Mind-Altering Murder

Chapter Ten

Shawn had no idea how long he’d been waiting outside that building before Gus finally came out. All he remembered was a red haze before his eyes that began to dissipate only when he saw his friend come out of the ornate door and turn on his cell phone. That was when he’d decided to make the call.

Now he stood directly in front of Gus and he still didn’t have any idea what he was going to do. He was outraged; he was hurt. But he was still aware enough to realize that he didn’t actually have a real cause for complaint. None that wouldn’t make him look even more foolish than he already felt, anyway.

He ran through his vast memory of movie scenes, trying to find a role model. But he didn’t have a tabletop laser, so the thought of tying Gus down to one seemed terribly impractical. And while the phrase “this matter is best disposed of from a great height-over water” did have a certain ring to it, Shawn’s conspicuous lack of a henchman to say it to robbed it of most of its significance.

Finally he decided to simply say nothing. Let Gus come up with some lame excuse. Then he’d know which way to go.

For a long time Gus chose silence, too, which was definitely not helping Shawn’s strategy. Finally he broke down.

“This is not what you think it is,” Gus said.

Shawn stared at him. “That’s the best you can do?”

“It’s a classic,” Gus said defensively.

“ ‘Let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps’ is a classic,” Shawn said. “The kind of line that is so perfect for its setting that it sounds fresh and new in any situation, no matter how many times you’ve heard half-naked teenagers say it before someone sticks a machete through their neck. ‘This is not what you think it is’ isn’t even a cliche. It’s a placeholder. Filler. Because the next line has to be ‘Then what is it?’ And then comes the real excuse.”

“The next line isn’t ‘Then what is it?’ ” Gus said. “It’s ‘What do you think I think it is?’ ”

“Okay, then,” Shawn said. “What do you think I think it is?”

“I know what you think it is,” Gus said. “You just told me. You think I’m applying for a job with another detective agency.”

“If you already know what I think, why did you ask?” Shawn said.

Gus stared at him helplessly, which made Shawn feel pretty good for a moment. At least he still had the power to twist Gus into knots of logic. He was pretty sure that if he put on just a little more pressure, he could make Gus’ head explode just like one of those movie computers. And maybe that was exactly what he deserved for his betrayal.

Shawn fixed Gus with a steely gaze. “W-H-Y. Question mark,” he said.

Shawn thought maybe he should duck back behind the corner to miss Gus’ brain shrapnel. But the look on Gus’ face suggested a level of distress no greater than mild irritation.

“Really?” Gus said. “Haven’t we been through this a million times? If you feed a computer a nonspecific question like Why? it won’t explode in an existential crisis after pondering the meaning of suffering in the universe. At best it will respond that it needs more information to process the request. Most likely it won’t do anything except sit there until you get tired of waiting and start playing solitaire.”

Gus’ brain had apparently been hardened. No doubt he’d known this was coming. “What if I told you that everything I ever said was a lie, including this?” Shawn said.

“I’d say it was a slight exaggeration,” Gus said. “And I’d also say it’s pretty harsh for you to be trying to make my brain explode when you’re the one who’s been following me.”

Now it was Shawn who could feel his head threatening to explode, if only at the unfairness of the accusation. “I only followed you because you were hiding something from me.”

“Maybe that should have been a hint,” Gus said. “If I was hiding something from you, maybe it was because I didn’t want you to know about it.”

“What kind of person hides things from his best friend?”

“What kind of best friend doesn’t respect his best friend’s privacy?” Gus said.

This was not going at all the way Shawn had thought it would. Gus should have broken down and begged for forgiveness by now. Instead he seemed as angry as Shawn. Now Shawn wasn’t sure where to turn. Escalation was always an option, of course, but he wasn’t quite sure how to accomplish that without sounding like a jilted lover. He could try being calm and reasonable, but that approach just didn’t appeal at the moment. And he’d already tried to blow up Gus’ brain. Maybe, he thought, he should have come up with a plan before he confronted Gus.

