Chapter 7
Author's Note: We have some Romeo And Juliet quotes in this chapter, from Act 1 Scene 5, lines 51-54 and Act 2, Scene 6, lines 9-11. Thanks for reading, and please feel free to leave feedback, both positive and negative! I love constructive criticism.
"Hey," said a female voice as Shawn felt a tug on his shirt sleeve.
He looked over and quickly scanned the figure next to him. It was the bass player, but she definitely hadn't quit her day job as a paralegal. No kids, kept tropical fish, amateur gardener. She probably lived in Chinatown, was about 38 years old, and had a lot of regrets. She spent a lot of time in hospitals. His hand popped up to his head.
"I'm sensing that you seek the powers of the great Psych-Man and Magic Head."
His free hand flitted to Gus' head, but his partner ducked out of the way just before Shawn's fingers made contact.
The short, stocky bass player smiled, tucking a lock of her dull, pitch-black hair over one tanned ear. "Okay, I'll bite. What can you divine about me?"
"You're madly in love with MacFroYo."
She laughed. "You don't have to be a psychic to figure that out. Everybody here is."
"I'm not," said Shawn. "Though I cannot speak for Gus."
"What? Shawn, you know I have a girlfriend!" said Gus.
Shawn shook his head. "Incarcerated serial killers don't count and you know it!"
"Seriously, though," interrupted the bassist. "That girl you were standing with earlier? The blonde? Did you all come in together?"
"Who, Jules?" asked Shawn. "Yeah, we're all together. We're in a unit. A special psychic task force, in fact. Although, I am the only psychic. They are just my sidekicks. My S-Men, if you will."
The bass player blinked. "Okay. Whatever. Just listen: you should keep her away from him. Or...him away from her. Keep them away from each other. Mackey will go after her. He can't help himself. I've seen it before."
Suddenly, something clicked for Shawn and his hand popped back up to its customary place beside his awesome hair. "I'm sensing something else about you. Something building on what the spirits told me earlier. You aren't just madly in love with MacFroYo. You're madly in unrequited love with MacFroYo! ... Look, I know it's hard to see him get weird satanic devil-worshipper women left and right while you just kind of stand there in the back and build up his groove with that seriously sweet guitar you've got there---"
"It's a bass," she said.
"It's a bass guitar," he said. "Anyway, the best thing for you to do is to dye your hair some funky color, maybe pink, and give up that sad job you've got shuffling papers for mindless attorneys and be the great musician you've always wanted to be."
The bassist smiled. "That's nice, but I couldn't ever do that. I have too many obligations."
"The spirits tell me that several pet stores in Chinatown would be happy to watch your fish for you," replied Shawn. "Like a kennel, but for fish. A fennel."
"Fennel is a plant, Shawn," said Gus.
"Gus, don't be Lassie's left eye."
"How did you know I have fish?" asked the bass player.
Shawn smiled. "The spirits told me, of course!" This time, he managed to grab Gus' lavender-scented scalp just in time.
"Right, yeah," said the bassist, smiling in amusement as Gus swatted his best friend's hand off of him.
"I sense you are a skeptic," said Shawn. "That's weird, considering that you believe in charlatans like MacFroYo."
"No, Mackey is the real deal. Trust me. I know. I'm not a devil worshipper or anything. I'm a Christian, actually. But---"
"Really?" Gus interrupted, surprised. "Then why are you hanging out with someone who's evil?"
The bass player shifted her feet a little. "Well, honestly... He's not really all that bad. I mean... I've met worse people. Regular people, not demons. He's... Well, how familiar are you with Irish legends?"
"On a scale of zero to leprechaun, I'd say ten," said Shawn.
She nodded. "Well, you know how some Irish legends say that the fairies are fallen angels? They didn't get sent all the way to the Underworld, but they couldn't stay in Heaven. They were too good for one and too naughty for the other. But they didn't act out of any real malice; they were just mischievous, just pranksters looking for a good time. Mac's like that."
"Gus, did you get that?" asked Shawn. "Because I wasn't listening. I got distracted by the cute guitarist."
The bass player glanced over her shoulder. "I'd stay away from that one if I were you. She really is a devil worshipper. One of the ones who thinks Mac is some kind of Dark Prince or some other nonsense."
