No Place I'd Rather Be...
Until Further Notice, Hockey is Suspended in the NHL
“Until further notice, hockey in the NHL is suspended indefinitely. There is a serial killer running around the streets of Chicago and his target seems to be blond men with blue eyes. But the scary part is, he doesn’t have a clear motive or set person-type. So, I’m only asking that anyone in Chicago who possesses blond hair and blue eyes and is male, stay on guard.”
Detective Carlton Lassiter finished up his speech for the news and then groaned, loudly, as the camera people walked away, heading back outside, following the spunky brunette news reporter. He leaned back, as Shawn Spencer peered around the pole, startling.
“Lassie, it seems you need a psychic’s help after all.”
“Spencer, don’t you have some video games to play?” The older man groaned again and folded his arms.
“No. Please, I want to help out so badly. Gus and I have already looked into the missing person. I had a vision about him.”
Carlton had to admit that he hadn’t even gotten to do that yet. He’d been so busy just speaking to the media and trying to reassure the public. But then again, someone who looked exactly like Shawn had died and Shawn did fit the type. However, if he stayed with the detective, how could he get into any trouble. It might even be safer for him.
“Alright fine. Tell me about the victim.”
Shawn sat on the desk and leaned forward, doing his “psychic” fingers-to-head mumbo-jumbo. He finally gasped, overdramatically. “Oh, Nathan MacKinnon, oh yes, he’s a native from the Halifax arena. And he was drafted first overall by the Avalanche. He won the Rookie of the Year award - the Calder Memorial Trophy - for the 2013-2014 season...and he-he--”
“He what? Spit it out Spencer!”
“He...doesn’t like that tie. It’s too flamboyant for your outfit.”
“Spencer!” Carlton was losing his patience with the psychic. He didn’t have time for the shenanigans and hooligans and bizarreness.
“Alright, he’s also the youngest player to win the award. And he was a Moosehead, who was teammates with some guy named Jonathan Drouin.”
Carlton froze. Then he slapped the desk. “Good work Spencer. Wow, what is wrong with me today. We need to have a little chat with this Drouin guy.”
Shawn did another exaggerate psychic vibe improv. “He’s in Tampa Bay with the Lightning.”
“O’Hara!! We’re going to Tampa!”
“Fun, I’ll get Gus!” Shawn exclaimed and skipped off, merrily, calling his friend.
Carlton sighed and rolled his eyes. This was going to be a long flight and day.
A few hours later,
The plane finally touched down in Tampa, Florida. Carlton looked like he hadn’t slept in day...or had just been on a five hour flight with Burton Guster and Shawn Spencer. Juliet patted him on the shoulder.
“It’s not so bad.”
“Are you kidding me...I feel like I’ve lost my entire brain!”
“Carlton, maybe some interrogating will cheer you up, huh?”
The detective smiled. She knew him too well. They hailed a cab and hightailed it to the newly-named Amalie Arena, where the Lightning played. There, they stormed in, Carlton flashing his badge in the process and walked toward the rink.
“Whoa, two NHL ice hockey rinks in one week, that’s cool.”
“No, Gus, you have to say “sick”...it’s the vernacular!”
“It’s stupid is what it is.”
“C’mon son.”
“You suck it Shawn!”
They were about to get into it, when Carlton’s booming voice called out, “I need to speak to a Mister Jonathan Drouin.”
They stood behind the boards of the zamboni entrance. Shawn suddenly started slapping and hitting Gus, rather obnoxiously and excitedly.
“What?” the black man hissed.
“It’s Steven Stamkos! He’s like one of the best players!!” Shawn squealed softly.
“No way, that dude skated with Martin St. Louis, or Marty, as he prefers it, and Dave Andreychuk!”
“The 2004 Stanley Cup Champions!”
They began to act like fanboys, clapping and softly squealing.
Carlton rolled his eyes. “Knock it off you two, it’s a hockey player.”
The Coach skated over to them, where they were. The head detective turned back to him, as he skidded to a halt right there. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, we’re on a case from the Santa Barbara police department...Drouin, we need to see him.”
“May I ask why?”
“Just need to ask him some questions.”
“Is this about the Nathan MacKinnon kidnapping and the Val Nichushkin attack?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright. But I promise you, he’s innocent. He’s still a little shaken up. Nathan was his friend, you know.”
“Just get him.”
The coach skated back to the cluster of players, who were beginning to shoot glances over at the four crime solvers. Steven Stamkos, the Captain, was handling a puck, uninterested by the scene. Eventually, the coach came back over, leading a sniffling small brunette guy over. He opened the zamboni doors and let him out.
