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.”