Spencer For Hire

Six hours earlier

“At last!” Shawn cried when Gus walked through the door to the Psych office. “I didn’t think you were going to show today.”

“It’s only four o’clock. I came right from work.” Gus’ voice was tinged with suspicion. Whenever Shawn tried to pretend that he was the responsible one, he knew something was afoot.

“Yes,” Shawn said, “but we have a client meeting in ten minutes and I thought you might need some convincing. It would have been better if you’d arrived forty minutes ago.”

“Forty minutes ago I was in a Dr. Raynard’s office, talking about nasal spray treatments for alopecia.”

“Is that that dish with the potatoes and cauliflower that they show you how to make on the Bend It Like Beckham DVD?”

“That’s Aloo Gobi.”

“Indian dishes have such confusing names.”

“It means potatoes and cauliflower in Hindi,” Gus said. “How much more descriptive can it get?”

“Maybe there could be a picture.” Shawn spun his chair in a circle, tossing a tennis ball in the air repeatedly.

“Who’s the client we’re supposed to be meeting?” Gus refused to allow Shawn to eat up the ten minutes with irrelevant discussions of Indian food. If Shawn thought Gus needed convincing it must be really bad.

“His name is Trevor Dacosta and he runs his own business.”

“Okay,” Gus said suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“His Business is a little Risky.” Shawn paused his spinning and smiled broadly at Gus. “He works the Night Shift.”

“Are we being hired by hookers?” Gus gave Shawn his sternest look. “Is Trevor a pimp?”

“You’re getting warm. Our client would make a great Wedding Date, but there’s not a Pretty Woman on the payroll.” Shawn waved a hand, as if to erase his last remark. “Actually there might be some working there in a clerical capacity. I’m not really sure.”

“Shawn,” Gus said, with as much patience as he could muster after an already long day, “I realize that all your business acumen comes from having watched Working Girl….”

“—that’s not true!” Shawn cut in. “I also watched The Secret of My Success, Wall Street, and all two seasons of The Riches.”

“Well then let me give you a free lesson. The clients we accept say something about our business. The detective business already has a shady reputation. I don’t think we need to take on prostitutes as clients.”

“It’s a detective classic. Come on! It’ll be like that episode of Spencer For Hire where they help that prostitute.”

“Rockabye Baby or Resurrection?” Gus looked at Shawn, his expression thoughtful.

“I was thinking of Resurrection, but good call on Rockabye Baby. If Spencer and Hawk helped two prostitutes we have to help at least one.”
“Actually, in both those cases the women were former prostitutes.”

“I’m sure these guys will all retire someday. But they need our help now. And if we refuse to help them because they’re not yet former prostitutes, isn’t that just as bad as if we didn’t help a former prostitute now? It’s like Twelve Monkeys. The order in which things occur is irrelevant.”

“Your logic leaves a lot to be desired. And that was not the message of Twelve Monkeys.”

“Maybe you’re right. I did spend a lot of time at the snack bar when they played it at the Cinema Vue. But that doesn’t change the fact that these man-whores need our help. Avery Brooks would want you to help.”

“He never helped any prostitutes in A Man Called Hawk,” Gus pointed out. “And frankly, I prefer his work on Deep Space Nine. But regardless of what they say in Deuce Bigelow, ‘man-whores’ is probably an offensive term. I’m just saying.”

“Avery Brooks would totally help prostitutes. He’s a streetwise champion of the people and a sharp dresser who pioneered the shaved head look.”

“First of all, Isaac Hayes already had a shaved head on the LP cover of Presenting Isaac Hayes in 1968. Spencer For Hire didn’t air until 1985. And Mr. Brooks is not a streetwise champion of the people; Hawk, the character he played was.” Gus frowned at Shawn. “Avery Brooks is a respected actor and musician. Plus, he’s a professor at Rutgers.”

“Molly Stewart graduated from college in Avenging Angel,” Shawn said, bringing the subject back to prostitution.

“But by the third film she was working as a photographer instead of pursuing her dreams of law school,” Gus said. “I rest my case.”

