by Alan Russell
Forster never gave her a chance to finish. “Bingo,” he said, hanging up the phone. “They’re nailed. Four of our victims have already picked them out of a lineup. Their lawyer is screaming about entrapment, and vigilantism, and a few other breaches of the Constitution, but the bust is going to hold. Oh, by the way Nico, the guy whose arm you broke is threatening to sue you.”
“I knew I should have let him shoot me.”
“Is Nick in trouble?” asked Angie.
Forster shook his head. “Their lawyer is just angling for the best plea bargain possible. Two of our muggers have already done time and have records. As for our bad Santa, surprise, surprise, he’s the brother of one our nasty boys. In the assault car was plenty of incriminating evidence. Our guys were stupid enough to be carrying some of the spoils from their robberies. Add to that, the gun is hot, so SDPD has plenty to charge them on. As far as the police are concerned, Nick was just doing some Christmas shopping.”
“The cops knew me,” said Nick, “and I didn’t see any need to mention that I’ve been moonlighting as Santa. That’s not the kind of PR Santa needs.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Forster. “Kids might really work on being good if they know Santa has some punishment in mind other than coal.”
“Anyway,” said Nick, “no one knows it was Santa Claus that clocked these guys, and no one need know, especially now that my job is done.”
He turned to Angie. “I brought the batting along, and the wig too, but I’m afraid it got a little dirty. I got some grease on it last night.”
“No problem,” said Angie. “I’ve got a solvent that will work wonders for you.”
Nick shook his head. “Not for me. For someone else. I was hired to get the muggers. I did. End of story.”
He wasn’t the only one versed in head shaking. Angie outdid him with her version. “No, it’s not.”
Nick looked perplexed. “You were here when I was hired. You know the job I was asked to perform. Now it’s done.”
“Your real job has just begun, Nick Pappas,” said Angie. “While you were out playing cops and robbers last night, some of us were working.”
At Nick’s puzzled expression, Angie turned to Forster. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
“Guess not,” said Forster.
“Know what?” asked Nick.
“Maybe we should show him,” said Angie.
Forster nodded. “Maybe we should.”
The two of them refused to answer Nick’s questions as they led him out to the North Pole. At first he didn’t notice that anything was different, but then he saw a roped-off section that was filled with toys and gifts. There were hundreds of toys, maybe thousands. The roped area could barely contain all the presents. Some of the packages were wrapped, and Angie found a present with a tag on it and handed it to Nick. He read the lettering: “For Laura, or a Child Like Her.”
“They started arriving right after Charlotte’s story aired at five o’clock,” said Angie, “and they haven’t stopped.”
“We received so many gifts,” said Forster, “that we started running out of floor space, and had to figure out how to distribute them.”
“They ran the story again this morning,” said Angie, “and the phone has been ringing off the hook.”
Forster was nodding. “Angie’s arranged for some trucks so that we can deliver the toys.”
“And I’m sending out a Santa with each truck,” said Angie. “That means not only can’t you quit, but you’re going to have to start working some double shifts.”
Nick opened his mouth, and then shut it, unsure of what to say. It was great that Charlotte’s story had generated such a positive response, but he had been hired to do undercover.
“I’m not trying to put you out,” he said, “but I did my job.”
Angie shook her head. “Your job’s just started. It was you who started this sleigh rolling. You can’t pull back now, Santa.”
“You’d be leaving us high and dry, Nick,” said Forster.
Tag-team wrestling, thought Nick. No, worse. They were playing good cop/bad cop. He had never thought he would see the day when an Elf could be playing the bad cop.
“If you want to give your notice that’s fine,” said Angie, “but since we’re short-handed, I’ll need you to do the right thing and give me two weeks.”
Nick did the math. “Christmas is only thirteen days away.”
“In that case you are officially Santa Claus until December the twenty-fifth” said Angie, “and that means I need you in the sleigh in ten minutes, and doing toy deliveries tonight. Your reindeer leaves at six.”
Nick turned to Forster, who wasn’t even trying to hide his amusement. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Yes I am.”
“Oh, by the way,” said Angie, “that’s what I came to talk to you about, Walt. I was able to get an extra truck tonight. You’ll be doing a Santa run as well.”
Forster stopped laughing. “But I’ve never been a Santa before. There’s got to be someone else who can do it.”
It was Nick’s turn to laugh.
Chapter 24
Jingle Bells
December 13
The gift giving never stopped. All day people came by with presents. Everyone wanted to help; everyone wanted to know if Laura had been found. There were so many people arriving with gifts that signs pointing out directions to the “Friends of Laura Drop-Off” had to be put up. By mid-afternoon toys began to spill out of the enclosure, and maintenance was called in to expand the storage area.
One suited businessman dropped off a present, and then asked if he could get a receipt for a tax deduction.
Angie said, “We don’t have receipts, but we do have this!” And then she handed him a candy cane. He went off sucking the candy cane and looking as if he had been given something better than a receipt.
