Consulting Pineapples (Psychlock)

Chapter One--The Call

Detective Carlton Lassiter was not in a good mood.

    Then again, he was hardly ever in a good mood.

    Still, this seemed to be…a really not good mood

    A really, really not good mood.

    He had no cases. Shawn Spencer had solved them all. Even the one that he had been working on for two months. TWO MONTHS, and the upstart “psychic” just came in and solved it in half a day. Even Juliet was avoiding talking to him, and she ALWAYS talked.

    The phone on his desk rang and Lassiter glared at it. He wanted to ignore it, but what if it was a case? After fifteen seconds of indecision and about four rings, he snatched it up. He didn’t recognize the number.

    The detective lifted the phone to his ear. “Who is this and what do you want?”

    “Uh, hello, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard, positioned in London.” The voice at the other end paused, as if they were having an argument with someone else. “I am speaking to Carlton Lassiter, am I not?”

    Lassiter frowned. The name, and the voice, sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. “You are.”

    “You probably remember me as Greg, we were at Uni together...?” Lestrade took a deep breath, sitting there for a moment. “Anyway, Kevin Jones, he was in Calculus with us. Passed away from lung cancer yesterday here at Saint Bartholomew's.”

    “Greg! Yes! I remember you!” He kind of smiled. “You were the best roommate I had the whole time.” There was a pause. “Kevin? He...he never even told me he was sick!”

    “I’m sorry,” Lestrade said quietly, “It was all very quick, you know how he smoked.”

    Lassiter let out a sigh. “I know, all right. Is this about the funeral?”

    “Yeah, it’s next week. Tuesday.” Lestrade covered the phone and paused again.

    Carlton took this opportunity to cut in. “In London or what?”

    Lestrade shushed someone loudly and spoke slowly. “King Street. Next Tuesday. You’ll come?”

    The American detective sighed. “I don’t know. I’m in California.” Here he paused. “But I’ll try. I don’t take vacations very often. It shouldn’t be too hard to convince Chief Vick.”

    Lestrade snorted at California. “Good luck.”

    He rolled his eyes. “Thanks. I’ll need it. See you Tuesday...probably.” And with that he put the phone back in its cradle.

    Lassiter stood up from his desk and walked over to Chief Vick’s office. The door was open but he knocked on the frame before walking in. Taking a deep breath, he asked her, “Could I by any chance get a week’s vacation to go to London?”

    The chief looked up from her work. “London?”

    Carlton sighed. “Yes, London. For a funeral.”

    Her face fell. “I’m sorry. Family or friend?”

    “Close friend. From college.”

    “You haven’t taken a vacation in ages.” She waved her hand absentmindedly. “Go ahead.”

    Of course, Shawn Spencer took this moment to pop in. “London, Lassie? Always wanted to go.”

    Chief Vick groaned and put her head in her hands while Lassiter glared at Shawn. “You aren’t coming with me.”

    Gus poked his head in, too. “But it’s London!”

    Shawn nodded earnestly. “We would pay! You wouldn’t have to!” Ignoring Gus’s glare, he put on a pleading look. “Please?”

    Lassiter sighed. “Look, Spencer, you’re not coming.”

    But Shawn was paying him no attention. “Thanks, Lassie, knew you’d come through!” He grinned goofily before ducking out the door with Gus.

    The detective was furious. “Chief, can’t you stop them?”

    She shrugged. “They’re not technically our employees. They employ themselves. Sorry.” She bent back over her work, a silent dismissal.

    Carlton Lassiter knew arguing with Spencer would be pointless. So, with a sigh, he grabbed his coat, walked out the door, and resigned himself to his fate.