As the bells jingled more and more, the sled began to pick up speed. A few seconds later he could feel the hot breeze in his face, and a few seconds after that, he felt the front end of the sled tip upward, pinning him to the back of the seat.
“What the fff . . .”
Then the sound of sliding stopped, but the sled was moving faster than ever. Nick scooted to the far edge of his seat and pointed his flashlight past the floorboard. Not only did he not see sand, he didn’t see anything. The sled holding a man dressed like Santa Claus and his bottomless sack, being pulled by reindeer, on Christmas Eve, was now flying through the air. It was actually flying through the air.
Nick put a death grip on the rails.
“Wake up wake up wake up WAKE UP!” he shouted as the sled entered a thick white cloud. His flashlight beam looked like a headlight searching through fog.
“Wake up, Nick! Wake up!” he tried one last time. But as the sled broke through the clouds and the moon lit up the row of flying reindeer dancing through the air in front of him, a very strange feeling washed over him––a sense that the life he’d been leading was over, and it felt as real to him as a bullet to the chest. He knew right then he was never going back to his old life, and he couldn’t help but feel as if he had been chosen. That must have been how the jolly old dying man knew his name.
Nick had no idea where the reindeer were taking him, or why he was all of a sudden so confident his life was beginning anew. But he was, and all he could do as he floated high above the ground was just sit back and enjoy the ride. With his gun solidly fixed to his hand, of course.
1
Los Angeles Police Department Jail
Hollywood, California
One Year Later, December 23rd 2019
“Is this some sort of joke?”
Jim Calipari, head of the FBI’s Los Angeles division, stood with his hands on his hips, looking at Brooke like she had two heads.
“I don’t know what this is all about really,” Brooke said. “But I couldn’t resist having you here when I talk to him. It’s not every day you get to hear a story like this.”
Brooke and Jim had been on and off for over a year at that point. This was more about playing a playful prank on him than anything else. Or at least she hoped it was going to end up just a prank because the guy’s story surely couldn’t be anything serious.
Jim took his hand and brushed over the part in his sandy-blonde hair. “You know I don’t have time for this, Brooke. I have actual cases piling higher every single day.”
“No one knows that more than me, Jim.” It was Brooke’s turn to fiddle with her hair, tucking a blonde flyaway back behind her ear. She was enjoying the fact that Jim was getting worked up. “The pile of cases is one of the main reasons we aren’t together. That, and the fact that you’re an asshole.”
Jim gave her the ‘ha, ha’ smirk.
“Come on,” she said, attempting to lighten the mood. “It’s a guy who claims to be Santa Claus. Who also claims to have taken out three people on the FBI’s most wanted list. How could I not call you?”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Let me see the file.”
Brooke walked over to the table in the interrogation room and handed him the file. She had expected him to laugh when he opened the file. But his gaped mouth and sharp inhale were the opposite of what she was expecting.
“This man is here? Right now?” Jim said, pointing to the picture.
“Yeah, he’s here. Why? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Ghost is a pretty fitting way to put it.”
An officer walked in and interrupted further explanation. “He’s in the hall, you ready for him?”
Jim looked at Brooke, shook his head in disbelief, then nodded to the officer. “Bring him in.”
“Okay, Santa. Right this way.” The officer laughed as he nodded for Nick to follow him into the interrogation room. Nick hadn’t had a lot of experience telling people he was Santa Claus. It had only been a year since the old man passed on the disease, or whatever it was that gave Nick these weird but increasingly useful abilities. However, at the beginning of this month he had decided to just lean into it. Nick had always been proud of being good at two completely contrasting things: Being a complete hard-ass, but also possessing the ability to know when something was just too funny to pass up.
“Keep laughing, officer,” Nick said. “Keep on laughing and your daughter won’t get that Moana doll she’s been asking for.”
The look the officer gave him was the reason why he was leaning into this ridiculous Santa thing. The look was a cross between astonished and fright. And Nick would have been lying if he said he didn’t love knowing something he wasn’t supposed to know. Especially in a situation like this one where he could disarm the ‘tough guy’ security guard by knowing exactly what his daughter’s been begging for for Christmas.
