Great. Now even the feds are gunning for me. How could I Scrooge up this case any worse?
“There was a misunderstanding back in Loveland. I’ll square it up soon enough. But that’s not the worst news.”
“Yo?”
“Our wolf got away, Fred. The trail’s cold. Cold as ice.”
“What can I do to help?”
I grin at him. “I was hoping you’d say that. I need you to run a list of Talbot’s known associates. Cross reference that with those of a Ms. Lupercalia Lovelace, then give me what you come up with.”
“It could take a while, J. H-Town’s tightening their e-security with everything that’s been going down.”
“Can you crack it?”
“What’s my name, yo?”
“Good elf. Mind if I grab some shuteye here while I wait? I’m beat.”
“Word.”
Fred leaves for his workshop and I lie back and put my hat down over my eyes. Despite my weariness, I can’t fall asleep. My thoughts won’t allow me. I give up trying and take a crack at wrapping my brain around this case.
Who benefits? That’s the question here and it’s one that keeps coming up with too many answers. Despite what they say, the Old Man, and through the Count, Samhain, both have reasons to want Santa on ice for good.
The Old Man no longer has anyone keeping him in check at the Pole, and Samhain and his crew may now move among the realms as they please, no daylight to hold them back. But neither suspect feels right.
If nothing else, the elf unions would organize the minute they were certain Pop would no longer be running the show. That would give the Old Man headaches without end!
And, like the Count said, Samhain’s folk might simply wither away without a steady supply of tricks-or-treats coming through.
Yet, this case has both their fingerprints all over it—the snowstorm that oh so conveniently covered the actual kidnapping had to have been brewed by the Old Man.
And it’s no coincidence it was Talbot, a Halloweenian, who tried to ice Father Time.
Why would either boss involve themselves in something so detrimental to their respective businesses?
It had to be because they had no choice.
Someone or something had to have forced their hands—someone or something they didn’t dare say no to. But who or what could have such power over two such formidable beings? It is with this question gnawing away at my mind that sleep finally overtakes me.
“Yo!” Fred says as he shakes me awake. “Wake up, J! Wake up!”
“Leave me alone,” I say, rolling over. “I just got to sleep!”
“You’ve been out for hours, J! But you got to bounce, yo! The feds are here!”
I’m wide awake at his words. I spring to my feet, realizing the drumming noise in the dream I was having is really the feds pounding on Fred’s door.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I tried. But never mind! Here!” Fred shoves a printout into my hands. “It’s a list of the perps you wanted. Now get the holly out of here!”
I go dim and sprint for the back door. I pull up short when I see through the windows that the place is surrounded.
“Nutcrackers!”
I head back down the hallway and then freeze when I hear Fred on the losing end of an argument with someone in the living room.
“You have no right!” Fred yells.
“Rights are not our concern,” the other voice says. “We have a job to do!”
“I won’t have it!”
“Enough. Take him into custody.”
“You can’t do this! You can’t—!” But then Fred is gone. The voice’s next words chill my already frozen bones.
“Bring in the Cerberus.”
“Nutcrackers!”
I bolt down the hallway for the stairs, heading up to Fred’s bedroom. Being dim won’t hide me from any three-headed police dog. I’ve got to get out of here and fast!
I slowly open Fred’s bedroom window, praying no one outside will notice.
Someone upstairs must be listening. The feds and the blue caps with them keep their eyes glued on the backdoor.
I climb out into the night air and, as carefully and quietly as possible, shimmy down a candy-cane gutter. I hang just above the ground, not knowing how I’m going to get down without them seeing my tracks in the snow.
Fred unknowingly resolves this problem for me, too. He comes around the corner in cuffs, escorted by two feds, about to be stuffed into a patrol-sleigh. He catches them off guard and slips out of their hands to make a break for it. The feds and blue caps standing around leave to assist their fellow officers in his recapture.
Good ol’ Fred.
