Shawn took careful aim and hurled the ball across the room. It bounced off the floor and ricocheted into a framed picture of Gus shaking hands with Santa Barbara’s mayor, then flew back to Shawn in a shower of glass.

“We’ve got to go right now,” Gus said, grabbing Shawn as he came through the door and pushing him back out.

“No hurry,” Shawn said. “The quarterfinals don’t start for another hour.”

“We have a case,” Gus said. “High priority. Completely urgent.”

“It can wait,” Shawn said. “Headhunter Hank is going down today.”

“Headhunter who?”

Shawn stared at him as if he’d just said he couldn’t name all the Goonies. “He’s only the reigning champ of Extreme Handball in all of Santa Barbara. And I’m playing him next. Do you know what this means?”

“That you’re going to miss your game,” Gus said. “This is life and death.”

“You think Extreme Handball isn’t?” Shawn said, hurling the ball against the wall, where it dislodged three pictures and a clock before returning to his hand. “It’s a desperate struggle between two men, an existential battle on a concrete court. Kill or be killed. And by killed, I mean these things really sting when they hit. Headhunter Hank Stenberg is going to feel like he’s the guest of honor at a jellyfish convention by the time I’m done with him.”

“Headhunter Hank can-” Gus broke off, finally recognizing the name. “Hank Stenberg? You’re going to play against Hank Stenberg?”

“Someone’s got to take that killer down.”

“You mean the kid who lives down the street from your dad? I doubt he’s even twelve years old.”

“That’s what they said about all those Chinese gymnasts, and they still walked off with the medals,” Shawn said.

“We have work to do,” Gus said.

“That’s for sure,” Shawn agreed. “My serve is strong, but there are a couple of moves I haven’t quite mastered yet. I was thinking we could head down to the handball courts and I could try them out on you.”