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The video turned on, showing only a blur of tan with two dark circles. The camera shifted, and the dark circles sharpened into two piercing, blue eyes that filled the screen. The image shook with a loud shuffling sound before refocusing on the man backing away from the camera to sit on the floor, his whole body in frame. He was visibly shivering in his thin t-shirt and boxers, and the exposed pale skin on his arms and legs showed dark, red welts wrapping around each limb, several dripping blood.
He still stared proudly at the camera as he spoke in a low, measured voice. “My name is Carlton Lassiter, and I’ve been kidnapped by a man named Norman Jackson. If you’re watching this, then that means I didn’t make it. You need to take this video to the Santa Barbara Police Department, preferably hand it directly to Chief Karen Vick or Detective Juliet O’Hara. I… suppose this is my witness statement. This is how I died.
“It all started one week ago when the sun rose on a small seaside town with bright beaches that hid a dark underbelly of crime. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, but death hung on the air like stale smoke in a liquor store. As the Head Detective of the Santa Barbara police department, it’s my job to find the cold facts buried in the cold, rigor mortised bodies of those who died before their time. That morning was no exception. The murder was simple, brutal, and meant for everyone to see. And it was the start of a pattern…”
“Dude, do you know who this is?” Gus asked as he stared queasily at the posed corpse.
“Gus, don’t be the one person who didn’t put bugle chips on their fingers and pretended to be a witch. Of course I know who this is…” Shawn tilted his head as he considered the corpse before leaning over and whispering loudly, “Dude, who is she?”
Gus glared at his friend before rolling his eyes and answering, “She’s Victoria Max, that model everyone’s been talking about. You know, she divorced her rich husband and moved in -very publicly- with her long-term girlfriend…?”
“The first murder actually showed up about two weeks ago. The vic was born a woman, died a man; their gender was fluid and they presented differently depending on the day. Their body was so broken and bruised it was hardly recognizable, we had to wait two days for dental records to identify the victim. Our perp likes his old-testament killings… he decided to take a literal interpretation of ‘stoned to death’ by throwing our vic off of a low building and then piling rocks over them until they were crushed to death.
“Four days later, vic two showed up, smelling like barbecue and weighing more than he looked. He was easy to put a name to; two of his wives had already filed a missing person’s report and his husband came in that same day to identify the body. God help that vic’s soul… I couldn’t even handle one wife. Our coroner had a field day with that one. Molten lead down the throat, hell of a way to die.
“Which brings us to last week and victim number three, Mrs. Max, a prominent lesbian local celebrity. Left for us to find sitting on a park bench with her severed head in her lap.
“I, obviously, spotted the pattern right away. There were others who weren’t quite as quick on the uptake…”
“Ok, so someone’s killing queer people. That’s not disturbing at all,” Shawn said with a small frown. “I mean, come on, we live in California. Aren’t we supposed to be better than this?”
Lassiter sighed and flipped his notebook closed. “Spencer, don’t jump to conclusions. We don’t know these deaths are linked...”
“So, you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all of this. After all, I told you to bring this tape to the SBPD… they should already know about the previous victims.” Lassiter crossed his arms tighter and shrugged his shoulders. “Honestly, there’s just not much else to do. I can’t leave, the perp won’t be back for a few hours, so I’m just stuck here freezing my ass off… Besides, maybe civilization will have collapsed by the time this video is found, and who knows what records would survive. Is it really so strange to want to make sure my last case is properly laid out and solved?”
Lassiter waited a beat before nodding decisively. “Now, where was I? Right, the crime scene. Our police station has the dubious honor of working with civilian consultants. A self-proclaimed ‘psychic’, who I can only hope has moved on to annoying some other hapless soul half to death, and his pharmaceutical peddling best friend. Don’t ask. The pseudo-psychic, Shawn Spencer, is a thorn in my side. He waltzes into any case that catches his fancy, turns everything upside down in a whirlwind of chaos and disaster, and then leaves with a paycheck and a self-satisfied smirk.
