Juliet gave herself one final glance in the rearview mirror before she opened the door and stepped out of her car. She smiled to the valet who accepted her keys and then waited while he pulled away before crossing to the sidewalk that fronted the hotel. Her hands smoothed over her skirt in an unconscious gesture as the doorman pulled the large glass door open and bowed slightly.

“Thanks,” she murmured and flashed a brief smile.

She followed the signs to Ballroom One and entered, eyes scanning in long-ingrained habit of scoping out the scene for exits, threats and familiar faces.

It didn't take long for her to realize that almost everyone in the room qualified in that last category. They were all officers from the station, courthouse personnel, or had other similar types of employment. Juliet did a double take as she realized that was one of the meter maids walking past on the arm of... hopefully her husband.

 And, like Juliet, they were all dressed to the nines. Men in tuxedos and women in glittering gowns, jewelry sparkling and twinkling in the soft lights, Santa Barbara's law enforcement community was celebrating in style, a buffet of finger foods along the right wall and waiters circulating with more hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne.

Which was odd to say the least, because they didn't have anything to celebrate yet. The serial robber that had been plaguing the city of late was still on the loose—a fact Juliet was reminded of when she realized that not all the guests were law enforcement. Santa Barbara's rich and famous who had been victims of the burglar were also present.

Which was actually good because they were supposed to be here so Shawn could identify their thief. She was only dressed up because the message had said that they needed to blend in or they'd spook the perp. At least the people who would be most likely to be upset by the cops in the city not working on their case would be able to have their closure. If Shawn kept his word and unveiled their thief anyway.

Though, if he didn't, the chief and Lassiter would probably let the victims exact their pound of flesh from him here and now, so, really, it would work out either way.

She entered the room and the crowd, acknowledging those she passed as she searched the crowd for Shawn to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.

“O'Hara!”

She turned and found her partner scowling darkly at the assembled throng, a little surprised to see he was actually in a tuxedo instead of just a nice suit.

“Have you seen Spencer?” he asked, though his eyes did give her a quick up and down. “Nice dress.”

She huffed a laugh, but knew him too well to be offended by his curtness. And since it was a genuine compliment, whatever the tone, she said, “Thank you. You look very nice yourself. And, no, I haven't seen him,” she said, giving the crowd another scan.

“When you find him,” a new voice interrupted, “I'm going to need you both to look the other way while I strangle him.”

They both turned to see Henry—also dressed in a tuxedo—and looking as irritable as Carlton—probably for the same reason.

“I can't do that, Henry,” Carlton said regretfully, still searching the crowds, going up on his tiptoes for a moment. “But I can give you fifteen minutes in the interrogation room back at the station.”

“Done,” Henry agreed. “Detective O'Hara,” he acknowledged. “That is a beautiful dress.”

“Mr. Spencer,” Juliet returned, smiling briefly and blushing faintly. “Thanks,” she said.

The song drifting from the large speakers flanking the stage along the back wall of the room ended and there was a cough and a short squeal of feedback that drew everyone's attention that way. At the same time the lights went down and the sound of the doors at the back closing could be heard. Juliet looked to see uniformed cops taking up positions to prevent anyone from leaving.

Well at least their perp wouldn't be escaping.

So much for not spooking them, though.

The chatter died down when they realized that something was happening, and Juliet was unsurprised to see Gus standing at the mic when a spotlight lit it up. He looked dapper as usual in his tuxedo, but even from fifty feet away Juliet could see that he was nervous and appeared to be vaguely constipated—which, if you knew Gus, was actually anger with Shawn.

But he was a loyal friend if nothing else, so he played his role and hid his feelings. Mostly.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of Santa Barbaran society and law enforcement, for joining us here tonight. I hope you have enjoyed your evening thus far—”

“Enough with the chit-chat!” a voice called out. Juliet craned her neck and got a glimpse of a handsome man with a beautiful woman on his arm. Mr. Daniel Jameson, she identified, and his girlfriend of the week, an actress Juliet could never remember the name of. “Who the hell stole our stuff?”

“Yeah!” several other voices in the crowd chorused.

“I'll just turn the mic over to my associate then,” Gus said and held the mic out to the side.

Shawn had been consulting with the dee-jay but when the spotlight swung to him, he smiled and waved. Juliet had to swallow at the sight of the psychic in a tuxedo with that blindingly charming smile of his in full force.

He jogged to the center of the stage and accepted the mic.

“Thank you! Let's have a big hand for my buddy Gus here, huh? Huh?”

There was a half-hearted smattering of applause—one that was probably more Pavlovian than anything else—and one enthusiastic clapper in the crowd.

“Knock it off, McNab!” Carlton yelled without looking.

The loud clapping cut off immediately.

“Carly?” Shawn said, shading his eyes with one hand. “Is that you? Come on up on stage, there, detective! I need your help with something.”

“Just tell us who the damn thief is, Spencer, or I'll arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

Shawn sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Every party needs a pooper, so I guess it's a good thing we invited you.”

Shawn's gaze shifted and landed on Juliet.

