Chapter Text
Shawn Spencer would never ever regret opening Psych. However, being woken up at 6 in the morning by his ringtone, and then the stern voice of the Chief telling him he needed to go look at a victim downtown had almost done the trick.
Shawn stared at the body through his lashes. His eyes hurt, like they were sensitive to any light and oxygen, like they too knew that being up at 6:30 was wrong. And harmful.
“John Doe, around middle aged, seemingly has died of blunt force trauma to the head,” Lassiter summed up.
“Acute observation, Detective,” Shawn quipped.
See, that’s funny because if there was one thing even a 6-year-old (probably most of all a 6-year-old) would spot about this gentleman, it was his white hair and the blood painting it dark red. There was no murder weapon. What struck Shawn as weird was that the cops said that there was no wallet on him – most likely stolen – but his watch, rings, and keys remained on his person. The keys were on a huge ring in a plastic bag between Jules’s gloved fingers. She had just gotten it from his pocket.
Shawn turned to Gus, who was eager to look away from the body and met his eyes. “Where does the term ‘John Doe’ come from, and does it have anything to do with unnamed victims having huge, adorable eyes? Are they bakers? Do they make a lot of dough?”
“No, Shawn, it actually stems from a loophole in old English common law that allowed landlords to circumvent difficult legal processes by making up a fictitious person in order to establish themselves as the owner of a property. You see–”
Shawn put a hand on Gus’s shoulder to make him stop talking.
“Did I ask, doe?”
Gus glared at him, and turned another 45 degrees, showing his back to the dead body and the two detectives, and only half of his offended face to Shawn.
“Sorry buddy, I just didn’t realize the explanation would be so long,” Shawn whispered. “You’ll tell me later.”
Gus side eyed him, then reluctantly faced the victim again.
Shawn waited a beat. He put his showman voice on and straightened his shoulders. “But you were wrong, Gus!”
His words echoed off the brick walls of the alleyway. He whirled around dramatically to look at Juliet.
“See, Gus, they do make a lot of dough!” Shawn exclaimed. Then, he reverted back to his normal tone and said, “at least, this guy. The spirits are not so sure about the other… Does.”
Juliet folded her arms. “So what are you saying, Shawn, that this guy is loaded?”
“No duh, Spencer, he’s wearing a Dolce & Gabbana shirt and a Rolex watch,” Lassiter commented. His eyebags were more pronounced than usual. Plus he hadn’t had his coffee yet. “Even a half-wit could come up with that observation. Oh, wait, I guess he already did.”
Shawn took it in stride. “Yes, to the loaded thing, Jules. Lassie, I’m ignoring you until you say something nice about me, preferably about my looks. But back to Mr. Victim here,” he continues, raising a hand to his temple, “I’m getting a vibe that we may also be talking about actual dough here. I think this guy might own many restaurants and such things here.”
Jules shrugged and looked at her partner. “That’s not nothing.”
Lassiter shook his head, exasperated. “Whatever. Let’s go.”
Shawn waved until they walked away then he turned to Gus.
“You set me up!” Gus complained, refusing to meet his eye.
“I had to! I looked so cool in front of Juliet.”
“If not caring about legal practices and etymology is quote unquote cool, then yes, you seemed very cool, Shawn.”
Shawn grinned. “Thanks, buddy!”
“Where did you get the restaurant stuff from? You weren’t bluffing just to seem impressive, were you?”
“The key chain. It’s like the ones maintenance guys carry, but this guy is rich, right? So I figured he owns a lot of places.”
“Makes sense. But why specifically restaurants?”
“Educated guess. But there is one place, albeit not a restaurant, that I for sure know he owns two blocks away. I saw the logo on one of his keys. It’s a barbershop.”
Gus instinctually moved his hands to protect his scalp. “I am not changing my hair, Shawn!”
They bickered about who should sit in the chair the whole way there. Shawn argued that his hair was already flawless, and that if he went in asking for a haircut, they’d turn him away in fear of messing with perfection. At one point Gus tripped Shawn and it almost turned into a physical fight. Luckily there was a gyro place right next to the barbershop, so they both bought one and leaned against the wall, eating the meal in silence.
People kept entering and leaving the shop pretty quickly, hair unchanged. Weird. Although that was kinda exactly Shawn’s plan also, so maybe it didn’t mean anything. He wiped his mouth and threw out the remaining aluminum foil. Gus did the same.
“That was killer.”
“Agreed,” said Gus.