“He calls his method a ‘study in boyish charm and rakish wit’, I call it a pain in my ass and an affront to all that is good and holy in protocol and Justice. The annoying thing is… he tends to be right.
“He had a…” Lassiter made a face and seemed to fight the words before finally continuing with a tone that suggested he was about to be sick, “...vision from the spirits. He said the perp was escalating and wanted everyone to know who he was killing and why. Hence the very public display of Mrs. Max.
“Enter one Chief Karen Vick. At first glance, you might easily underestimate her, but make no mistake; she is not someone you want to cross. A hard, iron will mixed with a fiery temper and a voice sharp enough to cut yourself on. All contained in a five-foot six woman who wears leopard print unironically.
“Chief Vick has my respect, but she has an unfortunate tendency to listen to Spencer. Even when his ideas are terrible.”
“He’s going to be looking for more high-profile targets, why not give him some?” Shawn asked, as if offering someone up as bait was the simplest thing in the world. “We know there’s a gay retreat going on this weekend up on Figueroa Mountain. It’s the perfect place for him to strike.”
“And do you have someone in mind for us to intentionally put in danger?” Vick asked pointedly with her eyebrows raised.
Shawn’s grin lit up his face as he cheerfully answered, “He’s already killed one out-and-proud local celebrity. Why not give him another one?”
“I suppose I should go back for a bit of context. Several months ago, Chief Vick decided the SBPD was going to make a visible statement about inclusion, solidarity, and the LGBTQ community. It was June, glitter was in the air, and colored flags hung from every Target, Walmart, and Hot Topic window. And, of course, there was a parade…”
“Oh, come on, Lassie! Half the station’s gonna be there! Carol from accounting, Officer Bob and his husband, Jayne from evidence.” Shawn jogged to keep up with Lassiter while holding up a tally on his fingers. “We even got Buzz to fly his flag!”
Lassiter stopped with a confused look on his face. “Wait… McNab is bi?”
“What? No. He’s asexual.”
“... But he’s married.”
“So?” Shawn looked at him with amused disappointment before continuing as if nothing had happened. “But there’s no one who’s batting for both teams yet, and I know you don’t want me representing for the station.”
“... Fine. But I am not wearing anything that sparkles.”
“Look, I might not seem the type, but the truth is: when it comes to gender, I just don’t give a shit. Seriously, just give me a person who has the right tastes in alcohol, Clint Eastwood films, and firearm safety, and I’m having the night of my life. Until they leave me in the morning, because all love leads to despair…” Lassiter stared out past the lens before sighing and giving his head a sharp shake. “One more thing. They have to know, without a doubt, that psychics are Not. Real.
“So, back to the meeting in the Chief’s office, Spencer’s bright idea was to offer himself as bait. Over the years he’d somehow managed to weasel his way onto a Spanish soap opera, he impossibly dug up a dinosaur, and he had a brief, but memorable, stint on the ridiculous competition tv show American Duos. He is, to my greatest dismay, an actual local celebrity.
“Needless to say, the Chief wasn’t thrilled about sending a civilian into danger. Unfortunately, she also knew, just like the rest of us, that Spencer is an idiot. He was probably planning to make his way to that retreat with or without our protection. Which is where Detective Juliet O’Hara came in.
“O’Hara is an enigma. She’s a blonde firecracker in heels with an annoyingly cheerful outlook on life who’s managed to turn aggressive optimism into an artform. And somehow, she’s also one of the best Detectives I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with. She single-handedly redeemed Miami, Florida for daring to exist.”
“Carlton, you know he’s going either way.” Juliet sped up to stand in front of Lassiter and pin him down with a glare that managed to contain an entire lecture in one look. “You’re out as pan, you work with Shawn, anyone who would think to research you guys would think you’re legit.”
“O’Hara, I am not going to pose as his boyfriend!”
