, muddy ground beneath his feet squelching with every progressive step. He had no doubt yet another bill was being added to his tally by the man at his back- yet another pair of shoes for his pal. He should invest with Foot Locker at this rate.

Reaching the first corner, Shawn eased around it, still pressed against the outside wall. He was now facing the house, and able to see the driveway more clearly- confirming there wasn’t a vehicle tucked further along the side. Still, there was no telling how long the home owners would be gone, so he quickly pivoted to the closed door behind him. Locked, of course, but that’s why Gus was such a valuable accomplice.

“Dude, I need your skills here.”

"No way Shawn! We shouldn't even be here in the first place! We don't have an excuse for sneaking around anyhow other than the fact that you enjoy the cloak and dagger thing! I am not about to get sent to some backwoods lockup just because you hate being wrong!"

Of course, he should have known the man wouldn’t instantly jump at the chance to flaunt his Jackson-esque picking knowhow. After all, why would he take any enjoyment at the opportunity to outshine his friend with his enviable talent?

“Gus, we have one more day before we have to check out of the cabin and haul ass on a redeye drive back home because you insisted you can't miss any work! This is the first thing we've got that is even close to a lead, and we don’t have time for a face off here!” Then he paused, head tipping contemplatively. “Though if we did, I’d totally be Nicholas Cage. Which would make you John Travolta.”

Gus clasped his elbows, that stubborn, irritated expression still thick around his eyes and mouth.

Shawn swiveled the dial on the padlock a few times. “Come on… you know I don’t do well with begging… I'll even let you play the Rightous Brothers the whole ride home!”

"And sing along without you butting in?"

Shawn nodded emphatically. "Yes! Now can you...?"

Finally giving in, the other man grumbled as he shot his cuffs, kneeling partway before the dull metal, hands cupping around the lock in a familiar attitude- as though he were offering up sacrifices to the padlock gods. Part two of the act involved squeezing his eyes shut and bobbing his head, a disturbing “Billy Jean” rendition half formed while he manipulated the numbers. Three quick swivels, and once more his magazine subscription proved its worth as the long bar freed itself from the body of the lock.

Terribly smug, self-congratulating smile warping his mouth, Gus unhooked the padlock and dangled it on one finger. “That’s right.”

Shawn slapped him on the bicep as he passed. “What can I say, you’re the man.”

The pull on a long cord hanging from the ceiling illuminated the interior- nicely cobwebby and layered in dust along the edges. There was a sort-of dank, musty smell too- probably rising from the burlap bags in the corner. Though the small room was filled with tools, and numerous unidentifiable bric-a-brac, it didn’t take long to inventory the items.

“You think this is our house owner?” Shawn held up a color picture of a portly man standing outside of a small gas station- a sign above the door reading ‘Bob’s Critters and Collectibles’ in faded blue letters . The photo itself was in fairly rough shape as well, tattered and dog eared.

His friend shrugged without a great deal of interest.

While Gus poked through a white bucket filled with hammers, Shawn lifted down a long pole from the wall. One end of the length sported a rounded knob that looked like it had been screwed in place. On the rubber coated opposite end near where his hands were gripped was a small button.

Bouncing the pole in his hands, Shawn scanned the other items hanging on the wall- made up of an eclectic assembly of curved cutting tools, saws, gardening utensils, rope, and even some old sports equipment. Nothing more incredible than what he’d seen dozens of times in his father’s garage- just not as neatly hung in place. He looked down at the pole again. Curious, he clicked the button, but nothing happened. Tentatively, he tapped at the end of the rod, but still nothing.

“What are you doing?” Gus snatched the pole away from him before hanging it back in place. “That’s designed to carry a strong electric current!”

Shawn shrugged, grabbing up an old fishing reel and tossing it back and forth before Gus took that as well. “It’s no big deal- obviously it isn’t working or I’d be sporting a do’ that would make Topper Headon jealous.” At Gus’s expression, Shawn nearly pouted. “Come on, it isn’t every day I can fit in a Clash reference!”

Nothing.

Shawn poked the pole again, proving the Gus really was paying attention when the other man half lurched as though to prevent further contact. “So what is this thing anyhow?”

Recovering weakly from his unnecessary rescue attempt, Gus pulled out his smoking jacket voice as his stopgap to inevitable mockery. “Don’t you watch the Discovery channel? It’s a shark pole. Divers use it for protection when exploring dangerous waters.”

Shawn sighed as he rubbed at his forehead. “Gus, I don’t know how many times I have to say this about the sports network…” And then he stopped, hand stilling before dropping to his side. “Wait… why would this guy have a shark pole anyhow? Does he strike you as the diving type? Honestly, I can’t picture him in a wet suit.”

Gus shuddered. “Why would you want to?”

Then both of them turned at the sputter of a backfire, the distant protest of shifting gears announcing the return of the missing home owner. Shoving items back in place, tripping over the cluttered floor and their own feet, the two young men scrambled for the door, slamming it shut behind them and snapping the lock into the handle before darting for the tall grass once more.

Instead of beating it for the car, however, Shawn made a wide circuit and cut a path back towards the house- angling for the front door.

“Shawn!” Gus whispered harshly behind him. Waving one hand behind his back, Shawn continued onward until he was able to step out onto the edge of the lawn, hands in pockets and completely relaxed as he strode towards the porch. He could hear his friend following behind, and as he neared the door, he smiled widely.

It opened before he’d even raised his hand to knock.

“What do you want?”

Wide, red, and jowled, the face of a very heavy man glared at them from the slit created by the partially opened door.

Shawn stuck out his hand as Gus settled in at his side.

“Billy Barnum, and this is my business partner Stuart Handlebar Bailey. We were told you were the man to talk to about the legendary Sass…” The door slammed shut in his face.

Gus immediately pinched his arm.

“Ow! Gus, what was…”

“I’m warning you right now, you will NOT do your Lenny impersonation!”

Still staring down his friend, Shawn deliberately knocked again with three sharp raps.

“Get lost!” Was shouted furiously through the still closed door, “I don’t need religin’ and I don’t need your damn magazine prescriptions neither!”

“That would be subscriptions-OW!” Now it was Gus’s turn to take an elbow in the side. However, the imminent catfight was halted when the door tore open once more- this time a shotgun greeting them.

“I’m warning you bucko…”

“We want to ask you about Sassy!” Shouted Shawn quickly- eyes locking in on the squinty gaze rather than the double barrels locked on his midsection.

Red-shot whites and dark circles beneath the glare let him know this guy hadn’t been sleeping well lately. The mussed hair could just be his natural style, or it could be the effects of running fingers over his scalp. The gun abruptly lowered before one hand rose to dig through messy strands. Well that answered that question.

“Shoulda said so in the first place. Come inside.” Turning to prop his weapon in a nearby corner, the man retreated back into the house.

Shawn and Gus shared a look before the voice hollered again. “Hurry up before ya let in all the skeeters!”

“Skeeters?”

Gus shoved his friend in ahead of him before clicking the door shut tightly at his back.

The interior of the house was dim, and liberally cluttered with boxes and scattered newspapers- a number of them opened and spread across the kitchen table. What looked like machine parts leaked grease on the business pages beneath them.

Hefting one of the parts, their host poked at the gears, examining it critically before moving on to the refrigerator.

Shawn crammed his hands into his pockets while Gus hung a little further back, obviously not thrilled to be there. “Excuse me Mr…”

“Bob.” The man opened the fridge door, bending down out of sight for a moment, his voice rising from the cold interior. “You boys want a beer?”

Peering at the discarded part, Shawn shook his head. “No, thank you. We were just wondering if…”

“It ain’t poisoned!” Said Bob indignantly, pulling back from the chilly confines, three beers in hand. Without asking again, he thrust the beverages at the two men.

They each took a cold bottle wordlessly while Bob nudged the door shut again with his elbow. Popping off the cap as he wandered into the livingroom, he chucked the small metal disk before settling himself on his newspaper strewn couch.

Shawn glanced at the other available seats before choosing, like Gus, to remain standing. Fingertips tapping at his still unopened beer, he briefly bit at his lip before tipping up his chin. “Mr…”

“Bob.” The man provided again.

Okay, clearly he was committed to sticking with his single name status. Though really, he could have dressed it up a bit- played with pronunciation- maybe Baawb, or Bob with a little umlaut action. Maybe something ethnically toned like ‘Roberto’ with a rolling introduction. Their plain Jane host belched as he shifted further into his spring protesting resting place. Um’kay- pass on the Roberto.

“Bob. My associate and I were wondering if you can tell us about the lake monster. Have you noticed any unusual watery activity lately? Perhaps heard the lonesome, poignant calls of a giant, yet oddly gentle beast in search of its one true love?” Silent looks from the other men, though at least Gus spared him the arm punch this time.

Finally Bob cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t know much about any true love or whatnot- but there’s been a lot of heated talk going down about all the killins’ lately.”

Shawn’s brows darted skyward. “Killins’? Killings? People have been killed? Gus, did you know about this?” Gus was frowning, at him, when he swung his chin towards his friend. That ‘I blame you for this’ look was going to freeze on his face if the guy didn’t quit scowling.

