"Dad, will you tell me a bedtime story?" Shawn asked, jumping under the covers and pulling them up to his chin.
Henry turned around the door to Shawn's bedroom, groaning as he turned the light off and came back in.
"I'm tired, Kid…it's been a long day."
"Pleeeease?" Shawn pleaded. "I want a story about Santa!"
"Santa?" Henry snorted, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "I'm not telling you a story about Santa, Shawn. You're too old for that! You know there's no Santa."
"You're never too old for Santa!" Shawn insisted stubbornly. "And he's totally real! Mom told me."
"Great…" Henry muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. "Let's encourage delusional fantasies."
"Please tell me a story about Santa!" Shawn begged, tugging on his father's sleeve.
"Fine," Henry grunted, leaning against the wall. "You want a story about Santa, I'll tell you a story about the real Santa."
"Yea!" Shawn cheered gleefully, settling back into his pillow. But then he noticed the look in his father's eye and immediately stopped cheering when he realized that he was about to be subjected to a Henry Spencer lecture in story form.
"This story is called The Santa Barbara Santa Burglar," Henry continued, crossing his arms.
"Daaaad! That's not a story! That's just an old case you solved."
"Do you want a story or not?" Henry snapped.
"Fine…" Shawn rolled his eyes.
"Then stop yapping and listen. Once upon a time…" he began formally without much emotion. "There was a detective who caught the most notorious burglar in Santa Barbara history. He would break into people's houses dressed as Santa, with the beard and everything, and clean them out while they slept."
He paused for a moment, dropping his arms as the flow of the narrative took over.
"The robberies started around Christmas, so at first we just thought he was just a holiday nut," he continued. "But they didn't stop after Christmas, and he expanded his territory outside of Santa Barbara. So, we formed a cross-county taskforce to bring him down, utilizing both state and local--"
"Dad!" Shawn interrupted him sharply.
"Huh?" Henry blinked, suddenly losing his train of thought.
"Is there an actual story in there somewhere?"
"This is the story, Shawn," Henry insisted. "The story of how I caught Santa. I was on patrol one night and I saw a guy walking down the street in a Santa costume, beard and everything. He had a sack slung over his shoulder, too. It was mid-July, and it was after midnight, so I knew there was no legitimate reason for anyone to be dressed as Santa. I knew he had to be our guy."
"You arrested Santa?" Shawn gasped, horrified.
"Of course not," Henry grunted. "Well, not then. It's not a crime to dress like a jackass. I had to get probable cause before I could arrest him."
"What did you do?" Shawn asked, his eyes wide.
"I tailed him for a while until he tossed a beer can on the sidewalk. Then, I had him for littering. It was enough to take him downtown and let him sit in a holding cell for a bit while I ran a check on his fingerprints and looked through his sack."
"Did you interrogate him?" Shawn gasped. "Did you interrogate Santa?"
"Oh, yeah." Henry nodded. "For three hours."
"Did you ask him about the list?" Shawn asked seriously. "More importantly…did you ask him about loopholes?"
"No. I asked him why he had about a dozen gold watches and twenty jewelry boxes in his sack."
Shawn's eyes were sparkling now as he leaned forward eagerly, drawing his knees up under his chin.
"Was I there, too?" he asked.
"What?" Henry blinked, not comprehending the question.
"Was I there, too?" Shawn repeated. "Was I watching you interrogate Santa?"
"No!" Henry scoffed. "Of course not! You weren't even born. This was years ago."
"But it's my story!" Shawn whined. "I want to be there, too! Let me be in the story!"
"They don't let kids watch interrogations, Shawn."
"I've seen interrogations before."
"What? When?" Henry demanded, glaring at his son.
"Uh…" Shawn stammered, clearing his throat. "Never…"
Henry rolled his eyes and pressed on.
"You weren't there, Kid."
"But it's my story! I want to be in the story!"
Henry groaned, running a hand over the back of his neck.
"You're not going to let it drop, are you?" he sighed.
"Nope," Shawn shook his head, grinning victoriously.
"Fine. You can be in the story," Henry conceded, rolling his eyes. "You were watching the interrogation through the glass."
"Was I the Bad Cop? Or the Good Cop?"
"Neither," Henry snapped. "You were the kid who wanted to go to bed without a story because he wouldn't shut up."
Shawn quickly closed his mouth and pulled the blankets up around his chin.
When Henry was sure the interruptions had stopped, he continued.
"So, I asked him why he had the watches and jewelry--"
"He didn't have watches and jewelry in his sack," Shawn corrected him, daring to speak up.
Henry stopped.
"What?"
"He had toys!" Shawn told him. "He's Santa! That's what Santa carries in his sack!"
"I was there, Shawn," Henry grunted. "Trust me. This scumbag didn't have toys."
"I was there, too," Shawn reminded him. "And I saw toys!"
"He wasn't Santa, Shawn!" Henry shouted. "He was a burglar! And you weren't really there! You just made that up!"
"I was, too! It's my story! And of course he was really Santa! Why would a burglar have toys?" Shawn demanded, crossing his arms.
"He didn't have toys!"
"Yes, he did!"
Henry groaned, rubbing both hands over his eyes wearily.
"Shawn…"
"What kind of toys did he have?" Shawn pressed on stubbornly.
Henry sighed in defeat.
"I don't know…toy police cars," he mumbled bitterly.
"No," Shawn snorted, rolling his eyes. "Santa wouldn't have toy police cars. He'd have…firecrackers!"
"Santa wasn't carrying firecrackers in his sack!"
"Yes, he was!"
"Okay, fine! They were firecrackers!" Henry groaned sarcastically, finally just giving up. "I asked Santa why he had firecrackers in his sack--"
"And then you heard a sound on the roof--" Shawn continued for him, not even listening anymore as his own mind filled in the blanks.
"What?" Henry snapped. "No, I didn't."
"And you ran up to the roof—" Shawn pressed on stubbornly. "And you saw Santa's sleigh! And all his reindeer! They were there to bust Santa out of the clink!"
"What the hell are you talking about? I interrogated him for three hours and he finally confessed to the thefts!"
"No. You let him go when you realized he was Santa," Shawn told him, shaking his head firmly. "And he even let you ride in his sleigh! And you fed Prancer a donut!"
"You don't feed reindeer donuts, Shawn."
"Sure you do," Shawn shrugged. "Reindeer love donuts. After you fed Prancer, did you go to the North Pole, Dad? Did you get to see Santa's workshop? Did you meet Mrs. Claus?"
Henry sighed and rolled his eyes as he stood up and walked to the door.
"Goodnight, Shawn."
"But you didn't tell me about the North Pole!" Shawn called after him. "What was it like?"
Henry turned around at the door, a small grin creeping across the corners of his mouth.
"It was cold, Kid."