Saint Nick

by Bradley Wright

  Ding dong. Ding dong.

  Nick placed his cigar on the ashtray and checked his phone. No messages from Brooke. So again—about the front door—he didn’t care. Hawaii just scored a touchdown on the screen. Number eighty-four made a hell of a one-handed catch. The announcer was losing his mind. Nick rolled his eyes. It was just a C-level bowl game that had absolutely no meaning. The dude was going wild like it was the National Championship.

  Ding dong-ding dong-ding dong!

  “All right! I hear you! Good god. Can’t a guy get a break?” Nick shouted. He muted the barking announcer, swallowed the rest of his bourbon, and limped over to the window. When he pulled back the curtain, he couldn’t see who was actually ringing the doorbell, but he could see that the mass of elves had flocked to his doorstep. He felt like they might be ready to burn him at the stake.

  Nick’s phone started to ring. He walked back over to the table—it was Brooke.

  “Hello?”

  “Answer the front door, would you?” Brooke said.

  “Why? So they can tell me how I ruined Christmas? I’m not in the mood.”

  “Just open the door. I’m the only one coming in.”

  “Fine,” he said with a sigh.

  Nick poured another Woodford and sipped it on the way to the door. The cold air rushed in, but it wasn’t enough to cool the warm feeling that moved through him when he saw Brooke standing there. Of course he knew she was going to be there, but he hadn’t expected her to look like that.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in? It’s not exactly balmy out here.”

  “Oh—yes. Sorry. I just . . .” Nick didn’t know what he meant to say. He’d never seen Brooke the way he did when she was standing under that yellow light. Her skin was glowing beneath her long blonde hair. The fluffy white lapel of the red coat she had on was stunning on her. She was stunning.

  “You all right, Nick?”

  He closed the door behind her. He was trying to find words, but a woman hadn’t stolen his breath in so long that it was taking him a minute to catch up.

  “Do you mind?” she said. She was holding the lapels of her coat out. It took Nick a second.

  “Huh? Oh, yes. Sorry.” He reached for the collar and pulled it off of her. The red turtleneck beneath the coat hugged her figure. Also something Nick hadn’t noticed until now. Before he could say anything, both of them heard something outside.

  Brooke walked over to the window to have a look. “Doesn’t sound like they want to tell you that you’ve ruined Christmas to me.”

  Nick dialed into the elves and their chant.

  Santa. Santa. Santa. Santa.

  Brooke walked past him into the living room and warmed her hands by the fire. Then she looked back over her shoulder. Nick wasn’t sure, but she looked disappointed.

  Nick followed her into the room and took a sip of his drink. “What? I’m not Santa, Brooke. I don’t know what they want from me.”

  She stopped warming her hands and put them on her hips. “I don’t understand you, Nick.”

  “Welcome to the club.”

  “No, don’t do that.” She walked over to him. Right in his face now. “Don’t play into the persona that you’re this macho guy who doesn’t give a damn. ‘Cause I know it’s bullshit.”

  Nick furrowed his brow. “You don’t even know me. How would you know if it’s a persona, or if it’s just who I am?”

  Brooke reached out and grabbed his hand. He almost recoiled, but left it instead. “Because I saw who you were today, Nick. You can’t hide behind the I’m the grizzled, and aloof guy that doesn’t care what happens to people. Not after you risked your life on a number of occasions—just today—for people you don’t even know. Just so strangers can be safe and enjoy the freedoms that guys like you fight for all the time. You are the exact opposite of the man you’re claiming to be, and I don’t understand why. It’s a beautiful thing.”

  This was all getting awkward for Nick. He’d never had someone—not since his grandmother—praise him in any sort of way. All he was used to was getting cursed out by the commanding officer. A hard man who only told him how miserable and useless he was. The same way his mother had before she left. He just wanted to change the subject.

  “What does this have to do with delivering presents to a bunch of spoiled brats? Playing Santa is a lot different than saving lives, Brooke.”

