Spencer For Hire

Shawn was greeted by Trevor as soon as he walked into the Bodyboys agency. The door opened onto a small lounge. The walls were painted black and the lighting was low to smooth over the physical faults of both the room and its occupants. A bar took up the wall on the far left and plush seating dotted the rest of the area. Music was playing but not so loud that conversation was impossible. Men needed to be able to negotiate here.

“I’ve briefed the guys on you, so just do your thing,” Trevor said. “Welcome the clients in, offer them a drink from the bar, chat with them a little, and if they scan okay then suggest they mingle a little and get to know the guys.”

Shawn introduced himself to some of the escorts and chatted amicably waiting for the door to open. He was not expecting Carlton Lassiter to walk in. Right away he knew Lassiter was working. The bulge of his gun was obvious to anyone with a trained eye, and either his badge was crammed into his front pocket or he was very happy to see him. And if he wasn’t sporting the badge, then he must be trying to work undercover. Shawn laughed to himself. Lassie looked horribly out of place. For one thing, he didn’t look horny—just anxious and defensive.

This is going to be fun, Shawn thought.

“Good evening sir,” Shawn said. “Welcome to Bodyboys. You look sexually repressed. Can I interest you in some hot man-on-man action?” Shawn stepped in close to the tall detective and slowly ran a hand down his tie and the front of his suit jacket, stopping just above his belt line.

“What?” Lassiter tensed. Maybe he’d been wrong and Shawn wasn’t working a case.

“My rate is two hundred for the first hour,” Shawn said, pressing himself up against Lassiter. “For another hundred I’ll wear a Hawaiian shirt and you can call me Danno.”

Lassiter counted to ten. Slamming Shawn into a wall would not go over here. It would definitely attract the attention of the large security man standing against the far wall. At the very least it would destroy the illusion that he was here as a customer.

“Let’s find somewhere we can talk,” Lassiter suggested. He draped an arm across Shawn’s shoulder and walked him over to the bar. Lassiter ordered a cranberry juice, paid in cash, and stood with his back against the bar, watching the room. His arm remained curled around Shawn. It was necessary to keep his cover, he told himself, but it was also disturbingly comfortable.

Lassiter pitched his voice low, out of hearing of the bartender. “You wouldn’t be breaking California Penal Code 647 (b) PC, prostitution and solicitation, now would you Spencer?”

“Is this a sting operation, Lassie?” Shawn leaned in and spoke into Lassiter’s ear. “Shouldn’t you have waited until we agreed upon the sex for money deal?”

“I’m not here to arrest you.” Lassiter sipped his drink.

“I should hope not. First, I know you’re a cop. And second, knowing what a cop makes I know you couldn’t possibly afford me. At least not for the really good stuff. Maybe some dirty talk and mutual masturbation.”

Lassiter choked on his drink and swallowed hard.

“O’Hara and I are outside on a stakeout for this double homicide. I assume you’re working it too.”

The door opened, and an older man in a suit entered the lounge.

“Excuse me, Lassipants. I’m on.”

Shawn went up to the newcomer, a grey haired man of medium build. He looked vaguely familiar. Shawn took one look at his expensive manicure, his Barker Black leather shoes, and his J. Press suit and knew the man had money. He could have afforded a top of the line escort, so why was he slumming here in the mid range?

“Hello,” Shawn smiled his most seductive smile. “Welcome to Bodyboys. I’m Shawn.”

“You can call me Adam,” the man said. Whatever else he was, Shawn was 100% sure his name wasn’t Adam.

“Can I interest you in a drink?” Shawn asked. Adam nodded and smiled and Shawn walked him to the end of the bar furthest from Lassiter. Adam ordered a rum and coke and paid with a crisp twenty. Already Shawn’s spidey sense was tingling. Adam was being physically friendly—touching his arm, gliding a hand down Shawn’s back and ass—but his smile hadn’t engaged his eyes.

He’s just going through the motions.