“Detective O'Hara? Can I get some help here?”

She wanted to say no just on principle, but the look on Shawn's face said he wasn't going to let them completely ruin his little production.

“Fine,” she said and headed forward.

“Atta girl!” Shawn cheered. “Let's have some applause for Detective O'Hara!”

This time there was no Pavlovian polite-applause, just one loud clapper.

“McNab!” Carlton yelled.

“But, sir—”

“Don't encourage him!”

The clapping stopped.

“Yes, sir!”

A few snickers followed this exchange and Juliet couldn't help shaking her head as she ascended the stairs.

Shawn met her at the top and grinned, giving her a once-up-and-down.

“You look fantastic, Jules,” he said.

“Shawn,” she said, pairing it with a stern look.

“Right!”

He turned back to the crowd.

“I did invite all of you here tonight to reveal the dastardly thief that has been violating your homes,” Shawn said. “But first, a few items of business!”

He pulled a card out of an inside pocket on his jacket.

“The owner of a 2008 blue Crown Victoria, license plate 4CAI445, needs to see the valet stand about a minor mishap in the parking lot after we're done here.”

“Hey!” Carlton yelled. “That's my car, dammit!”

“Calm down, Lassie!” Shawn interrupted. “They said you can't even hardly see the scratch and the hubcap popped right back into place, good as new! And, yes, the valet who was driving is okay. Thank you very much for your concern.”

“Spencer!”

“Okay! Next item of business! Gus!”

Juliet turned to see Gus pushing a wheeled cart covered in a sheet up the ramp on the right side of the stage.

“Shawn, if we get killed or arrested, I am annulling our best friendship,” he said as he stopped the cart in the middle of the stage.

Shawn covered the mic. “Relax, Jules will protect us!”

She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Jules?” he said, voice like a lost puppy whining for a pat on the head.

“Just keep going, Shawn. Before they riot,” she added waving one hand at the crowd.

“Okay then!” Shawn said, turning back to the crowd. “Let's get started, shall we?” He added in a stage whisper, “Jules! The sheet!”

She shook her head, but went to the cart and, with Gus' help, lifted the sheet to reveal fifty-six pineapple statuettes, a sea of gold, silver, and bronze, with two unique statuettes on the end nearest Gus, one emerald with silver leaves and the other...

Was that diamond under the gold spikes? she wondered, brow furrowing.

Either way it was enough to catch the attention of the crowd and hush the rumblings of discontent.

Juliet had to admit to being impressed herself. It was quite a show of wealth. Where had he gotten them? And how had he paid for them?

“Tonight we are here to honor many, many talented people. Sadly, they could not be physically present with us, but thanks to the wonders of technology, they are here nonetheless!”

He gestured to the large screen TV that had been projecting random images tuned to the music that had been playing. Now it showed an open chat window, the lines of text jumping up the page every so often.

“Welcome, ladies and... gentlemen if you're there!” Shawn said.

Apparently there was an audio feed hooked up to allow the chatters to hear, because the screen started scrolling at high speed as everyone responded with, \HI SHAWN! *waves*\ and \OMG SHAWN IS HERE!\ and \I WANT TO HAVE YOUR PINEAPPLE LOVING BABIES, SHAWN! :*\

“What the hell?”

This came from Lassiter who had spotted his own name among the flood of messages to Shawn.

\WHERE IS LASSIE???\

\LASSIE RULZ!!1!!1 :)\

\WHERE'S YOUR GUN, DETECTIVE?! :D\

“So,” Shawn said, “we're going to let them chat back there and move on with the presentation of the awards! Eh? All right!

“First up is Best Mystery! Who left you guessing until the end? Who had you scrutinizing any possible clue for a hint as to whodunit? We had fifteen nominees this year and it was some tough competition to best befuddle the readers! Third place goes to mav for Every Dog Has Its Sick Day! Second place goes to Texasartchick for This Stalker Thing Kind of Sucks! And the golden pineapple goes to silverluna for Ask For Another Day!”

Shawn clapped and confused applause from the audience followed, though the chat response was far from the same as congratulations were typed out in a flurry of responses.

“Keep your eye on that one. She'll be writing her own detective show one day! And now, Best Romance!”

He turned and pinned Juliet with a look full of intent, then took two steps toward her.

“Shawn!” she protested as he wrapped an arm around her waist and twirled her back to the front and center of the stage as if they were waltzing.

He bent her backward slightly and said into the mic, “This award goes to the author who best captures the essence of love between two characters.”

He grinned at the crowd and waggled his eyebrows and got laughter and some clapping with a few, 'Awww!'s as well.

The responses on screen went too fast to see, though the words 'SHULES' and 'DED!!!!' appeared frequently.

Juliet flashed a smile to the audience, then said through that same smile, “Shawn, if you don't let me go, I'm going to arrest you here and now.”

He just flashed her a roguish grin. “You've got handcuffs on you right now, Detective?” he asked.

“Yes, Shawn. I have a gun, too. It's called a purse. Women often carry them.”

