"Absolutely not."
"Come on, buddy."
"No."
"We're talking about solving crimes. Using my gift."
"Your gift is being annoying."
Burton "Gus" Guster stood outside his company car, arms folded, skeptical expression locked in. He hadn't changed a bit. Same neatly pressed shirt. Same sensible shoes. Same "I'm too smart for this nonsense" energy. God, I missed this guy.
"Think about it," I said, pacing dramatically. "How many chances in life do you get to start a business that guarantees fun, profit, and an excuse to use the word 'divination' in public?"
Gus narrowed his eyes. "Did you have another dream?"
"Not exactly. More like… a series of dreams. Visions, really. Very clear."
He wasn't buying it. Yet.
"Gus, remember the red Echo car theft the cops were stumped on?" I asked.
He blinked. "Yeah. It was on the news last night."
"I already solved it."
"You—what?"
"It's the guy who works on the antennas across the street from the parking structure. Left-handed. Smokes menthols. Has a thing for 80s hair metal."
Gus gave me the look.
"You're making that up."
"Am I? Let's take a drive. I'll prove it."
---
Twenty minutes later, we were parked across the street from the parking garage. Right on cue, a guy in a brown vest climbed up onto the roof with a box of tools, cigarette dangling from his lips, humming… is that Whitesnake?
Gus leaned forward. "No way."
"Told you."
"You didn't see him before we pulled up?"
"Nope."
"Then how did you know?"
I paused. Smiled.
"I'm psychic, Gus."
He stared at me for a full five seconds. "I hate how much I want to believe that."
"Which is exactly why we're opening a psychic detective agency! You're the straight man, I'm the visionary. You'll do the research, drive the car, sometimes scream and run—mostly when there's a ghost dog or something."
"This is insane," he muttered.
"Insanely brilliant."
He hesitated. Then sighed. "What's it called?"
I grinned. "Psych."
"Psych?"
"Yeah, like… psyche! Also like 'gotcha.' Also short. Marketable. Fun to say."
"You're impossible."
"And you're my partner now."
I tossed him a pineapple from the back seat. "Let's go decorate our office."
He caught it instinctively. "Why do you have a pineapple?"
"Because it's tradition."
He stared at me like I'd grown a second head.
And just like that, Psych was born.
---