“It’s undercover! You’ve been trying to prove you can do undercover again, this is your chance!” Juliet stood up straighter as she gave him a self-satisfied smirk. “And you’ll probably get to use your gun…”
“O’Hara made several good arguments for why giving Spencer a police escort, in disguise as his ‘boyfriend’ for the weekend, was the best plan we had. I knew my duty to sweet Lady Justice and readily agreed.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes.”
“Friday comes, and I pick Spencer up, because the degenerate only rides a motorcycle and just… no. I’d tell you about my sweet ride, but words can’t do her justice. Just know that she’s perfect, and you can only hope to have something even half as good as her. And thank god for that, because I needed every ounce of sanity she gave me when I saw Spencer walk out of his place.
“I shit you not, his shirt was full of sequins, his pants were black leather and far too tight, and his sleeves had honest-to-god frills on them. It was like a matador and a flamenco dancer had a baby and the baby turned into a con artist who cared too much about his perfect hair and not nearly enough about being a functional adult.”
“So, what do you think? Do I look the part?” Shawn asked with a large grin.
“You look like an idiot.”
“Thank you, that was what I was going for. Let’s ride!”
“I’m honestly not sure if Spencer remembered he was going to the retreat as himself or not…
“The car ride doesn’t need to be spoken of ever again; the road never seemed to grow any shorter, Spencer’s prattling never strayed to anything more tolerable, and I was actually happy to see snow, because at least it meant the drive was almost done.” Lassiter sighed and looked off to the side. “Little did I know…”
He shook his head and refocused. “The retreat was in this big, old-fashioned lodge. Lincoln logs turned people-sized with bear rugs and rainbow flags. We found our room and… Well, let’s be honest, you’ve probably already guessed. It’s a tale as old as time, after all…”
“Oh no!” Shawn said with exaggerated mock-horror. “There’s only one bed!”
“I’ve slept on more couches than I can count, I’ve slept on frost-covered ground, I’ve slept on beds that were more liquor bottles than mattress… I was not sleeping in that bed.”
The video suddenly went dark, and a string of curses was the only indication that it hadn’t ended. There was a loud thunk and the dark screen flashed darker. After a second it turned on again, showing Lassiter with his face only partially lit from a weak light source off to the side. Shadows stretched across his face as he smirked humorlessly. The camera shook, as though being held in a shivering hand.
“Turns out this fucking place wasn’t designed for an ice storm. There’s no power now, which means what little heat there was is now gone. Which is just… fantastic.” The video shook wildly with a loud scuffle before white filled the screen, the focus slowly revealing a frosted window and a white landscape beyond. “The door’s unlocked; he knew he didn’t need to lock it, the bastard. I don’t know where I am, the snow covered his tracks before I could get out of my bindings. And if I tried to just walk out, I’d die from hyperthermia before sunset.”
The camera shifted before stilling into a trembling slow pan of a small, empty room with bare walls and a partially finished kitchenette. “This is my prison, in all its glory. Take the smallest cabin in the history of cabins and shrink it even further. Add in several code violations, a couple of dropped renovation projects, and the stale smell of mildew and… Well,” the camera shifted to show Lassiter's face again, complete with an unimpressed raised eyebrow, “you get the idea.”
The video shook as Lassiter moved before stilling to focus on his bare feet and the bright red lines of blood dripping from the welts around his ankles. Lassiter tilted the camera up before walking back to the window and sitting down, hugging his arms close and pulling his knees up to his chest. His voice shivered slightly as he glanced out of the window.
“All I have to work with is a few lengths of rope, a knotted tie, and a toilet that doesn't work. And this stupid, knockoff tablet that’s loaded with all sorts of ‘instructional’ videos.” The closer view of Lassiter’s face showed a slight tightening of his eyes as he hesitated before adding on, “Chief, if you’re the one who’s seeing this… Or, anyone, I guess. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let Spencer watch those. Honestly, anyone who’s ‘divergent’ is probably better off for not seeing them… But they are evidence, so I’ve left them on here.”