Bob made a disgusted sound like he was dislodging a hairball. “Not people! Sassy don’t kill people! No… I’m talking about the stock. Old Jeffers up the way lost a good calf just two weeks ago, and McDonald hasn’t quit bellering about his pigs since he lost the first one. Not like he has anything to complain about anyhow, damn things stink.” This was punctuated by his feet lifting and plopping heavily into the coffee table liberally strewn with musty fishing magazines, boating catalogues, and what looked like a well read copy of Jughead.

Shawn flamingoed briefly on one leg to scratch at his ankle. Then, resting his beer on a side table; the bottle listing slightly left on the stack of unopened mail residing there- he automatically scanned the envelopes. Bill, bill, bill, bank statement, and several flyers. Nothing too revealing- though he did finally get a last name for the man. Stodge. No wonder he stuck with ‘just Bob’. Musing on the initials, he restarted his attempt at info gathering.

“Tell me Bob, have you lost any four-legged friends to the local wildlife?”

Grunting, the other man shook his head. “Nope.”

Undeterred, Shawn stepped closer. “But you do keep animals… or…” He raised one hand towards his temple, “you did.”

Squinting now, Bob frowned up at him. “Why do ya say that? Do I look like I keep animals in here?”

Shawn chose the better part of politeness in not answering the second question. However, the first was definitely up for grabs. Grinning widely, he adopted the most ethereal expression that he could muster.

“I’m a psychic Bob; it’s in your aura.”

“Psychic my ass.” Growled the man as he rolled himself upright again- headed back towards the kitchen.

“If it’s alright with you, I can get a pretty good vibe without the hands-on approach.” Shawn replied as he crossed his arms. Meanwhile, Bob hooked another beer from the fridge as well as a container of tuna and a box of crackers. Bringing his snack back to the main room, he plopped back into the Bob shaped dent in the couch.

“Hungry?” The question was littered with crumbs as the man crammed a loaded wafer into his mouth.

Gus was hiding his disgust behind a quickly snatched publication. Shawn simply shook his head. “We’re good. We hit the Crab Palace for lunch and Handlebar here has been fighting an inverted colon ever since.” The glare from his friend was murderous. Bob, however, merely shrugged in a clearly ‘suit yerself’ gesture.

This time, without prodding and likely encouraged by treats, Bob took up his side of the interrogation willingly.

“Had quite a few critters some time ago- gotta be about fifteen years now. I ain’t kidding you, I had the best roadside attraction in three states. I was the only one that had both a black bear and a catamount.”

Shawn’s brow furrowed, tipping slightly sideways for the soft spoken clarification.

“Mountain lion.”

“Ahh.”

Ignoring their exchange, the other man continued.

“I had that attraction for five years before some tree huggers with badges came along and told me I needed permits. Permits! Can you believe it? Back when I first started out you didn’t need permits for anything! My first show I ever did was all reptiles back in eighty nine. Small time back then, but I had some turtles and snakes till they started scaring people away. Same thing with the croc and even the little tree lizards. People always had more trouble with reptiles. That’s when I switched over to cuter and cuddlier.”

Shawn questioned the cuddliness of mountain lions, but chose not to verbalize it.

Bob scrubbed a hand over his balding scalp before grabbing another tuna loaded cracker. “I did pretty well for myself too. Always made enough to get by, but it wasn’t quite the same as before. The real trouble started when Buddy took sick.”

“Buddy?” This time it was Gus that interrupted.

Pulled out of his nostalgia, Bob frowned when he looked up at the two men. “My bear. Do you want to hear this, or did-ya want to skedaddle now? Cause I got work I could be doin.” He sounded agitated, but there was something about his tone that suggested he really wanted to finish his story. When his audience clammed up, the older man grunted and cleared his throat.

“Anyhow, as I was sayin’- when Buddy got sick, there were some tourists visiting that thought I was abusing him. It was just a cold, but sure if they didn’t call in Petra on me.”

“You mean PETA?”

There was a longer pause for glowering, and Shawn was the one delivering an elbow this time at the second halt.

“Whoever. Them idiots that eat bark and throw fake blood on folks wearing fur coats. You know, that’s the only clothes Eskimos wear. Would they do that to an Eskimo?”

Both brows wrinkled, Shawn and Gus shared yet another glance as Bob clearly dragged his topic somewhere more fitting for drunken rambling. Trying to get the man to some far-off point, Shawn did his best to guide the tale back onto a path that was at least somewhat paved.

“What happened to Buddy?”

Hooking a fresh cracker from the package, Bob shoveled a large scoop of tuna before stuffing the delicacy into his mouth.

“Diaph.” A monstrous swallow, a gulp at his beer, and he clarified his mushed word. “Died. Somebody broke into the barn one night and tried to set him free. Cage door wasn’t totally unlatched, and Buddy choked to death trying to squeeze out. Never was too smart, that bear.” Even though he spoke dismissively of the animal, Bob was obviously sad about the loss as he shoved the remainder of his meal away from himself.

Uncomfortable in the morose atmosphere, Shawn tapped his fingers against his thigh while Gus studied his fingernails in badly acted nonchalance. He wondered if he could get his pal to go hug the man. Maybe a discrete round of paper, rock, scissors…

Bob sighed deeply. “Well, so Buddy was gone. After that, the animal rights people got picketers to start marching in front of my store. Chased away all the tourists, made it damn near impossible for me to earn any money. After a few weeks I had enough trouble feeding myself much less my critters. I tried calling the law on them, but they were on public property so I had no say. I was finally forced to give away most of the attraction- the rest were confiscated when someone raised a fuss about abuse. Buncha bull, but cops didn’t seem to care about specifics. Next thing you know, I’m not even allowed to own animals of any kind. If I even so much as adopt a hamster they’ll throw me in jail.” Bob studied the cracker crumbs on his fingertips, seeming to have run out of steam. After a moment, he glanced back up at his guests.

“You gonna drink those or rock em’ to sleep?”



Half an hour later, filled up on warm beer and ancient anecdotes, the two friends broke free from the dark house and drifted into the dark night. As Bob was apparently not a believer in outside lights, Gus took one step and face-planted to the dirt path styling itself as a sidewalk. Jackalope bounce back to his feet, his glare dared Shawn to say a word. Rather than risk contusions, Shawn merely cleared his throat and led the way back towards the car.

Ordinarily this time would be filled with conversation. Shawn would be making derogatory comments about Bob’s hair and the way his house smelled vaguely like dry roasted clowns, and Gus would be either defending the man’s personal choice or berating his friend for leading him on another wild goose chase only to find a flock of seagulls instead… with Paul Reynolds on guitar…

Okay, that analogy needed work.

“Dude, did you see that hair? It looked like two chinchillas fighting over an egg.”

Gus wasn’t smiling, any humor overshadowed by an irritated grunt. “It’s called balding Shawn, something you might want to research for the future.”

“Owchie mama- you’re one to talk.” Protectively his hand rose to card through his very thick, very manly, and very intact follicles.

“Mine’s voluntary. I at least have a scalp that can carry this look.” Obviously the reflexive attempt at lightening the moment had failed in a pathetic, Britney Spears on MTV kind of way.

Shawn dropped his fingers back to the steering wheel when it occurred to him that Gus was genuinely upset. Generally he prided himself on his ability to read people; to peer laser sights, as it were, into the very depths of the human soul. He could meet any random individual, and in moments have a clear grasp of who they were. So why was it, lately, he couldn’t get a handle on his best friend? It was as though Gus was at the other side of a giant room on the opposite end of the earth.

“What’s going on man?”

Arms folded while the aforementioned nearly hairless dome pivoted to stare brown eyes out the side window; full pout employed without the characteristic lower lip protrusion. This wasn’t some simple little snit that would blow over in twenty minutes.

Not looking his way, Gus shrugged. “Nothing.”

Sure, okay. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not as if Shawn detailed everything that ever bothered him. In fact, he pretty much avoided the complex stuff whenever possible. So who was he to pressure Gus into sharing?

His annoying best friend, that’s who.

“Gus…”

Without a word, the other man leaned forward and snapped on the radio. Instantly the car was filled with the melodic strains of something southern twang and thick with banjos and guitars of the steel variety.

“Would you believe this is their hardcore station?”

The eye roll wasn’t exactly the hysterical laugh he’d have liked, but at least he wasn’t punched. It had to count for something. Maybe.

‘…made her the queen of my double wide trailer with the polyester curtains and the redwood deck. Times she's run off and I've got to trail her; dang her black heart and her pretty red neck…’

Yeah, it was going to be a long drive.



_)()(_



She heard chewing. When her eyes opened without the jolt of a light source, her fuzzy brain suggested two possibilities. It was still night, or she was still trapped in the back of a trailer after following her soon to be shot partner on a hunch born out of an overactive suspicion about his neighbors which had turned out to be correct. Of course, that didn’t exclude the possibility that it could also be night.

“That better not be my Gummi bears stash.”

The chewing stopped, only to be followed by an audible swallow. “I thought you were asleep.”

Okay, that wasn’t an answer, and now she was pretty certain her chewy bag of treats had just passed down the gullet of Officer McFructose.

“Carlton, I didn’t buy those to share! And you already ate all my candy bars! What don’t you understand about rations?” Definitely more whiny than the threatening tone she’d heard in her head. However, just waking up, all sticky mouthed and not a toothbrush or mint to be had- because some certain someone had an issue with having allergens near his person, sissy- she figured she was entitled to some mild mopery. And not only that, but this was a survival situation, and it was just possible their continued existence might just depend on the colorful gelatinous omnivore her partner was currently scarfing.