He straightened and she blinked to clear the blood rushing through her head, then took a deliberate step back, smoothing her dress again. “Thank you,” she told him.

He winked and she returned to the cart with a shake of her head and a small smile flirting with the corners of her lips.

“There were fourteen nominees in this category, and, out of them, three were chosen as the sappiest on the maple tree farm!  Third place goes to biogirl for Pineapple, With a Hint of Romance! Second place goes to MusicalLuna for Goth, You Look Good! And the golden pineapple goes to MorganAdams and CollegeKid09 for In-Laws Should Be Outlawed!”

The crowd seemed to be getting into things now, because the applause was more than Pavlovian this time, coming closer to matching the response on the screen.

Shawn let it die down naturally, then stood straighter, voice becoming solemn as he said, “And now, we'd like to take a moment of silence for Best Angst.” He paused, bowing his head, then continued in the same voice. “These authors tug at our heartstrings and give our tear ducts a Tae-Bo workout fit to shame Billy Blanks himself. Twenty stories wrenched at the very souls of the readers this year, but only three can be said to be the most emotable angst-fest of them all.”

“That's not a word, Shawn!” Gus protested.

“Gus, please,” Shawn said, still solemn. “Have some respect.”

Gus huffed but said nothing more.

 There was another beat to make sure no one else spoke and then Shawn said, “Third place goes to silverluna for Ask For Another Day. Second place goes to SydneyWoo for And Then the World Blew Up.” Shawn paused again and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at his eyes, and in a choked up voice finished, “And the golden pineapple goes to MorganAdams for Don't Deny Me!” He dissolved into sobs.

“For the love of—”

“Have some compassion for my pain, Lassie!” Shawn threw back.

“I'll show you pain,” Carlton said and reached for his gun.

\GUN!\ or variations thereof filled the TV along with grinning smiley faces. It was enough to stop Carlton in his tracks and have him releasing his weapon, confusion and a shade of alarm furrowing his brow.

“Shawn!” Juliet hissed and the tears cut off like a faucet had been turned.

“Right! Next are the Best Episode Tags or Missing Scenes. Not everyone has ADD like Detective Lassiter there and some would like to spend much more time observing the zany antics of the Psych office personnel. This is more than a little creepy, I'll admit, but who am I to deny my public? Twenty-one stalkers were selected as the creepiest in the fandom, but only three will get the satisfaction of having the object of their fixation reward them for their efforts.”

“Shawn! Why are we rewarding them?!” Gus demanded.

Shawn turned and said, “Because their obsession is perfectly understandable and we want to encourage it?”

Gus glared and Shawn shrugged. “And we can't really stop them anyway.”

That got more than one eye-roll, but Gus realized the futility of continuing it and gave up.

“Third place goes to raconter for Be My Kurt Russell! Second place goes to JessicaRae for Saving Grace! And the golden pineapple goes to Ann Margaret for Aftershocks!”

“Great, now I have to move again,” Gus muttered. Juliet gave him a sympathetic look.

“Sorry.”

He sighed in resignation. “It happens when you're friends with Shawn.” He shrugged. “You mostly get used to it. Eventually.”

Shawn ignored them, continuing with his little show.

“The Best Short is our next category. These authors are gifted with the art of choosing just the right word and no more. Masters of cutting the literary fat, they craft bite-sized tales that entertain without blabbing on and on and on and—”

“So, they're nothing like you then, Spencer?” Carlton cut in.

 Shawn grinned. “Exactly. They're more like you, Detective Shorty McAttention-Span. Only, you know, fun.”

Carlton glared and Juliet had to stifle a giggle. If that wasn't a case of the pot calling the kettle black...

Then she rolled her eyes. He even had her thinking in cooking terms now. Great.

“We had thirty of these personal-pan-word-pizza-chefs, but, like on Iron Chef, we cannot judge them all the same. Third place goes to Beth Green for The SHAWN SPENCER Owner's Guide! Second place goes to biogirl for Shuletide Joy! And the golden pineapple goes to raconter for Gus Walks into a Bank Again!”

Shawn clapped and the crowd followed his example. “Let's hear it for the winners. Yeah! Alton would be so proud.”

A chat shout of \ALTOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!\ started a flood of shorter echoes.

\ALTON!\

\ALTON!\

\ALTON!\

“Shawn, do you think maybe you could wrap this up here in the next millennium or so?” Henry called.

Shawn frowned. “I'm sorry, Dad, is it past your bedtime? Maybe next time won't invite you! And then I'll get kidnapped by my stalkers and you'll regret it!”

“In front of the entire Santa Barbara Police Force?” Henry retorted. “If they can pull that off, they deserve to be rewarded.”

“There are a lot of them! And they have stalkers too! A veritable army of people are after me!” he said and waved a hand at the screen.

\BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!\

\I'VE GOT THE ROPE!\

\I'VE GOT THE HANDCUFFS! ;D\

\I'LL DRIVE THE GETAWAY CAR!\

 Shawn blinked at the screen. “Whiiiiiiich brings me to the next category actually: Best Reviewer! These are the people who aren't content with just stalking me. Oh no, they go the extra creepy mile and stalk my stalkers!” He cocked his head. “Does that make them grandstalkers? Stalkerettes? Grandstalkers, right?” he asked Gus who held up his hands as if to say, 'Don't ask me.'