The officer moved behind Nick and gave him a nudge in the direction of the room.
Nick smiled. “What? Something I said?”
The officer didn’t respond. Nick continued forward. He’d been told he was being taken to speak with someone high in the ranks of the FBI. He already knew who they were taking him to see, but when he walked into the room and actually saw Jim Calipari standing on the other side of the table, he couldn’t suppress the wide smile that grew across his face. His plan had worked. So far.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my old boot camp bunk mate,” Nick said with his arms spread wide.
The blonde in the room beside Jim shot him a look of disbelief.
Jim waved off the officer behind Nick. “Nick Campos? What the hell are you doing here? And why are you wearing that ridiculous outfit?”
It’s not what you think––Nick wasn’t wearing a full-on Santa suit. He wasn’t going to lean into the character that much.
Nick looked down at his hunter-green V-neck tee, camo pants, and black Army boots. What Jim was referring to as ‘ridiculous’ was the thick white utility belt with the big black buckle strapped around Nick’s waist. It had places for two sidearms, two extra magazines, an EDC knife, and even a grenade or two if he was feeling frisky. Of course, from where Jim stood, it just looked like a silly Santa belt that had no place on an otherwise standard issue Army uniform.
“Jack thought it added a nice touch,” Nick said.
“It looks ridiculous,” Jim said. “And who the hell is Jack?”
“Well, I’m sure by now you’ve heard that I’m Santa Claus, so this belt can’t seem that ridiculous. Jack is my head elf.”
Even though it was the truth, that admission usually got a laugh. But Jim just shook his head and frowned.
“What the hell are you doing, Nick? You’ve always been a crazy son of a bitch, but have you finally, completely lost your mind?”
Nick looked over at the woman standing beside Jim. “I look crazy to you?”
“No,” she said. “The story is a bit crazy, but you seem fine to me.”
“You hear that, Jim? Your girlfriend says I’m fine.”
Nick walked forward, pulled out the metal folding chair and took a seat. “Jim, you mind if we skip the thing where we act like we give a damn about each other and get right to the part where I tell you that I was about to take out the fourth most wanted man on your list in a matter of two weeks when the LAPD wrongfully arrested me for assault?”
Jim took a seat opposite Nick and nodded for Brooke to do the same. “You punched an off-duty officer in the face outside of a bar, then took a piss in his beer. You don’t think that merits an arrest?”
“Not if you saw the way he was groping that nice young lady just trying to have a drink with her friends.”
Jim scoffed. “Oh, so now Nick Campos is a gentleman? You expect me to believe that?”
“Gentleman, vigilante hero, Jolly Old Saint Nick . . . I have a lot of titles these days.”
Jim was getting ready to rebut when Brooke spoke up. “Clearly the two of you have a his
tory that I care nothing about. What I do care about is what you said before you said you were wrongfully arrested.” Brooke looked over at Jim and gave him a cold look. “Which is supposed to be why we were brought down to this jail in the first place—to listen to your seemingly bullshit story about who you are, and why you are taking down FBI-wanted criminals. Can we just get to that? Because some of us have actual criminals to investigate. Not whatever the hell this is.”
“Ooh, you’ve got yourself a pistol here, Jim. I like her. You should have treated her better.”
“First of all, Agent Sanders and I are not together—”
“Ah-ah, Jim. Don’t forget who you’re talking to now,” Nick gave a devilish grin. “I see you when you’re sleeping. So that means I see who you are sleeping with.”
Jim huffed and rose to his feet. “All right, that’s enough.” He looked to the door. “Officer? Come get this man and take him back to his holding cell.”
Nick knew he’d hit a nerve. Now it was time to step on it. The other thing he loved most about what the fat man in the desert had passed on to him was knowing everything about everyone. It wasn’t that Nick could read minds, but he could see all of their actions and knew everything about them, including where they lived.