“You want some?”

His response was a muffled attempt as he’d apparently stuffed another mouthful past his jaws. Too unmotivated to keep up an argument that was so obviously one-sided, Juliet nodded in the darkness. “Yeah, sure.”

Closing her eyes- proving that yes, she could be trained- she avoided blinding this time around as the beam of light warmed against her eyelids. Squinting and blinking, silently grateful when the beam moved to the side, she held out her hands for the package as it was lofted in her direction.

Not the best meal she’d ever had, the artificial fruit flavoring probably didn’t count as part of a balanced breakfast. Sticking the head of one chewy bruin between her teeth, she stretched until it popped free. Something about animal snacks of any kind- she always had to bite off the heads prior to consumption. It had mildly disturbed her mother when she was a child- though opting to be a cop instead of a serial killer had alleviated that little concern. It wasn’t like she was sacrificing chickens or something.

Carlton was shifting around a bit, the light moving with him as he started digging through the bag between them. Thinking at first that he was searching for more to eat, she realized he was actually inventorying their supplies.

Pulling out the remaining food items, she chewed her lip at the significant reduction since… yesterday? “Carlton, what day is it?”

He paused to give a quick peek at his watch. “Uh… Sunday, noon.” Wow, really? The last time she’d slept this late it’d been while she was in college.

Tipping her head back until it clunked against the wall, she rolled down the top of the bag and stowed the remaining gummi treats. She was still hungry, but from the look of their stores, they’d really need to take it easy on portions. There was no telling how much longer they’d be here.

Boy, she really hadn’t wanted to think that.

And now she had to go. Again.

Great.

Out of necessity, they’d constructed a passable bathroom at the far end of the trailer using an emptied box and some of the plastic lining that encircled the pallets. A roll of paper towels served for the obvious purpose, and the darkness surrounding them offered plenty of privacy. Still…

“Can I have the flashlight?”

Carlton, grouchier by the hour, had become very protective of his toys. He showed how much he hated playing with the other kids in the room by keeping his possessions within easy reach. Not wanting to start a dispute that would probably result in his death, O’Hara had gone along with his own version of coping. However, when her request met with a petulant “I’m not done with it yet”, her own anxieties boiled over.

“I have about thirty seconds before I wet myself! If I go down, I’m taking you with me! Now give me the light or I start throwing frogs!” One hand was actually reaching for a nearby box when the man capitulated, passing over the slim device before picking his way back to his cardboard nest.

Of course, now that she had it, the last thing Juliet wanted to do was stumble towards the cobbled lavatory behind the cluster of towers. Maybe she could just hold it…

“I thought you said you had to go.”

Growling, she shoved to her feet.

No matter what, when she got back, she was keeping the light.



_)()(_



“I thought I didn’t have to do anything unwillingly, smelly, or scary Shawn!”

On the property five minutes and already one shoe was buried in muck the color and consistency of brownie batter. Regretfully, there was nothing chocolaty or good about the aroma. How a man as fastidious as his partner managed to repeatedly lose footwear in the most filth filled pools was beyond him. Chalk up another item on his I O U list of unpaid debts populated by such gems as a hacky sack, purple swatch protector, and a well worn cassette of the Plimsouls ‘Everywhere at Once’ album. “Okay, how is guarding pigs scary dude? Guarding Tess I could understand…”

“Do you have any idea how many diseases you can catch from swine?” Gus shot back before his friend could even begin with his movie trivia comparison.

Shawn jerked his chin while quickly snagging a wooden railing- saving his backside from a fate worse than balding- almost. “Can I be told in three words or less? And is one of those words Glutanious?”

Expected glower. “Glutanious isn’t a word Shawn.”

Feet sliding again before he managed to haul himself to firmer ground, the psychic faker grinned widely. “Sure it is! See, I’ll even use it in a sentence. My, your ass is glutanious today!”

Following the other man over the fence, Gus growled as his feet pulled free- previously white sneakers hopelessly humiliated. “Can we not talk about my ass right now?” Clearly looking around for a water source, he managed to also project steady disapproval towards the guy at his left.

Figuring pity might earn him a few points, Shawn jogged to the nearby barn and grabbed the neatly coiled hose attached to the side. Giving the spigot a few sharp turns- feeling the plastic coils balloon beneath his fingers, he made it back to Gus just as the first drops eased out from the spray attachment.

The first blast soaked his body to mid-thigh. Oops… guess he shoulda checked the settings…

“Shawn!”

Nearby, the small herd of pigs trotted through their stenchy pen, rooting around and rolling through filth with obvious pleasure. And small didn’t just apply to their numbers.

“You can’t tell me you’ve never wanted a potbellied pig as an office mascot.” He said as he turned the hose off again. One of the piglets had approached the edge of the fence and was poking its flat snout between the bars, sniffing for more treats. Shawn happily provided another handful of grain to the little creature- which in turn immediately drew more of the snuffling forms.

“That’s why you keep asking me to buy you super glue- obviously you’ve been sniffing if you think I’d want another smelly office partner.”

“Dude, I only wore that body wash one time!”

One of the adult pigs, overly excited about the food in his hand, blundered forward and accidently nipped his finger. Yelping loudly, Shawn jerked back and examined for damage. No blood- good deal. He almost stuck the stinging digit in his mouth before its recent location stopped him mid-motion. Instead, he grabbed the hose once more and quickly rinsed off the saliva and grain coated mess.

“Besides, it was the only way to get Leslie Gordon to go out with me. Do you how much of an accomplishment that was? Seriously, he dad nearly shot the UPS delivery guy because he thought he was winking at her.”

Shaking the droplets off his fingers, he killed the feed and tossed the hose onto the short grass. Realizing dinner time was over, the clustered pigs lost interest in the two men and returned to their previous activities of rolling and grunting and rolling some more.

Shooing a humming insect away from his ear, Shawn found a dry patch of grass and plopped down, tugging his jacket collar up a bit to protect his neck against the ever present blood suckers. After a moment, Gus joined him. Peeling off his shoes once he was seated, the other man proceeded to pull up tufts of grass in a hopeless attempt at wiping off the remaining muck clinging to the once white surfaces. Within seconds, green streaks were added to the multitude of stains.

“Damn!” Tossing aside the bundle, he quickly gave up. “I can’t believe this…” He muttered, obviously not going for a response from the man at his side.

As for Shawn, he pulled his knees up towards his chest and wrapped his arms around his shins. Gus’s mood was really beginning to trouble him. Usually, when he’d pull something the justified his buddy’s ire, it lasted for a day tops. But this had been going on… Well, truthfully, for weeks. He wasn’t oblivious by a long shot- just selectively aware. He never cared for confrontations, and he didn’t like initiating conversations when he wasn’t certain about the lay of the land. But Gus was… Well, calling him a friend was like calling pineapple nature’s blandest fruit. Shawn might include a lot of people in his vast circle of cohorts, but when it came down to it- all he had, really, was just one.

Tugging at a random blade, eyes on the milling porkers beyond the fence, Shawn breathed out deeply before nibbling his lip. Beside him, Gus was leaning back with his palms buried in the grass behind him- legs flopped out loosely while he stared moodily towards the pen.

“Okay buddy, I’m here, and my ears are open for business.”

Instead of looking at him, Gus fished a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth, coughing deliberately at the odor saturating the immediate area.

Shawn shifted around until he was facing him directly. “Gus, what?” Still silence. This was getting out of hand. “Look, would you talk to me? What, is it the case? The pigs? You’ve got an infected goiter?”

“Do you even know what a goiter is Shawn?”

Another blade of grass fell victim to his plucking fingers. “It’s like a swelling on your ass right?” Obviously not, given the eyeballs rolling his way.

Gus turned away again before Shawn could even attempt another comment. The brush off wasn’t new when his buddy was irritated, but the depth of the aggravation directed his way was definitely something he wasn’t used to. And it was sinking in now how serious this really was.

“Come on…”

Shattering screams made them both lurch to their feet and dart several lurching steps towards the house before Shawn suddenly identified the sound.

“Oh my God Gus, that’s Petunia!” He couldn’t help but hesitate for small giggle- at least until Gus smacked his arm. “Right- Come on!”

Well in the lead, Gus skidding through the grass as they rounded the corner of the barn, the squeals were silenced well before they hit the door.

She was gone- pen door hanging open and… Shawn’s eyes narrowed as his vision walked alone the floor- following the marks left behind, and leading back outside.

Shoving past his friend, he tracked the marks as they became prints; sunken and distinct, and heading towards…

“She was here Gus.” He said deeply, one hand wrapping around his friend’s shoulder as Gus jogged up to his side- the offending grip abruptly shrugged off. “And now we have her. She won’t be escaping this time.”

“She already did escape Shawn. Not only that, but I think we just lost this case.”

Leave it to Gus to be the angry date at the party. “Dude, I’m going for a dramatic moment here!” Walking back towards the house he shook his head in agitation. “Just once can’t I close with a little intensity?”




_)()(_




Ruger McDonald was livid.