The clapping was sort of hesitant as people processed what Shawn was saying. Even Juliet had to admit confusion. Why in the world would you encourage this behavior?

“Twenty-one grandstalkers were nominated for this award, but only three will be recognized by their peers for their exceptional dedication to their craft. Third place goes to dragonnan! Second place goes to silverluna! And the golden pineapple goes to iknow!”

Again, the applause was uncertain, but Shawn was undaunted.

“Next we have the Most Psych-like Award! Like the Best Episode Tag/Missing Scene stalkers—I mean, writers—these authors set themselves apart as being experts in how things work at the Psych office—and in my life in general. They are able to write fictionalized accounts of my life in such detail, that you'd swear it was an entry out of Gus' diary.”

“It's a journal, Shawn! A journal.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night, Buddy, but I've seen the lock with a tiny heart-shaped key. I'm not even going to mention the part about it being pink.”

“It was on sale, Shawn, and it's pink because you stole it and colored it with a marker!”

“That explains why it's pink, but not why you're still using it.”

The TV's chorus changed to, \PINK! ROFLMAO!\ while Gus glared and Juliet stepped in his path before he finally gave in to the urge to strangle Shawn.

“Not in front of witnesses,” she murmured, then added when he didn't seem deterred, “Especially not cops, Gus.” After a moment he glanced at the crowd and nodded.

“Right. Thank you.”

She nodded back with a smile and they returned to their places by the cart.

“Are we done?” Shawn asked them.

Gus' fists clenched and only Juliet's hissed, “Gus! Cops!” stopped him from stepping forward.

He smoothed a hand down the lapels of his tux.

“We're done,” he growled. “For now.”

Shawn turned back to the crowd.

“There were ten distinguished stalkers, but three of them stood out from the crowd. Third place goes to Egorstandish for Steak and Potatoes! Second place goes to CollegeKid09 for It's My Funeral And I'll Be Alive If I Want To! And the golden pineapple goes to Ann Margaret for Aftershocks!”

There was applause, but it was accompanied by a soft murmur of talk—probably regarding Shawn's levels of insanity, Juliet decided.

The TV was filled with more congratulations and a few comments about how hot Gus was when he was angry. Happily, Gus didn't seem to have noticed that yet.

“Next we have a gaggle of witty individuals who are being recognized for the gift of the one-liner. More specifically, for their ability to write a clever and comedic title for their entries in Gus' diary.”

“Journal!”

“Most Psych-like Title  had twelve nominees, and of those three were chosen as the wittiest of them all! Third place goes to Papergirl for Bed, Bath, and Beyond Cheating! Second place goes to PsychYouOut for Fatal(er) Attraction! And the golden pineapple goes to Collegekid06 for It's My Funeral and I'll Be Alive If I Want To!”

Juliet didn't have to be trained at the Police Academy in reading body language to know that as amusing as some of the crowd found this whole thing, their patience in waiting for the thief to be unmasked was wearing thin.

“Shawn? Maybe you should speed this up a little,” she suggested.

“We're almost done, Jules. But you can't rush—”

“Shawn .”

“Juliet, do you really want to anger the hoards of fangirls waiting to have their name announced by me?”

She didn't, true. But there was a more immediate threat of the girls—women—and men in this very room right now, many of who were at this moment armed.

“Try,” she said instead.

“There were eighteen authors who are walking contradictions. They specialize in tiny tales, but they just don't know when to stop writing these mini-masterpieces. Tonight, we honor them and their never-ending shorts.”

Juliet's head cocked, brow furrowed, but she said nothing for fear of delaying the proceedings any more.

Gus was frowning, but he too, stayed silent.

The TV behind Shawn's head displayed one chatter's response of, “I LOVE SHAWN'S SHORTS!” and then the screen exploded in a veritable frenzy of echoed responses consisting mostly of, “SHAWN'S SHORTS!” with the occasional “SHAWNSSHORTSOMG!!!1!” thrown in. Little drooling and dead smiley faces abounded.

Shawn's lips formed a pout as he considered that, but with a shrug he kept right on going.

“Okay then. For Best Standalone, third place goes to dragonnan for Closed Off! Second place goes to s_c for 20 Items of Lyrical Graffiti! And the golden pineapple goes to MorganAdams for The One with Shawn, Juliet, and Three Little Words!”

Shawn and McNab were the only ones really clapping with any enthusiasm now, but there was no flagging in the energy of the chatters as they congratulated their fellow writer. Stalker. Whatever.

“The next four awards recognize the special bonds between friends, family, and coworkers, that joy that comes from knowing that you're never alone, that there will always be someone to take the fall for you when something goes wrong in your brilliantly conceived, but perhaps fatally flawed plan.”

“I am not taking the blame for anything, Shawn,” Gus said, giving him a dignified No how, no way look.

