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It was late when Carlton finally emerged from the file room. He had gotten lost in looking over a few cold cases since it had been a slow crime day. He figured he’d just grab his jacket and head home. Maybe stop somewhere along the way to get a quick bite of food.
On his desk was an envelope with his name and title in neat letters. Carlton glanced around but hardly anyone was left in the station which wasn’t that rare given the time of night. He cautiously opened the envelope. Inside was a letter which read:
“Hi. The person sending you this letter doesn’t know how to tell you this, and, furthermore, they know that taking hints is not your strong suit. So, to put it as bluntly as possible? They want you to RAIL them. Okay? They want you to dive into them with the enthusiasm of Scrooge McDuck, diving into a room full of gold doubloons. They want to turn you into their own personal pony express; just ride you around the west, delivering letter after letter, after gasping letter. They want you to scramble their eggs, and then cook them breakfast. They want you to ice them like a toaster strudel and they’re not looking for a fair trade off here- they’re looking more into a buy one get three scenario. Do you understand what I’m saying? And in terms of time frame, they’re thinking… RIGHT NOW. So, I recommend you hop to it!”
The writing was surprisingly neat considering the thing had been signed “XOXO Shawn Spencer”. Carlton had seen the fake psychic’s handwriting before and it wasn’t as clean as this. This had to have taken patience he didn’t know Spencer even had. As usual when dealing with Spencer, there were references he didn’t understand.
He reread the letter. Taking hints? What hints? When had Spencer ever shown legitimate interest in him? The man joked about everything from the length of his hair making his ears stand out to needing to show off more of his chest hair to the idea of people wanting to do canon balls in… his… eyes…
Oh.
Oh!
Carlton grabbed his jacket and practically ran out the building, searching his contacts for Spencer’s number. They needed to do some talking to decipher everything in the letter that didn’t involve the personal pony express… Just to iron out any details that may end up with them being on the wrong page in different books from different libraries. Or something 80s related. He wasn’t entirely sure if it mattered anymore.
He looked up just before hitting Call to find the one and only Shawn Spencer leaning against his car with a nervous grin. There was no Blueberry nor motorcycle in sight.
Shawn rubbed the back of his neck. “I take it ya got my note?”
“Subtlety is not your strong suit.” Carlton stopped directly in front of the psychic consultant.
Shawn’s grin grew.