“Samuel Epstein lives at 4537 Washburn Ave.” Nick started in. “Over the last twelve months, he has raped six women, murdered four, and stole a Snickers candy bar from the 7/11 on Sunset. Now, I don’t imagine that monster is on your most wanted list for stealing the Snickers bar. So, when I was watching him pick out his next victim at the bar last night, I was going to do your job for you and end the son of bitch. But like I said, I was wrongfully arrested.”
Brooke leaned forward. “And the real reason you punched the cop was because you were upset that he let Epstein get away?”
Brooke was half right. Nick looked over at Jim and smiled. “She’s the smart one, I see. You really messed things up letting her go.”
Jim slammed his fist down on the table. Brooke jumped, and Nick just held his smile. “That is your proof that you’re Santa Claus? Because you read the paper about Epstein’s crimes and claim to know the address of one of our most wanted? Did you think I was going to bail you out of jail or something? Just because you came up with this whole cockamamie story? So they would call me? What a waste of time. Great to see you, Nick. Hope the next twenty years goes a little better for you.”
Nick didn’t lose his cool. He looked over at Brooke. “He always this loud? Take it easy, Jim. You’re gonna have a heart attack or something.”
Jim was seething. He began to pace the room behind Brooke.
While Nick and Jim were going back and forth, Brooke was staying focused. “You told this information about Epstein’s address to your arresting officer, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Nick said. “But I doubt he even wrote it down.”
Jim stopped pacing and shot an inquisitive look at Brooke. “No, he wrote it down,” she said. “And actually, I just got an email saying they went to check the address out an hour ago and Epstein went running out the back door.”
“What?” Jim said. His look morphed from an eyebrow raise to pure shock.
“Yeah. They ran him down and arrested him. Nick’s tip led to the arrest of Samuel Epstein.”
Jim had no words.
Nick always had something to say.
“Arrest? Great.” Nick shook his head. “Now he’ll get off on some technicality. Should have just let me handle it.”
“Shut the hell up, Nick. Right now.” Jim pointed. Then looked back at Brooke. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious. Epstein is in custody as we speak.”
“How the hell did you know where he was staying, Nick? You working with him? Ratting on him to keep yourself in the clear?”
“Jim?” Brooke interrupted.
“It’s okay, Brooke.” Nick stood. “The same way I know where you live, Jim. Same as I know that Brooke Abigail Sanders here lives at 639 Perry Street and the only thing she wants for Christmas is a trip to Hawaii to get the hell away from you for a few days.”
Both Jim and Nick looked over at Brooke. Her mouth was literally hanging open. Nick loved it when that happened.
Jim put both his hands on his hips. “This is absurd. Okay, Santa. Big reveal there. Literally everyone on the planet wants a trip to Hawaii.”
“Okay, I can do you if you want.”
“He was right about me,” Brooke said.
“Sure . . . Fine,” Jim said. “What do I want for Christmas Mr. Kringle?”
“You sure you want me to say it in front of Brooke?”
“What would that matter? Just get it over with and say it so we can move on.”
“Okay . . .” Nick shrugged. “You want Karen Johnson of 3951 Walbash Court to accept your invitation to Christmas dinner. Then you want to pin her legs back behind her—”
“All right, that’s it!”
Jim came storming around the table, took two fistfuls of Nick’s shirt, and shoved him backward until his back was pinned against the two-way mirror.
Nick didn’t acknowledge Jim. Instead, he looked over Jim’s shoulder at Brooke. “Remember what I said about knowing who you’re sleeping with? Yeah, he’s already slept with Karen too. Last week. The night after the last night the two of you were together. What do you see in this guy anyway?”
Jim punched Nick in the stomach. Nick doubled over, but also began to laugh. “It’s a pattern, Brooke. For over twenty years it seems.”
Jim lifted Nick back up and pinned him back against the mirror by his shoulders. “Shut your mouth!”
“Jimmy here slept with the girl I met during boot camp.” Then he looked Jim in the eyes. “Merry Christmas, shit stain.”