I get down and form an ice-jimmy to unlock one of the patrol-sleighs. Thanks to the days of my youth Halloween side, it’s as easy to do as falling off a Yule log.
I consider jacking the sleigh, but dismiss the notion as doing so would only bring the feds down on me that much faster. Instead, a much more advantageous option catches my eye—a small canvas bag closed with a draw string.
I turn visible and snatch the bag up. I open it and dump the glistening dust held inside over my head just as the feds come back with a very mussed Fred in tow.
“Lieutenant,” one of the feds says, his voice full of surprise. “I didn’t know you were on this assignment.”
The dust I’m now covered in is a glamour, one often used by undercover cops. It’s magic that makes anyone looking at you see someone else—someone who wouldn’t be out of place.
Sometimes, like now, being visible, but incognito, has its advantages over dimness. Still, it won’t fool the Cerberus, so I have to get out of here asap!
“City Hall sent me over. Special orders from the mayor. I’m to escort this man back to H-Town on the double.”
“Sure. But regulations say I need to call it in to confirm.”
“Don’t throw the reg book at me, Sergeant! I know it backward and forward. His Honor would be very displeased if he heard you were delaying his orders.
“But go ahead! Act like a rookie who can’t put his pants on without permission from downtown if you have to.”
I hold my breath while the sergeant considers. I breath a deep sigh of relief when he gives in.
“Forgive me. By all means, take him away.”
He gives an inch but, being me, I take a mile. “Take him away, what?”
“Take him away, sir. That is, forgive me, sir.”
He passes Fred over to me.
“You’re forgiven, Sergeant. Now call in as soon as you have that no-good Frost in custody.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” he says, snapping off a salute.
I make it look as though I’m circling around front with Fred. Just as soon as we’re out of eyeshot from either side of the house, I uncuff him using the jimmy.
“That was close, Yo.”
“How’d you know it was me?”
“He saw a fed. I saw Alfie. Figured you’d jacked a glamour.”
“You figured right.”
“What now, J?”
“Now we get out of here. Thanks to you, I’ve got leads to follow. Anywhere safe you can lay low for a while?”
“I’ve been meaning to visit my cousin in the Antarctic. He’s got an awesome crib, yo! And the honeys southside, woo!”
“Probably best until I can get all this snow shoveled.”
Fred gives me an awkward hip-hop-hug. I reluctantly return it.
“Guess it’s goodbye, then,” he says. “Yo, good luck finding your Pop, J.”
“Thanks. If what’s happened so far is any indication, I’m going to need it.”
Back at the Pole, Jack knocked on Fred’s door.
“Let me in, Fred. It’s not safe anymore!”
“Yo, J! Are you crazy? Get your butt inside!
“Your face is on the news. You need to hide!”
“Tell me, J,” Fred said, “I don’t understand.
“How exactly did you become
a wanted man?”
“I’m afraid,” Jack said, “there’s been a misunderstanding.
“For a crime I didn’t commit, me they are branding.”
“I need to rest, Fred. May I crash on your couch?”
“Make yourself at home, J. My crib ain’t no slouch.”
But sleep wouldn’t’ come, so the crime Jack pondered.
Who kidnapped my pop? Over this question his mind wandered.
Could it be Talbot, the Old Man, or the Halloween folk?
I’ve got to figure this out, and that ain’t no joke!
Just when Jack had finally closed his eyes,
The police came a’ knocking, much to his surprise!
“Come out, Frost!” the cops said. “We know you’re inside!”
“J, you gotta bounce!” Fred said. “You must run and hide!”
“I know,” Jack said. “I’ll go in disguise by magical means.
“I’ll use a glamour so my true face can’t be seen.”
Chapter 15
It takes a little longer to navigate the aurora borealis without Flash, but I make it to H-Town just fine on my own.