He looked out of the window again before shaking his head and focusing back on the camera. “So, the retreat. It was probably about what you’d expect when all sorts of different people get together to celebrate their differences. Hair colors ranged from every natural and unnatural hue you can imagine, clothing styles were so eclectic that even Spencer’s ridiculous getup blended in, and fake eyelashes seemed to be the rule rather than the exception. Granted, there were also plenty of people who were just hanging out in their civies, myself included.”
“Lassie… You just packed your work suits?” Shawn asked in dismay as he dug through their suitcases. “Dude, everyone’s going to know you’re a cop.”
“I’m undercover as myself. I am a cop.” Lassiter pointed out smugly. “And I’m not dressed in my work clothes-”
“Absolutely no one is going to notice you’re wearing your suede bucks,” Shawn argued.
“We’re surrounded by gay men… and you think they won’t notice my shoes?”
Shawn stared at him for several seconds before snapping his mouth closed. “Fine. But we’re at least getting you a new tie.”
Lassiter stood up and walked out of frame; several seconds passed before he came back with a bright pink, yellow, and blue striped tie hanging from his hand. There was a large knot in the middle that he seemed to be avoiding, but he still held it out after he sat down, the cheerful colors clashing with the dark red gouges circling both of his wrists. “It’s not my usual style… but it’s not bad.” He curled back up, keeping the tie in his hand as he ran the end through his fingers. “There were more than four people in one spot, so, naturally, plenty of vendors were set up to sell their wares. Going shopping also gave us a chance to plan our stay; we needed to make sure Sha- Spencer was as visible as possible so he’d attract the killer’s attention. There were plenty of meet and greets, workshops, events, and even…” his lips twisted as he growled out the last word, “crafts.”
Shawn looked at the project in Lassiter’s hands with a tilted head. “So, uh… what exactly were you going for?”
Lassiter sighed. “I was trying to make a bowl to hold some shell casings…”
“You collect brass?”
“Just the ones worth keeping.”
“Ah… well,” Shawn pointed to the tiny clay bowl that had shrunk in the kiln, “you might be able to keep a 22 in there… Though you don’t really seem like a 22 kinda guy. No shame if you are, though. It’s how you shoot it that counts.”
“We walked around, we ate, we drank, we mingled… Spencer was loud and flashy, I tried to keep my annoyance to myself, it was all going according to plan. There was only one problem. We were supposed to be boyfriends.
“Heavy petting?”
“No.”
“Cuddles.”
“No.”
“Kissing?”
“No.”
“I love you’s.”
“God, no.”
“Oh come on, man. Give me something to work with!”
“I just want to make it completely, crystal clear, that what I agreed to was purely to sell my cover.”
Shawn climbed down from the open-mic stage as half the room was crying with laughter and the other half was sitting stunned, trying to understand what had just happened. He smiled proudly and wrapped his arms around Lassiter’s neck, the smell of warm citrus overtaking the room’s smell of smoke and alcohol as he leaned in for a soft kiss.
Lassiter cleared his throat uncomfortably. “So, there we were, the perfect targets, out there where anyone could see us… and we had absolutely no idea who our perp was. Spencer’s ‘visions’ weren’t any help, the background checks on all of the workers came back clean; we were stuck. So… we made plans and went to bed. I took the couch.
“The next morning was ours to do with as we pleased. No one wants to be making friendship bracelets when they're hung over, and vendors know better than to try selling to people on their walk of shame. Coffee shops were open, though. Sweet, blessed, nectar from the gods, hot coffee…”
Lassiter stared longingly into the distance as he shivered before shaking his head at himself and continuing. “If you know him, then it won't shock you to find out that Spencer talks in his sleep, believes in tacos for breakfast, and spends a shocking amount of time on his hair in the morning.”
“Lassie, the look is called ‘just rolled out of bed’, that doesn't mean it actually happens when I roll out of bed.”