Shawn gave his audience a broad grin. “You know you would do anything for me, Gus. That's exactly why the American Duo award exists. People love how you're willing to do anything, sacrifice yourself just for me. These stories are all about our unbreakable bond.”

“I'll show you unbreakable,” Gus muttered under his breath, glaring.

“There were fourteen authors who gave it their best shot, but only three who really nailed it. Third place goes to patster for Facts of Life! Second place goes to dragonnan for This Hurts Me As Much As It Hurts You! And the golden pineapple goes to raconter for Gus Walks Into A Bank Again!

“The next award is all about how much Lassie loves having me around.”

“Like hell I do,” Lassiter snarled.

“Our bond is tight,” Shawn continued, unfazed. He linked his fingers together and jerked them for emphasis. “Like this.”

“What show are these people watching?” Gus demanded. “You and Lassiter get along about as well as salt water and hemorrhoids.”

Shawn forced an overzealous laugh. “In the category You Astound Me—”

“How the hell do they know about that?!”

“—third place goes to weathergalny for Disoriented! Second place goes to Texasartchick for Stir Crazy! And the golden pineapple goes to Kerravon for Five Times Lassiter Didn't See Shawn Fire a Weapon(and One Time He Did)!”

“Shawn, this is getting ridiculous, you need to put up or shut up,” Henry cut in.

“Speaking of people who love me. There are scads of stories dedicated to the relationship between me and my dad alone. If it's argument-worthy, we've fought about it in a fic. And made up over it. Which, frankly I don't quite get but, hey! Artistic license. Or something. Eleven people were nominated for the How Many Hats? award, but the most compelling stories are as follows:

“Third place goes to silverluna for Only A Dream Away! Second place goes to raconter for Spawn of Ghosts! And the golden pineapple goes to JR88fan for Shall We Play a Game?!

“The category Back to the Future is practically a subcategory of How Many Hats, seeing as it goes back to when I was a wee little tyke, still adorable as ever. The stories nominated in this category had a flashback that exemplified what a flashback is all about—cute vignettes of me.

“There were five authors nominated, but three who pictured me as I truly was. Third place goes to JR88fan for The Spencers of Santa Barbara: The Curse of The Benitoite! Second place goes to htewing for Of Psychics and FBI Profilers! And the golden pineapple goes to SydneyWoo for And Then The World Blew Up!”

“Mister Spencer. If you do not get on with the crime solving portion of this ridiculous get-together in the next five minutes, I am sending everyone home,” Chief Vick said, hands on her hips as she glared up at him.

Sweat began to break out on Shawn's forehead and he crouched down, casting a nervous glance back up at the chat log being projected on the wall behind him. The text was bumping upward at a steady rate.

\they're so pushy!\

\Don't worry Shawn! If they interfere I've got your back! I have plenty to deter them hidden in the back of TCOND...\

\SIC DEAN ON THEM!!\

\DEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!!1\

Karen frowned at the screen and bent a little closer to Shawn. “Are they threatening me?”

Shawn worried his lip a little and said with a little head wobble, “Thaaat's the impression I'm getting, Chief.”

She bristled. “Who do they think they are?”

Shawn held out his hands to placate her. “Look, Chief. There are only a couple more categories. Just let me finish up and everything'll be cool. Ten minutes. Tops.”

After a long calculating look, she whispered fiercely, “After this is all over, we are setting up a team to look into these...fans, Mr. Spencer. This is practically a hostage situation!”

“Hey, I won't protest,” Shawn said. “One of the upcoming awards is the Boo-boo award. You don't even want to know what happens in those stories.” He straightened up and flashed his most charming smile out at the audience. “Sorry! Where was I? Oh right.” He turned his smile on Juliet and she shifted backward nervously.

“The next award is the SBPD award, all about our men and women in blue and the awesome things that they do. Or the spectacular fumbles they have.”

“I DID NOT FUMBLE THAT CASE!”

“Just keep telling yourself that, Lassie. There were nine expert badge spritzers, but there were three who even Lassie would have to tip his hat to, if he wore one. In third place we have dragonnan for Forever is Hollow When Dreams Lie! Second place goes to Okapi for Fight or Flight! And the golden pineapple goes to Texasartchick for This Stalker Thing Kind Of Sucks?!”

Shawn stepped back and spread his arms, trying not to pay attention as the Chief spoke in low tones to Santa Barbara's most distinguished—and by that, of course, we mean 'rich'—citizens. “And what, you may ask, is the best representation of these relationships? I'll tell you. The witty banter. The back and forthing. The to and froing. The repartee. The—”

“Shawn!” Gus cut in sharply.

“You get the idea. There were eleven authors who really knew their stuff when it came to writing out hilarious dialogue. The three who did it best though were, starting with third place, Jenn1984 for Survival of the Jumpiest! In second place, EgorStandish for Doorknobs Are People Too! And the golden pineapple goes to raconter for Gus Walks Into A Bank Again!”

“Next we have the Boo-Boo Award! These stories focus on delivering the most pain per square word and, boy, do these gals know how to really pack a punch! They say that the more you love someone, the more you hurt them. If they loved me any more I probably wouldn't survive!”