“Make it fast, because, we still need to practice. Even though there’s a hiatus, you never know when it’ll end.”
Juliet wrapped her arm around Jonathan Drouin, whispering softly and calmly to him. Carlton turned and they walked over to a shadowy area to the side. It was out of the earshot of the coach and players.
“Alright, Drouin, we want answers. Where’s MacKinnon?”
“I have no idea. I found out the news from Stammer. He texted them to me. I was shocked and startled. Nathan would never hurt a fly!”
“But you knew him, did you not?”
“Yeah, he was my best friend in Halifax...but I’d never do anything to harm him!! I loved Nathan, hell, I still do love him as a friend. So we’re split apart and not teammates anymore, I’d never go after him to hurt him. I want him to do well, just as he wants me.”
“But you’re still linked to him. How do you explain that?”
“I’m his best friend. Try talking to that “role model” he called his “idol”. The Pittsburgh Penguins’ Captain may give you more of an answer. I don’t know why Nathan ever looked up to the crybaby!” Jonathan spat.
“What’s this Penguins’ name?”
“Are you serious? Is he serious?” Jonathan stated, looking from Juliet to Gus and Shawn.
“I’m as serious as a heart attack, what’s the bastard’s name?”
“You mean you’ve never heard of Sidney Crosby?”
Shawn looked to Gus. They knew him.
“Sidney? Isn’t that normally a girl’s name?” Juliet questioned.
“Yeah...he sure acts like a little princess!” Jonathan started to mimic Crosby’s behavior.
“Ooh, ooh, spot on, man!” Shawn complimented.
“Alright, guess we’re going to Pittsburgh to talk to this Crosby guy. You’re still not out of the clear, Drouin!”
“Well, next time get some concrete evidence. Why would I harm my friend?”
“He’s right Lassie.”
“Spencer, I’m so not in the mood right now.”
Three hours later,
The quartet touched down in Pittsburgh now. They didn’t bother wasting any time and quickly got themselves to the Penguins’ Arena in Downtown. They repeated the procedure done in Tampa and rapidly - thanks to having two hockey fans - found the Captain and pulled him aside for questioning and interrogation.
“So you’re Crosby?” Carlton asked.
“Yeah. And you are?” Sidney folded his arms across his chest, not smiling. He looked like he was annoyed too (fitting a number of cocky thugs in movies).
“Detective Carlton Lassiter, Head Detective for the LAPD and SBPD and now CPD!”
“Never heard of you.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of you.”
“That’s highly unlikely, everyone knows me.”
“You cocky son of a--” Lassiter began to step forward, toward the man.
“Carlton!” Juliet scolded.
“What’s this about, detectives? What have I done?” Sidney smirked, giving a cocky look.
“I’d hate to know you. You seem like a real first class a-hole, Crosby. But we’re here about a little Moosehead guy…”
“Nathan MacKinnon, right? The Av. Oh, man, you think I’m out to hurt the one guy who cares a lot about me and looks up to me? Look, I’m cocky, a little bit of a crybaby, and a lot of things, according to people, but I’m not a killer. I’m not even a kidnapper.”
“But you’re linked to Nathan.”
“Well, whoever told you that I’d be a good person to go to, they were wrong. How about this detectives, before you interrogate me, maybe look at the Avalanche team themselves...or Colorado’s rivals!”
“And the rivals would be--?”
“Take your pick: Detroit, Vancouver, Minnesota…all of them are nuthouses!” Sidney scoffed.
“He’s right, Detroit is a place for losers.”
“Spencer, no one asked for your opinion.”
Shawn rounded the table and put his hands on Sidney’s shoulders. “Lassie, Lassie, you’re making a big mistake. You’re wasting your time here. Sid’s not the killer or kidnapper, neither is Drouin...in fact I doubt its even a hockey player.”
“I agree with Shawn. We need to get back to Chicago and then we need to contact the NHL and get all the blond haired-blue eyed hockey players put under surveillance. That’s the smartest idea.”
Shawn continued to “massage” the hockey player’s shoulders, much to his dislike. “What the hell are you doing, man?” Sidney snapped.
“You seem tense.”
“Spencer, let’s go. You’re right, we are wasting our time,” Lassiter growled, glaring at the Penguin.
Detective Carlton Lassiter finished up his speech for the news and then groaned, loudly, as the camera people walked away, heading back outside, following the spunky brunette news reporter. He leaned back, as Shawn Spencer peered around the pole, startling.