"Speaking of devil worshippers, what do you know about the dead guy?" said Shawn.
"Dead guy?" she asked. "What dead guy?"
"The dead guy who came up here last night---before he was dead---while MacFroYo was rehearsing."
"Oh, well, if he came here last night, I can't help you. I wasn't here last night."
"You weren't?"
"No. Mackey sometimes rehearses alone."
"The spirits are a little fuzzy on MacFroYo. Why exactly would he do that?"
The bass player shrugged. "Probably to impress a woman, knowing him. Or maybe he just did it for the heck of it. He has a lot of oddball quirks. I swear, I've seen the man kiss mirrors. I've been hanging around this guy since 1993 and I still haven't figured him out."
Shawn bit back a sigh. At least he wasn't alone in his lack of ability to read MacPhisto. "Thanks for the help. What was your name?"
The bassist smiled. "Dana. My name is Dana."
Shawn laughed. "There is no Dana, only Zuul!"
The bass player laughed, covering her mouth and looking away as she snorted a little, giving Shawn the perfect chance to slip away and head over to the bar, where he could already see Lassiter getting ready to corner MacFroYo.
"This is going to be good," he thought.
Lassiter saw the ridiculous man approaching out of the corners of his eyes and felt his fingers reach for his badge before he made the conscious decision to flash it. He was both proud and disturbed by this reflex reaction---but mostly proud.
In any case, he was really looking forward to cornering that white-painted jerk and saying "Head Detective Carlton Lassiter, SBPD" as he shoved his precious shiny badge into the guy's face. He took a step toward the devil, the corners of his lips twitching in anticipation.
"Ooh, Carlton Lassiter,
hellooooo, darling," drawled the devil as he approached, lurching and weaving his way through the awestruck crowd on his aureate platform shoes.
Lassiter, the wind knocked out of his sails, stared for a second. "That's Head Detective Carlton Lassiter to you!"
"Mm, yes, of the noble Santa Barbara Police Department. How impressive. Now shush," said MacPhisto.
"What? No! How dare you!" said Lassiter. "I am an officer of the law! You will show me some respect!"
"And this must be Detective O'Hara," purred MacPhisto. "Such a pleasure." He leaned forward and placed a delicate kiss on the back of Juliet's left hand, leaving a shimmering imprint of light red where his lips had touched her skin.
Juliet jerked her hand away, cleaning off the lipstick smudges with the hem of her gray jacket. "How do you know my name?" she said. "Did someone tell you we were coming?"
"No," MacPhisto replied, smirking. "But God and the devil have the best phone numbers." He shook his head. "'O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night, like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.'"
Juliet couldn't help rolling her eyes at words she'd heard since junior high. "Nice try, but I've heard that one before."
MacPhisto raised one golden-shadowed eyebrow. "Have you?"
Juliet nodded and crossed her arms, deciding to fight fire with fire and quote with quote. "'These violent delights have violent ends. And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume.'"
MacPhisto smiled with genuine delight. "Beauty and intelligence, too! God has given you many rare gifts, darling."
"Can it, Mac---" Lassiter had to stop himself from indulging Spencer by using that ridiculous nickname. "Mac---"
"Mister MacPhisto," the devil finished. "I understand your trouble. My name is a bit Irish, and not at all easy to pronounce at first glance."
"We have some questions for you," said Lassiter.
MacPhisto waved his hand. "Yes, yes, your little friends got to me first. I was rehearsing here alone, and he came by asking for my protection. Apparently, I decided not to grant it. I have no idea who would have it out for him, except to say that everyone blames the devil for their problems."
"Do you know the victim's name? We didn't find an ID on his body, and so far no one has come forward to identify him," said Juliet.
"I suppose I do know his name," said MacPhisto, "but I'm afraid I won't recall it until after I've had at least one little drink. Walk with me."
Lassiter scowled and followed him to the bar a few feet away. Juliet lagged behind, waiting for Shawn and Gus to come over.
"Hey, Jules," Shawn said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
"Hey," she replied. "Mac---MacPhisto is about to tell us the name of the victim. How did your chat with him go?"
Shawn shook his head. "Not as well as I'd hoped. The spirits don't like him. They don't want to talk when he's around. They think he's...scary."