A deep voice at the door joined in, “But in Angel 4: Undercover, Molly’s become a police photographer.” Shawn and Gus turned to see a muscular man in a dress shirt and jeans. “That’s a respectable career,” he said as he entered the office. “And she goes undercover as a groupie, not as a sex worker.”

“Thank-you!” Shawn said. “For proving my point. You must be Trevor Dacosta.” Shawn rose and shook the man’s hand. “We spoke on the phone.” He turned to Gus. “This is my associate, Fred Garvin.”

“That’s not my name,” Gus said to Trevor.

“He’s right,” Shawn said. “It’s Antoine Laconte.”

Gus stepped forward and offered his hand. “Actually, It’s Burton Guster. Nice to meet you.”

The man grasped Gus’ hand in a firm friendly handshake. “No problem. I’m used to meeting people who aren’t using their real name. Call me Trevor. Has Shawn briefed you on my problem?”

“Not yet,” Gus glared at Shawn. “Why don’t you outline it for me?” Gus motioned for Trevor to sit on the small sofa by the window.

“Sure.” Trevor ran a hand through his short brush cut. “I run Bodyboys.com out of an office on East Ortega St. We’re an escort agency.”

“Pardon my ignorance,” Gus said. “But how is it that you can run an escort agency and not get busted by the police. Prostitution is illegal.”

“Technically, we’re only selling the connection with the escort. We earn our agency fees by offering advertising, web profiles, and various administration services. We have them sign a contract specifying that they’re not offering sexual services, but that’s just to cover our ass in the event of arrest.”

“Tell him about the murders,” Shawn advised.

“Murders?” Gus looked interested.

“Yeah,” Trevor said. “Two of our escorts have been killed in the last two days. Lamar didn’t show up for work on Thursday night. He didn’t answer his phone. Ryan, another one of our escorts, had a key to his place and went over to check it out. Lamar wasn’t our most reliable guy. But the apartment was empty. His body was found later that night in a hotel room on State Street. He’d been hit over the head and strangled. Then last night a man called up and requested a particular type of guy and we sent Ryan. The escorts are supposed to call us twice – once to confirm the connection and a second time to let us know they’re done. But we never got that second call. We tried calling him, but there was no answer on his cell. We called the hotel number the client had provided and there was no answer there either. Eventually we sent our security guy, Big Mike, to check on him. The room was deserted except for Ryan’s body. Big Mike called the cops right away.”

“And you want Shawn to solve the murders?” Gus asked.

“Not necessarily. The cops are working on that,” Trevor said. “My concern is keeping the rest of my employees alive while the investigation goes on. As you can imagine, they’re pretty jumpy. Until this is cleared up I’m having all the clients come by the office to pick up their dates. I need Shawn to read the clients psychically and see which ones are dangerous.”

“Tell me about the date Ryan went on,” Shawn said. “The client asked for Ryan specifically?”

“No. He asked for a particular type and we sent Ryan.”

“What type?”

“White. Dark hair. Early to mid thirties. He’s lucky we had anyone. The escorts at Bodyboys are in their twenties.” Trevor laughed. “But we got a few guys who turn twenty-nine more than once. Ryan was really stretching that last year.”

“So your agency is like the Menudo of escorts,” Shawn said.

Trevor laughed. “Bodyboys does focus on the twenties. We’ve got a brother agency, Mandate, which specializes in escorts in their thirties and forties.”

“Guys do this kind of work into their forties?” Gus said.

“You’d be surprised,” Trevor said. “Some of our most popular escorts are over forty.”

Shawn threw up his hands and tilted his head as if listening to a voice only he could hear. “The spirit world tells me that someone wanted to see Ryan in particular, and gave a description that would guarantee he’d be matched with him. Is that possible?”

“That’s totally possible,” Trevor said, looking amazed. “I knew I came to the right place.”

“I’ll do it,” Shawn said. “I’ll scan your johns for you.”

“Great. The calls for Lamar and Ryan both came in after midnight. Come by tonight around ten, just to be sure.”

Trevor had just left the office when Gus turned his serious face on Shawn.

“If we’re taking it we need to get a few things straight,” Gus said. He took a deep breath. “First off, despite what you told Trevor, you can’t really read minds. They’d have just as much luck screening their clients with a magic eight ball. I don’t feel good about lying to people if we could be putting their lives in danger.”