  “No, Nick. It’s not.”

  “Where’d you get that outfit anyway?” He’d have preferred to talk about anything else.

  “When I got back here, I went to see Mrs. Claus first. I had a nice long conversation with her. She gave me this to wear. What of it?”

  “So that’s what took you so long.” Nick knew he shouldn’t have said it as soon as it left his mouth.

  Brooke smiled. He wasn’t sure, but he also thought maybe her eyes were sparkling. The bourbon must have been kicking in.

  “What’s that? Mr. I Don’t Care wasn’t worried about me, was he?”

  She held her smile as she snatched his glass, downed what was left, then handed him back the empty glass.

  “I’m not saying you’re a gentleman, Nick. Hell, you didn’t even offer me a drink. What I’m saying is that after talking to Mrs. Claus, you and Santa actually have a lot in common.”

  Nick walked over to the kitchen, grabbed a second glass, and walked back to the bourbon. He spoke as he poured. “Like what, Brooke? The fact that we are both men? That’s about the only comparison I can draw. You’re not seriously equating what I do by putting my life on the line every day to dropping presents down a chimney are you?”

  The chants outside were getting louder. We want Nick! We want Nick! We want Nick!

  Brooke ignored them to answer Nick’s question. “I am, actually.”

  Nick scoffed as he walked over to her and handed her a drink.

  “Can I talk without you making noises at me?” she said.

  Nick took a step back and motioned with his hand for her to go on.

  “I actually do think they are comparable. I’m not saying that one is more important than the other, I’m simply saying they both are. Because they both help to make the world a better place. Everyone is different, Nick. Not everyone possesses that same set of skills. You have to use what you are good at to make a difference. That is how you are the same.”

  Brooke stepped forward and placed her hand on his arm. “Nick, what both of you do is you give people hope. When you rid the planet of a man that does terrible things to our world, you give people something to believe in. When they see what you do, it inspires them. It makes them understand that someone is out there fighting for them. And it makes them want to fight, too. And what Santa has always done, Nick, is show people that there is kindness in the world. That not all people are like the bad people that you fight every day. Santa shows them that doing things for other people—loving other people—that makes the world a better place too. And as silly as you think spending your life giving kids toys might be, it might just be the only toy they ever receive. Not everyone is spoiled. Far from it. And that kind gesture might just keep that child from turning into someone that you have to save the world from later in life. Can you understand that at all? It’s important, too.”

  Nick stared at the fire and took another drink. He wasn’t used to all these . . . feelings.

  We want Nick! We want Nick! We want Nick!

  “You know, I didn’t ask for any of this,” Nick said.

  “Neither did I, Nick. But I’m still here.”

  The front door burst open, and Zeke came running in. He was holding the Iron Man Santa suit from the warehouse. He stopped at the entrance to the living room and held up the suit, proud as he could be.

  Nick picked up the bottle of bourbon. “Fine. I’ll deliver the stupid presents.”

  Brooke and Zeke both smiled and pumped their fists.

  Nick walked around the chair and looked at Brooke. “But I’m not going alone. You’re coming with me.”
>
  Brooke smiled and hooked her arm around his. “As long as you bring that bottle, I’m in,” she said with a wink.

  Nick looked over at Zeke and shook his head.

  “All right, let’s go . . . But . . . I am not wearing that stupid suit.”

  The Xander King Series

  by

  Bradley Wright

  _____________________________

  WHISKEY & ROSES: Imagine James Bond meets Mitch Rapp.

  _____________________________

  The world knows him as a handsome, charismatic, and successful young businessman. The CIA knows Xander as the US military's most legendary soldier, turned vigilante assassin, who sharpens his skills in the shadows until he can exact revenge on the monster who murdered his family. They have watched his double life go on long enough, and now the government wants their weapon back.

