The Psychic
The neon sign in the window of the “Psychic Sanctuary” flickered with a rhythmic buzz that seemed to give Kyson Hunter a headache. Beside him, Sisko sat perfectly still, her head cocked as she stared at the velvet curtain separating the waiting room from the “inner sanctum.”
“Alright, Sisko,” Kyson muttered, adjusting his belt. “Let’s see if this ‘Great Barnaby’ knew we were coming.”
They had a warrant for Barnaby, aka Arthur Pringle, on counts of fraud and a series of clever pickpocketing incidents reported at his spiritual retreats. As they pushed through the curtains, a man in a shimmering purple turban and a silk robe looked up from a crystal ball. He didn’t look surprised.
I have been expecting you.
“Officer Hunter,” Barnaby said, his voice a theatrical baritone. “And the noble Sisko. I have been expecting you. Your thoughts… they are like a thunderclap in the ethereal plane.”
Kyson remained stoic. “Is that so? Then you know why we’re here.”
“You seek the ‘stolen’ heirlooms,” Barnaby said, waving a hand over the ball. “But you are thinking of a blue house, a childhood memory of a lost kite. And the dog… she thinks of the Great Hunt.”
Sisko let out a soft, huffing sound that Kyson knew was her version of a structural critique. She wasn’t looking at Barnaby’s face; she was sniffing the air near a heavy oak bookshelf.
“Actually,” Kyson said, leaning against the doorframe, “I was thinking about how much paperwork I’m going to have to do if you don’t just tell me where the Larraby necklace is.”
“The spirits are silent on the matter,” Barnaby insisted, closing his eyes. “Wait… I see it now. You are thinking of… a woman. Katie. She is near.”
Kyson’s expression didn’t change, but he felt a flicker of annoyance. Everyone knew he was seeing Katie Morrison; it wasn’t a psychic revelation, it was precinct gossip.
Sisko didn’t care about the spirits. She trotted over to the bookshelf and gave a sharp, insistent bark, nudging a specific volume of ‘The History of Divination.’
“The spirits might be silent, but Sisko’s got a big mouth,” Kyson said. He moved to the shelf, pulled the book, and found the hollowed-out center. Inside lay a diamond necklace and a small Bluetooth earpiece.
“I imagine your ‘visions’ come through that earpiece from a partner with a pair of binoculars across the street?” Kyson asked, pulling out his handcuffs.
It’s a living, Officer.
Barnaby sighed, the mystical aura collapsing instantly. “It’s a living, Officer.”
An hour later, back at the precinct, they were finishing the booking when Katie Morrison walked in with Pip. The small Jack Russell was already straining at his leash, desperate to greet Sisko.
“I heard you caught the ‘Mind Reader,'” Katie said, smiling as she approached. “Did he see the arrest coming?”
“He claimed he did,” Kyson said with a dry smile. “But Sisko was the only one who actually knew what was behind the curtain.”
“Well, then,” Katie said, kneeling. “I think the real hero deserves her reward.”
She leaned in and planted a big, loud kiss right on the top of Sisko’s head. Sisko’s tail gave a single, satisfied thump against the floor, and she shot Kyson a look that clearly said: Top that, partner.
Time for another story Reluctant Participant