Next, I set about the task of finding a rainbow in the night sky. Impossible to have a rainbow at night? Not in H-Town. There’s always a rainbow leading out of the city somewhere. It’s just a matter of knowing how to find it.
Good thing I’m a detective.
Who benefits? Another way of phrasing that question is to ask, ‘Where does the money lead?’
And when it comes to bankrolling a kidnapping on the scale of Pop’s, no Holiday folk would be more equipped to do so than the leprechauns of the St. Patrick’s Day realm—especially a certain leprechaun named Mickey O’Shaunessey, an infamous money launderer who just so happens to be at the top of the my list of Larry Talbot’s known associates. And since it’s a leprechaun I’m hunting for, then a rainbow I’ll need.
I rummage in a city trash can until I find a clear glass bottle. Still bent over the can, I feel someone tap me on the back of my shoulder. I rise up and gasp to see a fed leering down at me.
“Move it along, you,” he says. “Get down to the homeless shelter with the rest of the rabble. They’ll feed you and give you a place to sleep.”
I sigh with relief. The glamour is still working. When the fed saw someone rummaging in the garbage, he expected it to be a transient, so that’s who he sees.
“Yes sir, officer,” I reply as I hide the bottle behind my back. “Certainly.”
I walk down the rain-puddled street, putting distance between myself and the fed. When I’m out of eye-shot, I duck down a graffiti-covered alleyway that has the last of the three things I need to come up with a rainbow.
I take the bottle and dip it into a rain puddle, letting it fill half full. Then I hold it out and tilt it back and forth, allowing the light from one of the lamps along the outer street to play against the bottle’s surface.
In no time, a small scale prism effect occurs between the light, the bottle, and the water inside it. The effect builds and becomes self-sustaining until before I know it, there’s a full-sized rainbow arcing up from the alley floor into the night sky above.
“Saints’ begorrah,” I say with a wry smile. Then I begin walking up the rainbow.
What seems like hours later, the rainbow forks. One branch of it rises even higher to the Norse god realm of Asgard. I know this because there’s a kaleidoscopic road sign sticking out of the rainbow saying so.
The other branch bends Earthward. I double check the road sign and, sure enough, it labels the downward branch as the route to the Emerald Isle. That’s the one I want.
I start down it and, before long, I can see its end at a small island of rolling green hills amid a sea of crashing waves. Once on the island, I walk inland until I come to a modest stone tavern with a thatched roof. Young leprechauns in green frock coats and bowler hats stand outside, eyeing me wearily over their pints of ale.
“I’m here to see Mickey,” I say.
“Well, Mickey’s not taking visitors today,” one of the leprechaun’s says, his Irish brogue high and thick. “Try your luck tomorrow.”
The other leprechauns laugh and toast.
“He’ll want to see me,” I say.
The laughter halts immediately.
The talker puts down his pint and gets in my face, obviously not pleased I didn’t walk away when I had the chance.
“And just why would Mickey want to see you?” he asks.
“That’s for Mickey to know,” I say. “But you can tell him a friend of Larry Talbot’s has come to call.”
The talker’s eyes narrow at the mention of Talbot’s name. Without another word, he turns and goes into the tavern. A minute later, he reappears and motions for me to join him inside.
I feel the other leprechauns sizing me up as I pass them by and head into the tavern. They’re spoiling for one of the only five things a leprechaun cares about. Of the five, it’s the one I hate the most.
The tavern is deserted save for the talker, a barkeep, and one older leprechaun sitting by himself at a table in the far corner.
He motions me over. “Come! Sit.”
I do.
The older leprechaun is dressed in a green frock coat and bowler hat like the others. His face is wrinkled and his red sideburns are threaded with gray. He twiddles a pipe between his teeth. One of them is capped with brilliant gold. He’s short like the others, but thick and burly, with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
He reminds me of a leprechaun who visited the Pole once when I was a boy. He helped himself to our eggnog and got squirrely. It took ten of Alfie’s blue caps to bring him down and every one of them was black and blue when it was all over.