  Sample: WHISKEY & ROSES

  Chapter 1: The Legend of Xander King

  “Some people don’t deserve to live. One man is exceptional at making sure they don’t,” Director William Manning announced as he addressed the roomful of the CIA’s finest. “The decision that lies before us is whether we make this man an ally or an enemy. And I’m afraid we can’t afford the latter.”

  Just before Director Manning blasted into the room and uttered those chilling words, Sarah Gilbright sat alone trying desperately to keep from nervous-sweating through her blouse. She knew it wasn’t all that unusual for the director of the CIA to call a top secret meeting of the seven highest-ranking officials in the agency. However, it was highly unusual for the eighth person involved in that meeting to be a comparatively low-ranked special agent like herself. Sarah knew there could only be one reason she had been invited to a meeting so far above her clearance level: they had decided to do something about Xander King.

  Sarah fidgeted in her seat and shuffled through her prepared portfolios. She felt as if she were back in college. The plain white walls of the square room, the cheap collapsible faux-wood tables, and the metal folding chairs were almost enough to give her that familiar college hungover feeling.

  That was when the heavy wooden door flung open, clanging against the painted cinder block wall with a loud crash, and Director Manning buzzed into the room. Though he didn’t look anything like the TV character, his clumsy, hurried entry reminded Sarah of Kramer from Seinfeld. No, Director Manning couldn’t have looked less like Cosmo Kramer. Manning's short, stout frame and his cloud-white hair made certain of that.

  Director Manning finished his morbid opening remarks about Xander.

  “Either way, enemy or ally, we’ve got to do something. Let’s get through this as quickly as possible.” His tone was more of a growl as he dropped his black leather briefcase onto the table. The button on his light-gray suit jacket seemed to be holding on by a mere thread.

  Sarah imagined the button on his pants probably shared a similar stretch.

  “All of you know each other, with the exception of Special Agent Sarah Gilbright here.” Manning pointed to Sarah.

  The palms of Sarah’s hands filled with sweat at the sound of her name among all those important people. This was a big damn deal. She played it off as best she could, tucking her long blonde hair back behind her ear.

  “Sarah, if you could please hand everyone a file and come up front with me.”

  She did as Manning asked and began passing around Xander’s file. She worried that her slim-fitting black skirt and tight royal-blue silk blouse might be inappropriate. She had decided to button one more button on her blouse in the bathroom just moments ago. It was hard for her to contain her mother’s gift of large breasts, but she wanted the men in this meeting to take her seriously. The women too. She wanted them all to listen because of her merit, not because of her curves and slender waist, as had all too often been the case since she joined the agency.

  Director Manning continued. “Six months ago I gave Sarah an assignment to keep an eye on a man named Alexander King. I’m sure that all of you have heard the name at one time or another due to the legend of his time in our military, but his service to our country has taken on a much different role these days. Sarah is going to fill us in, and then we are going to figure out just what in the hell we are going to do about him. Sarah?”

  Sarah handed off her last file and took the podium in front of the deputy and executive directors, the head of admin, the head of espionage, and the head of public affairs for the Central freaking Intelligence Agency of the United States of freaking America.

  Wow.

  Her voice was shaky. “Good afternoon, everyone. It’s an honor to—”

  “Sarah . . . all due respect, spare us,” Director Manning broke in. “We have other things to worry about so please keep this short.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Manning. Alexander King.” She did as she was told and got right to it, swallowing the growing nerves and digging in. “All of you are familiar with the name?”

  The roomful of stuffy higher-ups all nodded in unison.

  Sarah continued. “The Alexander—Xander—King of today is known to the world as the billionaire son of Martin King, of King Oil. After his parents were brutally murdered in front of him, Xander decided not to follow in his father’s footsteps. Instead, he sold King Oil and, as you well know by his legend, as Director Manning put it, he joined the navy. If you will, please open to the first page of the portfolio.”

  “And he’s handsome,” Mary Hartsfield, Director of Espionage, remarked when she opened the folder and saw a picture of Xander holding a bottle of bourbon.

