Undercover and Overwhelmed

Shawn went back to his room to freshen up before the GORN dance that evening.

“It’s about time,” Gus said. “I was starting to think you were going to stand me up.”

“I still might. Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Gus was wearing a black dress shirt with a silver metallic thread woven into the fabric.

“It’s very disco duck.”

“We’re going to a gay dance at a gay resort and this is the gayest shirt I have.” He didn’t know if the shirt was gay or not, but the man who had sold it to him at the mall had been pretty gay.

“Well at least I’ll be able to find you in the dark.”

“Where have you been for the past hour?”

“Dude, I’ve been working. Lassiter and I just searched Rebecca Martin’s cabin. Lassie found a confession and I found her hanging in the closet.”

“So Rebecca was the thief?” Gus asked. “That’s too bad. I liked her. She made sure my pillow was hypoallergenic.”

“Don’t feel bad. I’m pretty sure she’s been framed. And murdered.” Shawn pulled a container out of his pocket. “Why would somebody be taking Paxil?”

Gus stepped forward and grabbed the container from him.

“You can’t just take things from a crime scene, Shawn.”

“Hello. Do we know each other? I’m Shawn Spencer, psychic detective.”

Gus looked at the container thoughtfully.

“Paroxetine is a serotonin reuptake inhibitor. It’s an antidepressant. It’s sometimes used to treat kleptomania.”

“So maybe she’s got kleptomania,” Shawn allowed. “ But having kleptomania doesn’t make her the thief.”

Gus looked at Shawn and cocked an eyebrow.

“Okay, so it makes her a thief, but not necessarily our thief.”

“Actually,” Gus said, “there have been cases where Paxil seems to have triggered kleptomania.”

“Well, that would be great info for her defence attorney to know if, oh, she weren’t dead already.”

“Dead or not, I’m sure her family would appreciate having her name cleared.”

“Again, I think they’ll be more upset about the fact that she’s been murdered.”

“The antidepressants could back up the suicide theory,” Gus said.

“I beg to differ my fine flashy friend. If these were all expired and mouldering in a sock drawer, I might agree with you. But this prescription was refilled last week and I’m not Rainman but I did a quick headcount and it looks like she’s been taking them every day.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Shawn, but an article in the Canadian Medical Association Journal reported that the use of Paxil significantly increased suicidal behaviour in adults.”
“Really? ‘Cause I thought my argument was pretty sound there.”

“It was a nice try. For a layman.”

“A layman? First, that sound incredibly sexual, even though I know it’s not. Second, where do you get off calling me a layman? What are you, Trapper John, MD?”

“I try to stay current.”

“Then come on,” Shawn grabbed Gus by the arm and pulled him toward the door. “We’ve got a dance to go to, a murder to solve and a thief to find.”

***

An hour into the dance, Shawn leaned against the wall and downed half a bottle of water. This dance was sucking. Sure, the music was good, and the topless men were hot, and his sweet moves during the remix of Beat It had been the centre of attention. But Lassie was purposely ignoring him. To make matters worse, Gus and Juliet were making a spectacle of themselves by bumping and grinding in a distinctly un-gay manner. Shawn pulled Gus aside.

“Dude!” Shawn shouted at him over the pounding music. “You’ve got to stop flirting with Juliet. You and I are supposed to be a couple.”

“Oh really? Well that didn’t stop you from making out with Lassiter in an employee cabin. Yeah. I heard all about it from Andy. If anyone is blowing this cover, it’s you.”
Shawn noticed several guests were pretending not to be watching them.

“On the up side,” Shawn shouted to him, “being seen having an argument definitely make us seem like a real couple.” He grabbed Gus by the arm and dragged him into the washroom. He peered under the stall door but didn’t see any feet. Having watched both Trading Places and Scream he then went along and opened each stall.

“Ew!” Shawn pulled back in disgust. The toilet was clogged with what looked like a clump of paper towel, but judging from the deep yellow water filling the bowl, that hadn’t stopped anyone from using it. He turned back to Gus.

