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Carlton's Worst Inhibitions	By : MsTeragram Category: M through R > Psych Views: 2179 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Psych. I make no money from these writings.

Chapter List
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"Lassiter."
Detective Garcia grabbed his arm as he was about to walk into the break room.
"We need to talk." Garcia had been on the gang unit since the
beginning. He and Drimmer used to play football together on the weekends.
Great,
Lassiter thought, here comes the confrontation about Drimmer and
IA and whatever else they think I'm to blame for. Lassiter
stretched himself out to his full height. Garcia was only 5'8," but he was
stocky and muscular. Of course you don't get to be on the gang unit
by being easily intimidated, Lassiter reminded himself.
"Okay. Talk."
"In private."
Garcia pulled Lassiter toward the interrogation observation room.
Lassiter was hesitant to
get into it with Garcia there in the hall, but as he entered the room he
thought of the self-defence rule 'never let the attacker take you to the second
crime scene.' He turned, ready to defend himself verbally or physically if
necessary.
"Sorry for the cloak
and dagger," Garcia said, "but Internal Affairs is all over us since
that Drimmer thing."
"That's not my
fault," Lassiter said. "That's all on Drimmer."
"I know, I
know," Garcia said dejectedly. "The gang unit has done some great
work, but every bust we made is under review now because of him. I want to see
this trial over with fast so we can get back to work." He shook his head.
"I talked to John and told him he should cut a deal and plead out. But the
guy's afraid to tell his mom that he's guilty. Can you believe it?
Thirty-eight, tough cop, and the guy's still afraid of his mother."
Actually, I can
believe it completely, Lassiter reflected, thinking of his own mother.
"But that's not why
I'm here." Garcia pulled an envelope out of his jacket. "This came
today, addressed to the gang unit. Luckily I got the mail before the rest of
the guys saw it."
Lassiter opened the
envelope, a cold sense of dread creeping up his neck. The pictures were of him
and Shawn at a clothing store taken not long after their Ventura trip. They
hadn't been what Carlton would have called affectionate, but some of the photos
were definitely suggestive. In one Shawn was leaning over his shoulder holding
a tie up against his shirt. This time there was a note included, typewritten on
cheap copy paper. It was addressed to the gang unit members by name. It accused
Lassiter of having killed Chavez and Loggins and set Detective Drimmer up to
take the fall because he'd discovered that Lassiter and Shawn were lovers.
As if dating
Shawn is some big crime I'd kill to cover up, Lassiter
thought. He frowned at the letter. Whoever did this knew the
names of the members of the gang unit. And it isn't Garcia, unless this is some
deception strategy, in which case he's twice as clever as I thought he was.
"I don't know what's
going on between you two," Garcia said, "And I don't really care. But
this kind of thing," he pointed a stubby finger at the letter, "could
really bite us in the ass at trial."
"I appreciate you
bringing this to me," Lassiter said. "I know that you and Drimmer
were friends and—"
"Save it,
Carlton." Garcia cut in. "I know John Drimmer. I looked him in the
eye and I know he did it. I don't care if he was right about you two or not.
It's none of my business. But I know you aren't going to shoot a guy in the
head and frame another cop to cover up an affair. You're too straight-laced."
He dropped the envelop and photos on the table and moved to the door. "So
I'm going to pretend I never saw this, and if I were you I'd put my psychic
friend onto finding out who sent this before we have to walk into a courtroom."

Shawn arrived at
Lassiter's early on Saturday morning. He was wearing the same red shirt and
jeans he'd worn in San Francisco.
"My upstairs
neighbours are breaking up," he said.
"You don't even know
your neighbours, Shawn. How can you possibly know they're breaking up?"
"The wife used to
pick up their mail every morning. Now she's just picking up her own. His is
still there in the box."
"There could be a
dozen reasons for why she's doing that."
"No dude, think
about it. You'll see I'm right."
Lassiter sighed. Shawn
usually was right.
"I've got a present
for you." Shawn handed him a bright red folder thick with paper. He stood
there expectantly, vibrating with that boundless energy of his.
"What's this?"
Lassiter looked at the folder, confused. Had Shawn brought him a case?
"It's my blood work.
I'm completely disease free, so you can feel free to bone me without fear of
smallpox or miners lung or the heartbreak of psoriasis."
"You think I've been
hesitant to have sex because I think you're diseased?" Lassiter flipped through
the report with a growing sense of amusement. Was there
anything they hadn't tested him for? This even includes his vaccination reports
from school.