“Lassie, it seems you need a psychic’s help after all.”
“Spencer, don’t you have some video games to play?” The older man groaned again and folded his arms.
“No. Please, I want to help out so badly. Gus and I have already looked into the missing person. I had a vision about him.”
Carlton had to admit that he hadn’t even gotten to do that yet. He’d been so busy just speaking to the media and trying to reassure the public. But then again, someone who looked exactly like Shawn had died and Shawn did fit the type. However, if he stayed with the detective, how could he get into any trouble. It might even be safer for him.
“Alright fine. Tell me about the victim.”
Shawn sat on the desk and leaned forward, doing his “psychic” fingers-to-head mumbo-jumbo. He finally gasped, overdramatically. “Oh, Nathan MacKinnon, oh yes, he’s a native from the Halifax arena. And he was drafted first overall by the Avalanche. He won the Rookie of the Year award - the Calder Memorial Trophy - for the 2013-2014 season...and he-he--”
“He what? Spit it out Spencer!”
“He...doesn’t like that tie. It’s too flamboyant for your outfit.”
“Spencer!” Carlton was losing his patience with the psychic. He didn’t have time for the shenanigans and hooligans and bizarreness.
“Alright, he’s also the youngest player to win the award. And he was a Moosehead, who was teammates with some guy named Jonathan Drouin.”
Carlton froze. Then he slapped the desk. “Good work Spencer. Wow, what is wrong with me today. We need to have a little chat with this Drouin guy.”
Shawn did another exaggerate psychic vibe improv. “He’s in Tampa Bay with the Lightning.”
“O’Hara!! We’re going to Tampa!”
“Fun, I’ll get Gus!” Shawn exclaimed and skipped off, merrily, calling his friend.
Carlton sighed and rolled his eyes. This was going to be a long flight and day.
A few hours later,
The plane finally touched down in Tampa, Florida. Carlton looked like he hadn’t slept in day...or had just been on a five hour flight with Burton Guster and Shawn Spencer. Juliet patted him on the shoulder.
“It’s not so bad.”
“Are you kidding me...I feel like I’ve lost my entire brain!”
“Carlton, maybe some interrogating will cheer you up, huh?”
The detective smiled. She knew him too well. They hailed a cab and hightailed it to the newly-named Amalie Arena, where the Lightning played. There, they stormed in, Carlton flashing his badge in the process and walked toward the rink.
“Whoa, two NHL ice hockey rinks in one week, that’s cool.”
“No, Gus, you have to say “sick”...it’s the vernacular!”
“It’s stupid is what it is.”
“C’mon son.”
“You suck it Shawn!”
They were about to get into it, when Carlton’s booming voice called out, “I need to speak to a Mister Jonathan Drouin.”
They stood behind the boards of the zamboni entrance. Shawn suddenly started slapping and hitting Gus, rather obnoxiously and excitedly.
“What?” the black man hissed.
“It’s Steven Stamkos! He’s like one of the best players!!” Shawn squealed softly.
“No way, that dude skated with Martin St. Louis, or Marty, as he prefers it, and Dave Andreychuk!”
“The 2004 Stanley Cup Champions!”
They began to act like fanboys, clapping and softly squealing.
Carlton rolled his eyes. “Knock it off you two, it’s a hockey player.”
The Coach skated over to them, where they were. The head detective turned back to him, as he skidded to a halt right there. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, we’re on a case from the Santa Barbara police department...Drouin, we need to see him.”
“May I ask why?”
“Just need to ask him some questions.”
“Is this about the Nathan MacKinnon kidnapping and the Val Nichushkin attack?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright. But I promise you, he’s innocent. He’s still a little shaken up. Nathan was his friend, you know.”
“Just get him.”
The coach skated back to the cluster of players, who were beginning to shoot glances over at the four crime solvers. Steven Stamkos, the Captain, was handling a puck, uninterested by the scene. Eventually, the coach came back over, leading a sniffling small brunette guy over. He opened the zamboni doors and let him out.
“Make it fast, because, we still need to practice. Even though there’s a hiatus, you never know when it’ll end.”
Juliet wrapped her arm around Jonathan Drouin, whispering softly and calmly to him. Carlton turned and they walked over to a shadowy area to the side. It was out of the earshot of the coach and players.
“Alright, Drouin, we want answers. Where’s MacKinnon?”
“I have no idea. I found out the news from Stammer. He texted them to me. I was shocked and startled. Nathan would never hurt a fly!”
“But you knew him, did you not?”