  “Mary, please. Could you wait till you get the portfolio home before you start drooling over it?” Director Manning scolded.

  The group laughed at Mary’s outburst, and Sarah, for the first time since entering the room, let the tension fall from her shoulders. She looked again, for probably the thousandth time, at the blue eyes staring at her in that picture and wholeheartedly agreed with Mary.

  “I’m with you, Mary, he is quite handsome.”

  Director Manning rolled his eyes and motioned for Sarah to move on.

  “That bottle in his hand is from his own bourbon company—King’s Ransom—that he launched recently, and as some of you may or may not have heard, he has a horse by the same name running in the Kentucky Derby this coming Saturday. Those are the things he’s known for to the outside world. However, the reason we are here today is because of what the public doesn’t know, what Xander King doesn’t know we know, and the reason Director Manning has had me monitoring Xander for the last six months. Xander King is an assassin.”

  The air in the room changed, shifting with the dark word Sarah uttered, surprising them all.

  “Now, before you get the wrong idea about Xander, let me brief you on exactly what I mean.”

  Sarah turned the page, and the picture this time was of a beautiful dark-haired woman whose stern demeanor suggested she had seen her share of cruelty in the world.

  “If you’ll turn the page, you’ll find Samantha Harrison, or Sam, as Xander calls her. Sam had quite the reputation at MI6 in the UK for being what used to be an unparalleled agent. We aren’t exactly sure how she and Xander initially connected, but together they have formed quite a team. Sam is in charge of finding and coordinating the targets, and Xander goes about eliminating them. She is the coach, and he is the talent, if you will.”

  “Targets, Ms. Gilbright?” Mary asked.

  “Yes, targets. The scum of the earth. The most evil and vile human beings on the planet.”

  Deputy Director Richards, a silver-haired, tall, and lanky man, spoke up. “And he just kills them? No justice system? Vigilante style, he’s the judge and jury? I see now why we are here. This is a problem.”

  Sarah felt the mood in the room shift again, and she wanted to make sure she gave the rest of the facts in such a manner to show that what Xander was doing, though not legal, was just about the most noble and honorable thing a man with his particular set of skills could do. She had bee
n watching him for months. All of the charity events he had hosted, all of the people he had saved by taking out these miserable targets. She didn’t want this audience to get the wrong impression of him.

  “Well, I understand your skepticism, Mr. Richards, but I assure you this isn’t some amateur running around killing random people he thinks might be doing bad things. Sam painstakingly researches each and every target, and if you will turn the page, I’ll introduce you to some of these evil people.”

  They all turned the page. There was a picture of a forty-something man with an emptiness to his stare.

  “The first man you see was killed by Xander three months ago. Jerrold Connors. Jerrold was—”

  “Hey, I remember this guy,” Deputy Director Richards interjected. “We were building a case against him when he was suddenly killed. Horrible, the things he was doing. Didn’t we find the bodies of more than seven male teenagers out in his shed?”

  “Yes, that’s the guy.”

  “Awful. I remember, they were all drugged and tortured over a span of months, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “You are not mistaken. I’m glad you remember, Mr. Richards.”

  Director Manning cleared his throat. “Move along, Sarah.”

  “Right. The second target on the list, Mitch Boyle, was eliminated last month—”

  “Oh God.” Mary winced. “I remember him. He was the guy—the nurse—who was going around stealing newborn babies from the hospital nursery, then taking them home, killing them, and stuffing them like dolls.”

  “Good God,” the Head of Public Affairs blurted.

  Sarah could already feel that they were coming to understand Xander like she did. She had been skeptical at first too. She had thought there was no way this could be right, a man exacting vigilante justice; then she spent time getting to know him from afar. “I know. It’s terrible. Mitch Boyle was a monster.”

  Director Manning cut in again. “Look, I think we get the point. The other six monsters on this page all deserve what Xander gave them, but that isn’t what we need to focus on. Get to that please, Sarah.”