"You'll notice that
I did catch hoof and mouth in the fifth grade after a trip to a petting zoo. Interesting
fact, llamas aren't as friendly as they appear."
Lassiter put the report
on the coffee table. "I'm not interested in your disease history, Shawn.
Well, I am, but that's not why I haven't been having sex with you—well,
we've been having sex, but—you know what I mean."
"Okay, if you're not
scared of cooties, then what's the hold up? Is anal sex just too gay to you?
Are blowjobs the new handshake?"
"Since you mention
it, anal sex does seem more gay than oral sex, yes, but that's not my point
either."
"Is it the sodomy?
Are you way more Catholic that I thought? Is there a Church loophole that
includes everything but anal? Wow—butt anal—I did not mean for that
to sound like a pun."
"It's not
Catholicism. I don't even go to Church—well, maybe at Christmas—but
this has got nothing to do with religion." They were going to have to have
that talk. Damn, Lassiter thought. There
go my plans to take Shawn to paintball today. I'll be lucky if he's even
talking to me afterwards.
"That kind of
penetration is really intimate," he began, "And I'm not ready to be
that vulnerable with you. I need to establish a greater level of trust."
"You don't trust
me?" Shawn's face fell and he stepped away from Lassiter.
"Don't take it so
hard. Trust isn't easy for me." If you need proof you can ask
my former wife, Lassiter thought bitterly.
"When have I lied to
you?" Shawn asked, indignantly. "Okay, excluding all the times I said
I was psychic. When have I lied to you recently?"
Here goes, Lassiter
thought.
"Frankly, Shawn, I
think you lie to me pretty often." There, he'd said it.
"I what?" Shawn
looked dismayed and confused, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Look, I'm not mad.
Pretending that dating a guy is all new to you is your way of making me feel
special. I appreciate that. But it's not necessary. It's okay that you're more
experienced in this than I am."
"But I'm totally
not. I'm a big gay virgin. I'm a girgin."
"I'm not that na�ve,
Shawn. It just doesn't add up."
"How so detective?
Please! Dazzle me with your deductions."
"Okay. You're way
more relaxed about this than I am. You're comfortable telling your friends and
your family about us. You're more knowledgeable about gay culture, and frankly,
you're better in bed than I am. I just don't buy that this is your first
same-sex relationship."
"You don't buy
it?" Shawn's voice held a degree of venom Lassiter hadn't heard him use
before. Gone was the cocky irreverent Shawn. This was a very angry Shawn.
"And I don't need
to. I'm not a hypocrite. We've both had previous relationships. I just wish you
could be honest with me about yours."
"Wow. I don't know
what to say." Shawn lost his usual slouch and his face went almost blank.
"Let's just talk
like real people. Tell me about your first boyfriend. I promise I won't be jealous.
Really."
"There's no point,
is there? No matter what I say you'll think I'm lying," Shawn said
petulantly.
"Not if it sounds
like the truth."
"What's that sound
like, Lassie? How big a whore do you want me to confess to being? What are you
expecting to hear?"
Lassiter was fed up. In
the beginning, he'd let it slide when Shawn made comments that suggested
Lassiter was going 'where no man had gone before.' He'd encountered that kind
of thing with girlfriends in high school and college. It wasn't malicious; it
was just meant to stroke his ego. But Shawn had continued the pretence, even
when they weren't in bed. It hurt Lassiter's feelings, implying that he was
gullible and stupid.
Spencer was so
flirtatious, so free with his body, such a risk-taker; he would have no trouble
getting sexual partners. As a general rule, men weren't very discriminating
when it came to sex. Lassiter did the math. Even assuming that he was telling
the truth about highschool, and he'd only been sexually active for twelve years,
there were fifty-two weeks in a year. Shawn could easily have gotten laid once
a week if he wanted to. Even taking off a few weeks a year, that was over six
hundred possible partners. It boggled the mind.
The whole 'you're the
first' charade was putting too much pressure on him. He was still trying to
deal with the changes in his self-perception that their relationship entailed.
He needed to work things out in his own head. He liked Shawn—hell, maybe
he even loved him a little—but in queer years, he was only two months
old. Of course he wasn't ready to come out at work, or tell his family, or any
of the other things Shawn could do so effortlessly. He hadn't even claimed his
fifty dollars from Russell Santos yet. It was unfair to judge him on the same
standard as Shawn, who'd probably been out for ages. Shawn's lie, however
well-meaning, was just more salt in the wound. He'd been hesitant to broach the
subject because it didn't happen often enough to make him risk a relationship
that was otherwise going well.