“Luckily, Spencer did actually pack normal clothes, and even with all of his primping, we had plenty of time to do some real detective work before he started strutting around like a peacock again. And, by work, I mean I investigated while Spencer touched things he shouldn't.
“I deduced that our killer wouldn't ‘lower’ himself to mingling with those he deemed unnatural, so he was probably disguised as one of the staff, or just plain old hiding like a rat in the wall. We started in the basement and worked our way up, looking for any piece of the puzzle that didn't fit, any evidence that someone wasn’t who they said they were, any…” Lassiter rolled his eyes, “entrance to a secret lair.”
“It’s going to happen one of these days, Lassie, mark my words. Gus and I found a secret attic once; it was a sign.”
“We found evidence of several affairs, one set of cooked books for tax fraud -hidden in the kitchen ironically enough- and absolutely no sign of our killer. People were starting to decide that living was better than sleeping, so it was time for Spencer to put on yet another garish outfit and become the center of attention again. Business as usual.
“The call came when we were in the middle of a trivia contest, and I have never been so happy to see the Chief’s number on my phone in my entire life.
“Sp- Shawn… Mascarpone is not the capital of France.”
“I’ve heard it both ways.”
“It’s not even French!”
“Turns out, Spencer’s ‘vision’ was wrong -or so we thought- and the killer had been caught planning his next murder in his mother’s basement. He’d gladly confessed to the previous killings and was carted off to be booked and processed. Which left Spencer and I with a whole lot of nothing to show for our entire weekend. I was ready to go right back to our rooms and escape the suffocatingly cheerful crowd, but Spencer had other ideas.
“I don’t get it, it doesn’t make any sense,” Shawn pouted on the bed as he watched Lassiter fold up a suit jacket. “This is the best target, I’m the best target… Why wouldn’t he come here?”
“Are you seriously jealous that a killer was planning to murder someone else?” Lassiter asked with a raised eyebrow.
“No! I just think he’s not our guy. It doesn’t make sense otherwise.”
“... He confessed.”
“Yeah… and?”
“Confessions are admissible in court. We’re done here.”
“Wait, no, we’re not-” Shawn froze with his head tilted slightly before a smile slid on his face. “You’re absolutely right, what was I thinking? You know what we should do? We should get drinks to celebrate.”
“We decided to stay the night; the room was paid for after all. And their booze was cheap. One drink led to three, and next thing I know, we’re stumbling back to our room blind drunk. One thing led to another and… well,” Lassiter smirked, “there was only one bed…”
“The couch is terrible for your back,” Shawn pointed out, swaying slightly.
“You’re… terrible f’r my back,” Lassiter grumbled as he leaned down and tried to take his shoes off while he was still standing.
“I think the last time you were this drunk, you told me I ‘astounded’ you. ‘Astound’ is a funny word…”
“Th' only thin' astounding... tonight 's you drink'n scotch...”
“Why? I'm a fan of all delicious flavor… Just get in the bed, man.”
“...Fine.”
“Before you get any ideas -O’Hara, I mean you- nothing happened. We were drunk, we got in bed, we slept. I woke up with a hangover… and no Spencer.”
Lassiter sighed and looked out of the window distractedly, the shivers in his voice becoming more pronounced the longer he talked. “It takes me about sixteen minutes to wake up from chloroform, I’ve timed it, and another seven and a half minutes before I can actually move. We drove for about another half an hour after that before we finally got here, so we’re just under an hour away from the lodge. Probably closer to forty-five minutes once you account for him having to tie me up and get me to his vehicle. Old beat-up jeep, no heater, I didn’t get a look at the plates.