“Making out with Lassie just makes me seem more gay,” he said. “And like a very bad boyfriend. But you can’t be dancing with Juliet. Flirting with hot women—not gay. Plus, she’s supposed to be a lesbian. Say it with me. Lezzzzbian.”

“Relax Shawn. Since everyone assumes that Juliet and I are gay, it doesn’t matter how flirtatious we get with each other. It’s camp.”

“What does being at camp have to do with it?”

“Not camp the place, camp the aesthetic. Camp intentionally makes fun of heterosexual roles and scripts. In fact, the way I figure it, the more straight I act, the more gay I’ll seem.” Gus smiled and ran his thumb across his nose, basking in the brilliance of his plan.

“Yeah. Good luck with that.”

“Don’t act like I’m not pulling my weight here, Shawn. My cover is solid. Did you spend two hours singing showtunes around a bonfire? No. And only one of us actually read Rubyfruit Jungle in Mrs. Fitzgerald’s English class.”

“If you recall, they assigned that book the week that Real Genius came out. I had other priorities.”

“First of all,” Gus said, “I’m paying for this weekend. So I’ll flirt with whomever I want. Second of all, I’m not just wasting my time. I’m already making up for the fact that we’re probably not getting paid for this case. Two of the guys I met at the sing-along are dating doctors. I’ve already arranged to visit them with my sample case next week.”

“That’s great Gus. Are you sure that your prescription medicines are all they want to sample?”

“Oh please!” Gus frowned. “It’s been very professional.”

“You’re so oblivious.”

“Like hell I am.”

“You’re not exactly ready for the observing olympics, Gus. It took you six months to figure out that Falco wasn’t singing in English.”

“English and German are both Germanic languages. Plus, Vienna Calling and Rock Me Amadeus were both a mix of the two. It’s a style he pioneered.”

“Fine. I’ll give you Falco.”

“Damn straight.”

“But I don’t think you’ve thought your plan through. Doesn’t making their boyfriends into clients mean you’ll have to keep pretending you’re gay?"

“I’ve got that all figured out.” Gus’s eyes gleamed. “Once we get back to Santa Barbara, I’m dumping your ass for cheating on me. Then I can have a period of not dating anyone because I’m getting over a bad break-up. That can lead to a period of re-evaluating my sexuality.”

“You have thought this out.”

“Of course I have.”

“Fine. I’ll just have to solve this whole case on my own.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Actually, I may have a clue already. He turned back to the stall with the clogged toilet. “We have to unclog this toilet.”

“That’s not my job,” Gus said, making a face at the acrid smell emanating from the bowl.

“You’re right. It’s not. It’s actually Tanya’s job. And she’s suspect number one on my list. What do you bet she’s clogged this toilet on purpose. I’m pretty sure that clump of paper towel will be our Ryan Phillippe watch.”

“Why would she do that, Shawn? Why would anyone do that?”

“So we don’t find it hidden in her cabin. You, my friend, are looking at Exhibit A. let’s have a look at that badboy.” Shawn motioned for Gus to retrieve the paper towel.

“Patek Philippe. And if you think I’m going to stick my hand in there you’re crazy. It’s filled with urine.”

“Don’t think of it as urine. Think of it as beer that’s been on a Magic Schoolbus ride through the human digestive system.”

“If you’re so comfortable with it, you get the watch.”

“Fine.” Shawn looked at the toilet without moving. He turned back to Gus. “Do you happen to have a calving glove on your person? No? Fine.” Shawn held his breath and plunged his arm into the toilet. He pulled the paper towel free and rushed it to the sink where he gently opened it. Sure enough, the Patek Philippe watch gleamed up at them.

“I owe you an apology,” Gus said, surprised. “That watch was not even on the list of things I expected you to find in that lump of paper towel.”

Shawn leaned an ear towards it.