“Is this your first visit?” Shawn asked.

“What? Oh, yes,” Adam replied. His right shoulder shrugged.

Okay, not his first time here.

“So what kind of date are you looking for?” Shawn smiled, and leaned casually against the wall, watching Adam carefully. His body language was all wrong for someone initiating a sexual encounter. His pupils weren’t dilated, and he hadn’t dropped his glance to check out Shawn’s body even once. A few times he’d briefly wrinkled his nose, indicating disgust. His feet were pointed toward the door instead of at Shawn.
He wants to leave, Shawn thought, but he’s forcing himself to stay. Interesting.

“I heard there was some trouble here recently,” Adam said, looking down at his drink. “Some of the guys died.”

“Yeah,” Shawn said. “Ryan and Lamar. Someone murdered them.”

“That’s too bad.” Adam looked at Shawn. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He’s trying to fake sincerity, Shawn thought, but he’s blinking way too much.

“Did you know either of them?” Shawn asked.

“Me? No. No, I didn’t know those men. Why would I know them?” Adam shifted his weight on his feet and then shifted again.

Classic lie.

“I feel pretty bad about the deaths,” Shawn said, playing a hunch. “Ryan and I were really close. We talked a lot. How did you feel when you heard?”

“I guess I felt bad,” Adam said. “I mean, who wouldn’t, right?” He removed a speck of lint from his left arm then looked at Shawn again. “How close were you and Ryan?”

Shawn’s pulse rose. When asked a question about his feelings the man should have looked down and to the right, but he didn’t. So we wasn’t really feeling bad. The lint picking was a classic sign of disapproval.

Whatever else happens here tonight, Shawn thought, I can’t let anyone leave with this guy. This calls for something drastic. And then he remembered where he’d seen Adam before.

***

Lassiter sipped his cranberry juice and watched Spencer taking to the john. The guy looked familiar but it was hard to be sure in the dim light. He’d seen Spcncer with women before—hell, the guy had brought a girl on a date to one of their crime scenes—but it felt odd seeing him be so casually sexual with a man. The guy had his hands all over Spencer and the fake psychic was just…letting him. A lump of anger and protectiveness welled up from his stomach and he forced himself to rein his feelings in. He tore his eyes away and stared at the door.

This is stupid. I shouldn’t even be here. I should be back at my desk working on that robbery homicide. It had already been three days and all they had was that the alarms hadn’t been tripped and there weren’t any prints but those belonging to the family and staff. Mrs. Shapiro’s body had been found in the hall. She’d left the charity event early, probably walked in on the burglary in progress. She’d been bludgeoned with a sculpture they kept on a table in the foyer.

Suddenly Lassiter turned back to Spencer and the john. Now he realized where he’d seen him before. Shawn was talking to Dr. Nelson Shapiro. Shapiro, the well-known philanthropist. Shapiro, whose deceased wife had been friends with the mayor’s wife. Shapiro, whose high priced lawyer had blocked Lassiter’s attempt to even question him. This Shapiro was now in a gay escort agency trying to pick up Shawn Spencer. As tempted as he was to bust him and let him stew in the holding cells over the weekend, he knew that the mayor would have a fit.
Lassiter stepped in and grabbed Shapiro by the arm. He pulled his badge from his pocket and flashed it, using his body to shield it from the view of the other patrons.

“We’ve got to get you out of here, Dr. Shapiro,” Lassiter said, speaking low. “There’s going to be a raid.”

“Oh,” Shapiro said. “Thanks.” He looked momentarily dazed. He stared at Shawn strangely then walked haltingly toward the door.

“Why did you do that?” Shawn hissed at Lassiter.

“Because that’s Dr. Nelson Shapiro. He shouldn’t even be here. His wife was killed on Wednesday. The man’s obviously grieving and not thinking clearly.”