They headed towards the building they’d been watching and entered through the double doors. Apart from two mirrors and two chairs, a hair dryer and a singular can of hairspray the place had an utter lack of hairdressing equipment. There were about 8 people in the place, talking to each other. They quieted down and turned towards the pair as they stepped inside. None of them were wearing barber aprons or nothing, just T-shirts and worn-down jeans.
“Hello,” Gus greeted. “My friend is here for a haircut, if any of you are available.”
Shawn glared at him, then waved at the hostile-looking group of dudes. “Hi. I’m Shawn and Gus here likes to talk about himself in the third person, occasionally referencing himself as ‘my friend,’ ‘homeboy,’ or ‘my good-time boy.’ You can clearly see I don’t need a haircut.”
“Sorry,” one of the dudes stepped forward. Now, that guy could pass for a hairdresser (or an extra in Zoolander for that matter), ‘cause he had a bleached blond buzzcut and one earring, and he was wearing a chain as a belt. “We’re all booked for the day.”
Shawn raised an eyebrow. “Tomorrow then?”
“That, too. Bye.”
Shawn and Gus both got the clue and promptly turned around and walked out.
“Dude, that was so not a real barber shop.”
“I know!”
…
Shawn had his feet up on his desk. He had rolled a piece of paper into a little ball, and he was throwing it up in the air, then catching it periodically. Gus was sitting at his own desk, nervously fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt.
“I don’t know, Shawn, do we want to get involved in a huge drug case? It could be dangerous. Besides, we should be focusing on who the murderer is.”
Gus had a point, that was what they were hired to do. But this whole barber shop fiasco broadened the horizons, lengthened the list of people they should be considering as potential murderers. There could be any number of suspects when it came to drug trafficking and gangs. Unveiling that whole system – if there really was one – would take a bit more manpower than just two best friends and a blueberry. Shawn could already feel his grip on this case slipping. It was going to fall and shatter into a thousand pieces, and Psych definitely wouldn’t get any of the big ones.
“What’s this?” Shawn pointed at the Teddy Bear sitting on the windowsill. It had a blue shirt and a cute little pink bow on the top of its head.
“It came in the mail from a fan. We also got a letter that was very sexually explicit,” Gus answered. I threw it away.”
Shawn nodded with approval and got back on track. “We don’t even know if that place is what we think it is.”
It was the most likely scenario, but Shawn wished he could go in there and see for himself. But it was too late, they’d seen them. Revisiting with wigs and fake moustaches would be too risky in case some of those dudes actually knew a thing or two about hair, just like how some restaurants that were fronts for illegal stuff actually slapped. Probably.
Gus scoffed. “Shouldn’t you know that already?”
“I’m not sure if you realize it, but I’m not actually psychic. It’s one thing that the cops buy it, but come on, you’re better than this, Gus.” Shawn took a deep breath. He swung his feet down onto the ground and leaned forward. “We were barely in there for 2 minutes. But yeah, it’s definitely a front for something, that was clear. I mean, they didn’t even have hair gel! But it could be like a secret casino or like uh, a speakeasy.”
“It’s not the prohibition.”
“Secret fighting ring, then. No, secret dog fighting ring! No, no – a secret cockfighting ring.”
Gus pressed his lips into a thin line. “Well, in any case, it’s worth alerting the cops. I have a feeling we’re not getting any more information out of those dudes.”
…
Shawn basked in the familiar noise of the police station. Many things have changed since he was a kid, but the sound of pens, staples, creaky doors and squeaky shoes stayed exactly the same. Like a huge and hostile time capsule. Of course, when he was five desks seemed bigger, cops seemed smarter, and his dad, well, he was actually nicer back then.
He strutted down the hallway like he was the main character in Zoolander, Zoolander. Gus could be Owen Wilson. The pair stopped in front of Juliet’s desk.
“Hey, Jules,” Shawn waved, distracting her from her computer screen.
“Found anything about the guy?” Gus asked instead of greeting the lady.
Jules nodded. “We were able to connect some keys to a few places, and you were right Shawn, he was the owner. His name is Robert Jenkins. Right now, we’re looking into his family and his will, if there’s anyone who’d be willing to kill to inherit these small businesses.”
“Oh!” Shawn clutched his head, faking agony. He stumbled back, then forward, then against Gus. “Oh, it’s so painful! I see many, many deaths, it’s terrible!” He dropped to his knees. “Yes, it’s horrible, it’s a conflict, a war…I’m seeing– I’m seeing… the Vietnam War!”
