For a brief moment, Brighton hesitated. But the defiant glint in Lassiter's eyes finally convinced him he had to do it.

He crossed the office to the desk and slowly opened the center drawer.

Sitting there, looking up at him mockingly, was a plain manila file folder.

Brighton stared down at it, completely dumbstruck. He didn't have to open it to know what was inside.

He looked back up, his eyes blazing at Lassiter.

"What the hell is this?" He demanded.

Lassiter shut the office door and came back inside, his grin steadily growing by the second.

"I don't know. It looks like a file."

Brighton slammed the desk drawer so fiercely that the force rattled the frosted glass on the office door.

"What the hell are you trying to pull, Lassiter?"

"Me?" Lassiter blinked innocently. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I don't have the damndest idea why you would accuse Spencer of stealing a file that's in your desk…that is, unless you were trying to set him up."

"Set him up?" Brighton repeated, his voice trembling with rage. "What the hell are you talking about? You came to me!"

Lassiter didn't answer.

He just reached coolly into his pocket and produced a small, black tape recorder.

"I still have my original report, Lassiter." The familiar, gravely voice on the tape threatened. "The one that recommends the DA charge you with murder. It's not too late for me to file that one. I told you if you screwed with me, I'd bury you."

"That sure sounds like coercion to me…" Lassiter mumbled, turning the tape off. "What do you think the DA would say?"

For once, Brighton didn't have an answer.

He stared at the tape recorder in stupefied silence.

"I'll tell you what the DA would say." Lassiter continued, not waiting for a response from the stunned Chief. "The DA would say that it sure as hell looks like you accused Spencer of stealing a file that was never missing to begin with. The DA would say that it sure as hell looks like you threatened O'Hara and bribed me to get to him."

Their eyes locked, and for a moment a flash of bitter hatred crossed Brighton's face.

"You don't have your badge back yet, Lassiter." He growled. "I could still bury you for the James shooting."

"After you filed a final report calling it self-defense?" Lassiter snorted. "Even you're not that big an ass. You can't go back on your story now. Not with the threats you made on this tape. You can't touch me."

Brighton's fists clenched as he saw the victory he'd had firmly in his grasp only twenty-four hours ago slowly starting to go up in smoke.

"I still have Spencer on the assault…" he whispered, desperate to cling to something.

"True…" Lassiter nodded slowly. "But if it goes to trial, I can't promise his lawyer won't get a copy of this tape."

Lassiter dropped the recorder back in his pocket and walked to the door.

"You can still pull every string you have and stop me from getting my badge back." He conceded quietly, not turning back around to face the fuming Chief. "If you wanted to, you could. But it doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

Lassiter turned back around, his eyes gleaming victoriously.

"Because I still beat you."

Shawn slid onto the barstool next to Lassiter without a word.

Lassiter glanced over at him out of the corner of his eye, but for once the detective didn't tell him to get lost.

For once, they just sat.

Finally, after Lassiter polished off his second drink, Shawn spoke.

"They dropped the charges." He said quietly, foregoing his usual beer in favor of a scotch.

Lassiter grunted.

"Yeah…" Shawn continued, gently swirling the liquid around the glass before taking a slow sip. "Strange thing…they couldn't find any witnesses. And Brighton said he wouldn't testify."

He suddenly dropped the glass back on the bar, wiping his mouth off on the sleeve of his shirt in disgust.

"God!" He groaned. "That's awful! How do you drink that stuff?"

Lassiter drained the rest of his glass without so much as flinching.

"You get used to it." He muttered, dropping some bills on the counter and standing up to leave.

He only took three steps, however, before Shawn's voice stopped him from walking away.

"You could have told me, you know."

Lassiter turned back around.

"Told you what?"

"Your plan, Lassie." Shawn rolled his eyes. "You could have told me your plan."

"I don't know what the hell--"

"Lassie, please." Shawn snorted, tapping his temple. "Psychic, remember? I figured it out. Once I found the file you planted--"

"You found it?"

Lassiter looked genuinely surprised by the revelation.

"You left it on my desk! I mean, I know I'm a little messy…but give me some credit!"

Lassiter blinked, somehow finding his way back to the barstool.

"But when I went back for it--" he mumbled, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

"It was right where you left it." Shawn nodded. "I put it back."

Lassiter looked over at him, completely baffled.

"How did you know I wasn't setting you up?"

Shawn shrugged.

"I'm psychic."

"Spencer--"

"I knew, Lassie. That's all. If you put it there and didn't want me to know about it, you had a reason."

For a moment, Lassiter was speechless.

Shawn spun the stool around and rested his arms against the bar casually.

"Besides…" he pressed on. "I figured it out later. Once I saw the search warrant Brighton had, I knew you must have told him I had the missing file. But Brighton wouldn't take your word for that. He hates your guts even more than he hates mine…and, believe me. He really hates my guts. He wouldn't risk you making him look like an ass by going on a wild goose chase. He had to make sure I really had the file before he executed the search warrant."

Lassiter nodded.

"I tailed him all day. Stupid bastard didn't even notice me. Once he found it, I knew he'd be back with the search warrant. I got it out before he did and planted it in his desk."

"His desk?" Shawn laughed. "How'd you do that?"

Lassiter reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He dropped them limply on the counter.

"I still have Karen's spare keys."

Shawn picked them up and looked them over, still laughing.

"Man, I wish I could've seen his face."

"Yeah…" Lassiter agreed, a small grin creeping across his face at the memory.

Shawn took another sip of his scotch, shuddering as if it had kicked him in the stomach.

"God, the second drink's even worse!"

He put the glass back down and pushed it away, turning back to the detective.

"You still could have told me your plan."

Lassiter shook his head.

"I didn't know if it would work. If it backfired…"

He left the thought unfinished, but Shawn didn't need it to be finished.

Shawn stood up like he was going to leave, but for a minute he just stood silently, not moving.

"I hear Brighton's transferring." He said finally.

Lassiter shrugged.

"Might be."

"I hear the guy they got to replace him is a real bastard, too."

Lassiter nodded firmly.

"He is. And he hates psychics."

Shawn laughed.

"Who doesn't?"

He paused for another moment, then finally turned around to leave.

"See you tomorrow, Chief." He added over his shoulder.

"Interim Chief." Lassiter corrected sharply.

"Interim?" Shawn repeated, laughing. "They actually made you take the title Interim Chief?"

Lassiter shook his head, smiling palely.

"No."