Crouching before the stolen Petunia's empty pen, the man was inconsolable. Any attempt to speak was useless as he was clearly wrapped up in his grief. Meanwhile, gaining nothing by watching the human Sears Tower in mourning, Shawn chose to give the disturbing three toed footprints a more complete look over. It was obvious they weren't from the everyday average farm animal. Outside of Jurassic Park, he'd never seen tracks this large or dinosaury. There was no question now! Gus absolutely, totally, had to believe...

And then the unwelcome invasion interrupted his silent gloating.

"...the clues will tell you what you need to know. What’s important, is to not let your own imagination get in the way of what’s actually there..."

Dad. A permanent implant in his brain that even a lobotomy wouldn't remove- over twenty five years worth of rules, regulations, and criticisms ever at the ready to buzzkill his moments of glory. And yet, though admitting it threatened to cause physical damage, there were times when that lecturing voice actually, sort of, had a point.

Okay brain dad, what's your point?

He squinted, frowning at the prints. Three toes with the needed accessories of long, sharp claws, pebbly skin clearly imprinted an inch deep in the soft mud... He blinked. Well damn. He glanced back at the pen- door hanging open and the signs of struggle evident in the scattered hay. He wanted to smack himself. Why hadn't he seen...?

"You and you, with me, now!" Rising to his full majestic height, forcing Shawn to question where one purchased overalls that size, McDonald infiltrated the moment of contemplation and demanded the two friends join him back at his home where he could continue his sorrow filled accusations and potential disembowelments, in private. Still, even though he was obviously crushed by loss, his instinctual nature had him offering refreshments even while he condemned the piss-poor guardianship of his beloved beasts. Sitting in the living room with Gus, obligatory cups of coffee in hand, Shawn waited out the steaming rant going on before them.

After an additional five minutes, however, and because his cup had been drained of sweetened caffeine, Shawn stood and held his hands before the pacing farmer.

“Okay! I understand. Here’s the thing. Right now, this is personal.” He ignored Gus’s wrinkled brow of confusion as he pressed on with his placating. “This happened on my-" he paused, gesturing back and forth rapidly, "our- watch, and is not something Gus and I take lightly. Now we will do everything in our power to find Petunia and uncover the nefarious creature responsible for her theft!”

His stance was solid, his conviction unwavering as he stared face to… uh… underside of chin with his client. Seriously, he’d make the Big Show look like Hermey the elf!

“Shawn…”

He waved a hand to shush his friend, not taking his gaze from the grizzled Adam's apple in his vision.

Finally Mr. McDonald scratched at the bristly hairs, sinking down into the hard chair at his table. Well at least they were eye to eye now.

“You honestly think Sassy hasn’t eaten up poor Petunia yet?”

Still ignoring the glare at his right, Shawn nodded emphatically. “I’m willing to bet Gus’s career on it.” That really didn’t earn him any points in the friendship department, but it seemed to hit just the right chord with McDonald.

"You bring her back alive, and I promise you that extra five- creature or no!"

Letting his arm be engulfed in a rapid shake, Shawn exhaled sharply when the manly agreement was followed up by a back slap promising to dislodge ribs.

While he was still busy shifting his internal organs back into position, Gus brushed past him without a word. Wrapping up the emotional bolstering with a nod and somewhat weak smile, Shawn backed away a few steps before spinning on his heel to dart after his friend.

Gus was standing by the car when Shawn appeared, fists buried in his sides and face in full scowl.

"Gus, why-"

"I can't believe you said that Shawn!" The fact that Gus didn’t follow up his outburst with a stomping foot was a significant point in his favor. Of course, there was the negative point for yelling at his best friend.

Shawn chuckled forcefully. “What… You mean the job thing?”

Continuing to pout, his lower lip protruding so far birds could roost comfortably, Gus crossed his arms and glared. Okay, so cracking wise wasn’t in Shawn’s best interests at the moment.

“Oh come on,” his shoulders rose as his hands lifted in a practiced to perfection placating gesture, “like he even took that ser…”

“That isn’t the point!” Gus swept past him, fists starting to clench before taking in a long, deep breath. Then, pivoting quickly, he returned to stand in front of his friend. “After that whole debacle with Flet and screwing up my interviews every chance you had, I’m not in the mood to accommodate your offhand mockery!”

Shawn pulled back a step, startled at the vehemence in Gus’s eyes. “I seem to remember I was sick that whole time too. I also recall that in spite of that, I worked my fingertips to bony shreds in order to find the guy trying to Martha Steward your company!”

Gus shook his head before adding a snort for punctuation. “Shawn, you milked every ounce of sympathy in the first week! I was at your house every day with takeout and movies- not to mention extra tissues, cold medication, and nasal spray because you don’t have the special skills required to stock a medicine chest!”

“I had pnum…”

“I get that! I got that! But it doesn’t excuse the fact that my career will always stand as some temporary second best to your job of the moment! And what about when you finally get sick of Psych? What then Shawn?” He was breathing heavily, and there was a shine to his gaze that only appeared when he was truly furious. It wasn’t something Shawn saw often- nor often had directed at himself.

“What do you want me to say Gus? Sorry I busted the corrupt bad guy at your job? Twice? And might I add, I did that free of charge!”

Not that he expected overflowing praise, but the disgusted contempt was a bit much. “So what Shawn! Who the hell cares but you? Here’s the thing. Every company has some corrupt person working somewhere on the food chain. To be honest with you, I don’t give a damn about any of that! But what’s worse is that I don’t think you really do either!” His voice dropped, words cutting more though they were no longer yelled. “When it comes down to it, you’re in this because it’s a big game. You lose a case? So what. You get discovered as a fraud? Big deal. Just pick up and take off and next week you’ll be working at the Renaissance Fair as a monkey handler or skydiving into the Grand Canyon.”

Actually, he was a ferret handler- and the Grand Canyon was so eight years ago. Probably not worth mentioning however. “Gus I,” he cleared his throat, surprised by the choky sensation, “I’m sorry…”

The other man raised his hand, and Shawn nearly flinched, expecting a justified gut punch. In a way, he got just that. “I’ll always be your friend Shawn. But right now? I’m not sure I want to be around you.”

“Gus…”

Turning away, Gus walked back towards the car. “Just go find your stupid lake monster and leave me the hell alone.”

Shawn stared down at the tracks cutting into the mud. He’d been staring at them for nearly ten minutes- trying to make sense of what they were telling him. The tire prints from Gus’s car. No rooster tails of muck though; even irate his best buddy would never peel out of any parking space and risk the possible damage that could come with such exhibitionism. Well, not in the company car anyhow. However, a resurrected machine from the seventies? Please, those cars were designed for fast girls, fast getaways, and apparently breaking down at the most inopportune times. Speaking of which, it served him right when his new/old ride had become a smoking ruin. Nor had abandoning said ruin been the best of moves considering the title had been in Gus’s name. Most responsible of the group- cheyah...

One hand working in and out of a tight fist, Shawn finally turned away from the scene of his wretched abandonment and headed back towards the scene of his future paycheck. As far as he was concerned- if Gus thought he was sharing any of it he could suck a bag of lemons.

Kicking a corncob out of his path, he strode across the well maintained lawn towards the higher grass behind the barn. The broken trail leading to the lake’s edge grew muddier the closer he got to the water. Considering how close he came to being devoured that morning, Shawn wasn’t incredibly eager to nose around the shoreline. However, evidence always came first- even above his own misgivings. Or Gus’s. Or his dad’s…

Speaking of dads…

Trilling merrily, his phone bleeped a triple pulse- the glance at the screen confirming the authority figure waiting for his response at the other end. Excellent timing. Nothing he liked better after a good fight than to wash it down with a lecture.

“Lo’ father.” He said as he crouched again, studying the claw marks where they vanished into the water.

“Where the hell are you Shawn?”

One finger feeling out the scaly impression nearest to the lapping wavelets, Shawn tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear the free up both hands. “If you must know, Gus and I are tracking a mythical beast in hopes of gaining fortune and glory- not to mention a cover shot on Vanity Fair.”

“What? What in hell are you talking about? Oh wait, don’t tell me. You were tipped off that a rouge werewolf was hunting villagers in a small northern town- so you packed your silver bullets and wolf’s bane and hit the road?”

Shawn made a startled noise that carried easily over the phone line.

“What?”

“I’m just a little surprised you know your monsters. Let me guess; there was an episode of Survivorman where he ate one of them.”

There was a growl being crushed between teeth right now- he was sure of it. Good “Shawn, I DO read.”

Moving the cell to his other ear to ease the stiffness growing in his neck, Shawn then stood to backtrack up the trail again. “I didn’t know Fish Slayers Annual had articles about supernatural beings.”

Instead of taking the bait dressed out in all its fishy goodness, Henry switched tracks mid-argument. “You know it would have been nice to let me know you were taking off this weekend.”

Now the other side of his neck was cramping, not to mention the pulse behind his eyes was starting to beat painfully against his retinas. Still, he couldn’t help pushing this into a confrontation. He’d come off very much on the short end with his last one on one, and he was due a victory. “What, is there like an Amber Alert out? Dad, I’m a virile young man. My schedule is my own. Besides, I don’t own any pets, and all my plants are dead. Therefore informing people, as in you, when I go out of town, is not a requirement.” His wandering path was less searching and more energy burning now, and with the growing dark it made for fun times traversing the uneven ground.

Which meant that within three steps he was stumbling over a mud encased root arching out of the muck.