But fine, if
Spencer insists on knowing, I'll just tell him. He's got no one to blame but
himself.
"Okay,"
Lassiter said. "I assume you've been with a lot of guys. More than I have
fingers to count. Frankly I assume you've had more one-night-stands than I've
had birthdays. But I don't care. I really don't care."
"Good to know. I
thought you cared a lot." Shawn turned and walked out, slamming the door
behind him.
They were
definitely not going to paintball.

Shawn walked into the
Psych office carrying two smoothies. He'd gone home and cried for an hour, but
was now feeling ready to find a solution to his problem. And solutions came
from Gus and his magic head. Provided Gus was still talking
to him. He had been sacrificing some quality Gus time during
his hermiting phase with Lassie. He thought about trying to explain that
amazing sex outranked watching Thundercats on DVD, but he wasn't sure if he
agreed with the idea in principle.
He set the blueberry
smoothie on the desk next to Gus and took his pineapple one across to the
couch.
"Dude, why does
everyone think I'm a big man-whore?"
"Do you really want
the answer to that question?" Gus asked, looking up over the top of his
computer, where he was reading the new edition of Safe Cracker online magazine.
"Yes, I seriously
do."
"Well I can't speak
for everyone, but my opinion is based on fact." Gus took a sip from his
smoothie. "As in, I know for a fact that you slept with half the women who
worked at the Red Robin the year I finished college."
"Come on Gus! You
know I got no action in high school, despite my fabulous fashion sense and
awesome hair. I had some accumulated oats to sow. Besides, those golf shirts
are adorable."
"Point taken. But
you also travelled the country on your two-jobs-a year tour of America, and
probably met people who hadn't seen you get pantsed weekly by Jimmy Nickels. I
assume that wasn't a period of enforced celibacy."
"Admittedly, I did
meet some friendly people between highschool and here. I'm not claiming to be a
Pathfinder."
"The Pathfinders is
a children's club, Shawn. I think you mean the Promisekeepers."
"I've heard it both
ways. My point is, sure, I'm familiar with the sweet art of physical love, but
I'm not some kind of Don Juan. I'm more like Juan Valdez, being there when you
need him with a smile and a cup of coffee and a handsome 'stache.
"Okay, perhaps it's
because you flirt with any person within a ten foot radius, regardless of their
age or sex."
"I'm just a friendly
guy with natural exuberance. So I flirt a little. I'm not trying to get
everyone into bed."
"I find that hard to
believe. Remember when you tried to get those co-eds interested in an adult
version of Red Rover?"
"It might come as a
shock, but not everyone actually takes me seriously."
"Now that, I find
easy to believe. But it still makes you seem like you're not very
discriminating."
"Lassie and I had
our first big fight because he think I'm lying about not having slept with a
guy before."
"Well, aren't
you?"
"No! Et tu,
Gus?"
"You had me fooled.
Given how quick you were to tell me and your dad, I just assumed this wasn't
your first time at the rodeo, so to speak."
"Who did you think
I'd been shagging, dude? Since I moved back, you and I spend almost all our
time together. Frankly, most people probably think I'm sleeping with you!"
"I sincerely hope no
one thinks that. But as for whom you might have dated, I narrowed it down to
Ricky Walker or Carlos Dasilva. Both came out after highschool. You go to the
same gym as Ricky and he also loves pineapple smoothies, so you could have
hooked up that way. Carlos graduated top of his class at MIT and runs his own
computer business downtown. He donates generously to the museum, the aquarium
and the planetarium. You could have met him while we were on a case."
"He sounds so great,
you should date him."
"If he was a girl, I
might consider it."
"That's very
open-minded of you, Gus. But seriously, I haven't been getting it on with Ricky
or Carlos or any of the other original members of Menudo."
"Don't be hatin' on
Menudo." Gus took a long drink of his smoothie. "Level with me Shawn.
You really haven't slept with any other guy but Lassiter?"
"No! Come on! I told
you the day after I slept with Lassiter. How could I possibly be secretly
slutty and not have told you already?"
"Good point. You
can't keep a secret very well."
"But now Lassie
thinks I've been lying to him and assuming he was just too dumb to figure it
out."
"I'm not surprised
he has trouble trusting you after you dropped the 'Psych is a big fraud'
bombshell on him." Gus leaned forward. "Oh, and in future, when
you're going to tell an officer of the law something that might get me arrested
and thrown in jail, or shot by a cop who feels betrayed, how about giving me a
heads up?"