“Don’t be Tipper Gore at a Twisted Sister concert,” Shawn said, throwing his tennis ball against the wall. “I can read body language. I’ll spot anyone whose words don’t match up with their signals, or who’s giving off deception markers. You’ve watched Lie To Me. We’ll look for micro-expressions and stuff. If I get any sense that someone is dangerous I’ll flag Trevor or Big Mike.” He laughed. “Big Mike. I love that. We need to get a security guy we can call by an obvious yet intimidating nickname.”

“Okay,” Gus said, relieved. “That body language thing might actually work. Second of all, no matter where this case leads, I am not going undercover as a gay escort. Are we clear on that?”

“Really? I think that would be awesome. It’d be like when we posed as Black and Tan for that murder case.”

“You mean the murder case that was supposed to be my birthday present? I remember just fine. But the answer is still no.”

“Dude, think of the fun.”

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Gus raised his voice slightly. “What part of some creepy dude trying to pay you for sex do you find fun?”

“Seeing as you find the idea of any dude wanting to have sex with you creepy, I don’t think you can really appreciate the fantasy.”

“True that.”

“As the great Salt N’ Pepa said, ‘the difference between a hooker and a ‘ho ain’t nothing but a fee.’ Promiscuity would be so much more fun if I were getting paid for it.”

“You’re not promiscuous, Shawn.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Promiscuous means you have no discrimination when it comes to your sexual partners.”

“And your point?”

“You discriminate.”

“Me? Please! I’m the United Colors of Benetton of casual sex.”

“But I bet everyone you’ve slept with met a particular set of criteria,” Gus began to count off on his fingers, “They’re cute—at least to you, they’re quirky, you can picture them in a John Hughes movie, even if it’s only in a minor role, they tolerate your insatiable desire for attention, need I go on?”

“Fair enough. But I still think the escort fantasy is fun in a Pretty Woman sense. I want to use someone’s credit card to shop on Rodeo Drive and really stick it to those snobs who wouldn’t serve me.”

“Which is one of the reasons—all sexual orientation issues aside—that I’m glad we’re friends, and not boyfriends. If you try to use my credit card for that I’m reporting it as stolen.” Gus turned on his laptop. If Shawn was serious about this case, he’d need to do some background research. “Plus,” he added as the desktop loaded, “I seriously doubt that any of their clients look like Richard Gere. And even if they did, my answer is still no.”

Shawn remained silent for several moments, spinning his chair again. Gus began to suspect Shawn was feeling upset. One of the signs was when he stopped talking for more than a few minutes at a time.

“Shawn,” he said in his conciliatory voice, “you know I’m cool with whoever you want to sleep with. We’ve had that conversation in junior high, and again in high school, and again my senior year of college. But this isn’t the same as when you dated that dude from the waterpark or that guy who drove the Hershey’s Kissmobile float.”

“First off, don’t tell me you didn’t love having free tickets to Las Casitas Water Adventure. And second, the Kissmobile guy was super cute and he got me free chocolates. Would you have preferred I date the Spammobile guy?” Shawn looked thoughtful. “Do you think they use a giant metal key to start that thing?”

“I don’t care who you date or what he drives,” Gus said. “And yes, the tickets to Waterworld were welcome and timely. That was one of Santa Barbara’s hottest summers on record. But this is business. And escorting is a dangerous business. So I’m not going to play the sanky panky.”

“I think you mean the hanky panky.”

“A sanky is a gigolo, Shawn.”

“Fair enough. But will you do the Hokey Pokey?”

“I’ll drop you off and do any research you need here at the office. But for the rest of it, you’re on your own.”

Shawn frowned. “You don’t want to be the Hawk to my Spencer?”

“How about you be Quincy and I’ll be Sam Fujiyama, the guy who stayed behind and did all Quincy’s damn work while he was off investigating and trying to pick up.”

“Being Hawk would be cooler.”

“But being Sam is safer.” Gus didn’t bother to mention that Robert Ito had done voice work for the Justice League cartoon and Jackie Chan Adventures, or that he’d also been a dancer in the National Ballet of Canada. His idea of cool didn’t always match up with Shawn’s.