Free Riley Mack and the Other Known Troublemakers by Chris Grabenstein

as they cruised around the corner onto Main Street. “We’ll go to Sports Town. They have all sorts of Furriers junk.”
    The mascot for the Fairview High Furriers was a buck-toothed beaver wearing a puffy mink coat because the original settlers of Fairview had been fur trappers and traders.
    Sports Town was one of a cluster of shops in the commercial blocks of Main Street across the street from the bank where Riley’s mom worked. As they startedlocking up their bikes, they saw the busboy from the Pizza Palace, Nick, come walking out of the local pet supply store toting two birdcages, one pink, and the other baby blue.
    â€œHow’s it going, Nick?” said Riley.
    â€œGreat.”
    â€œCool,” said Riley. “You got birds?”
    â€œHuh?”
    Riley nodded toward the two portable parakeet palaces.
    â€œOh. Yeah. Boy and girl.”
    â€œI get it,” said Mongo. “Blue and pink!”
    â€œYeah. Hey, Mongo, sorry about your mom’s dog, man.” Nick gestured to one of the Lost Dog posters stapled to a nearby utility pole. “Bummer, dude. Totally.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œWell, gotta book.”
    â€œYou workin’ today, Nick?” asked Riley.
    â€œYeah. But not at the PP until later.” (Yes, the Pizza Palace had a very unfortunate nickname.)
    Riley arched an eyebrow. “You’ve got a second job?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œHere and there.”
    â€œWhat kind of work?”
    â€œThis and that.”
    In the distance, Riley heard a yappy dog bark.
    â€œLater, dudes,” said Nick. He bustled up the sidewalk, holding his arms out wide so the bouncing birdcages didn’t ding him in the hips.
    â€œLet’s go, you guys,” said Briana, leading the way up the sidewalk to Sports Town.
    The front door of the pet supplies store swung open. A customer came out hugging a fifty-pound sack of dog food. Five dogs bolted out with him.
    â€œHoly crappola!” a woman shouted inside the store.
    The guy with the feed sack spun around and nearly tripped himself up as two dogs darted between his legs and dashed out into the street. One was a big, galumphing guy; the other a little white fur ball.
    Two bug-eyed Chihuahuas with wildly curly hair sproinking up on top of their heads ran straight toward Briana.
    â€œGrab the Speedy Gonzaleses,” Riley shouted over his shoulder as he and Mongo bounded into the street after the two dogs in the most immediate danger of being mowed down by a minivan. A fifth dog—a black Lab puppy with big floppy feet and long flappy ears—merrily loped down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
    A college-aged girl sprinted out of the pet store.
    â€œHelp!” she shouted.
    â€œGo after flopsy-wopsy,” said Riley as he corralled the white fluff ball in the middle of the street. “We’vegot these other guys!” Mongo raised his hands to stop traffic as Riley scooped up the yappy lapdog.
    The second escapee had gray fur on his muzzle, a shallow tummy, and bony ribs. He was frantically turning around and around in the middle of the road. He seemed pretty old so Riley crept up slow behind him. A car honked.
    Yappy yipped.
    The dog squatting in the middle of the road pooped.
    The car horn blared again.
    â€œShut up!” Mongo shouted at the driver. “He needs a moment!”
    â€œEasy, easy,” Riley said to the creaky dog finishing up its business on the solid yellow line. Poor guy. He wasn’t trying to escape. He was just looking for the bathroom.
    â€œYou better clean up after your dog!” huffed a mom behind the wheel of her SUV. She, apparently, didn’t like any traffic tie-up caused by unexpected doggy doo. Neither did her daughter. They were both scrunching up their noses and making poopy faces at Riley.
    Smiling, still clutching the mop-haired pooch against his chest while bending down to escort the old guy by the collar,