2
Brooke, wearing an expression of disgust, managed to separate the two of them, and sit them back down in an attempt to resume some sort of civil conversation.
They never got the chance.
Three men in black suits burst through the interrogation room door.
Jim stood. “What the hell are you doing? This is a closed interrogation. You can’t be in here. Officer!”
A short man in the same black suit as the other three walked through the door holding his credentials out in front of him. “Well, I’m Special Agent Donald Andrews, and it’s my interrogation now.”
Unlike Jim, Nick wasn’t surprised the CIA was there. Nick had been keeping his eye on the CIA’s investigation of an unidentified flying object that had crashed in the desert of Iraq about a year ago. Nick had used Santa’s passed-along ability to see everything to find the video on an eleven-year-old boy’s digital cloud. Then he enlisted Jack to have his elves to work their magic and enhance the ultra-low-resolution video until reindeer and a sleigh could actually be seen falling from the sky. He then sent the video to the CIA and told them what he wanted to do.
“Why are you here?” Jim said. “What the hell do you know about what’s going on here?”
The short and skinny Agent Andrews was smug. It was written all over his face. Nick could tell just by looking that he was a classic case of the Napoleon Complex.
Andrews sniffed like someone who thinks he knows everything would, hiked up his trousers by the belt and smirked. If he’d been wearing an old cop uniform instead of the CIA suit, he would have almost literally been Mayberry’s finest, Barney Fife. “Maybe you should ask your old boot camp pal that question. He’s been dropping hints for half a year now.”
Jim looked over at Nick, and his mouth was slightly agape. Nick couldn’t help but smile. When he had decided to try to make his presence known in this manner, Nick never thought it would all work out this perfectly. Santa really does have some magic. He figured he would at least be able to break up Jim’s relationship with Brooke for good. Outing him as a cheater would easily do that. In studying Brooke from afar, it was clear that she was in no way the type of woman who would stand for that. And even though Nick orchestrated this
little meet and greet with the CIA coming in, he never thought he would actually get to watch the CIA strip away what might be the biggest story in US crime fighting history away from Jim. Serves the son of a bitch right. Nick had really liked Sarah back in the day before Jim got her drunk and took advantage of her.
“I don’t understand,” Jim said. He was still looking at Nick with a blank stare as if his processor was broken.
Andrews took the only empty seat left, turned it around backwards and straddled it. “The CIA really didn’t know what to make of the video that was anonymously sent to us. I mean, it was Santa and his reindeer falling from the sky. Obviously, we just thought it was a stupid prank.”
Nick thought the look on Jim’s face was priceless. It had to be a real kick in the nuts for the FBI man to hear the CIA man actually explaining that Santa had crashed his sleigh. If Nick hadn’t been there at the crash himself, he would have punched Agent Andrews in the mouth for insulting his intelligence.
“Obviously it was a prank, because it’s ridiculous,” Jim said.
Nick laughed. “Was ridiculous the word of the day on your toilet paper or something, Jim? ‘Cause you sure are wearing it out.”
Jim’s f-bomb-laden response was exactly what Nick had hoped for.
“Like I was saying,” Andrews continued. “We thought it had to be a fake too, until we saw headlines that an Army Ranger disappeared from the face of the Earth in almost the exact same location, on the exact same night.”
Jim’s head swung toward Nick so fast he must have gotten whiplash.
“I tried to tell you, Jim,” Nick said.
Jim couldn’t speak.
“So what?” Brooke said. “So a Ranger—Nick—went missing the same night as someone took a prank video of a sleigh in the sky. How does that even remotely correlate to this psycho now being Santa Claus?”
“Psycho?” Nick said. “Somebody must not want that Hawaiian vacation that bad after all.”
“Oh shut up, would you?” Brooke stood from her chair. “I’ve got work to do. Real work. I’ll let you chase your tail on this nonsense, Agent Andrews. Good luck keeping your job when he turns out to be a total fraud with a complete lack of magical powers.”
Saint Nick Page 2