“Hey, it’s still working.”

“Well, it is waterproof to 120 metres.”

Shawn threw the wet paper into the garbage and began to lather the watch with soap and water.

“Shawn, that’s evidence. You can’t just wash it.”

“Really? After the toilet? I don’t think Gil Grissom is going to be pulling any hairs or skin cells off it at this point.”

“Still, that’s an impressive find. If I didn’t know better I might believe you were psychic.”

“Nobody wants to unclog a toilet. All Tanya had to do was wait to be assigned to it. She could take off with the watch once people bought the suicide theory and the heat died down.”

Shawn finished washing the watch and dried it with some fresh paper towel.

“You know what, screw the monkeys,” Shawn said. “This is a very nice watch.” He put it on.

“You’ve got to give that watch to Lassiter,” Gus said. “Or at least hand it over to Tim. That watch is the whole reason we’re here.”

“Really?” Shawn admired the watch on his arm. “Somehow it seems less important now that there’s a dead body in one of the cabins.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Shawn.”

“Of course I do.” He admired the shiny watch. “In fact, I’m on a roll.” He extended his fist for the traditional Shawn-Gus fist bump.

“If you don’t mind,” Gus said, taking a step backward toward the door, “I’d like to let a few days go by before we resume fist bumps.”

“How long are we talking here?” Shawn dropped the fist to his side, unbumped.

“As long as it takes for me to forget the image of you with your hand in that toilet.” Gus turned and returned to the dance.

***

Lassiter leaned against the wall and took a sip of his beer. The music’s loud bass was reverberating through his ribcage. He would much rather be combing through the resort for more evidence, but the sheriff’s department was on site and maintaining his cover meant he had to at least pretend to some enthusiasm for the GORN dance.

He looked up to see Shawn, writhing in front of him, attempting to draw him forward onto the dance floor. It wasn’t the first time he’d been approached that evening. Clark, Evan, and a guy named Emilio had all asked him to dance within the last half hour. He’d declined each time, explaining that he appreciated the offer, but that this just wasn’t his type of music. He regretted not having thought ahead to fake some kind of injury. At least with Spencer he didn’t have to bother being polite about his refusal.

“Stop dancing at me, Spencer.”

“I’m dancing with you, Lassie. It’s very different.”

“I’m not dancing. With you or anyone else.”

“Not dancing, Lassie?” Shawn stood beside him, lightly bouncing in time to the music. “That’s not very gay.”

“Straight or gay, I don’t dance.”

“Really? You seem like such a by-the-book guy. Isn’t dancing part of that whole romance package? Candy, flowers, dancing,” Shawn counted off on his fingers. “Yes, it’s definitely on the list of romantic gestures.”

Lassiter frowned. Normally Spencer’s flirtations were sexual. It hadn’t occurred to him that Spencer might also be expecting romance. Was this also part of some game, he wondered, or did Spencer think of him as a potential romantic, rather than purely sexual partner? And if so, did that change anything?

“A few slow dances, certainly. But this disco stuff isn’t really my speed.”

“Disco? Really Lassie. This is house, some hip hop, a bit of electronica.”

He should have known that Spencer would love this noise. He’d been watching him on and off all evening, dancing with Guster and some of the GORN men. It was a strange experience. On the one hand, it was arousing to watch Spencer dance. He moved well, and seemed so comfortable and free in his body. At the same time, he felt jealous seeing Spencer with other men, but didn’t quite know what to do with that feeling. The current plan was to cram it down into the pit of his stomach with his other unresolved and confusing feelings about Spencer.

Over the past few days his anxiety that he might actually do something sexual with Spencer had been replaced by a more gut-wrenching fear—that he might do something emotional with Spencer. All concerns about his career aside, he really didn’t think he could take another trip through the emotional wringer so soon after his divorce. Spencer might be sexually easy—and judging from how much he threw himself at everyone within a mile radius he probably was—but he was also the least emotionally available person he knew.