Lassiter didn’t really believe what he’d said to Shawn. Shapiro’s either such a sex addict that even the death of his wife can’t make him keep it in his pants, he thought, or else he wasn’t remotely sorry to see his wife out of the picture.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure that he was thinking clearly,” Shawn said.

Lassiter put an arm on the wall next to Shawn’s head and leaned in. He intended it to be intimidating, and if he’d done it at the station it might have been. But in the low lit room with the music in the background, it felt entirely different. Suddenly Lassiter realized that he’d been considering kissing Spencer. He hadn’t planned it, he hadn’t really even thought about it. But their close proximity and Shawn’s upturned face must have been giving him some kind of cues that his body responded to on a subconscious level. At least that’s what he was telling himself.

Thank God I caught myself in time, he thought. Did Spencer notice? He couldn’t have.

“Look Spencer,” he said, leaning back and taking a deep breath. “I don’t need my upscale robbery homicide getting mixed in with my downscale double homicide.”

“Too late, Lassie. Your chocolate is already all up in your peanut butter. I’m pretty sure that guy,” Shawn gestured at the door, where Shapiro had just exited, “killed Ryan and Lamar.” Shawn lifted his chin and stared defiantly into Lassiter’s eyes.  

Still kissable.

“The hustlers?” Lassiter’s brow wrinkled.

“Escorts.”

“Whatever.” Lassiter looked thoughtful. “What makes you think that?”

“His aura is tinged with the blood of the innocent. He’s giving off bad vibes and evil vibrations.” Shawn wished that he could tell Lassiter how he really knew.

Lassiter clenched his jaw and turned away. “I should have known I couldn’t get a straight answer out of you.”

Shawn grabbed his arm. “How about the fact that he agreed to meet me at my place to pay me hush money once I told him how close Ryan and I were? Is that suspicious enough?”

“I didn’t know you knew one of the victims.” He looked at Shawn appraisingly. How close was he to these people?

“I didn’t. I was lying. Catch up with me Lassifrass.”

“Okay. Yes, that’s odd.” Lassiter licked his lips, which felt suddenly dry. “Do you, uh, think he might have thought he was making a date? For sex?”

“No,” Shawn said. “I’m pretty sure he’s planning on killing me instead.”

“Listen Spencer, you are not to put yourself in harm’s way.” Lassiter pointed a finger at Shawn and jabbed the air for emphasis. “If what you say is true we’ll set up a sting and catch him before anyone gets hurt.” He grabbed Shawn’s arms and shook him. “You are not going to cowboy your way through this, understand?”

“How about if I Midnight Cowboy my way through it?” Shawn’s laugh vibrated slightly from the shaking.

Suddenly Trevor was there, his muscular arms crossed disapprovingly.

“Everything okay here, Shawn?” Shawn could see Big Mike, standing at attention in the distance, alert for a signal from Trevor.

“Everything’s fine, Trevor. In fact, it’s great. I’ll stay and finish out the night, but I’m confident that our killer just left.” Shawn glanced at Lassiter and back at Trevor. “He’s known to the cops and I sense they’re on his trail.”

“Really? That’s great.” Trevor looked relieved. He smiled at Lassiter. “Can I get your friend another drink?”

“No thanks,” Lassiter grumbled. “I was leaving anyway.”

***
It was two o’clock when Shawn stepped into the alley behind the Bodyboys agency. A set of headlights down the alley flashed and the familiar Crown Vic pulled into view. Lassiter was alone.

“Were you waiting for me?” Shawn asked.

“I was on a stakeout,” Lassiter answered curtly. “I do work, you know.”

“Where’s Jules?”

“I sent her home. She was exhausted.” For that matter, Lassiter wasn’t feeling very spry himself.

“Why did you continue your stakeout now that you know about Shapiro?” Shawn asked.

“If what you said about him is true,” Lassiter said, “he might try to kill you sooner, rather than later.”

“Awwww,” Shawn said. “You’re here to protect me!”

“Call it what you like. I’m just doing my job.”
***