Juliet bit her lip. "I think he's scary, too."
"It'll be okay, Jules. Gus and I will protect you. Won't we, buddy?"
Gus glared at Shawn from behind the plate of hors d'oeuvres he was snacking on. "Uh, no. I'm missing day two of the Santa Barbara Antiques & Crafts Fair just to be here with you solving this case. I'm already risking hurting my mom's feelings. I'm not risking life and limb in addition to that!"
"But, Gus! This is Jules we're talking about!"
"Juliet, you know I care about you and you've always been a good friend. But when it comes to the supernatural, I draw the line!"
Shawn shook his head. "Gus, I thought we already established that he isn't a real devil."
"We don't know that for sure," said Gus. "I'm not taking any chances!"
Shawn decided not to keep arguing when he knew he couldn't win and consoled himself by eyeing Gus' plate. "Hey, give me one of those."
Gus took a step away, glaring again. "Get your own! There are waiters with trays all over the place."
Shawn sighed. "Oh, well. Gus is out, but that's okay. I have Father Westley on speed-dial." Then he grinned.
Shawn's grin was infectious---they always were---and it didn't take long for Juliet to return his smile. "Thank you, Shawn," she said.
"You're welcome, Jules. Ooh, finger sandwiches!"
MacPhisto overheard this entire discourse as he sipped his first martini of the night, drinking slowly, taking the time to admire the reflections of light playing on the surface of the liquid and the crystal as he tilted the glass.
Lassiter wanted to shoot him in the face.
"All right, you've had your drink," Lassiter said. "Now tell me what you know."
"Patience, dear boy," MacPhisto said. "Patience is a virtue."
Lassiter scoffed. "You're dressed up as a drag queen who thinks he's Frank Sinatra. Don't lecture me on virtue, unless you want to get the same lesson that John Wayne taught Sinatra's bodyguard."
"You can try to backhand me if you wish, but you will fail," MacPhisto replied, finishing off his first martini and reaching for a second.
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yes. Now, what was your question?"
Lassiter pushed back the biting reply he had ready to go on the tip of his tongue, but his deep scowl revealed everything anyway. As if talking to a child, Lassiter said, "Tell me the name of the victim, and anything else you know."
"About the crime?" MacPhisto smirked into his martini glass.
Lassiter took a deep, slow breath, in and out. "Yes. About the crime."
"Well, I suppose I do know that your victim's name was Stuart Francini. I last saw him alive as he left the lounge during my rehearsal, perhaps around seven o'clock in the evening. I didn't leave here myself until well after midnight."
"And can anyone vouch for that?"
"Not at all. I was here alone. Do you have further questions?"
"How did you know the victim?"
"Ask your dear Mr. Spencer. He's already 'divined' all the details." MacPhisto chuckled as he tilted back his glass, draining it in one long drink, his free hand already reaching for his third.
Lassiter shook his head. "Fine. I'm not playing games with you, sicko."
"I'm not the criminal you think I am, Detective, I assure you," MacPhisto replied, abandoning his half-finished third martini and picking up a fresh glass. "In fact," he continued, smirking in a way that Lassiter could only describe as downright devilish, "I would be happy to provide you with any assistance necessary in this case. After all, as a devil myself, I think I can provide you with a great deal of insight into the murder of those inspired by the infernal."
Narrowing his ice-blue eyes, Lassiter's suspicious instincts kicked in, trying to figure out what was MacPhisto's angle in suddenly wanting to be cooperative. Almost without realizing he was doing it, his gaze followed MacPhisto's. He looked at what MacPhisto was seeing and then looked back at the devil's face.
MacPhisto's eyes were fixed on Lassiter's partner, and Lassiter didn't like it one bit. He grabbed the devil by the sleeve of his shiny golden suit. "If you so much as lay one finger on her, I will make sure you end up like your demonic friend in the alley, only with more bullets and less evidence."
Much to Lassiter's surprise, MacPhisto smiled at him, carefree and glib. "Never you mind, I have no intention of harming your precious jewel...Jebediah."
Shocked, Lassiter's fingers slipped away from the slick gold cloth, one eye twitching as the devil swept over to Juliet, offering her the martini he'd taken from the bar. "How did he know my middle name?"