But one of Gus’ great qualities was his inability to stay mad for long, and the anger was already easing from his face. That old, familiar guilty look was coming on. Which meant that he would be ready to have a civilized conversation about his elaborate betrayal. Better yet, it meant he’d gone soft, and it would be a snap for Shawn to grind him into the sidewalk.

“Look, I’m really sorry about keeping this from you,” Gus said before Shawn could raise his boot heel to start the grinding.

“You didn’t keep anything from me,” Shawn said. “I’ve known about it all the time. All about it all the time, in fact. As if you could hide anything from me.”

Gus didn’t look like he’d been ground into anything, let alone the concrete. He didn’t even look angry. Shawn studied his face and tried to understand the expression on it. Then he took a step back when he realized it was pity.

“Of course not,” Gus said. “And I should thank you for going along with me on this and pretending you didn’t know anything about it until now.”

Shawn’s mouth dropped open, but no words came out. Was it possible that Gus was patronizing him?

“This was always going to be a really hard decision for me,” Gus continued, “and it was one I needed to make all by myself. I kind of wish you’d have given me another day alone on this, just so I had all the information I needed, but my mind’s pretty much made up by now.”

“So you’re going to work for another detective agency?” Shawn said. “What are they offering you that’s so great? You’ve already got the best cases, the best offices, and the best work schedule anyone could ever ask for.”

At least this wiped the look of pity off Gus’ face. And while his bones didn’t seem to be cracking under Shawn’s heel yet, the expression of surprise was slight improvement.

“Why would I work for another detective agency?” Gus said.

“That was my question,” Shawn said. “You’re the one who’s supposed to give the answer.”

“I’m not interviewing for a detective job,” Gus said. “I’d never leave Psych for another agency.”

Before Shawn could rap the brass nameplate to provide a physical action that would lend a visual underline to his next statement, the heavy door swung open behind Gus and a scrawny punk in dirty khakis and a wrinkled polo grabbed him from behind in a bear hug.

“You are the man, Burton Guster,” the punk said, his ponytail bobbing enthusiastically. “I want you to start work tomorrow.”

Even though Shawn had figured out exactly what was going on, to hear it confirmed like this stabbed him like an ice pick in the heart. “So you’d never leave Psych for another detective agency,” Shawn said, then turned to glare at the punk. And he saw. Saw the designer thread count of his khakis through the layer of grime. Saw the full carat twinkling in the stud in his ear. Saw the admissions wristband from Sid’s Joint, one of San Francisco’s trendiest and most expensive clubs, holding back his ponytail. Saw the folded copy of Pharm Report sticking out of his back pocket.

And he knew the truth. “This guy isn’t a detective,” Shawn said. “He’s a high-ranking official in a pharmaceuticals company.”

“Hey, that’s really impressive,” ponytail said, beaming. “How did you know that?”

“I speak to the spirits.” Shawn was about to turn back to Gus, but ponytail grabbed his arm.

“That’s really cool,” he said. “I want to know more about it.”

“Some other time,” Shawn said.

“Anytime,” ponytail said. “Stop by my office whenever you feel like it. I’m Diarmuid Robert Benson, president, CEO and owner of Benson Pharmaceuticals. But to my friends I’m D-Bob, and since you seem to be a friend of my new friend Gus, that makes you my friend, too.”

Shawn pulled away from D-Bob’s clutch. “Your friend Gus?” Shawn said. “You always make friends this fast, Diarmuid?”

“Only when I can offer them a quarter mil a year, plus housing allowance, hiring bonus, and three weeks’ paid vacation,” Benson said cheerfully.

Shawn stared at Benson, then turned to Gus. “What’s going on here?”

“I told you,” Gus said. “Rutland Armitage isn’t a detective agency. It’s a headhunting firm.”

“And Gus is the head they’ve hunted for me,” Benson said. “Burton Guster is Benson Pharmaceuticals’ new junior vice president of marketing.”