I wonder who the glamour makes him see me as. Probably a Halloweenian as I came asking for Talbot.
“Drink?” he asks, his brogue so deep and thick that it takes me a minute to realize I’m being offered refreshment.
“Egg—uh—blood wine?”
“Horrid stuff.” He gestures to the bar keep. “Bring us a pint.”
The leprechaun shifts in his seat and empties the tobacco from his pipe.
“So, lad. It appears you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I’m afraid I don’t know yours.”
“Call me Larry. Like your friend. Have you seen Talbot lately?”
The barkeep sits the drinks down between us.
“Not one to beat around the bush, are ye?” the leprechaun, now revealed as Mickey, says.
“I don’t have the luxury of small talk, right now.”
“Oh lad, pleasant conversation in the company of others is not a luxury, but an Irishman’s right. But, have it your way.”
“Is Talbot here?”
He drinks a long swig of ale and then wipes the foam from his chin.
“Do ye like riddles, lad?”
“I like them solved.”
“Good, good. I’ll tell ye what: I’ll answer your question if ye can answer one of mine. But fail in the answering and ye become my servant for a century.”
Great. Dealing with fairies, I’ve always dreaded being put in a position where I have to make this kind of cornball choice. But I never thought I’d actually have to. Live and Learn.
“I really don’t have time for games and riddles.”
“Take it or leave it, laddie.”
I sigh. “Alright. Shoot.”
He grins, pleased to no end. “Riddle me this,” he says,
I never was, am always to be,
No one ever saw me, nor ever will,
And yet I am the confidence of all
Who live and breathe on this terrestrial ball!
Nutcrackers. I don’t have a clue. Give me facts to solve a case, not some silly word-play.
Frustrated, I mumble under my breath. “If I don’t solve this and find Pop, there’s not going to be a tomorrow ever again.”
Suddenly, Mickey slams the pint of ale he’d been holding to his m
outh down on the table.
“Well played, lad,” he says, “and solved in no time at all. Tell me, what exactly was it that tipped ye off to tomorrow being the answer?”
My eyes briefly widen with realization.
“Uh,” I say, fumbling for an answer, “that old riddle? Everyone knows that. But I’ve done what you asked. Now answer my question.”
Mickey sighs deeply. “Very well. I believe the question you asked was, ‘is Talbot here?’”
Mickey leans back and crosses his arms, a smug smile spreading over his face. “Aye. He was, lad. But not anymore!” Mickey leans forward and slaps the table as he guffaws with laughter.”
“Where did he go?” I ask.
“Oh!” Mickey says, his eyes refilling with excitement. “That’s another question ye want answered lad. One that will be costing ye!”
I roll my eyes. “Another riddle then?”
“No, no, lad,” Mickey says, shaking his head. “Truth be told I’m no fan of riddles, me self. They hurt me head!
“But I am of faerie after all, and so felt obligated to at least take a pass at such where ye was concerned.”
Mickey takes off his jacket and begins rolling up his sleeves, the gleam in his eye growing, his pipe dancing between his teeth.
“For ye next test, I had something a bit more hands on in mind.”
I don’t like the sound of this and I’m right not to.
Remember that one of five things I mentioned leprechauns love for that I hate—the thing the younger ones were spoiling for? Apparently, Mickey is spoiling for it, too.
Moments later, he and I are out front circling one another, our dukes up, the other leprechauns surrounding us, booing me and cheering for him.
“Rules?” he asks.
“Uh,” I say, “no magic?”
With no harsh winter to pull from, I wouldn’t stand a chance against him in a magical battle here on his home turf.
Mickey grins. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, lad!”
He stomps my foot and serves me three quick knuckle sandwiches before I even know what’s on the menu.
He releases my foot and I go stumbling backward into a mass of shouting leprechauns. They just as quickly shove me back toward Mickey.
Long Silent Night Page 7