by Alan Russell
Nick looked unimpressed. “The next time you make me Kermit in one of your fables,” he said, “at least have the princess kiss me.”
“That’s too far-fetched of a story.”
“You’re a riot, Wally. Aesop was Greek. I’m Greek. I am sure we got a lot in common. But Aesop was no cop. And in my fable I want to not only be kissed by the princess, but I also want to find the missing girl, and dispatch the bad guys.
“But as for your dance sequence, forget it. Never going to happen.”
Episode Four
Chapter 16
Twelve Days of Christmas
December 6
Nick awakened in the morning with a head of steam. There were Laura leads to pursue, but his first order of business was to see to Raymond’s Christmas wish. Nick called Igloo Ice. This time he wasn’t going to be put off.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Pappas,” the receptionist said. “Mr. Cruz has already left the office, but he did say he would be returning calls later today.”
“That’s not good enough,” said Nick. “I am not going to be in later today. I need to talk with him now.”
“He doesn’t usually like me to give out his mobile phone number …”
“I’d be very grateful,” said Nick.
Nick took down the number and called it. After three rings he heard a man shout, “This is Cruz.” There was a reason for the shouting. In the background it sounded like a forest was being clear-cut.
“This is Nick Pappas.”
“Who?”
“Nick Pappas, the guy who kept calling you yesterday.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to book a snow scene.”
“What date are you thinking about?”
“Does tomorrow work for you?”
Nick heard something besides the sounds of heavy machinery, and then realized it was laughter. When Cruz stopped laughing he finally said, “Two weeks from tomorrow works for me.”
“You got to be kidding.”
Cruz just said, “You want to book it or not?”
“That’s the earliest date available?”
“That’s what I told you,” said Cruz. “How big an area you talking about?”
Nick considered the size of the lawn. “It’s about a hundred feet by a hundred feet.”
“That will cost you two grand,” said Cruz, “and that’s just for the snow. What you get is two to four inches of snow and that’s it. We got packages we can throw in, moving figures, lights, sleighs, things like that, but they’re extra.”
“I just want the snow,” said Nick.
The background noise had let up, but Cruz didn’t immediately notice and continued yelling into the phone. “We need a five hundred dollar deposit. You’ll need to bring it by the office by the end of the week. And we get the balance when we deliver the goods.”
Nick heard the whooshing and whistling of air, and knew Cruz was waving his hand and the phone in it. He heard him yell, “Hey, quit watching Shamu and get back to work.”
The noise started up again, and Nick decided he’d had enough of shouting. “Are you working Sea World?”
“Yeah, it’s frozen fish week.”
At Sea World Nick didn’t have to ask where Cruz and his men were working. He just followed the sounds and found them filling a slope with snow. It was no wonder the crew had been distracted. The slope overlooked the aquarium that housed Shamu the killer whale. Nick watched the orca swimming. It had been at least a decade since he’d seen Shamu jump out of the water and kiss someone. For some reason he thought about Charlotte.
He made a straight line for a short and stocky man who looked like he was in charge of the operation. Huge blocks of ice were being fed into a grinder, and a stream of white snow was being shot into the air out of a tube. The man was using his hands to signal the direction of one of the blowers.
“Manuel Cruz?” shouted Nick.
“Who wants to know?” asked the man.
“I’m Nick Pappas. We talked on the phone a little while ago.”
Cruz led Nick far enough away from the operation so that it wouldn’t be such a trial to talk. “So what can I do for you?” he asked.
“I want to book that snow scene we talked about, but I am still hoping we I can push the date up.”
Cruz was already shaking his head. “After here we go to Legoland, the Zoo Safari Park, the Prado, and more private parties than we can handle.”
“If it means paying extra …” started Nick.
The other man didn’t let him finish. “We’re backed up and booked up. I’ve had broken equipment, and men out sick. I’m running double shifts just to catch up enough to say we’re behind schedule.”
“Is there any way I could rent the equipment?”
“This isn’t like making a snow cone, man. For your snow scene we’re going to have to send out two large trucks and four men. Now, excuse me, but I got to get back to work.”
“Okay,” said Nick, “let’s book it for the twenty-first.”
He didn’t like the late date, but maybe it would work. Maybe Raymond would still be alive. Maybe something would happen.
“But if someone cancels,” said Nick, “I’d like to be bumped up. You keep a waiting list?”
“Mention it at the office when you give your deposit.”
Cruz was already walking away. “Hold on,” Nick shouted.
“What?” Cruz said, not hiding his impatience.
Nick struggled between the words and his anger. He wasn’t good at asking anyone for help, at least not for himself. His pride had always gotten in the way. But he needed this man’s help.
“This isn’t about me. There’s this real sick kid who asked Santa Claus for it to snow on Christmas. Only thing is, the kid’s probably not going to live that long. That’s why I want the snow as soon as possible. I want him to be able to see the snow from his hospital room.”
Cruz stared at Nick but said nothing. His look made Nick felt stupid. He had humbled himself, something he never did, and felt dirty for having done it. That’s what happens when you lick someone’s boot, Nick thought. You get kicked in the teeth.