“It’s no Frank Sinatra.” Lassiter took another drink of beer.

“Still,” Shawn lightly clinked his water bottle to Lassiter’s beer bottle, “It’s nice to see you unwind a bit.”

“Don’t let the beer and lack of a tie fool you, Spencer. I’m fully wound.”

“You know, we’ve kissed three times now. You should really call me Shawn.”

Lassiter laughed. Calling him Spencer was one of the few ways he had to keep any kind of emotional distance on this thing. He wasn’t about to give that up.

“I don’t think so, Spencer.” He tried to make his voice as cold as possible.

“You can’t keep ignoring this tension between us, Lassie. That’s what killed the dinosaurs, you know.”

“Could you please stop saying things like that?”

“Things like what?”

“You know what. Just stop it. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Why’s that, Lassie?”

Lassiter wasn’t sure. It felt muddled. He was afraid that Spencer might really mean the things he said. And he was also afraid that he might not. He suddenly realized that he hadn’t answered Spencer’s question. But the silence lasted long enough that Spencer stepped in himself.

“Fine!” he said. “I’ll leave you alone. I’ll avoid you like a cyclone ranger. I’ll go lie in my cabin with my candy dishes and my Joan Crawford postcards, drinking mineral water and underlining meaningful passages in my copy of Moby Dick and trying to forget about us.”

“There is no us, Spencer. I’m sorry about what happened during the Gabriel case, and I’m sorry I thought you were going to tell Chief Vick. Now are you going to keep holding that against me or are you going to be a man about it and move on?”

“Don’t worry, Lassie. If I was going to hold anything against you, it wouldn’t be Chief Vick.”

Shawn stood next to Lassiter in silence for nearly three minutes. He kept track on his new watch. Lassiter was so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice Spencer’s new jewellery.

“So if they did play something more your speed,” Shawn said, “then would you dance with me? Purely platonically? As part of your cover?”

Lassiter looked warily at Shawn. It was unlikely that anything Spencer did around him could be described as pure or platonic. He looked over at where O’Hara and Gus were sitting. Cover or no cover, O’Hara would never let him hear the end of it if he danced with Spencer.

“Oh. I get it. You’ll dance, but you don’t want Jules to see it. No problemo.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Shawn tapped his temple, signalling that he’d psychically read the detective’s thoughts. He strolled over to Gus and Juliet and wrapped an arm possessively around Gus’s shoulder.

“Can I just steal Gus away for a minute?” he asked sweetly.

“Of course.” O’Hara was smiling and her eyes were shining. From her perspective, this case was over but for the paperwork and she was enjoying herself guilt free.

Shawn pulled Gus to a secluded corner.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“You have to get Jules out of the dance.”

“Why?” Gus frowned. Things were going well with Juliet. They’d been drinking and laughing and dancing all evening. He’d been spinning a plan that would seamlessly move this vibe between them back to Santa Barbara. He still had some kinks to work out, such as how he was actually going to accomplish that, but he was pretty sure that leaving the dance, with its close bodily contact, was a step in the wrong direction.

“Because I think Lassie will dance with me if I can get Juliet out of the room.”

Gus looked thoughtful. Shawn was his best friend, and if he was honest about it, he was pretty sure that his odds with Juliet were much better than Shawn’s odds with Lassiter. The guy needed all the help he could get.

“On one condition. You give me the Patek Philippe watch. I’ll give it to Juliet and tell her where we found it. In fact, I get to take credit for finding the watch.”

“Of course you can. Just keep her away for at least ten minutes. Fifteen would be really sweet.”

“Done.” Gus could picture it already. The two of them on the terrace, overlooking the lake, bathed in moonlight. Him, revealing that he’d found the $17,000 watch. Juliet would be impressed and grateful, and not at all bothered that it had been removed from its original location and scrubbed with soap and water.

“Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”

“One?” Gus made a face. “After this trip you owe me dozens. In fact, I think I’ll make you take me to Space Camp. Your treat.”

“Space Camp? That’s for kids, isn’t it?”

“They have an adult program as well. It’s three days of space training including a gravity trainer and a G3 centrifuge.”

“Fine, but if we accidentally get launched into space don’t expect Kate Capshaw to rescue you.” Shawn shucked the watch and passed it to Gus. “Also, don’t expect her to help you escape the Temple of Doom. You’d be better off partnering with a thirteen year old Vietnamese boy.”

“Goodbye, Shawn.”

While Gus led Juliet off toward the reception area Shawn had a quick tete-a-tete with Tim, who was DJ that evening. As he returned to Lassiter’s side Frank Sinatra began singing Under My Skin. Shawn stepped in close and, already moving in time to the music, and put a hand on Lassiter’s hip.

“You going to keep your word, Lassie?”

“I didn’t make any promises.” Lassiter looked toward the door.

“True,” Shawn nodded. “But I think you’re the kind of guy who’ll keep them anyway.” He took Lassiter by the hand and pulled him gently to the dance floor. Lassiter made a pretense of resistance, but followed. He took Shawn by the left hand and put his other hand on Shawn’s hip, leaving half a foot between them. Shawn laughed.

“This isn’t the Rydell high school dance.” He stepped in until they were nearly touching. Frank Sinatra was singing “I'd sacrifice anything come what might, for the sake of having you near.”

“You can actually dance,” Lassiter said a few moments later, making no effort to disguise the surprise in his voice.

“I learned while working as a lifeguard on Pacific Emerald Cruises out of San Pedro. You should be glad I let you lead.”

“I’m taller than you are, Lassiter said. ‘I’m supposed to lead.” In as much as the rules of dancing take this situation into account at all. Lassiter’s eyes scanned the dance floor. All the dancers were same-sex couples. Nobody was looking at them. As much as he had imagined various scenarios of physical intimacy with Spencer, he hadn’t expected any of them would feel this normal.

“Oh man!” Shawn said. “This is like Rush.”

“The band?” Lassiter frowned. This song is nothing like Rush. Although Time Stands Still is sort of slow.

“No. Good God, no,” Shawn said. “I mean the movie with Jason Patric and Jennifer Jason Lee. Two undercover cops trying to bring down a drug kingpin become addicted to heroin.”

“What exactly are you getting at?” Lassiter raised an eyebrow.

“You’re the heroin. Or maybe this is the heroin.” Shawn pulled him closer and ground playfully against his hips.

Frank Sinatra ended and Tim segued seamlessly into a second slow song. Lassiter and Shawn continued dancing. Lassiter hooked a finger under Shawn’s necklace and rolled the beads between his fingers they were mostly brown with a few white ones here and there.

“Does it mean something?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Shawn smiled. “I add a bead for every cop I seduce. The white ones stand for detectives.”

“Spencer….”

“Hey, you should see the other eight feet of necklace I’ve got at home. I’m thinking I might macramé it into a wall hanging or a beaded sweater.”

“Are you even half serious?”

“I only have eyes for you, Lassikins.” He rested his head on Lassiter’s chest. Lassiter pulled him closer and held him tightly.

“If you don’t mind, I’m just going to take a few minutes and pretend you really mean that.”

Two slow songs later Shawn and Lassiter were standing by the wall again. Shawn’s arm was touching Lassiter’s

“Let’s go to your room,” Shawn said.

“Why?” Lassiter was pretty sure he knew why.

“How clear a picture do you want me to draw? I could do a puppet show, but I’ll need some time to construct the props.”

“I’d love to. But I can’t.” It was possibly the most honest thing he’d said to Spencer since the brownie incident.

“Sure you can.”

“No, I can’t. And nothing you can say is going to change my mind, Spencer.”

Shawn relaxed his mind and thought back over their interactions together. Lassie was right. There was nothing he could say. And that was the answer.