Silence filled the room as looks were exchanged. Juliet barely resisted the urge to drop her head into her hands.

Shawn cleared his throat. “Yeah, that doesn't sound nearly as awesome aloud. Anyway! There were... Wow. Twenty-one of these disturbed individuals, actually. We're only... Is honoring the right word?”

\Give us BLOOOOOOOD!!!! XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD\

\BREAK HIS LEGS!\

\GIVE HIM THE PLAGUE!!\

Shawn shifted nervously, smoothing a hand over the lapels of his tuxedo. “Ah...”

Gus, who had stepped closer to him, his gaze fixed warily on the screen, whispered, “Shawn, this is getting a little bit disturbing.”

“A little bit?!” Shawn hissed back.

\WHO WON??\

\YEAH SHAWN, WHO BEAT YOU THE BEST?\

Shawn tugged at the tie around his neck and flashed the least convincing smile of the night. “Well, I'd better give them what they want.”

\NEEEEEEEEECK! *thud*\

Shawn's hand dropped immediately and he unconsciously ducked his head forward a little.

“Uh, for Best Boo-Boo, third place goes to silverluna for Ask For Another Day! Second place goes to WhiteKingdomAngel for My My, What a Temper You Have...! And the golden pineapple goes to Texasartchick for Stir Crazy!”

 Someone in the crowd muttered something about needing a therapist and Henry called back, “His mother is a therapist. Obviously, he's beyond help,” he finished with a look at his son under raised eyebrows.

Shawn glared at his father.

“Unfortunately, like me and this reveal, there are some authors who just can't quite get to the end of their stories. These authors aren't so much being recognized as bribed. These awards are basically shiny pleas to FINISH THEIR STORIES FOR THE LOVE OF GOLDEN PINEAPPLES!”

“Do not try to blame this one on me, Shawn,” Henry said without the slightest hint of shame.

“ The Most Wanted Work-in-Progress had twenty-eight nominees, and of those three are the most agonizing to wait for. Third place goes to weathergalny for Of Things not Seen! Second place goes to windscryer for Phone Tag! And the golden pineapple goes to MorganAdams for Shawn and Juliet: What Might Be!”

“How about you set a good example for them Shawn and wrap things up here?” Juliet suggested.

Henry barked a laugh at that.

Lassiter rolled his eyes. “Spencer is never going to be a good example of anything. The best he can hope for is to serve as a horrible warning.”

“Hey!” Gus protested.

“Oh give it up, Guster, you know as well as we do that he isn't a good example! Hell, half the the trouble you get in—if not all—is because you followed his lead and did something your own good sense said not to!”

The chatters quickly rose to Shawn's defense.

\SHAWN IZ AN AWESUM EXAMPLE!\

\YEAH AND NOT JUST OF MANLY PHYSIQUE!\

\MAAAAAANLY PHYSIIIIIIIIIIIIQUE!!!!1\

\LIKE HIS MANLY, MANLY HAAAAAAAANDS!\

\HELL YES. I'D LIKE TO GRAPH THE CURVE OF HIS—\

“Aaaaaall righty then. Moving right along,” Shawn said, shifting to the side until he was almost hiding behind the speaker.

\NO! COME BACK! I WAS SKETCHING THAT, DAMMIT!\

“So! Our next category is Best Bad Guy. There were a lot of carefully crafted nasties working against me this year. But of the ten who were nominated three were chosen as the nastiest of them all! Third place goes to Am_I_Zombie for A Road Through Abbadon! Bad Guy: Zombiiiiieeees. Second place goes to JR88fan for Shall We Play a Game?! Bad Guy: The Burt Logan. And the golden pineapple goes to Ann Margaret for Aftershocks! Bad Guy: Nathaniel Eisenberg.”

“Now you're rewarding the criminals?” Gus demanded.

 Shawn waved his hand dismissively. “No, Gus. Don't be silly. We're rewarding the depraved minds that spawned the criminals.”

“Oh,” Gus said, sarcasm dripping from his every word. “Well in that case, go on.”

“Unfortunately, there is one bad guy who will never make this list.” He made a grand sweeping gesture and the spotlight snapped on, centering on Mr. Jameson and his date.

She looked briefly surprised and then put a hand to her chest, looking around in confusion.

“Yes, you, Miss Actress I Can Never Remember the Name Of. Or any movies for. Oh, that's right, you're not actually an actress!”

“Excuse me?!” Jameson demanded. “I'll have your badge!”

Lassiter snorted. “Fortunately he doesn't have one for you to take. But otherwise, I agree with your sentiment.”

“Then I'll have his license! This is slander!”

Gus piped up. “Actually, he doesn't have one of those either. Psychics are exempt.”

Jameson glared at Gus, then shifted his gaze to Karen.

“I'm sure Mr. Spencer has a good reason for what he's saying.” Her tone and look clearly said he had better.

“Actually, you're right. I lied. She is an actress. She's just only ever had one leading role. Mind you, it's been going on all day every day for months now, so that is at least an impressive dedication to her craft.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jameson demanded.