“Huh?” came from Gus at the same time as Juliet said, “You are?”
“Yes, yes, I see the Vietnam War. And hippies, they’re singing and dancing, and uh… It’s a musical!”
“Hair!” Gus yelled out. “You’re talking about hair, the movie!”
Shawn’s eyes snapped open to look at him. “Exactly! You’re on fire Gus.”
Gus put on his proud smirk and looked into the distance.
“What is this clownshow again?” an annoyed voice came from behind the group.
Shawn turned around, put up a finger and closed his eyes. “Shhh, Lassie, listen to that sound.”
“What sound?” Lassiter grumbled.
“…Nobody’s cutting hair.”
“It’s a police station!”
Shawn opened his eyes again and stepped closer to the detective. “No, you don’t get it, Lassie. Nobody’s cutting hair.”
“Was that supposed to make sense?” Lassiter looked over Shawn’s shoulders and said to Juliet, “why do you put up with these buffoons?”
“Hey, if you don’t get it, you need not be ashamed. Gus gets it.”
Gus leaned closer to the Head Detective like he was letting him in on a secret. “They’re not cutting hair.”
Lassiter shook his head, his mouth open, no doubt searching for meaner words. Shawn didn’t let him find them.
“Okay, let me spell it out for you. This guy owns a barber shop, isn’t that right, Jules?”
“Uh, let me check… Yes, that’s right.”
“It’s a front for some weird illegal activity, probably like cockfighting or an illegal casino or possibly drug trafficking. Nobody’s cutting hair.”
Lassiter stroked the beard he wished he had as he thought about the idea. “Would make sense. Some of those places he owns don’t even have a phone number or a website.”
Jules shrugged at him. “We could look into it.”
Shawn clapped his hands together. “You’re welcome.”
…
It was dark by the time Shawn got back to the office.
He had gone back to his place for a nap, sue him. It was not like the cops would get the warrant approved by a judge so soon, and he had stayed up last night watching a rerun of Home Alone 2. It’s been so long since he’d seen that movie, his go-to Christmas film had always been Die Hard. Well, anyway, he wasn’t expecting there to be a call early that morning about a murder. His sleep schedule was already fucked in a major way, sleeping in the afternoon could hardly do much damage.
He liked riding his bike in the evening. The stark headlights of the oncoming cars sometimes made his head swim, but it was worth it – to see the sparkling night sky wrap around the sleeping Santa Barbara like a blanket. Palm trees swayed with the gentle breeze. People gathered around the pier to watch the water reflect a bellowing image of the full moon.
Another thing he was fond of was being at the office at night. It wasn’t often that he actually went there to work late. More often than not he just visited to watch TV and eat the snacks Gus bought for them. His own place, it was nice, got a great deal on it, used to be the screening room of a movie theater, but it… It never really felt like home. It felt like home even less than his childhood house. That was alarming because it put Shawn at risk of wanting to visit his dad, which was always just a lecture waiting to happen. Thank God for dear Psych, familiar Psych, with cable and internet and windows.
This night was the rare exception, however, because as soon as he entered the office, Shawn sat down in his chair and opened his laptop. He looked up their victim, but there wasn’t a whole lot of information on him. Everything he found the police already knew. Shawn decided to check his emails and call it a night.
One new email, it was from an address he didn’t recognize: just a bunch of random letters and a series of numbers. There was no subject line.
The email read:
‘Dear Shawn,
Halt the investigation into Rob Jenkins. Anything you’ve found, do not share. Obstruct the police’s investigation.
Even when you were just a kid in over his head, you caused trouble. Try not to get arrested again. Lying to the police like you have been… It won’t go over well.
Follow my instructions or I’ll send them the video.’
There was a file attached. It was a grainy video, black and white. Shawn quickly recognized his own stunning side profile and Gus’s concerned face on the thumbnail. He clicked it, hand shaking over the mouse. He knew what it was.
“We don’t even know if that place is what we think it is.” Shawn’s own voice crackled through the laptop speakers.
“Shouldn’t you know that already?”
“I’m not sure if you realize it, but I’m not actually psychic. It’s one thing that the cops buy it, but come on, you’re better than this, Gus. We were barely in there for 2 minutes. But yeah, it’s definitely a front for something, that was clear. I mean they didn’t even have hair gel! But it could be like a secret casino or like uh, a speakeasy.”
“It’s not the prohibition.”
The video cut off.
Shawn gulped.
He whispered into the dark, “…This is why I don’t open my emails.”