“He said he was going to…” Lassiter brought up his hands to make finger quotes, “‘make preparations for the atonement of our souls’ and then try to grab my ‘unholy devil-worshiping lover’. That was an hour and a half ago. I have training and the element of surprise on my side, but even if I can take him out, I still have no idea which direction to drive. I’m hoping the tracks won’t get covered too quickly, that he’s filled up the gas tank, and that he has as good of luck at finding Spencer as I did…
“I don’t know if he slept last night. The drinks could have just been a ruse to get me out of the picture so he could go off doing his own thing. Usually, when Spencer goes missing right after a case is wrapped up, it means he decided something was wrong and went to look closer. Then he looks too close and needs to be rescued. Like a goddamn damsel in distress with amnesia because he never remembers to take back up and he always seems surprised to find himself in trouble. Again.
“Naturally, I assumed something similar had happened, and I went looking for him to save his ass from whatever insanity he’d found himself in this time.” Lassiter made a face of disgust and shook his head. “I was sloppy. I was too busy looking for him, I wasn’t watching my surroundings. Jackson jumped me in the basement; next thing I know, I’m waking up on the floor of a freezing jeep with most of my clothes gone, cocooned shoulder to ankle in rope, and not able to move a muscle.”
Lassiter looked down at the tie he was twisting around in his hands. “Once the drugs wore off enough that I could talk… he found another way to keep me quiet.”
A large knot of cloth was forced between Lassiter’s teeth, muffling his growl as he glared up at the man who’d captured him.
“The heart of the righteous studieth to answer. But the mouth of the wicket poureth out evil things,” the man declared as he tied the gag tight behind Lassiter’s head.
“Imagine every televangelist you’ve ever seen, then make them even more male, even more white, and even more self-righteous. Then give him a King James Bible to swallow and regurgitate, and you have a good idea of who Norman Jackson is. A failed preacher-turned-’Sword of God’ who decided to take ‘suffer not a witch to live’ literally, but not ‘thou shalt not kill’. If you're wondering how I know his name... he told me. Proudly.
“He dragged me in here, ranted about abominations and the ‘spreading corruption’, then decided an audience of one wasn't good enough. Why make an example of just a head detective when you can add a fake-psychic to the mix.” Lassiter scoffed and shook his head in disgust. “Typical, I can't even be murdered without Spencer taking all of the spotlight…
“Jackson left, but not before leaving a few parting shots of wisdom and this tablet for my continuing education.”
“He that justifieth the wicked are abomination to the Lord. For this purpose the Son of God was manifested, that he might destroy the works of the devil.”
Ropes cut into Lassiter’s arms and legs, his tie pulled roughly at the corners of his mouth, and his jaw was starting to ache at being forced open around the large knot. A boot rushed towards his face and he rolled just in time, catching the kick on his shoulder.
“He that committeth sin is of the devil, and the sinful must be cleansed. Ye shall learneth the errors of thy ways so that you might beg forgiveness before you are brought before judgment.”
Jackson knelt down and set a small tablet on the ground, pressing play and crossing himself as a cross showed on the screen. He stood as inspirational music started to play and looked down at Lassiter as he preached, “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”
“Luckily, he didn't know who he was dealing with. I've been on fishing boats since I was a boy, I was an Eagle scout with a full sash of badges, and I've spent countless weekends practicing how to slip different restraints. I was easily able to escape the ropes once he left.”
Lassiter struggled on the ground, growling as he twisted his arms, coating the rope with blood from his wrists so they could slide out easier. The tablet droned on, showing graphic images of people burning alive while a man in a sweater vest cheerfully informed whoever was listening that even thoughts must be guarded lest they fall to wicked sin.
Lassiter clenched his teeth around the gag and worked his hand back and forth, slowly and painfully slipping it through the soaked rope.
“And now, I'm just sitting here monologuing while I wait for him to come back and hope I don't freeze to death in the meantime. I suppose this is where people would normally say their goodbyes…” Lassiter thought for a long moment before shaking his head. “O'Hara, you can take care of that for me. Just, please, don't let my mother be the one to go through my stuff. She'll just throw everything away.”
