“Maybe they could just send the six thousand dollars instead,” Gus said.

Shawn arms flailed around his head. “‘Such a drag to want something sometimes. One thing leads to another I know.’”

“What the hell is that?” the potatoes growled.

“Sounds like the Pretenders’ greatest hits,” Gus said.

Shawn jerked again. “That’s still the wrong song. They’re trying to tell me something, but they can’t find the right melody.”

“Maybe they should look at the back of the CD box,” Gus said.

“Yeah, like the Forces Beyond don’t have an iPod,” Shawn said, then reared back, as if hit by a psychic sound wave. “I hear it… They’re singing to me. Listen.”

Intrigued against his will, the potatoes leaned across the counter. “I don’t hear anything.”

Shawn sang unsurely, as if a voice beyond was dictating to him. “‘I found a picture of you, oh oh oh oh. What hijacked my world that night. To a place in the world we’ve been cast out of.’” He broke off and turned to Gus. “Little help here.”

“What?”

“I need backup!”

“And I need my car.”

“Just sing, damn it.”

“Fine. ‘Oh oh oh oh oh.’”

“‘Now we’re back in the fight. We’re back on the train,’” Shawn sang. Then he froze. He turned to the potatoes. “‘We’re back on the chain gang.’”

The man behind the counter stared at him angrily. “Concert’s over, punk. Get out of here.”

“The song doesn’t lie,” Shawn said. “You were on a chain gang. Which means you were convicted of a class-A felony in Arizona, the only state with an active chain gang program.”

Gus didn’t stop to wonder how Shawn had figured it out. He stepped up to the counter. “And now you’re working for a city-approved garage, which means you must have given them a fake name to pass the background check.”

“As the official psychic to the Santa Barbara Police Department, I have an obligation to turn you in,” Shawn said. “But you’ve been so kind to us, I hate to see you fired, maybe jailed for perjury. If only I’d never come here today, I never would have found out.”