“Dammit!” He tugged free with an arm-flapping hop, barely avoiding another plunge into the lake. “Look, what do you want dad? I’m kinda in the middle of something here!”

Where’s my razor?”

“Your raz…? You’re calling to bawl me out for borrowing your razor?” He contemplated seeing how far his phone could skip across the glass smooth surface of the water.

“Shawn, you don’t shave! Why the hell would you need to borrow it?”

“You think this perfect level of manly shadow maintains itself? Besides, mine was broken and Gus keeps his in his briefcase.” And this conversation was going well past ridiculous. He couldn’t even escape for a weekend without… “Wait… I left two days ago- and you’re just noticing this now?”

“No, I’m not just noticing it now…”

“This isn’t about the razor is it.” He stumbled again, one hand catching on the rugged bark of a nearby pine.

“Shawn…”

“You were worried about me.”

Henry laughed sharply. “Worried? Kid, if anything, I’d be worried you were using my razor to shave your idiotic mythical being!”

“And that would differ from its normal usage how?” His absent pacing carried him to the water’s edge. Stepping over the shallow three-toed prints, he spun back around and squooshed towards the head of the trail again. “Look, you’ll get your razor back tomorrow- I’ll even polish it up nice for you. Do I need to buy new blades too?”

There was a small pause before his father answered him. “Okay, you know what, forget it Shawn. You want to be an ass? Be my guest. But next time you break something, replace it instead of digging through my things!” The hard clap in his ear let him know the conversation was clearly over.

Lowering his cell slowly, he gently clipped in shut before sliding it into his pocket. Immediately he felt guilty for the unnecessary pushing of his father’s buttons. Already alienated from Gus for an undetermined duration, now he’d just verbally kicked his dad in the back of the knee. Whatever, the old man would get over it. As it was, Shawn had very important work to do, and there was no time to accommodate the inner fifteen year old child on an emo-trip.

One forward step and his foot shot out from underneath him, dropping him ass first into the muddiest mud patch on the shoreline. “Uuk!” Freezing in place- hands and legs raised and stiff- he was aware that he probably looked like an upended tortoise. How embarrassing.

Both palms sinking into the squidgy surface, Shawn’s lips pulled away from his teeth as he gingerly rolled to his knees- aware that he was effectively coating himself in a smelly, sticky, clingy layer of gunk. Oh, this was so not going to come out in the wash. Either dad or Gus had cashed in their karmatic retribution because no way was he this much of a lummox.

Heels skidding back and forth, he managed to drag to less slippery ground- cursing softly the whole way- until he could slump next to a rocky embankment. Dammit, he felt like shi-

“You okay?”

Glancing left he was instantly blinded by a retina frying beam. “Ho- dude!” His hand blocked the glare while he blinked rapidly in an effort to regain his vision. Lowering the flashlight, Ruger reached down to grab Shawn by the upper arm- easily lifting him back to his feet. Looking him over, the taller man shook his head with a whistle.

“Son, I don’t claim to understand that psychic business, but surely there has to be an easier way to track down Petunia.”

Failing to dust off the caked layers, Shawn rubbed his hands together- flakes of dried mud falling in a grey rain. Already his jean legs were beginning to stiffen, as well as the back of his shirt. Clothing in ruins, mind incapable of concentrating with the aggravation burrowing through it like a homicidal hamster, he was left with only one acceptable option.

“Ruger, I have a huge, huge favor to ask of you.”





_)()(_




“I almost had my eyebrow pierced.”

The bland statement was the first sound to emerge after a shared silence of nearly two hours. Batteries on their last legs, the flashlight had been off for even longer. Too bad their eyes hadn’t done them the courtesy of evolving night vision yet- damn Darwin and his theories.

“You? Really?”

“What about it?”

The shuffle of fabric was followed by a grunt as backside met broken frog head. Shifting around, Juliet grabbed the offending ceramic skull and removed it from her chosen slumping spot. “I just never pictured you as the piercing type Carlton.” The frog head bounced to a rest somewhere towards the back of the trailer.

There were a few pops of bubble wrap as her partner moved his own lanky body into a more comfortable position before he spoke again. “I was twelve. And it wasn’t exactly my idea. Some delinquent with a sewing needle and a potato thought it’d be cute to carve a hole in my face.”

Blinking in the blackness, Juliet tried to picture a prepubescent version of the man she knew. Somewhere, in some ancient file, she’d caught sight of his rookie picture- all neatly trimmed mustache and eager, sparkling eyes. Only with that as a guide was she even partially successful in dredging a serviceable image of him in short pants and sneakers. Oh who was she kidding? The guy was probably wearing a suit and tie from birth. Shaking her head, she fought her way back into the conversation.

“So what did you do?” Reaching beside herself, she located the nearly depleted chip bag and snagged a salty remnant.

“What do you think I did? I called the cops.”

“Carlton!” Of course, she really shouldn’t be shocked- the man drew down on a cat not so long ago. Hello, therapy much?

“Hey, he was attempting assault with a deadly weapon!” He chuckled then. “Let me tell you, he never tried that again- not after Aunt Bernice got through with him.”

“Are you saying you ratted out your…”

“Cousin. Hey, the badge sees perps- not family.”

Okay, now that’s a little… excessive. The tips of her fingers found a comfortably familiar rubbing spot between her eyes. Then she yawned, extending it into a full body stretch. A few joint pops sent delicious repercussions down her limbs, ending in a minor shiver as she worked away the stiffness.

“I got my tongue pierced when I was fifteen.” She confessed, grabbing another chip from the bag. “I left it in for about two hours before losing my nerve and taking it out again.” She chewed thoughtfully. “You know how hard it is to get a refund for that?”

Carlton snorted. “I thought you needed parental consent if you’re under the age of eighteen.”

Juliet smiled though her partner couldn’t see it. “That’s what I said. How do you think I got my money back?”

Her partner actually chuckled. Of course, now they were left with a drought of topics again. They’d long ago run through Twenty Questions, Truth or Dare, and I Spy- which was somewhat ineffective what with surrounding darkness and lack of spy-able variety with which to spy. How many times can you drop clues about a brown cardboard box before it gets really monotonous?

Twice it turns out.

But there were other side effects besides just boredom that came with their entrapment. Not generally prone to irrational fears, Juliet had been fighting a case of steady unease for quite a while now- starting around the time the light had last been extinguished. She knew she had air, and she knew there was no way this was permanent… but without wanting to, she couldn’t help but imagine the trailer shrinking- walls pressing in- air leaking out…

“I was really afraid.”

Carlton’s sudden speech rapidly grounded her, cutting off the nice little panic attack just as she was contemplating the repercussions of letting go with a lung emptying shriek. And then she processed what he’d just said. You what now? “Afraid of what?”

He exhaled, his body moving again- bumping over a few empty cans before he finally stilled once more.

“A few weeks ago… at that- ZomCon thing- when the Chief was…” He cleared his throat, and Juliet remained silent- allowing him to continue at his own pace.

“I know I’ve always talked about when she moves on- how I feel I’m more than up to the challenge of taking over, maybe tighten up on protocol; as well as establish that just because you’re channeling Patch Adams doesn’t mean you’re qualified to…”

“Carlton…”

He cut off his rambling at her tone. Then he startled her when he laughed- a quickly quelled bark containing no trace of amusement. “You know the last person I got so cozy confessional with was…”

Her eyebrow rose when his sentence clipped off. “Was?”

“Never mind.”

This was getting frustrating. Seriously, she’d almost be willing to face a box of one dozen starving, crazed marmosets than drag a soulful admission from her partner. Yeah, she’d even do another round of rabies shots. Excruciatingly painful cluster of stomach injections? Been there, done that. Had she been close enough she might have braved the darkness and possible embarrassment of an ill-landed grab to shake a complete sentence out of him. Of course, if she were close enough, she’d be going for the flashlight first. Despite her personal vow he’d still managed to regain possession of his flashlight- dirty dealing by holding the rest of their edibles hostage, including the single remaining Swiss Cake roll.

Well, it wasn’t like he could go hide in the boy’s bathroom; as if that would stop her anyhow. She decided to wait him out- the tactic having worked fairly well a few minutes ago. As bull-headed and expressive as the man could be about things, or people… person… that aggravated him, Lassiter was just as not forthcoming when it came to anything that exposed his heart. He shielded it fiercely- building walls with not just the standard brick and mortar- but a good layer of industrial steel as well.

He projected badass and disconnected very convincingly- so much so that fellow cops routinely cowered whenever his Irish temper was notched up to full. Head detective on a tear probably filled the nightmares of many of the SBPD’s best and brightest. However, as much as he might want it to be, his plated surface wasn’t bulletproof. She’d seen through the cracks a handful of times. Like when the Chief had given birth as well as after he’d interrogated his soon to be ex farther-in-law. Minute little peeks that closed quickly.

It was one of the reasons she hadn’t ever felt the need to request a new partner. It was also why she was willing to give him time to stop hiding behind an image that only a few people were ever allowed beyond.

Capable of extended silence during countless stakeouts, the current quiet was proving to be more pressure than he cared to deal with. And moments later, she heard the soft beginnings of his barriers cracking away once more.

“When- when I saw her being loaded up into the ambulance… I was actually afraid.” His words almost seemed bewildered- like he was startled by his emotional reaction. Which, truthfully, he probably was.

