Disclaimer: To claim that I own Psych would just be silly!

Author's Notes:This story was written before the episode 4x09: 'Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark' aired. This was my prediction of what I thought would happen. Even though after a bit it turned into my own sort of AU fic. Obviously spoilers are included.

It is the first fic in the 'Predictions' series.

This chapter was originally supposed to be extremely short, and only a mild teaser for what I had planned to come. I found many mistakes in my first draft, and decided to rewrite the whole thing. This version is longer, and actually starts from the beginning.

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"Stolen ice cream truck? Are you serious?" Shawn eyed the Chief suspiciously. "Was it at least stolen by a pack of mutated guinea pigs or a clown?"

"It's the only case we have open right now, Mr. Spencer." The Chief replied, impatiently.

"Not even a hint of mutant activity? Please tell me the culprit was Jamie Kennedy?" The Chief glared at him, obviously annoyed, and waved to the door. "No mutants, then..." Shawn said, standing quickly and making his way to the door.

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As soon as Shawn got outside, he pulled out his phone, pressing the number for Gus's speed-dial. Shawn started talking as soon as Gus answered. "We just got a new case. Something about an ice cream truck that got stolen. So, you coming by Psych at eleven? I was thinking some Dairy Queen for lu-"

"No, Shawn." Gus finally cut him off, and Shawn looked genuinely hurt as he leaned against the wall of the police department. "I have three meetings to be at and as great as a delicious frozen treat would be to get my mind off of things, unfortunately, I won't be able to make it."

"Meeting Moaning Myrtle for lunch? Come on, dude, don't ditch your best friend." he whined. "I could really use you for this case."

"You mean you could really use me driving your ass everywhere." Gus snapped, and quickly added, "And don't call her that. As a matter of fact, I am meeting Tory for lunch."

"She's such a Goth." Shawn scoffed. "With the eye liner and the fingernails and the-" he mentally shivered "-séances."

"She does not do séances, Shawn! And she is not Goth. She just wears a lot of black."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Well, fine, go on your date with Elizabeth Bathory, I've got a case to solve."

"You do that while I'm at a real job, making real money. And stop calling Tory-" Shawn sighed, hanging up the phone and shoving it into his jacket pocket.

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Back at the Psych office, Shawn glanced through the files on the ice cream truck. It was pretty boring stuff, the truck had been stolen last night around 9pm. The owner reported it after noticing it missing from the garage this morning. No witnesses. No signs of a break-in. Not even a traffic light camera caught it leaving. He sighed heavily, planting his face right in the middle of the file. He was getting nowhere. He wasn't even sure he wanted to be working, as it was a Saturday, but Lassie and Jules were out working on a case with some chop shop criminals-a case which the Chief had refused to let him in on.

There was a knock on the door, and Shawn looked up, wiping the paper that was stuck to his cheek off. He got up and moved into the lobby. A man around the age of fifty came in, looking around wonderingly. "Hello," Shawn said as he came around the doorway, noting the man's visible finch. "My name is Shawn Spencer. Professional Psychic Investigator."

"Really..." The man mumbled, seemingly distracted as he moved forward slowly. Shawn watched him as he looked over his shoulder, his eyes darting around frantically. "So, you would be the person to come to if I were-"

Shawn hissed suddenly, bringing his hands to the sides of his head. "Being followed?" he said quickly.

"Why, yes." The man said, glancing over his shoulder again. "I went to the police this morning because my ice cream truck had been stolen." Shawn raised his eyebrows, but the man didn't seem to have noticed, and continued. "They said they would put someone right on it. And as I was going home, I noticed a black car had started following me."

"You told the police but they said they couldn't do anything without probable cause or a license plate or description of the driver. You suspect they think you're nutty because of the ice cream truck incident." Shawn said quite dully, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Yes, of course." The man said, happiness beaming on his face.

"Mr. Newlins," Shawn said, and the smile grew brighter. "As it happens, the spirits are granting me access to your case. They have reviewed your problem and found my services sufficient to your needs."

"That's wonderful!" Newlins said, clapping softly. "I'll provide you with anything you'll need to solve this case."

Shawn looked at the man with a very serious face. "I'm going to need a doctor's coat and a swimming pool full of noodles."

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Quiet was not a word used to describe the Santa Barbara Police Department. Especially since hiring the resident annoyance, Shawn Spencer, three years ago.

Today was no exception.

Detective Carlton Lassiter had just returned from a very unhelpful interview with a 'witness' in his latest case. Juliet was currently filing said useless information, while Carlton was looking over previous statements from their few witnesses and mug shots and interrogations with possible suspects.

It was nearly 2pm, and they were making no progress. Carlton's permanently short temper had gotten even shorter during their non-progress. He looked up from his desk just in time to see Shawn Spencer striding towards them, that permanent grin that haunted his dreams plastered smugly on his obnoxious face. And Carlton's tolerance meter hit zero.

He stood abruptly, addressing Juliet. "I'm going to interrogate more suspects. If I have to deal with him today," and now he pointed a very accusing finger at Shawn. Juliet turned and didn't miss Shawn pointing at himself and mouthing 'Who, me?' while Carlton continued. "I think I might-no, WILL-end up breaking his neck."

Juliet looked only slightly surprised, and watched as the detective scooped up his notes and began to run in the other direction.

"Is he... Fleeing from me? Jules, I'm hurt." She heard Shawn say as he walked up beside her.

"He's just having a... Horrible day." She said, turning to face him. "So, what brings you here today?"

"Just a very interesting client." Shawn said, sitting in Lassiter's chair.

"Carlton's going to be pissed when he catches you."

"If he catches me, Jules. And anyway, it's not my fault. He's the one that left, you know. Five-second-rule." He said, taking a pencil from a nearby pencil cup.

"I'm pretty sure that's food..."

"Oh well." He said, taking out a tube of superglue. "I didn't make up the rules of food stealing. Or... Chair... Eating..." He seemed slightly distracted as he put glue on the pencil and set it gently right on the edge of Lassiter's desk.

Juliet pretended not to see what he was doing and asked, "What do you need?"

Satisfied with his work, Shawn gave the pencil a quick jiggle to make sure it wouldn't budge, and replaced the glue in Lassiter's desk. "I have this weird client," Shawn said, leaning back in the chair and propping his feet on the desk. "He says he's being followed. Apparently he filed a report this morning about his ice cream truck being stolen..."

"Right," Juliet cut in. "I heard about that. No signs of a break-in."

"No witnesses or traffic cams caught it." Shawn added. "But he says someone started following him after he reported it to the police. I was wondering if I could look over the traffic footage."

Juliet looked uncertain, then nodded. "Go ahead. The tapes should still be in evidence. Have McNab bring you to it."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Do I look like I need an escort?" he asked.

"Yes?" Juliet said.

"Thanks, Jules." Shawn said, standing up and walking towards the evidence room.

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It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for.

"Whacha lookin' for?"

Apparently not long enough, because that was the fourth time McNab had asked him. "This!" He shouted suddenly, one hand to his temple, his eyes closed, as he paused the video. Of course, he had noticed it the first time he'd watched it. He zoomed the recording in, so that the particular vehicle passing was clearly visible.

"This truck here," he said, pointing at the semi. It was the only one on the entire footage large enough to carry an ice cream truck. McNab leaned in closer, and Shawn read aloud from the logo on the truck's side. "Rhoda's Oil N' Fuel... 1952."