“Yeah, he was my best friend in Halifax...but I’d never do anything to harm him!! I loved Nathan, hell, I still do love him as a friend. So we’re split apart and not teammates anymore, I’d never go after him to hurt him. I want him to do well, just as he wants me.”
“But you’re still linked to him. How do you explain that?”
“I’m his best friend. Try talking to that “role model” he called his “idol”. The Pittsburgh Penguins’ Captain may give you more of an answer. I don’t know why Nathan ever looked up to the crybaby!” Jonathan spat.
“What’s this Penguins’ name?”
“Are you serious? Is he serious?” Jonathan stated, looking from Juliet to Gus and Shawn.
“I’m as serious as a heart attack, what’s the bastard’s name?”
“You mean you’ve never heard of Sidney Crosby?”
Shawn looked to Gus. They knew him.
“Sidney? Isn’t that normally a girl’s name?” Juliet questioned.
“Yeah...he sure acts like a little princess!” Jonathan started to mimic Crosby’s behavior.
“Ooh, ooh, spot on, man!” Shawn complimented.
“Alright, guess we’re going to Pittsburgh to talk to this Crosby guy. You’re still not out of the clear, Drouin!”
“Well, next time get some concrete evidence. Why would I harm my friend?”
“He’s right Lassie.”
“Spencer, I’m so not in the mood right now.”
Three hours later,
The quartet touched down in Pittsburgh now. They didn’t bother wasting any time and quickly got themselves to the Penguins’ Arena in Downtown. They repeated the procedure done in Tampa and rapidly - thanks to having two hockey fans - found the Captain and pulled him aside for questioning and interrogation.
“So you’re Crosby?” Carlton asked.
“Yeah. And you are?” Sidney folded his arms across his chest, not smiling. He looked like he was annoyed too (fitting a number of cocky thugs in movies).
“Detective Carlton Lassiter, Head Detective for the LAPD and SBPD and now CPD!”
“Never heard of you.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of you.”
“That’s highly unlikely, everyone knows me.”
“You cocky son of a--” Lassiter began to step forward, toward the man.
“Carlton!” Juliet scolded.
“What’s this about, detectives? What have I done?” Sidney smirked, giving a cocky look.
“I’d hate to know you. You seem like a real first class a-hole, Crosby. But we’re here about a little Moosehead guy…”
“Nathan MacKinnon, right? The Av. Oh, man, you think I’m out to hurt the one guy who cares a lot about me and looks up to me? Look, I’m cocky, a little bit of a crybaby, and a lot of things, according to people, but I’m not a killer. I’m not even a kidnapper.”
“But you’re linked to Nathan.”
“Well, whoever told you that I’d be a good person to go to, they were wrong. How about this detectives, before you interrogate me, maybe look at the Avalanche team themselves...or Colorado’s rivals!”
“And the rivals would be--?”
“Take your pick: Detroit, Vancouver, Minnesota…all of them are nuthouses!” Sidney scoffed.
“He’s right, Detroit is a place for losers.”
“Spencer, no one asked for your opinion.”
Shawn rounded the table and put his hands on Sidney’s shoulders. “Lassie, Lassie, you’re making a big mistake. You’re wasting your time here. Sid’s not the killer or kidnapper, neither is Drouin...in fact I doubt its even a hockey player.”
“I agree with Shawn. We need to get back to Chicago and then we need to contact the NHL and get all the blond haired-blue eyed hockey players put under surveillance. That’s the smartest idea.”
Shawn continued to “massage” the hockey player’s shoulders, much to his dislike. “What the hell are you doing, man?” Sidney snapped.
“You seem tense.”
“Spencer, let’s go. You’re right, we are wasting our time,” Lassiter growled, glaring at the Penguin.
Notes
Sorry, I think I took Sid's jerky personality on the ice to a maximum. I made him kind of an asshole here, but he's not evil. Oooh, I said jerky...never really enjoyed that stuff.
Anyway, getting off-topic. But this was something totally different. I typed this chapter up, right after re-reading/proof-reading the chapter for HH with Jo VS Kinny and....that was quite a change.
Yes, Jo is not really evil and does care a lot about Nathan, I'm sure. Poor Jo.
Next up: Kazer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <3
So this is the real Keith Ballard, in case anyone was interested:
Kinda evil, isn't he? I swear, I had no idea about him before creating the killer character. Then I just hear the name "Keith Ballard" during a Lightning game and....woo-la! Imagine the laughter I had...man. That's like me guessing my roommates real middle name. ;)
He also reminds me a little bit of Bur (Adam Burish)...but BUR IS BETTER!! :D
12/10/14