Nick turned around abruptly and started marching away, and then he heard one word over the sounds of the grinding and blowing: “Hey!”
He came to a stop and looked back at Cruz, who was now walking towards him. Face to face, Cruz took a measure of Nick’s eyes and asked, “Are you for real?”
Nick’s throat constricted, and the words came out in a hiss: “You think I’d make up a story like that?”
“Some people will do anything—”
“Not me. You want the kid’s name? His doctor’s name? You want his prognosis in writing?”
Cruz was shaking his head back and forth. “I got kids of my own. They’re healthy, thank God.”
Nick heard his indecision, but what he heard mostly was the sound of snow. Heavy snow. Snow was supposed to be silent, but not this snow. He listened as ice was crushed and ground.
“Maybe I can do it on the morning of the eleventh. It would have to be early. Sunrise. You can hear how noisy this whole operation is. You’d have to get permission from the hospital.”
“I’ll get it.”
Chapter 17
For Here We Come A-Caroling
December 7
“It’s too slow,” said Angie.
“No, it’s not,” said Nick.
Whenever Angie thought it was too slow in the North Pole she always found ways to gather a crowd.
“Maybe the two of you could help me,” said Nick.
“What do you need?” asked Darcy.
“Santa is sort of tied to the sleigh,” said Nick. “But you two elves can go wherever you want. You can be my eyes.”
Darcy looked ready to cooperate. She was a freshman at San Diego State, and being an elf was her first real job, if you could call that a real job.
“What are we supposed to be looking for?”
“Santa wants us t
o be undercover elves,” said Angie.
“Our bad boys would never suspect an elf. You could be the perfect observer.”
“Don’t listen to him,” said Angie.
“You can make your surveillance into a game,” said Nick. “I had all sorts of games I used to play when I was working surveillance, and those games made me notice more than I would have otherwise. For example, we could play Carnie Barker. When you do that you guess the weight, height, and age of the suspect. What our bad boy can’t disguise is his height and weight. We got a general description of those.”
“We already have a very important role to play,” said Angie, taking Darcy by the arm. “We are not going to play carnival.”
“It’s not carnival,” replied Nick. “It’s the guessing game they have at a carnival. The pitchman yells that he can guess your weight, or age.”
Angie wasn’t listening. “I think it’s time for a song and dance. That’s what Christmas elves do, not carnival.”
Angie and Darcy started skipping around and singing, “Here we come a-caroling, among the leaves so green! Here we come a-wandering, so fair to be seen! Love and joy come to you, and to you glad Christmas too, And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year, and God send you a Happy New Year.”
Nick muttered, “And God send me some peace and quiet.”
Shoppers gathered to watch, and Angie decided to do standup. “What do elves learn in school?” she asked. When no one answered, Angie said, “The elf-abet.”
The groans didn’t stop her. “What Christmas carol is a favorite of parents?” she asked. Again, the crowd was stumped. “Silent Night,” announced Angie.
Nick nodded. He could endorse those sentiments. Unfortunately, the shoppers were getting into the Christmas spirit and most of them applauded.
“Don’t encourage her!” shouted Nick.
People laughed, thinking Santa was part of the act.
“Does anyone know the difference between the Christmas alphabet and the regular alphabet?” asked Angie.
Nick wondered where she came up with all these things. Or maybe the better question was: why did she come up with all these things?
“In the Christmas alphabet,” said Angie, “there is no L.”
Nick groaned. He wasn’t alone. But there were smiles on every face. Angie’s spirit was infectious.
“Who can tell me where the mistletoe went to become rich and famous?” asked Angie.
Once more she stumped the crowd. And then she sang the answer like Ethel Merman at the Oscars, “Holly-wood!”
While people cheered Angie pointed at Nick and asked, “Okay, it’s not Christmas until you go visit Santa! It’s time to go see Santa.”
Angie was playing carnival even if she didn’t know it, thought Nick. Pitchmen could have learned from her. Parents and their kids started to line up.
Nick’s shift was almost over when an attractive woman not wearing the usual Christmas ensemble entered the North Pole enclosure. Her long legs were accentuated by black stockings and finely polished stiletto heels. The woman didn’t hesitate on her approach to Nick’s lap.
“My annual tradition,” she announced to Darcy. “I’d like my picture taken with Santa.”
Darcy giggled. “And I’m sure Santa wants his picture taken with you.”
Angie tried to escort the woman to Santa’s sleigh, but found herself waved her away. “There’s no need,” the woman announced. “I know my way.”
She made her way up the steps with apparent ease, and with a few twists and turns settled very comfortably into Nick’s lap. “Hi Santa,” she said in a coquettish voice, and then nestled her face into Nick’s beard. He got a heady dose of her perfume. Some onlookers stopped to enjoy the show. Women frequently sat in Santa’s lap, but most didn’t make spectacles of themselves. Their usual Christmas wish was for jewelry, or a luxury car, or a boyfriend or husband. They usually jumped on and then off of Santa’s lap. This woman was making herself at home and Nick felt uncomfortable at the familiarity she was radiating.