“I'm talking about the con she's been running. On you and on all the rest of your rich friends here. Tell me,” he continued, cocking his head, “have you ever actually seen any of her so-called 'movies'? No?”

“Of course I have!”

“Oh, right. The bit parts. The ones where she's that girl in the crowd who is walking away? Or the one off camera who screams? Let me rephrase. Have you ever seen her face in a movie? Or her name? Can you give me even one movie in which she is actually credited?”

Jameson's indignation faded to confusion before he shook it off. “Her career is barely begun. Everyone has to start somewhere.”

“Yes, and she started in your wallet,” Shawn agreed. His gaze and pointing finger moved to another of the rich and recently robbed. “And your jewelry box. And your private art collection,” he said, pointing to a third socialite.

“You're crazy!” was the accused's defense. “You're insane!”

Shawn tilted his head and pursed his lips, then looked to Juliet. “Isn't the insanity plea usually applied to oneself? Not one's accuser?”

“Shawn,” she returned and waved a hand. “Just finish explaining how you know it's her. Please.”

“Okay. If that's how you want to play it.” He turned his attention back to Jameson. “You met her on the set of a movie you were financing. She was an extra and smitten with you, knowing all about you and your huge... wallet. And you thought she was adorable and so refreshingly cute, right?

“You saw each other every day on set and before you knew it, you were madly in love!” He gave a theatrical sigh.

“She moved in with you and then, of course, you had to show her off to all your friends. You'd been telling them about how you met the perfect girl, one unspoiled by Hollywood. So you took her to parties and soirees and other assorted social events. And she charmed everyone with that 'sweet little nobody hoping to make it big in the glitter and glam of Tinsel Town' act.

“And then at some point she'd wander from your side and be returned some time later by the staff having been found in some back hallway, lost in all these 'big fancy mansions you famous people have'. Tell me, does any of this sound familiar, Mr. Jameson? Or anyone really? Is this ringing any bells?”

 From the looks being exchanged and the murmurs rising in the crowd, bells were definitely  ringing.

“What was actually happening was that she was casing the joints. Finding out where the good stuff was and seeing what kind of alarms there were—not to mention what the staff attitude was regarding intruders and their presence near the goodies. Who here handed their Blackberry to her so she could input her number or spell her name correctly?” Shawn raised a hand, and, even though no one else did, it was clear some of them should have.

“Yeah, she was checking your schedules. Finding out when she could show up and claim a lost earring or forgotten purse. Once she was inside, she'd drag the search out until the staff had to return to their actual duties, or she'd charm them into letting her look by herself. And that was when she robbed you.

“In broad daylight. With your staff in residence. And not a single iota of suspicion resting on her skinny little shoulders.”

“I'm not skinny! I'm slender! And you're a damn liar!”

“Really?” Shawn said. “Is that the best you've got? Perhaps you'd like to claim my pants are on fire too?”

\Well, you DO have a hot ass! ;D\

\Indeed!\

\HO MAMA YES HE DOES! *droolz*\

“Can we turn that damn chat off already?” Karen demanded. Gus bent and quickly located the off button for the TV.

“Thank you. Now, Mr. Spencer, do you have anything more concrete than this? Say, some evidence?”

“No! Of course he doesn't! Because I didn't do it!” Her anger shifted suddenly to tears and Jameson wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Shhh. It's okay. I'll have the lawyers on the phone just as fast as I can speed dial them,” he added, glaring at Shawn.

“Good,” Shawn said. “You'll need them to prove you weren't her accomplice.”

“Mr. Spencer—” Karen repeated.

Shawn's hand flew up to his temple and he grimaced in feigned pain, hissing for effect. “Proof, Chief? You want proof? How about checking her purse? I believe you'll find your grandmother's heirloom tennis bracelet in there.”

Karen's eyes immediately flew to her wrist—which she was just now noticing was bare.

“What the hell?”

She stalked over, Lassiter on her heels, both of them catching the eye of a judge who didn't even wait to be asked.

“I'll take Mr. Spencer's word that we have probable cause,” he agreed.

“This is ridiculous!” their suspect protested, clutching her tiny sequined bag to her chest.

“If you have nothing to hide, then you won't mind proving him wrong,” Karen said, voice chilly as she stared down the girl.

A roll of eyes and a huffy sigh and the tiny hand went into her purse, though it came out with a gun instead of a makeup compact.

Lassiter had obviously been expecting that because his own gun was out at almost the same time. A wave of more concealed weapons were revealed as every officer in the room reacted instinctively.

“Drop it!” he ordered.

“You drop it or I'll shoot him!” she threatened, swinging her gun around to point at Shawn who raised his hands and froze.

The chat blinked back to life just then with a triumphant, \HACK COMPLETE! WE'RE BACK IN! \o/\ followed by a chorus of joyful cheers.

There was a brief frozen pause and then mixed shouts followed.

