William Rabkin - The Call of the Mild

“Did you have a mountain in mind?” Gus said warily.

“Normally I’d suggest the mountain of fries at BurgerZone,” Shawn said. “But something’s come up and it seems like a good time to get far out of town.”

“When?”

“Now. Run!”

Shawn jumped to his feet, but before he could get away there was a rustle from behind the tree.

“Not so fast.” Henry had come into his backyard with another tray of hot dogs for the grill.

“I’d love one, but I’m stuffed,” Shawn said. “Besides, Gus is desperate to get up the mountain before the season ends.”

“What season?” Henry said.

“Um, mountain season?” Shawn said. “Okay, fine. Let’s have it.”

“Let’s have what?” Henry said.

“The thing you haven’t said all night,” Shawn said. “The thing you’ve been dying to say every second of every day since you plucked us off that cliff.”

“That Shawn broke his promise,” Gus added helpfully. “That he promised to stay out of the case, but ended up right in the middle of it.”

Henry looked baffled. “I wasn’t going to say that.”

“You weren’t?” Shawn said.

“You said you’d stay out of the Ellen Svaco murder case, and you did,” Henry said. “You were following a separate and distinct case, which just happened to dovetail with mine. And good work on that, by the way. You managed so save some lives.”

Shawn stared at him, searching for the trick. “What’s the trick?” he said finally.

“No trick,” Henry said. “I’m proud to have a son who listens to his father-and who knows when not to.”

Gus could see Shawn taking that statement and turning it over in his mind. Poking it, prodding it, dissecting it-and still finding nothing insincere about.

“Thanks,” Shawn finally said. “I guess we can stay to have another hot dog.”

“You sure about that?” Henry said.

“Absolutely,” Shawn said.

“Definitely,” Gus said.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Henry said. “Because speaking of listening, I’ve got some for you to do right now. I’ve decided to put the band back together, and you boys are our first audience.”

“Oh, no,” Shawn moaned.

“Oh, yes,” Henry said. “And there’s no way to weasel out of this one.”

He thrust the plate of hot dogs into Shawn’s hand and headed off to the garage. He threw open the door and climbed behind the drum kit he’d set up there. Ralph, Fred, and Sid all picked up their instruments and plugged them in.

Shawn tossed the hot dogs on the grill and he and Gus strolled over to the garage just as the band started to play.

“What do you know,” Shawn said. “Apparently I will get fooled again.”