The media caught wind of the story within the story; their coverage seemed to feed the frenzy that much more. Nick was sorry that Charlotte wasn’t among the reporters working, but assumed she was busy looking for Laura.
Many of those bringing gifts also visited with Santa, and Nick was kept busy posing for pictures. Everyone was in good humor, and that made the day pass quickly. There was even a little time for joke telling. As one boy with a winning smile left Nick’s lap, he said, “I know why you have three gardens, Santa.”
Nick bit at his joke. “Why do I have three gardens?”
“So you can hoe, hoe, hoe.”
Nick ho-ho-hoed. The boy’s joke reminded Nick of a long ago garden he had
planted. It had to have been at least twenty years ago—the planting bug had bit him hard, and he had pored over seed and nursery catalogs. His vegetable garden ambitions were equal parts fantasy and remembrance, spurred on by childhood memories of a lush garden bed his mother had worked every summer.
Nick hadn’t just thrown seeds in the ground. He had carefully cleared the earth of weeds, and then he had double dug the trenches and added compost. Every day Nick spent time in that garden, humming as he worked (he had heard you were supposed to talk to your plants, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that, so he hummed instead). Nick’s garden thrived and grew to bounteous proportions. The tomatoes were plump and red, the cucumbers thick and green, the peppers so big they looked like watermelons, the eggplants pendulous and glowing, the squash irrepressible, and the strawberries fat and luscious. He’d ended up giving away so much produce the other cops started calling him “Nick the Green” instead of “Nick the Greek.”
That was the only time in Nick’s life he went all out in his gardening. In the years since he had never grown anything more than a few tomato plants, and since moving into the apartment he hadn’t even grown houseplants.
Laura’s gift pile, he thought, was like his garden. It just kept growing, with seen and unseen forces sprouting hope and life. But Nick knew it was too early to be admiring the harvest. There was still a lot of work to be don
e.
When Angie finally pulled out the “Santa Is Feeding His Reindeer” sign, Nick heaved a sigh of relief, but she barely gave him time to stretch. Once they were out of the public’s eye she suddenly became a truck dispatcher. Clipboard in hand, Angie organized the toy deliveries. Nick barely had time to down a glass of ice tea and eat a burger before being told to hit the road.
“Ready to roll?” she asked. “Your truck is loaded.”
“Ten-four,” Nick said with a twang. “And where might I find my rig?”
“Your driver’s waiting for you in the back loading zone. You’ll be driving in Vixen tonight.”
Four trucks with toys were being sent out that night, and Nick had to walk by Dasher, Dancer, and Prancer before getting to Vixen. The names were spelled out in colored masking tape affixed to the sides of the U-Haul trucks. For once, Vixen was going to be the first reindeer out.
As promised, Nick’s driver was waiting for him. The tinted glass obscured his view of the trucker, preventing Nick from seeing much more than a Padres cap. He opened the passenger door, took a big step up, and then almost fell over when the trucker said hello.
He recovered quickly, and tried to mask his surprise. “Got your Teamster’s card?”
His attempt at nonchalance didn’t fool Charlotte. “Don’t need one to fly a reindeer.”
She passed him a clipboard that had a map and a list of their stops. “You navigate.”
“Can’t we do it like Peter Pan? Look at the stars, and take the ‘second to the right, and then straight on till morning.’”
“I’m afraid Santa’s flight plan is a little more specific than Peter’s.”
Nick held the clipboard up and looked to see where they were going. There were two stops, a youth center and a church. Nick had patrolled those areas off and on for years. They were poor neighborhoods, the kind where the police made a lot more visits than Santa. Their last stop would be at a Resource Center in Clairemont, a mostly middle-class area, but he knew there were always more invisible needy than anyone ever suspected.
Charlotte started up the truck, looked out her side mirror, and then swung it onto the road.
“So,” Nick asked, “are you on assignment?”
Charlotte shook her head. “I’m a volunteer like everyone else.”
“Does this rig have an air conditioner?” he asked, fanning himself with his beard.
“You’ve got to be kidding. I was thinking about turning on the heater.”
Nick opened his window, and made a contented sound as the breeze rolled over him. He heard some clinking and tinkling, and asked, “What’s that sound?”
“Jingle bells,” said Charlotte. “Someone got the idea of hanging bells on the bumpers of all the trucks.”
Even over the sounds of traffic the bells could be heard. Nick found them lulling. The two of them might not be sitting in a one horse open sleigh, but their surroundings still felt cozy to him.
“Bells sound nice around Christmas, but not so good the rest of the year. I once had this neighbor who had wind chimes up everywhere. They drove me crazy, especially when I’d work graveyard shift and try to sleep during the day.”
“Give me chimes over birds any day. My neighbor has three macaws. Whenever I go out to get a little sun it sounds like I’m in the heart of the jungle.”
Nick shifted around in his seat and tried to get comfortable. He wished he wasn’t in uniform, but Santa Claus was part of the gift delivery. Though he didn’t want to admit it, he was also stiff from his run-in with the three toughs.
Charlotte noticed his discomfort. With one hand, she rummaged around in her purse, and then extended her right hand his way. “Here. There’s some water in the cup container. After last night it looks like you could use some pain relief.”