 \GUN! D:\

\SHAWN WHUMP FTW!!!1\

\LAAAAAAASSIE HAS HIS GUUUUUUUN OUUUUUUUT!\

\SHOOT HIM ALREADY, DAMMIT! WE WANT BLOODZ!\

Gus stared in awe at the bloodthirsty response then muttered, “Two words, Shawn: Witness protection.”

“Not really an issue if I die right now, Gus,” Shawn hissed back. 

“Oh relax, Spencer,” Lassiter said. “Only a complete idiot would try to kill someone in a room full of cops.”

“I'll shoot him! I will! You can't kill me before I kill him!”

“Assuming you can hit him,” Juliet said, stepping between the girl and her intended target.

“Jules!” he protested. “What are you doing?!”

“My job, Shawn. You said it yourself. I'm an officer of the law and I'm going to protect you.”

“From the crazy rioting cops and rich people! Not the crazy chick with a gun!”

“Put the gun down now or they will shoot,” Karen said, bringing the attention back to the center or the room.

“No! You put your guns down!”

“Okay, this is ridiculous!” Lassiter said and stepped forward.

“NOOO!” she screamed and pulled the trigger.

Her gun had swung back down to face the immediate threat and though Shawn flinched it was Lassiter who jerked in response to the gunshot.

More than one person gasped in shock, but the angles made it impossible for any of them to actually carry out Karen's bluff of shooting the perp.

Which became a moot point anyway when Buzz came from behind and tackled her to the ground.

Lassiter looked down in surprise even as Karen grabbed his arm in case his legs buckled and Juliet jumped from the stage and shoved her way through the crowd.

“Carlton?!”

She arrived just in time to see him yank the lapels of his shirt apart and tug up his white tee-shirt to reveal a bullet proof vest but no blood.

 She rolled her eyes, but just said, “Oh thank God for your paranoia!”

Lassiter looked up. “It's not paranoia when you work with Spencer. The only thing that surprises me is that we don't get shot more often.”

“Point,” she acknowledged with a bob of her head.

“And that concludes our night's event! Thanks for coming!” Shawn said.

“WAIT!” a voice rang out, the volume bringing with it a squeal of feedback that had everyone wincing.

Shawn looked down at the microphone in his hand, then back up at the ceiling.

“Yes, magic voice from the ceiling?”

“You're not done yet.”

Shawn was still spinning a circle looking for the source of the voice when his eyes landed on the chat and he realized that the hack must have been slightly more effective than just restoring their access.

“Excuse me?”

“You forgot two awards.”

 Shawn's straightened, indignant as he glared at the screen. “I did not! Hello! Have you been paying attention at all? I don't forget anything!”

“Shawn!” Gus hissed.

Shawn's eyes flicked to the audience, relieved that they were mostly still paying attention to his—and Lassie's—would be killer.

“You forgot the author awards,” the voice continued. “Best New Author and Best Overall Author.”

“I think you're mistaken.”

“No. We're not.”

“I've heard it both ways.”

There was a moment of silence.

“That doesn't even make sense,” the voice said.

“To you maybe.”

Gus' face scrunched up. “No, Shawn, they're right. It doesn't make sense at all.”

“Guuuus! Whose side are you on here anyway?” Shawn whined, throwing a look at him over his shoulder.

“Ours. We can make him scream like a little girl and he knows it. And we'll enjoy it too.” The voice sounded nothing less than gleeful about what was—in a roundabout way—a threat.

Gus nodded, then gave the TV a suspicious look and edged away.

“Oh,” Shawn said, licking his lips. “Well, when you put it that way.”

“Shawn!” Henry called, then hoisted himself up on the stage. “It's over. Let's go.”

 Eyes still scanning around the room, trying to identify where and how exactly the voice had cut in, Shawn replied, “Uh, actually, Dad. It's not. Or something.”

“What? No, Shawn—”

“No, really, Dad. This will only take two seconds and I promise you that it needs to be done.”

Henry threw up his hands in defeat and stalked off muttering to himself.

“Can I have your attention, please?” Shawn called to the milling group of people, tapping the microphone with his fingers.

A few people looked his way, but mostly he was ignored.

Shawn pressed forward anyway.

“We have two final awards to hand out tonight. First is the Best New Writer. They're fresh blood in the water, and it takes guts to jump in this pool. But these brave newbies are willing to take that risk. There were... Uh, I don't know how many nominees. But there can be only one! Winner, that is. And this year the best new writer is Ann Margaret!

“And lastly but definitely not least is the Best Overall Writer! They've got what it takes to outshine all their peers, a shining beacon of writing wonderness! Many were considered, but there can also be only one and this year that one is MorganAdams!”

Shawn clapped and smiled. “Okay! It was lots of fun, wasn't it? Yeah! Whoo! Drive safe! Stay away from trans fats and wheat gluten! Good night, everybody!” He jumped down off of the stage and grabbed Gus' shoulder, leaning in to say in a low voice, “Dude, let's get out of here before they send in a killer robot or something.”

“We're getting new locks for the office,” Gus said, a note of firm agreement in his voice as they pushed through the crowd trailing out after Lassiter and Juliet and their newly handcuffed perp.

“You know that's right...”