"My bad. You're
right. I suck at friendship too."
"It takes a big man
to admit that."
"Then if you've
forgiven me, tell me how to make it right with Lassie."
"You can't. You're
the boy who cried wolf. No one comes running anymore and the wolf eats you.
That's why the story has a moral."
"So I'm wolf food.
There's no way out of this?"
"Maybe they make a
'Sorry I'm such a slut' card.'" Gus laughed.
Shawn hated to admit it,
but Gus had a point. There wasn't any obvious way to convince Lassiter that he
really hadn't slept with another guy before. It didn't matter how true it was
if Lassie couldn't bring himself to believe it. But maybe there
was another way out. If pretending to be the gay Wilt Chamberlain was what it
took to win Lassie's heart, what did it hurt?

Lassiter was having a bad
Monday. He'd been up late with Shawn the night before. They'd had a good
heart-to-heart and Shawn had apologized for lying about his sexual history.
He'd had even acknowledged that his promiscuity was probably a response to low
self-esteem developed as a result of growing up with Henry. Lassiter could see
that. Henry would make anyone feel inadequate.
That night they'd gone to
a nightclub called the Wildcat Lounge for its alternative/gay night. It wasn't
his style of music and he didn't exactly fit in, but the booths were nice and
he'd enjoyed the fibre optic dome, which had reminded him of the planetarium.
Given their snap-happy stalker, they'd driven around for forty minutes before
he'd felt certain they weren't being tailed. Now he wanted nothing more than to
take a nap, but instead he was going to be sorting through a stack of paperwork
and squinting at his computer all day. And McNab had just told him that Vick
wanted to see him in her office. He popped some Aspirin in his mouth and downed
them with the cold remains of his third cup of coffee.
Lassiter knocked and
entered. Vick was looking at him with a concerned face.
"Close the door,
Carlton, and sit down." She was using his first name
again. That's probably not good.
"I got some
interesting mail this morning," Vick said. "I'm hoping you can
enlighten me." She passed a manila envelope across the desk to him. It was
postmarked Santa Barbara and the typewritten address read, 'Chief Karen Vick,
Santa Barbara Police Department.' Lassiter's brain immediately began a torrent
of swearing.
He opened the envelope
and pulled out the contents. It contained three enlarged photographs of him and
Shawn. The first showed them entering Lassiter's apartment. Fine, he thought
quickly. I can explain that. We're discussing that fake dognapping case. The
second photo had been taken through the window of his apartment with some kind
of telescopic lens. He and Shawn had their arms around each other. More
difficult to explain, but not entirely impossible. In the third photo they were
clearly caught in a passionate lip lock. Not a lot of wiggle room on this one.
Since the first photos had arrived he'd been extra careful, but these had been
taken at least a week before the first batch even showed up. He
held off on sending the really juicy photos just to taunt me. That sick
bastard.
"The letter doesn't
provide much to go on as far as the identity of the sender," Vick said,
"But it does suggest a particular interpretation of the pictures."
Lassiter looked at the letter. Like the note Garcia had received, it was
typewritten and on cheap copy paper. It read simply, 'Detective John Drimmer
was right about these two. What else was he right about?'
Carlton frowned in
concentration. He could try to lie, but whatever he came up with was likely to
be pretty transparent. Vick was his superior officer, and he liked to think she
was his friend. She deserved the truth, even if it might change how she saw him
from then on.
"The letter
is�incorrect," he said. "But the photos pretty much speak for
themselves." Well, there went keeping his private life
private.
"How long has this
been going on, Carlton?" Chief Vick's face looked concerned rather than
angry or disgusted. This alarmed Carlton more than any homophobic reaction
might have done.
"Since the Thursday
last month, when I asked for some time off." I
could go into an explanation, Carlton thought, but
the easiest way out of this is to stick to fact, not feelings.
"Two months?"
Vick leaned back in her chair. She didn't look pleased.
"Yes."
"Is it
serious?"
"It's getting
there."
"Are you out?"
She raised her voice slightly, "I mean, am I the last one in the station
to know about this?"
"God no! Nobody
knows. I mean, I thought nobody knew." Until these
damn photos started showing up. He put the contents back into the
envelope and placed it on her desk. "O'Hara got a similar package
addressed to the station, and Henry got one at home, and Garcia intercepted one
sent to the gang unit. These are the first photos with anything incriminating in
them," Lassiter hated using that word to describe kissing Shawn but under
the circumstances it seemed to fit. "Also Garcia got a letter accusing me
of killing Chavez and Loggins, and framing Drimmer."