“Who told you?”
“Angie did. Since you don’t have a cell phone or an answering machine, I count on her to keep me up to date on your activities.”
“Consider the source,” said Nick.
He took the pill from her hand, and wondered if she felt the same electric charge he did from the contact of their flesh. Nick hid what he was feeling by looking at the pill.
“Take it, tough guy,” she said, “and consider yourself lucky. I don’t think it was very smart to set yourself up as a victim without any backup.”
“You’re probably right.”
“If that’s the case, why are you looking so self-satisfied?”
Nick lifted his arm to swallow the pill, winced, and lost his smug look. Charlotte nodded as if to say, “I told you so.”
“I imagine you had a busy enough day without agreeing to be my chauffeur,” Nick said.
“It was a madhouse.” But the admission came with a smile. “The story’s taken on a life of its own.”
“I know. I did about half a dozen radio and TV interviews today.”
“You’ll probably do even more tomorrow,” said Charlotte. “Our spot is going national.”
“You mean like network news?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Congratulations,” he said, but his grimace said something else.
“What’s the problem?”
“The more media attention,” Nick said, “the more reporters, and you know how I feel about them.”
“All of them?” she asked. Her Padres cap was tilted so he couldn’t read her expression.
Nick acted as if her question needed thought, and after going through some exaggerated facial musing finally said, “There might be one exception.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Could be.”
It had been a long time since Nick had flirted for real. He needed to remember the dance, two steps forward, and then one back. For too long he had just done the backward steps.
“I’ve got the same problem with cops you have with reporters,” Charlotte said. “They make me feel uneasy.”
“Why is that?”
“It probably stems from too many traffic tickets when I was younger. That’s why I’m uncomfortable around them.”
“All cops?” Nick asked.
“Every one,” she said.
The silence filled the air for several seconds, and Nick was beginning to think Charlotte wasn’t kidding when she added, “But I do like men in uniform, particularly a Santa Claus uniform.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
Nick felt pressure in his upper chest. He wanted to dare the moment, to take another step forward, but wasn’t sure how. Then he noticed Charlotte’s right hand was on the seat instead of the wheel. Nick reached over and put his hand on top of hers. She turned her hand over and their fingers intertwined. As if to announce the moment, the bells suddenly rang out in loud chorus.
Chapter 25
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
December 14
The Christmas countdown had brought out the Saturday crowds at the mall, and with it more and more Laura presents. It seemed as many people were arriving with packages as were leaving with them. Judging by how many presents were being dropped off at the North Pole corral, the Laura story was on the mind of many San Diegans.
For whatever reason, though, not as many people were visiting Santa’s sleigh, and that left Nick and the elves with too much leisure time. In an attempt to keep occupied, they started playing a version of What’s My Line, guessing the occupations of people walking by. As the day wore on they grew more and more silly, and now the object of the game was as much to make everyone else laugh as to guess a vocation.
They picked their latest target, a man with slicked back hair, gold chains, and leather pants.
“Undertaker,” said Nick. At first he had refused to join in the guessing, but now he was doing more than his share of participating. All the laughter had proved too infectious to resist.
“Used car salesman,” said Angie.
“No,” said Darcy, “a telemarketer.”
There didn’t seem to be any agr
eement, so their eyes shifted to another target.
“President of the Junior League,” Darcy said, pointing out a well-dressed woman who was walking along with a very straight back and her nose lifted high.
“Interior designer for custom properties,” said Nick.
“Wrong,” said Angie. “She writes an etiquette column.”
Darcy nodded. “It’s called, ‘No, Thank You.’”
Everyone started laughing. Their laughter abruptly stopped when six men approached their sleigh. No one had to guess what these men did for a living. For once, Danny Brown was leading the blocking for his offensive line. The men behind him were huge, all of them well over three hundred pounds. They looked mean and intimidating.
They were there to see Santa Claus.
“Hello, Santa.”
“Hello, Danny,” said Nick.
“Brought you a game ball,” the quarterback said, and handed Nick the ball.
Nick looked at it, and then at the quarterback, not quite knowing what to say. “Thank you,” he said. “I feel honored. I also feel like I don’t deserve this.”
“Savannah made sure I brought it to you,” Danny said. “I think she was looking at it as insurance. My baby was thinking if you get the ball, then she’ll get all the presents she wants and then some.”
“Smart girl,” said Nick.
“You can tell who calls the signals at our house.”
A crowd had gathered to gawk at the huge men. Danny leaned close to Nick and spoke so only he could hear: “Hey, the guys kept saying that you came through for us last week, and since tonight’s my night for treating my line to a steak dinner— my way of keeping on their good side—darned if these boys didn’t decide that maybe we should come and see you before we go eat.”
Nick wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of being a good luck charm. What would happen when the luck ran out? Getting on the bad side of men who weigh half a ton isn’t the wisest thing to do. Individually, these behemoths would have drawn stares. As a group, they were now bringing mall traffic to a standstill.