“Did you miss me, Santa?” she asked in a breathless voice.
“Why, yes, I did young lady,” said Nick.
“Young lady?” The woman pretended to pout. “You don’t remember Kathleen? You said you’d never forget me, Santa. Don’t you remember last Christmas Eve? The eggnog? The open fire?”
“Santa visits many, many homes.”
“But the way you filled my stocking, Santa, made me think I was something special.”
Kathleen was seated sidesaddle on Nick’s lap. She swiveled her hips and nestled a little closer to him, if that was possible. Nick could feel himself turning red. He sat up very straight, forcing Kathleen’s pose to be less suggestive.
“You’re violating a clause in my contract,” said Nick.
“What clause is that?” she asked.
“Mrs. Claus,” said Nick.
His remark drew laughter from those who were watching, and seemed to put Kathleen off-stride for a moment. Nick tried to return to a more standard, and accepted script.
“So have you been a good girl this year, Kathleen?”
“Not when I could help it,” she said.
“Well, Santa only brings gifts to those who have been good.”
“That hasn’t been my experience,” said Kathleen.
The woman turned to Darcy and said, “I’m ready for my close-up, Ms. DeMille.”
She pressed a long, red fingernail under Nick’s chin, and moved his face towards hers. “Pucker up,” she said, and leaned in.
At the last moment Nick turned his cheek so that Kathleen ended up planting most of her kiss on Nick’s beard, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes and smiles were directed at the camera.
After the flash went off, Kathleen stood up. “Same time next year, Santa?” she asked. “It’s been a real pleasure.”
Nick suspected his face was redder than his hat.
While Kathleen was buying her picture from Darcy, Angie came over and started dabbing at Nick’s beard with a kerchief. “What are you doing?” he asked
“I’m getting rid of the lipstick on your beard.”
“Santa the chick magnet,” he said.
Angie stopped her dabbing and stepped back, examining the damage. “It needs a little more soda water,” she announced, and went over to her oversized bag and poured some on the kerchief.
“Anything you don’t have in that bag?” Nick asked.
“That bag has been three years in the making,” she said. “Every year I’ve been adding to it.”
“Is three years how long you’ve been an elf?”
Angie dabbed and nodded. She stepped back, surveyed his beard once more, and seemed satisfied that all the lipstick had been vanquished.
“Thanks,” said Nick, and then remembered what he’d been meaning to tell her. “And thanks also for your snow idea.”
“Is it going to be a white Christmas for Raymond?” Angie asked.
“That’s the plan,” said Nick.
“It’s a good plan.”
“He hasn’t been doing too well, but his mother is in town today and tomorrow. Maybe that will help.”
“Nothing like family,” said Angie.
She suddenly snapped her fingers, as if remembering something, and went over to her bag. After rummaging around for a minute, she extracted a copy of a familiar letter, her quill pen, and some ink, and brought the whole lot over to Nick.
“We still haven’t answered Laura’s letter,” Angie said.
“That’s because we haven’t found Laura,” said Nick.
“I think we should answer her letter anyway.”
“What good would that do?”
“You ever hear how a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil can set off a chain of events that ends with a twister in Kansas?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard something like that.”
“Then imagine positive energy the same way. Good thoughts can travel over mountains, and under oceans, an
d reverberate and change things for the better in ways we can’t even imagine.”
Nick felt his eyes glazing over. As if some butterfly flapping its wings was going to help find Laura, or bring snow to Raymond.
“I’m not into that new age stuff,” said Nick.
“Who said anything about new age? I’m just asking you to write back to Laura.”
“And maybe we can put that letter in a bottle, throw it in the ocean, and hope a butterfly will beat its wings so that the bottle gets delivered by a bottle-nosed dolphin while Laura’s walking on the beach. I’m a cop, Angie. I want to find Laura my way, not by hocus-pocus. I intend to answer her letter in person.”
Angie smiled. “That’s it, then.”
“What’s it?”
Angie was already writing. “Dear Laura,” she said, “I intend to answer your letter in person. Love, Santa.”
“You’re one of a kind, Angie,” said Nick.
She went to her bag, found some tape, and then posted the letter on the sleigh. Her smile never left her face. Nick wished he had her faith.
Chapter 18
Up on the Housetop
December 8
Because Nick had Santa duty later in the morning, he and Charlotte met early for what she termed an “aerobic meeting.” Nick would have liked it better had she called it a date.
They walked along the La Jolla Cove, taking in the rocks and the surf while chatting. Shore birds floated overhead, and in the distance they could hear the calls of sea lions. The weather was perfect; probably seventy on the nose, and the gentle ocean breeze cooled them as they walked. Scuba divers made their way past the surf line, and there were even swimmers braving the brisk water.
“What if Laura is a nickname?” said Charlotte, “Or what if it’s not her real name? I suppose she could be Lauren, or Laurel, or Loretta.”
“Or she might go by her middle name,” said Nick.