"So let me get this
straight detective," Vick was using her deliberately calm voice,
"someone has been stalking you and accusing you of murder and corruption,
and you didn't think I ought to know about it?"
"It felt like a
personal issue. I made a judgement call. I guess I was wrong." The truth
was, he had planned to tell Vick, but only after they'd been dating for a year,
when they would have qualified for same-sex partner benefits.
"Ya think?"
Chief Vick took the envelope and passed it back to Lassiter. "You can keep
that. I don't know if you have a suspect, but I suggest that you and Spencer
figure out who's been spying on you. Pronto."
"I'll get right on
it. In my free time, I mean."
"Whenever. As for
this thing with Mr. Spencer�there's no rule against dating a consultant."
He didn't bother to tell her that he had already looked that up in the department
regulations. "I understand if you want to keep it private, and I won't
interfere with that." Lassiter breathed a sigh of relief. "However,
Mr. Spencer is a valued resource, and I'd hate for any messy break-up to
interfere with our ability to access that resource. Do I make myself
clear?"
"Absolutely."
He stood up and walked to the door with the envelope.
"I really mean it
when I say that I wish you the best Carlton," Vick said. "Whomever
you're with."
"Thank-you, Karen. I
appreciate that."

Shawn was sitting in the
Psych office, tossing a Super Ball repeatedly against the wall.
"Henry's right, you
know. Carlton is probably never going to come out at work unless he knows
beforehand what will happen."
"And since neither
of you has a time machine, Lassiter will just have to stay in the closet,"
Gus said. "I guess that means you won't be his date for any police
socials."
"I know. So I'm
going to have to do something about it."
Gus intercepted the ball
and held it out of Shawn's reach.
"Tell me you're not going
to out him at work!"
"Of course
not." Shawn pouted and held out his hands for the ball. Gus relented and
Shawn resumed his game. "I'm just going to have to take one for the team
is all."
Gus didn't even want to
know what that meant.
Shawn strolled into the
station just after noon. The time had been well chosen. Buzz was talking to
Detective Miles of the gang unit. O'Hara and Lassiter were at their desk doing
paperwork, and Chief Vick was just returning to her office with takeout. It
was the perfect wave of coming-outness.
"Can I have your
attention please?" he said in a loud voice, and clapped his hands sharply.
Everyone looked up and Vick stopped mid-stride and stood staring at him.
"I just wanted to share my good news with the station. I want to you all
to know that I'm dating a man."
Buzz and O'Hara looked
surprised, but not that surprised. Is it my sense of style or the
flamboyance that tipped them off? Shawn wondered. He noted that
Chief Vick's eyes looked quickly at Lassiter and then back to Shawn. He's
told Chief Vick about us. Way to go, Lassie! Lassiter looked as if he
had turned to stone. He thinks I'm here to out him, Shawn
realized.
"Is it Gus?"
Buzz asked curiously, his tone even and friendly. Nice,
Buzz. I knew we could count on you.
"Gus? No. Good God,
No. No! That would be like dating my brother. If I had a brother. A slightly
shorter, adopted brother."
"Are you the butch
or the bitch?" Miles asked, laughing. Chalk one up
for unsupportive and homophobic. Big surprise, he used to work with Drimmer.
He's probably planning to hold up an Armenian money train this week.
"We're not a
butch-bitch couple," Shawn said, unfazed. "We've got more of a
Kirk/Spock thing going on."
"Well let me be the
first to offer my congratulations," O'Hara said, glaring at Miles.
"It's brave of you to be so honest. When do we get to meet this love
interest?"
"He's not ready to
be introduced to people," Shawn said. "I'm choosing to respect his
decision. Not everyone comes out at the same pace. I, for example, am taking the
Speed Racer method."
O'Hara walked over to
Lassiter and kicked the side of his foot with hers.
"Say something
supportive, Carlton!" she hissed at him through her smile.
"I hope he's worth
it, Spencer." Lassiter picked up some papers and spun his chair back
toward the computer, pretending to work. Oh sweet, sweet Lassie. Of
course you're worth it.
Chief Vick cleared her
throat. "I agree with O'Hara. It's brave of you to share that with us.