“I didn’t care about whether or not I’d get the job. It just didn’t matter. None of it mattered.”

She didn’t have a response to that. Even though she too had been shaken by Vick’s injuries, she hadn’t been the one at the scene. She hadn’t been there to hear Iris crying, or see countless terrified people screaming and running like witless cattle. She also wasn’t the one dealing with a special brand of guilt because of that. Whatever risks went along with the job- Karen Vick hadn’t earned hers because of her badge. She hadn’t been busting a perp, or in an area of the city known to be dangerous. She hadn’t even been on the job. An accident. A stupid, unavoidable accident. But because he’d been there when it had happened, Lassiter blamed himself.

“You know this isn’t your…”

“You got any Gummi Bears left?” And like that the wall was back- so fast she almost lost fingers. Letting the diversion slide, her hand started searching the grit coated floor. In moments she located the bag- though by the feel of it there were only about a half dozen of the squishy treats remaining.

“Light?” He clicked on the beam, and she carefully lobbed the bag his way- his long-fingered grasp easily hooking it from the air. The moment it was his, the light vanished again.

She wasn’t through with him however- but waited until she was certain he was chewing to try once more. The crinkle of the bag was a pretty solid signal. Giving him four or so seconds to cram in a mouthful, she tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and spoke.

“How much do you know about my move from Miami?” She could hear him shifting again before he coughed lightly.

“Pretty much what’s in your file. You had a fairly standard employment, assisted on some minor arrests, managed to earn a few small commendations. You passed your detective’s exam about two months before transferring to Santa Barbara.” Juliet wasn’t sure whether to chuckle or roll her eyes at the bland manner in which her partner summed up her career. She settled for a quiet sigh.

“I hadn’t planned on being a detective. Not at first. I was happy being a regular cop. Sure, traffic stops and issuing tickets could be a bit repetitive, but I still felt I was a part of something important.” She rubbed her arm, feeling the goosebumbs. “I suppose you could say I was a little… naive.”

Carlton made a dry sound that could have been a stifled laugh. Rather than brain him with her shoe, she continued speaking.

“It was my mentor that convinced me to try out for the detective’s position when it was offered. And you know, as soon as he suggested the idea… it was like, yes, this is it! It made sense, and suddenly I wanted it like nothing else in my life. So I went for it.” She stopped again, hesitating as she pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

“I passed.” She said softly. “I mean, obviously right?” The laugh, like the one he’d uttered earlier, was hard and more than a little forced. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I assisted on one of those minor arrests you mentioned a month after I got my detective’s badge. My mentor was with, acting as temporary partner until I could be paired with someone suitable.” Her eyes closed again, one hand rising to press against her lids. “I’d been seeing him for a while… outside of work. We’d kept it secret, figuring it would be okay once… you know.”

“I know.” Said Carlton quietly.

She rubbed fingertips across her stiff smile. “We were meeting a contact at a coffee shop near the beach. I volunteered to go in ahead so I could act as a lookout.” Her fingers twisted together. “He didn’t come alone. He’d been under surveillance by his employers- some smalltime gunrunners. They followed him in.” She shook her head, though only she was aware of it. “It happened so fast. Our contact took a bullet in the arm before I could signal a warning. Of course, by then I didn’t need to. My partner arrived as the shooter was making a break for it. I could have pulled my weapon. The shooter had his back to me- and he didn’t know I was a cop. I could have taken him down but… but all I could think about was… what if I miss? What if I have to fire my gun, and instead of hitting the bad guy, I hit my partner? I couldn’t risk losing him. I couldn’t risk putting him in danger.” She frowned. “I lost sight of the job because I was too focused on my emotions.”

She realized her butt had grown numb from sitting so long on the cold, hard surface.

“What happened to your partner?”

Juliet blew air between her lips, readjusting on her flattened stack of cardboard. “He got the guy before he could hurt anyone else. Our contact survived; and later testified against his employers. They went to jail, we got a ‘well done’ from our chief of police, and that was it.”

“Was it?”

She curled her knees to the side. “No. A week later my boyfriend and I broke up. He transferred to a precinct near South Beach, and I put in a transfer request as well. Our chief knew Karen Vick from the academy- so when the news came in that you needed a new partner, I was offered the job.”

She didn’t feel she needed to detail it out any further. Their history was shared from that point.

Carlton made another sound, something like throat clearing mixed with a cough. “So… was that whole soul-baring story supposed to make me feel better about what happened to the chief?”

Juliet shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not sure why I told you all that.” She paused, scratching her knee. “Did it?”

It was silent a moment as Carlton seemed to be contemplating his answer. Then, abruptly, she heard him chuckle.

“Yeah. I guess it did.”



_)()(_





As he’d discovered in a prior, and much unpleasantly remembered experience, no matter how warm the ambient temperature was, being covered in mud tended to generate some serious chilliness. Which led to a cold. Which led to undiagnosed pneumonia. Which led to complete and ruinous assery via climatic bad guy reveal at Gus’s workplace, thus landing him in the position he was in now- covered from Converse to collar in greenish grey sludge.

Riding back to the cabin in the open bed of Ruger’s truck also didn’t help. For a guy that raised pigs, the big man was extremely fastidious about the condition of his vehicle- sorta like another aged duffer that didn’t need mentioning.

Also, as an aside, Shawn’s towering chauffer managed to drive just slow enough for the hemoglobin hungry horde to zero in on his filthy yet still tasty flesh. He was quite sure he’d given his pound by the time the rumbling Chevy parked next to the little blue Echo surprisingly not speeding its way back to Santa Barbara.

Oozing off the tailgate, he winced when his heels struck the gravel- twinges in his back indicating just how hard he’d bit it earlier. Tottering a few steps until the flexibility started to come back, he flipped up the gate and gave quick thanks to his client. Nodding in return, Ruger slowly reversed until he could turn around, offering another wave before putting the vehicle in drive and heading for the main road.

Irritation with both Gus and his father reflected in the way Shawn pushed through the front door- letting the faded wood bounce against the wall before swinging back quickly on its long spring to clack in the frame.

“Gus!” Sitting at the kitchen table, his friend kept his back to him as he munched something that smelled incredibly tasty. Admonishment for the previous unkindness vanished in light of this latest misdeed.

“Is that a Panini?”

Chewing with a practically obscene expression of enjoyment, his ratfink buddy licked aioli from his lower lip. Still not turning, he slid his phone from his pocket, flipped the lid, and quickly manipulated the keys. Seconds later, Shawn felt the buzzing vibration in his pocket.

“Dude, seriously? Again with the silent treatment?” Fishing his mercifully unmuddied cell from his jeans, he scanned the message waiting for him.

I’m not talking to you

“I gathered.” His lips parted for further reply when another message came through. Tapping his way to the receiving screen, he huffed at the second text.

I only bought one and I’m not sharing.

He glared as the last bite of toasted goodness glided past perfect teeth, pulverized and gone in a single swallow. Oh that was low. Crumpling up the paper wrapper, Gus kicked back his chair and strode from the room to presumably toss his garbage in the kitchen trashcan.

“Dude, you’ve had like, half an hour! Besides we’ve got a pigknapper to catch- and we need to find the thief before Petunia’s…”

“No, you need to find the thief Shawn!” Breaking his own rule to argue more expediently, Gus stomped back into the room. “I told you, I’m not…” allowing his words to forever linger as an unforgivable fragment, he took in the flaking and bespattered figure of his soiled best friend. “That had better not be pig poo Shawn, I’m not kidding.”

Shawn’s return expression was very ‘give me a break’ as he purposefully flapped the front of his mud-caked shirt, chunks flaking off in random segments. Gus squawked, but abandoning his own argument in favor of chastisement had leveled the playing field between them. It was anyone’s game now, and Shawn was due a win.

“Okay, I get it that I pissed you off! I know you’ve put together about a hundred reasons for why you should stay pissed off, fifty of which are probably valid. The thing is, we don’t have time for that!” As he spoke, he toed off his shoes and started peeling his filthy garments- darting towards his bedroom to snag clean clothes from his bag while continuing to speak fast. His shirt hit the floor with a clunk, and he shivered slightly as he pulled on a fresh polo. “Get this, Petunia wasn’t grabbed by Sassy!” Jeans followed the discarded shirt. “How heavy would Sassy be to make footprints that big?”

“Shawn, I’m not…”

“Come on Gus, be mad later, how heavy?” Denim tugged up his legs to button at his waist. Foregoing socks, he hurried back to the main room. As he’d only brought with the one pair, he was forced to pull on the same muck layered sneakers he’d shed minutes before. He really should have put on socks- the squishy wet not anywhere near comfortable.

“You do know this isn’t a real animal?”

“Gus!”

Shaking his head, Gus finally relented. “Well… assuming she’s around fifteen feet…” Eyes going distant as he mentally chased the numbers, he shrugged as he answered. “Anywhere from eight to twenty-five tones. Of course, that’s if she’s similar to a plesiosaurus…”

“Okay, so bigger than a breadbox- the point is, anything that heavy would have big footprints, right?” No answer, but Shawn hadn’t actually waited for one. “Only not just big- but deep!”

