No Place I'd Rather Be...

Near the shores of sunny Santa Barbara, CA, lied the head office of the psychic detective agency Psych. This agency had solved multiple gruesome cases that had baffled the most veteran detectives of the Santa Barbara Police Department. At the head of this institution was the eccentric, but brilliant, Shawn Spencer. His powers of observation and analysis gave him some of the best deductive reasoning skills in the world.

"Gus, have you seen my phone? I know I left it right here!" Shawn called out to his best friend and partner in business.

"How should I know Shawn? I'm not the one who left it on the back of a radio controlled car!" Gus replied.

Shawn looked around for a little while before he noticed the remote control for the car was on the ground. Since he put it on the table, and it was now on the ground, it was obvious that the remote fell. Not only that, but it fell in such a way that the car should be…

"Found it! In a bag of potato chips!" Shawn yelled out.

He heard Gus reply, "Shawn, can we go? I don't want to be late! Our flight leaves in four hours and there's gonna be traffic on the way to Los Angeles."

Shawn and Gus were planning on going on vacation to Chicago, Illinois. Gus had gotten tickets to a Blackhawks game. After the number of cases they had solved, Gus demanded a break. Shawn acquiesced in the end, and they were getting ready to leave. As they put their luggage in the back of the familiar, small Toyota Echo, Shawn went back inside the office and grabbed his police radio.

"Shawn, there will be no need for that. No cases, remember?" Gus reminded Shawn.

Shawn replied, "Seriously dude? Fine…" and put the police radio back in the office. He locked it on his way out and then got into the little car for the two hour drive to Los Angeles.

They parked Gus's company car at the airport and entered the terminal. After checking in their luggage and getting their boarding passes, they were about ready to embark on the vacation they so desperately deserved. They walked to the security line, and after about 20 minutes of waiting in line and Shawn's constant complaining, they made it to the bag screening. Gus went first, putting his bag on the belt and passing the metal detector. No surprise to anyone, he was cleared. Shawn put his bag on the belt and passed the metal detector. No surprise to anyone, the detector went off.

"Sir, please remove all metals from your person and place them in this tray," said a surprisingly buff TSA agent. Shawn acquiesced, and he passed the metal detector. However, his bag did not make it through. "Sir, you have far too many liquids and gels in your bag. Did you not read the signs saying that you can only have three bottles in a one quart ziplock bag?"

"Of course I did, but I had more!"

"I understand that sir, but that doesn't change the fact that this stuff isn't allowed."

"Right, because a terrorist is going to use hair gel and shaving cream to commit murder…"

Gus groaned, and the TSA guard suddenly became very stern. "Mr…Spencer, come with me. You will be subjected to special screening."

Gus interjected, "But sir, our flight leaves in under an hour!"

The TSA guard replied, "I don't really care. Your friend has proven himself to be a threat to airport security, and will be screened."

After Shawn was strip-searched and cleared, a voice came up on the intercom, "Will passengers Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster please report to gate 59A to board Delta Flight 2092 to Dallas?"

"Shawn, I still don't understand why we have to connect in Dallas when there's a direct flight to Chicago!" complained Gus. He was starting to realize what a mistake it was to let Shawn book the tickets.

Shawn responded with, "Gus, I told you, the only direct flight to Chicago was at 8:35 in the morning. I wasn't going to wake up that early!"

What surprised Gus the most was that he was actually surprised. Typical Shawn, he thought. However, there was little that could be done now. They went to the gate and gave the flight attendant their boarding passes. When they boarded the plane, the purser told them to go to the back of the plane.

Shawn pretended to be confused, assuring her that they had booked first class tickets. When the purser looked at the boarding pass, she assured them that they had the right seats. After arguing with her, the pilot passed by and returned to the cockpit. The way he touched the purser's arm told him all he needed to know.

"Love affair with the captain, huh?" he asked the purser. The purser asked him what he meant, and he explained that he was a psychic with the police department, and knew that they were having an affair. After looking at Shawn in disbelief for several minutes, she caved, "I believe we do have two empty seats for you two gentlemen, after all." She then closed the boarding doors and left, obviously embarrassed.

"Shawn, you've gotta stop that, you made things very awkward for her." Gus said. "I know man, but how nice are these seats?" Shawn replied. Gus sighed. They were nice seats, after all.


