Free Psyc 03_The Call of the Mild by William Rabkin

his anger rising even further. “Hack into my credit card account?”
    “Shawn wanted me to,” Gus said. “But I told him no. There are layers of security, traps for hackers who try to break in. I heard of one guy in Michigan who thought he could get into—” He saw the look on Henry’s face and stopped himself. “Besides, I said. That would be wrong.”
    “Not to mention illegal,” Shawn said. “So we broke into your house and found your last bill. You really do need to use that shredder.”
    “I can think of a use for it right now,” Henry said.
    “Anyway,” Shawn said, “we’ve come here to save you money and embarrassment.”
    “That will be a first,” Henry said.
    “Technically it will be two firsts,” Gus said.
    “Which is what makes this such an exciting opportunity for you,” Shawn said. “We’re here to give you a chance to relive your glory days. And I mean your real glory days, not the song. Which is not only the worst song on Born in the USA, but the worst song Springsteen ever wrote, and possibly the worst song ever written by anyone in the world besides Diane Warren—”
    “Hey,” Gus interrupted, “I warned you about ragging on ‘Unbreak My Heart.’ ”
    Shawn ignored him. “—and which I’m sure the Hairless Four, or whatever your band calls itself, is going to do next.”
    “The only glory days I’m thinking about are those wonderful ones when I was childless,” Henry said.
    “I mean the days when you were important,” Shawn said.
    “When you still had a purpose in life and didn’t have to dress up like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance just to make it through another dismal day. I’m offering you a case.”
    Henry stared at his son. For all his questionable tactics, Shawn was smart. He knew how to get people to do what he wanted. And if Henry could generally see through him, at least he usually sounded like he was offering him something he’d genuinely desire. This time, not so much.
    “You want to hire me to work for Psych?” Henry said. “Do you think I’m starving in a gutter?”
    “If you were, you’d probably be dressed better,” Shawn said, then hurried to the meat of his offer before Henry could respond. “The Santa Barbara Police Department wants you back.”
    Henry was happy being retired. Henry was happy not having to deal with the bureaucracy, and the lowlifes, and the long hours behind a desk, and the longer hours out in the field. Henry didn’t want to go back to work.
    At least that’s what he told himself. But there was a part of him, deep down, maybe even deeper down than the place where all those songs were hiding all those years, that was jumping for joy at the offer. There was just one small problem.
    “And they sent you because all their phones are broken and they’ve forgotten how to drive?” Henry said.
    “It’s not really an official SBPD case,” Shawn said. “Well, it is, but the Isla Vista Foot Patrol doesn’t agree, and they’re ready to rumble to fight for their turf.”
    Now Henry was completely lost. Shawn saw the confusion on his face and launched into an explanation that, after many false starts and corrections from Gus, finally approximated what had happened over the previous day.
    “So you volunteered me to help you out on this one,” Henry said. “Without asking.”
    “I’m asking now,” Shawn said.
    “No, you’re not,” Henry said. “You’re doing everything but asking. You’re trying to trick me into doing what you want instead of honestly asking for my help.”
    “Would that help?” Shawn asked.
    “What?”
    “Honesty,” Shawn said. “Sincerity. Heart.”
    “I don’t know,” Henry said. “Since you’ve never actually tried anything that radical before, it’s hard to say what would happen if you did. But I can guarantee that nothing else is going to work.”
    Shawn nodded thoughtfully as he took this in. Then he turned away from Henry and faced the wall. When he turned back, the trademark smirk