The skepticism was returning, but Shawn ignored it as he barreled ahead. “The footprints I found weren’t much deeper than mine- but they should have been if Sassy is as big as you say.” He spread his arms to emphasize his revelation. “Petunia wasn’t grabbed by the lake monster!”

No applause, but the raised eyebrow helped to punctuate the ‘well duh’ comment in his friend’s expression.

“No, I mean there is a Sassy of some kind, but I don’t think she’s behind the thefts! Well, at least not all of them…”

“Do I need to be here for this or can I go pack?”

The lack of excitement was getting old. “Think about it dude! We were at the farm when Petunia was snatched- the thief had to know we were there, which is why he went for a pig in a locked barn rather than easier pickings from the pen outside!”

“Shawn, I told you…”

“Why would a guy stealing a pig, not try to keep it quiet when there’re two people right outside that can hear him?”

Gus opened his mouth, but the question, finally, seemed to have sparked an emotion other than irritation with the man standing by the door. He blinked, tipping back his chin. “If it were me, I’d have used a tranquilizer of some kind.”

Shawn nodded, enthusiasm growing as he started to pace. “What if he didn’t have a tranquilizer? What else could you use to…?” Memory snapped backward, rolling over the past hours-

“What are you doing? That’s designed to carry a `strong electric current!”

His eyes flicked to Gus’s face. “What about a shark pole?”

Looking back in confusion, his friend frowned. “But they’re used for defense. The pulse is too short for incapacitating, he’d need to rewire it or something…”

“It’s no big deal- obviously it isn’t working…”

“He broke it!” Shawn blurted as the second memory flared bright. “Probably the last time he grabbed a pig!”

Gus frowned more deeply. “That’s reaching…”

They were crawling through long grass, Shawn slapping mosquitoes from his neck while Gus wrinkled his nose. “Dude, this whole town stinks! You just had to bring me to farm country didn’t you!”

The grin wiped the past few hours of antagonism and frustration from his mind, leaving only the glow that came with solving a puzzle. Grabbing his jacket from the arm of the couch, swiping Gus’s keys from the table and ignoring the shouted “Hey!” Shawn plowed through the screen door.

“Shawn, I will hurt you!”

“Then you better get in the car!” Barely clearing the frame as he slammed into the vehicle, Shawn had the engine roaring as Gus bolted out of the cabin. As he knew he would, his friend slid into the passenger’s side, expression furious.

“What did I tell you about stealing my keys?”

The other door was still pulling shut when Shawn spun the tires and executed a perfect one-eighty, foregoing the eleven point turn in favor of haste.

“I know you didn’t just kick gravel into my undercarriage Shawn!”

He could have responded more delicately, but when it came right down to it, Gus needed to learn how to pull his punches.

Rubbing his arm as they squealed onto the pavement, Shawn tried not to laugh again at the ruffled feathers to his right. “Just remember dude, you’re the one that said undercarriage.”



_)()(_





Gus wasn’t talking again by the time they’d reached their destination. Rather, Shawn’s destination as it was apparent Gus was just along for the ride. At least he didn’t try to snatch his keys back- though actually getting him to exit the vehicle required some determined tugging and a brief and finger stinging game of hand slap.

Finally extracting his stubborn friend, the two of them proceeded once more through tall grass and clouds of insects. Far more stumbling over rocky ground occurred now that the sun was long set and the moon stubbornly keeping its light hidden behind scattered cloud cover.

Still, though scratches and countless bites had reduced his blood volume a few pints, Shawn managed to lead them to the small shed without any major mishaps.

The door was locked again, no shock, but coercing Gus into finessing it open was a lot more complicated than before. Bribery wasn’t going to fly this time.

“Here’s the thing. We either go in now and check it out, or we stay out here and get sucked to death by parasites.”

Gus snorted. “The way I see it, the only one with the suck problem right now is you.” He smiled smugly before the grin flattened and they shared a glance at the absolute wrongness of his statement.

Brushing it aside with a sharp headshake, Shawn pressed forward intently. “Look, do you really want me to tell your mom who broke her collection of Fabergé eggs and hid the evidence in a cymbal clapping monkey?”

“I didn’t hide it in a cymbal clapping monkey Shawn!” Gus whispered back angrily.

“No, but it sounds a lot cooler than saying you buried it in the backyard.” He slapped Gus’s bicep lightly. “Dude, just open the lock!” He glanced around the backyard- what he could see of it- making certain they were still alone.

Cheek muscle jumping with clenching teeth Gus finally gave in, slapping his mini flashlight into Shawn’s palm. Remaining abnormally silent, he spun the dial. Then he elbowed his friend. “Hold the light higher, I can barely see what I’m doing.”

Obediently lifting the beam, Shawn paid attention to the sequence this time on the off chance he’d need to get inside a third time. Considering Gus’s ongoing PMS, this was the last time he’d be flashing his picking expertise on this particular lock.

Anxious to prove his suspicions, Shawn barely gave his friend time to pull the lock from the handle before he was tugging open the door and slipping inside.

Scoping out the inside of the shed, Shawn crouched when he spotted something on the floor. “I knew it!” He grinned, chuckling.

“What is it?”

He lifted a chunk from the floor, holding it in the light for Gus to see while scanning the rest of the area visible in the beam.

“Dried mud? That’s your big evidence?”

Shawn stood, still holding the fragment. “Mud that wasn’t here this morning!” He tossed the piece back to the floor- rubbing the dusty residue on his jeans. “Not only that,” he picked his way to the corner of the shed where the stack of burlap bags lay heaped, “remember that hunk of cloth I found when I nearly died in the jaws of death?” He dug in his pockets for a few seconds before remembering the torn chunk of fabric was in a pair of jeans lying in muddied disgrace back at the cabin. “Alright, forget the visual. But it’s the same material as these sacks!”

Apparently still not convinced, Gus shook his head. “Really. Well where are the pigs Shawn? So far I haven’t heard any squealing.”

He was in the water, struggling to flip the kayak back to the open air above- lungs reaching that point where it was breathe or black out- when he turned his head… And all he could see were teeth! Long, sharp cones, wide mouth, and a single yellow cat’s eye…

He swallowed before scratching the back of his neck. “Uh… I don’t think the pigs are here… anymore…” He pursed his lips. “Dammit, there goes the extra five grand.”

Gus snorted, turning towards the door.

“Okay, look,” he made a stumbling hop-walk back across the littered floor, “I’m about ninety-three percent positive Bob is the pigknapper!”

“That a fact?” His friend smiled in that ‘I’m just amusing the moron until I can slip away like a sneaky jackal’ way. “Ninety-three percent?”

Shawn’s eyes flicked to motion just beyond Gus’s shoulder- slowing raising his hands as the double barrel of a shotgun pointed steadily at his throat.

“Did I say ninety-three?”





_)()(_





Carlton had reverted back to his juvenile, petulant personality not more than half an hour after his small sharing session. “I really need coffee.”

On the other side of the trailer, O’Hara made a very unfeminine sound like a roughly ejected hairball- a skill he prayed to God she hadn’t picked up from Itchy and Scratchy. Speaking of her ankle shredding monsters he wondered, in passing, how they were getting on without food for nearly three days.

With luck maybe they ate each other.

“Carlton-” The sharp whisper put thoughts of kitty cannibalism on the back burner, his legs arguing against movement with a bazillion pin-pricks up and down their length. There was no need to ask what her warning tone was about, however, as the sound carried clearly through the trailer door.

”…got your shipment in here. Got a guy in Oxnard that makes the molds for me. Not a bad artist actually…”

Flicking on the light one more time, Carlton gestured to his partner, noting she’d drawn her weapon and was standing at ready. His own gun in hand, he managed to convey through a few signals what he needed her to do. Clearly going for silence, she left her heels behind as she followed him stealthily to the rear of the vehicle and took her position.

Seconds later the lock clicked on the sliding door.

Light spilled with the ratcheting clatter of rollers.

Lassiter gripped his weapon in both hands as his shoulders pressed into the tower of boxes beside him.

“…ell me these aren’t the best you’ve ever see…”

“O’HARA, NOW!” Allowing no time to react, the two detectives slammed into the unsteady stacks, partially unwrapped boxes raining cardboard, Styrofoam peanuts, and fragile ceramic frogs on the gathered men below.

Shouts and cries gave the needed distraction, and Carlton braced against the metal siding to cover the four individuals half buried in detritus.

“SBPD- WEAPONS DOWN AND HANDS IN THE AIR!” Slowly hands lifted skyward, several guns plus a few knives clattering to the cement.

Meanwhile, Carlton’s neighbor/perp God, the man actual had adult sized blinking shoes. And he thought Spencer had cornered the market on tacky. Did those things come equipped with wheels too? seemed to be trying to place him. Lassiter grinned at the confusion. “Pretend I’m watering my lawn.” The shocked realization was almost worth the past few days.

He trained his weapon on Mr. Flashy Feet. “You, glowey, hand over the cell phone to my partner! The rest of you, faces to the floor! DO IT!” Making certain the small group flattened out away from the coverage of crumpled containers, Lassiter kept his weapon drawn until his partner called in for backup on a phone even blingier than her own. Then, with two sets of handcuffs and a few plastic zip ties, they secured their catch, waiting until more units arrived.

It wasn’t long before the intermittent whoop of several approaching sirens echoed around the warehouse. Taking an opportunity while their badge-wearing assistance was still out of earshot, Lassiter pulled O’Hara close, fingers wrapped loosely around her upper arm.