In Chicago, two hours later,

As the pale roseate light of dawn crept over the city its fingers stretched out and touched two figures on the roof of a clock tower, locked in a close embrace. Detective Carlton Lassiter was the first on the scene. After a seemingly unending flight, Detective Juliet O’Hara and himself finally rushed off the plane and out of the airport. They made it to the scene in less than 60 minutes.

Now the Head Detective stood, hovering over the newest victim in the case. They were officially on the “Chicago Killer’s” trail. Unfortunately they didn’t know that the Dynamic Duo of Idiots was also there.

"I hope there's no blood," he heard Gus mutter. He heaved a heavy and exaggerated sigh and shook his head. He rolled his eyes. Great.

"He's never been able to handle blood," Shawn informed one of the officers, who recognized him and let them pass. It was Buzz.

"That makes you very courageous," said Buzz. "Doing what you do when you can't stand the sight."

"I'm getting better."

"Now he can make it four minutes before tossing his cookies."

The door opened and Shawn Spencer came bounding into the room, followed reluctantly by Burton Guster, who kept his face turned away from the body.

They followed the sound of police voices to a second floor apartment building. For once, they didn’t have to sneak onto the site without Lassiter knowing. And he knew alright. Shawn was assaulted by the smell of blood the moment he crossed the threshold. He was surprised the “Super Smeller” even made it this far.

Patrick Cleary, the victim, was lying facedown in the living room, still bound to the chair and gagged with the cloth. There was a gunshot wound to the head, shoulder and chest above the heart. There were no bullet casings to be found and the scene of the place was covered in clear plastic sheets.

"Planned, tortuous and execution style," stated Lassiter, ignoring the two newcomers.

"But what connection could he have to the victim we found back in Santa Barbara?" asked Juliet O’Hara or Jules.

“Could be a distant cousin or friend…” Shawn remarked, elbowing Lassiter in the ribs. “Maybe he’s your fun, lovable side, Lassie?”

"Spencer," Lassiter smiled icily. "You're not on this case. I've got all the help I need." He stepped in front of the two investigators, blocking their passage further into the room.

"Actually," O'Hara cut in, "I called Shawn. I thought Shawn might be able to pick up some information to help us, given the scene is picked cleaner than a plate in a dishwasher."

"Fine," Lassiter extended an arm. "Please," he said sarcastically, "just stroll through my crime scene, contaminating all my evidence."

"Don't mind if I do!" Shawn said cheerily. "We'll just see if we can help. You know. With the justice." Shawn grabbed Gus by the arm and dragged him around to the other side of the body. He quickly glanced about the apartment, then put his index fingers to his temples. "I'll check the room for psychic vibrations." He began picking up random objects, holding them to his head, then tossing them to Gus, who set them down where-ever was handy.

Finally he shrugged expansively and sighed. "No luck. I'm getting something about a drug cartel, a broken oath and mistaken identity, but it's all choppy and chaotic, like a Quentin Tarantino film."

"Great!" Lassiter pointed to the door. "Then can you and Guster please get the hell out of my crime scene? Don’t you have a vacation to get back to...some kind of sport’s event?"

Shawn walked the rest of the way around the body, dragging Gus behind him. While his back was turned, Lassiter wrote "Serial killer?" down in his notebook, hoping Shawn wouldn't see.

"If you need any background on the victim, just let me know," Shawn said as he was leaving.

"Oh, so you knew him too?" Lassiter was beginning to wonder if this was all some kind of anxiety dream. He almost expected to discover himself wearing no pants.

"You could say that," Shawn said. "In fact, you could say that I knew him in a ‘spiritual’ sense."

“I don’t have time for your games and wasting time.” Lassiter smiled. "It is with great pleasure that I say this, Spencer." He took a deep breath and smiled even wider. "You're off the case."

"What? Why?" Shawn looked hurt.

Lassiter wrapped an arm around Shawn's shoulders and guided him forcefully toward the door. "See, a police investigation is supposed to be objective," he said evenly. "And you're well not."

"No way, dude. I think you mean I can't not be on it."

Lassiter's smile took on an eerie look. "Actually, there is a role I'm considering you for." He looked at his notebook and then back to Shawn. "Going by the facts, you could be my prime suspect if you know the victim."