He gritted his teeth and slowly stood up, leaving the tie carefully placed under the window. The camera started moving towards the half-finished kitchenette, and something dripped down, covering the video with a haze of red. Lassiter's hand came into view, trembling as he pulled aside a wooden board and revealed a hole in the wall behind it.
The camera flipped around, and Lassiter seemed to stare through the screen as he said, “I know the chances of this video actually being seen are about zero, but I still have to try. This is probably where I’m supposed to say something profound about Lady Justice and how she’s a cruel mistress with stilettos of hard truths and curves of freedom…” His head snapped up and he looked back before snorting and adding quietly, “and the Perp of Long Words has impeccable timing.” He faced the screen again, still speaking as he moved it into darkness. “Juliet… I hope your next partner treats you well. Goodbye.”
His hand covered the screen, and everything went dark.
Sounds still played, though, and only a minute later, another voice could faintly be heard preaching, “...and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone. Which is the second death.”
Shawn’s voice came through clearly as he answered, “Well, sure. But what about my first death? Can’t I just… die of old age? Or in a really cool fireball when I start to turn bald!”
“Silence your tongue, witch, lest it be cut out. I will not be swayed by your vile words, for whosoever is born of God doth not commit sins; for his seed remaineth in him, and he cannot-”
“Eew, TMI. Also, if you’re going to keep going with the whole magic thing, I’d like to state for the record that I prefer warlock, or wizard. They’re both so much- NOW, Lassie!”
A loud, hollow clunk rang out, followed by a soft thud and a metal clatter. There was a long moment of silence before a low whistle sounded through the air. “Dang, Lass, nice swing! That was so sexy… Is that a toilet top?”
“It was between that or a bunch of bloody rope.”
“Huh, good call then. Geeze, you look like crap.”
“And you look completely fine.” Lassiter’s voice pitched up as he whined, “Why did I get gagged and not you?”
“Ah… uh. Funny story. I went looking for you, saw his jeep and went to check it out and… sorta ran into him by accident?”
“You. Walked yourself right to him. Of course you did…”
“I’m pretty sure he saw it as divine intervention. But he also had no idea what to do with me meeting him at his car. I think it threw off his groove.” A quiet jingling and a couple of ratchets sounded out in the following silence before Shawn spoke up again, “Here, you look freezing.”
“I am freezing, give me the cuffs first.” More ratchets sounded out followed by rustling cloth. “Of course the crazy nutjob doesn’t have a phone on him… Thanks.”
“No problem. Wow, it is brisk in here, no wonder you’re shaking so bad. We should get you checked out when we get back.”
“I’m fine. Do you know which direction to go, at least?”
“Dude, your wrists look like raw meat, you’re not fine. And of course I know where to go, the spirits will guide me.”
Lassiter sighed. “There’s no… whatever. Help me get him to the car.”
“Hold on, there’s something over there…” There was a loud scuffing sound and the video lit back up, still tinted red, showing the palm of a hand. “He hid a tablet in here? What…” the camera flipped around, showing Shawn’s face as he looked down curiously. “Huh, it’s still recording.”
“How the hell did you see that?”
Shawn looked back and Lassiter was just visible at the edge of the screen, shoving his tie into a pocket of the dark gray coat he was now wearing. Shawn grinned and held his hand to his head before hesitating and dropping it back down again. “I saw a reflection of light off the screen.”
Lassiter’s face went lax and his hand stayed glued to his pocket. He looked behind them before looking towards Shawn again. “Can I ask you a question?”
The camera jostled, falling slightly and filling the screen with the image of Shawn’s red plaid shirt. “Yeah, shoot.”
“Where do you rank Pink Cadillac in Eastwood canon?”
“Are you kidding me? It’s so bad it’s good. I mean, it opened the same weekend as the Last Crusade, it was bound to flop… why?”
“... Once all of this is over, want to get a drink?”
“Huh. Yeah, I think I would.”
The camera shook and went dark, and the video ended.