“No matter what happens, we don’t speak of this to anyone. Ever.” His teeth clenched together tightly, grinding at the enamel. “Especially not Spencer.”

His partner, eyes solemn and mouth a thin line, nodded once. “It’s a deal.”




_)()(_




Shawn’s shoulders were starting to ache from rowing- though he had to admit that with the moon finally making a show, the smooth lake surface was very pretty. Behind him, Gus had grown silent again; though Shawn was pretty sure it was the result of freezing terror instead of slightly excessive friendship aggression. Hustled into the rowboat, Bob had made it plain that Sassy would be upgrading her diet that night.

“You know Bob, Gus and I are pretty understanding guys.”

Fingers tightening on the stock of his gun, the large man facing them continued to glare, blinking the sweat from his eyes. “Jus’ shut up and work them oars!”

Obeying the second command, Shawn blithely ignored the first. “No really! Just ask Gus. He totally understands what it’s like to lose a beloved pet, don’t you Gus.” He looked over his shoulder only to see an expression both stricken and vindictive. “Sorry dude, I know how you felt about Booker T. Barkington.”

Spinning back to the older man, he tipped his chin. “It was worse for you though, wasn’t it Bob.” He said softly. “You really loved all your animals. You cared for them every day of their lives. They were more than just income- they were your family.” He sighed, hands dropping from the oars to lean forward. “But then it was all taken away.”

Bob pressed his lips together, but the gun didn’t waver. However, he also didn’t demand that Shawn start rowing again.

“You couldn’t stand the thought of losing all your animals. Who else could take care of them like you could?”

The gun moved up and down as the big man shrugged. “They were my friends. I raised most of em’ from babies.”

Shawn clasped his hands between his knees, the boat drifting freely. “So you kept one.”

Gus jerked, finally remembering his words. “Kept one!? Like what, the bear? Wait, don’t tell me he has a mountain lion in his basement!”

Shawn inhaled while glancing down at the water. “Not exactly.”

“Back when I first started out you didn’t need permits for anything! My first show I ever did was all reptiles back in eighty nine. Small time back then, but I had some turtles and snakes till they started scaring people away. Same thing with the croc and even the little tree lizards. People always had more trouble with reptiles. That’s when I switched over to cuter and cuddlier.”

“Let’s just say he’s Betty White, and we’re both Bill Pullman.”

Gus lurched, boat rocking wildly as he pulled his arms and legs in tight to his body. “WHAT!? You’ve got a damn crocodile in here!?”

Shawn stared at the tired but determined gaze across from him. “It was easy at first, hiding Sassy in the lake, while keeping her nearby with a regular KFC run. You practically emptied your savings buying food for her.” He glanced again at the lake, but there was nothing to see. “It was going along just fine… until the chicken processing plant burned down last year.” Something struck the side of the boat, and Shawn flinched, trying to keep his eyes on everything at once, until he saw the branch bobbing next to the fiberglass side. Gus made a small noise, sliding himself to the floor.

Bob brought one hand to the back of his skull- scrubbing at his balding scalp. “I had enough in my freezer to last me a coupla’ months. I tried to find another source- not like I could just go to the market and buy feed- it would have been noticed. But I had to do something!”

Shawn’s eyes moved from Bob, to the gun, to the water, and back to Bob once more. “So you started stealing livestock.” Waves slapped the boat again, and Shawn fixed his attention on the gun to keep himself from panicking. Guns he could handle. Being shot at was old hat. Having a giant lizard try to eat you was entirely different, and he’d watched enough Crocodile Hunter to know these ‘little beauties’ didn’t respond well to negotiations.

Bob’s hand still rubbed at his head, though the other kept a solid grip on the shotgun. “I didn’t know what else to do… If anyone knew I had her, they’da shot her! I couldn’t let her hunt on her own and I knew she liked pigs best. Besides Ruger has so many of them things anyhow…”

“So you made some fake feet and left tracks around his property, knowing his own superstitions would make him believe it was the lake monster.” Shawn shifted, preparing to speak again when a solid THUD shook through the boat.

“Oh my God!” Moaned Gus, pulling his arms over his head. Shawn closed his eyes and breathed fast, trying to keep himself under control.

And then control vanished as a massive shudder spun the front end, pulling high-pitched screams from both Shawn and Gus. “Dang it!” Shouted Bob, arms swinging as he nearly lost his balance. Regaining control, Bob leveled the weapon at the two friends.

“Knock it off! I’m tired of your bullcrap, and nobody’s taking Sassy from me!” Almost as though she were listening, a giant dark head drifted to the surface, single eye locking on the figures in the boat. Long jaws parted slightly, and a thick groaning roar rippled the water around her massive skull. She was waaaay more enormous than Shawn had thought!

Stumbling backward on rubber legs he knocked Gus flat, practically crushing him until his friend, in complete empathy, jabbed him in the kidneys with the point of his fingers. “AH, Gus!”

“You got us into this, you get us out Shawn!” No need to scream so close to his ear- pretty sure the drum just ruptured…

Sassy snapped her teeth together, tail slashing as she charged the boat. Now all three men screamed, cowering until suddenly she dove, the backwash rocking them with her passage.

Bob was still trying to get his feet beneath him, gun barrel pointing to the sky. They had one chance. “Gus, now!”

He charged.

Striking the big man in the gut, Bob hollered, gun discharging both barrels in a hot flash before both he and his weapon tipped into the lake. Shawn yelled as his body followed after, his frantically scrabbling fingers just barely catching on the rim as he went under. However, the thought of jaws locking down on his torso before shredding him apart in a death roll gave him the motivation to drag himself back from the water.

As soon as he was safe, soaked from scalp down, he spun on his friend still crouching on the floor.

“Dude, what the heck was that!?”

Eyes still wild, though they were rapidly growing petulant, Gus frowned in irritation. “What the heck was what Shawn?”

“Help!” Sputtering and splashing, thick fingers wrapped around the edge of the boat.

Shawn stared in bafflement, rivulets skittering down the back of his neck and into his collar. “Where were you? You totally ignored my signal!”

“Help!” Both ignored the figure still trying to climb back onboard. Pulling out the front of his shirt, Shawn squeezed about three quarts from the soggy material. Great, now he had to change, again.

“There WAS no signal! You just shouted ‘now’ and took off!”

More splashing, the boat jerking from the desperate attempts near the bow. “Guys come on!”

Shawn crossed his arms, strongly affronted. “Gus, how many times have we watched Lethal Weapon? The good guys ALWAYS argue to throw the baddie off- it’s a classic bit!” He could feel water in his ears, and shook his head rapidly to fight off the sensation.

“Please! help me!”

“Just admit it Shawn. You had no idea what you were going to do until you did it! Next time you want me in on some hare-brained stunt, ask me first!”

“For the love of God!”

Shawn sighed, realizing he wasn’t getting through. “Fine, whatever, next time we get kidnapped and are about to be fed to something with huge teeth I’ll plan it out for you in detail ahead of time.”

“Fine!” Gus retaliated, lip pouting once more.

“Good!” Turning towards their pale-faced former captor, Shawn reached for a fleshy wrist. “Now help me rescue Bob before he gets chewed.”



_)()(_



Thankfully, getting Bob out of the water and back to shore was more or less incident free- though Shawn did incur the wrath of the insect population for most of the county. Still, a few itchy welts were bite marks he could handle.

Once back on moderately dry- sorta squishy ground, Bob immediately started apologizing. Considering he’d just tried to feed them to his pet, it was the least he could do. As a bonus, he led them to a small pen hidden on the opposite side of his house from the storage shed. Inside it, alive but very unhappy, was Petunia.

The local cops arrived about forty minutes after this, along with about six members of animal control from a nearby town. Used to netting recalcitrant cats and the random dog, goat, or chicken, they were poorly equipped to handle a twenty-three foot crocodile- even if she only had one eye. The cops were starting to pull their weapons when Shawn held up his hands.

“Woah, woah, guys!”

“Sir, we appreciate your help, but we need you and your friend to stand aside and let us do our jobs.”

Shawn wrinkled his nose at the statement. “Seriously, is that something they make you memorize in order to graduate from the academy?” When they began moving past him again, he waved wildly. “Hold on! Look, there’s no need for further bloodshed!” Not bad- actually somewhat dramatic if he said so himself.

“Sir…”

“Shawn, what are you doing! That thing tried to eat us!”

Offering a sideways glance towards his friend while simultaneously blocking the determined officers, Shawn cleared his throat.

“I think I can offer a solution that will make everyone in this immediate… county, district… moderately…uh… less unhappy.”

Gus glared. “Oh really? Like what?”



_)()(_



                              VOODOO PSYCHIC NABS SASSY IMPERSONATOR!

‘Psychic consultant Shawn Spencer uncovered a secret over two decades old when he exposed the legendary Sassy for what she truly was! No prehistoric creature, the Lake Monster, as she was dubbed, was, in truth, a gargantuan saltwater crocodile! Nearly thirty feet in length, the herculean reptile was saved from slaughter by the benevolent intervention of Mr. Spencer. Requiring the strength and time of dozens of volunteers, this dinosaur of the deep was captured and successfully transported to the Santa Barbara Zoo where-’