"That sounds like fun, Lassikins," Shawn said. "But if you want us to spend more time together just ask. You don't need some trumped up excuse to justify it. Repeat after me: Shawn, I want to hang out with you. Come on, Lassie, now you try it."

Lassiter pushed Shawn out of the doorway. As much as he'd have loved to arrest him, just as Shawn had known that Lassiter wouldn't shoot a man in police custody, lassiter had a gut feeling that Shawn hadn't stabbed their victim to death.

When he turned back to the crime scene McNab and O'Hara were discussing planting a memorial tree in honour of Mary Sue. He excused himself and stepped outside for some fresh air. All the sweetness in their conversation was making him queasy.

Shawn and Gus sat in the Psych office, playing Street Fighter II on Shawn's Xbox. Ken had just defeated Rhu with a Shoryuken, followed by a fast-moving fireball. Shawn turned his head to look at Gus, then looked back at the screen.

"Just so you know, Shawn said, "they're never going to solve that case. This killer or murderer is too precise and careful."

"You just think that because they took you off the case," Gus said. "They can solve murder cases without you, you know. They have before."

Shawn's mouth turned up at the corner. "Well they're not going to solve this one."

Gus looked at Shawn briefly and his eyes narrowed. "You sound pretty sure of that."

"I am." Shawn "Why do you think I dragged you all through that crime scene? Now their DNA evidence is useless."

Gus' face didn't change expression. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Shawn." He started a new game and began punching Ken in the head. Shawn set his controller down and looked at Gus.

"We have to talk this out, buddy," Shawn said. "How many guys have their best friend kill someone for them? I mean, it's huge."

"Don't mention it," Gus said, as Ryu defeated Ken with his Shinku Hadoken. Shawn opened his mouth to speak but Gus cut in. "No, seriously," he said, wearing his most serious expression. "Don't mention it. Ever."

"Personally, I don't even count it as murder," Shawn said. "The way I see it, you just helped send her back to her own universe. It's like on Buffy, when Giles killed Ben to protect everyone from Glory."

"I'm glad you see it that way," Gus said, letting out a breath. Personally, he saw it exactly that way. "But for someone who owns both Buffy and Angel on DVD, it took you long enough to figure out that she wasn't human."

"In my defense," Shawn said, "I've had one-night stands go bad before. I don't usually jump to the conclusion that they've Quantum Leaped here to manipulate me and my friends like a bunch of Playmobil people."

"Technically," Gus explained, "Scott Bakula's character was just lost in time."

"So it's more like you killed one of the characters from The Sims," Shawn said.

"Since the person’s still alive in their own dimension, I don't consider myself to have killed anybody," Gus said defensively.

"Okay. Relax," Shawn said. "If you make any more worry lines on your forehead you're going to look like that guy who plays Worf."

Gus considered explaining to Shawn that Michael Dorn didn't actually have large ridges on his forehead, but now didn't seem to be the time for an explanation of the art of prosthetic makeup.

Meanwhile, Lassiter looked at the forensics reports on his desk. Except for prints belonging to Spencer and Guster, the place had been clean. It was true; this was going to be a much more difficult case. But they had absolutely nothing. Just two dead bodies of men. One was washed up on the shore in California, that other in his own house in Chicago. And both had been restrained with ropes and gagged. But it still meant nothing. He sighed and closed the folder.

Unless someone confessed, this case was never going to get solved. He glanced at his watch, downed the rest of his cold coffee and put his suit jacket on. He'd promised to meet O'Hara and McNabb in the park for that damn memorial tree planting. As he filed the folder in the cold case drawer he thought, not for the first time, that seemed almost too good to be true. Except that Spencer had been right again, he added. Everyone had to have one flaw, he supposed. Otherwise they'd hardly be human.

So what was going on with Chicago?

Notes

OMG this is soooo much fun....Psych never did hockey, but hey! I'm covering that now! And they're Blackhawks fans! Cause who isn't? But I'm not sure it Shawn = Jonathan or Patrick? I think it's Shawn = Patrick, while Gus = Jonathan! :D
BROMANCES!!!! <3

Next up: To the UC for a Hawks Game and another murder....