This station has a very clear cultural diversity policy and I would be highly
disappointed if any of our employees were less than courteous and professional
about this issue." She made eye contact with Miles. "If you have any problems
with one of my officers don't hesitate to let me know. I can always find an
opening for them in one of the state's many cultural awareness training
seminars." And there's Vick's blessing wrapped in a pretty
threat like a pig in a blanket. I love it when a plan comes together.
"Thanks, Chief. I
don't expect any problems." He looked at Miles briefly. "In fact, I
have a psychic premonition that bad things lie in store for anyone who disturbs
the supportive vibes with their negative energy."

Lassiter's day was just
getting worse and worse. He was tired and had a splitting headache. He'd drank
too much coffee and felt all queasy inside. Their stalker had outed him to his
boss and accused him of homicide. And his boyfriend (although he was seriously
reconsidering that designation) had come out to everyone in his workplace in a
very loud scene. As soon as he could Lassiter escaped to the file room to get
some peace and quiet and figure things out.
What, in the
name of Smith and Wesson, does Spencer think he's doing? He clearly doesn't
care about me or my career. This whole thing between us is over.
But the
agreement was that Shawn wouldn't out me. Technically, he hasn't outed anyone
but himself.
But he must
have known the position this would put me in.
It's not so bad.
Vick already knew, so there wasn't any damage done there. Buzz assumed Shawn
was dating Gus, which makes sense in a way. O'Hara was supportive, but clearly
not suspicious of me, which was a kind of miracle.
He was surprised at how
well Buzz and O'Hara had taken it. He had expected them to be pleasant to
Shawn's face, but they had remained pleasant about it after he left. Buzz asked
if the occasion required a card or a gift, probably thinking of when Shawn had
given him a cat as a wedding present. O'Hara had started making plans to host a
welcome dinner to which Shawn could be talked into bringing the boyfriend.
Lassiter had almost laughed out loud, knowing that the boyfriend in question
had no intention of attending such an event. Still, he
thought, it was nice that she cared enough to want to include
him. Chief Vick had his back, laying down the law about
professional expectations. Miles, of course, had been a total asshole. Lassiter
wasn't in the least surprised. The guy was an all around jerk on pretty much
every issue.
Lassiter heard the door
open and he picked up a box and tried to look busy by flipping through the
files inside.
Sweet Mother of
Mercy! He'd grabbed the box on that damn Cruickshanks case. The stupid incident
in the aisle had started this whole crazy career-destroying nightmare.
Lassiter looked up to see
Detective Cameron Miles pulling down a box of reports.
"Lassiter."
"Miles."
"So our head
psychic's a queer." Miles said.
"Shut up,
Miles." The headache, which had swelled to encompass the whole front of
his head, began to throb painfully.
"No, seriously. You
were there. He announced it and everything." Somehow it was difficult to
stay angry at Spencer when Miles was being such a dick.
"What's it to you
who Spencer sees?"
"I'm just saying,
Drimmer and me had him pegged for queer from day one."
Lassiter made eye contact
with Miles and loomed in what he hoped was a menacing manner. It was difficult;
Miles wasn't much shorter than Lassiter.
"Drimmer was a liar
and a dirty cop," Lassiter reminded him. "You really want to put
yourself in the same category?"
"All I'm saying is
that we can do without queers around. They carry disease and they're always
trying to put the moves on you. I'm surprised you haven't popped Spencer in the
mouth the way he is around you sometimes."
"How is he around
me, Miles?" This was going to a very bad place very
quickly.
"He's so goddamned
touch-feely. Queers are all like that," Miles said. "He so much as
looks at me wrong and I'll push that nose into the back of his head."
Lassiter felt an enormous
wave of anger well up within him. He was angry that had to defend himself to
other cops on the Drimmer situation. He was angry about the anonymous photos,
and about being afraid to come out at work. He was angry about Miles and all
the snide remarks he knew he'd be making about Shawn over the next few weeks.
Most of all he was angry that guys like Drimmer and Miles were willing to hurt
Shawn without a second thought. Lassiter wasn't going to let that happen. In
that moment he realized that he was far more angry than he was scared.
Lassiter set the
Cruickshanks box down and swivelled toward Miles. He delivered a smooth right
jab to his gut. The gang unit detective bent double and gushed air.
Lassiter leaned in,
grabbed Miles by the hair and pulled him up so his ear was within range of
Lassiter's mouth. "If you so much as annoy him," he said through
gritted teeth, "I will fuck you up beyond all recognition." He
levered Miles into a standing position and smoothed down the front of his shirt
where the blow had creased it. "Is that touchy-feely enough for you?"
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Carlton's Worst Inhibitions