Ник Сайнт: Purrfect Santa

“Then why was he arguing with this well-dressed man?”

“Maybe he was trying to increase the payout? You have no idea who that well-dressed man is, Chase, but I think it’s safe to say he wasn’t some hitman working for the Brooklyn mob!”

“I just want to take a look,” he said, glancing up at the building.

The dog produced a loud whine. He wanted to take a look, too. And a bite to eat.

“You’re a cop, Chase. You know as well as I do you just can’t go breaking down doors. You’ll get in trouble if you do.”

“I could get a warrant.”

“You’re not NYPD anymore. You won’t get a warrant. What you need to do is talk to that NYPD buddy of yours and maybe he can take a look.”

“She.” He produced a sigh. “All right. I’ll give her a call. Maybe this cigar-puffing neighbor can even provide a description to a sketch artist and we can find this mysterious well-dressed man.”

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for whatever happened to your grandpa.”

He gave me a skeptical look. “Like winning the Publishers Clearing House.”

I shrugged. “Hey, it’s Christmas. It’s the season for miracles.”

He smiled for the first time. “You’re funny. And I can’t wait for you to meet my grandpa.”

“What are you going to tell him?”

He placed his arm around my shoulder. “That he’s in luck, for he’s about to meet the nicest, sweetest, prettiest girl in all of Hampton Cove.”

“Only Hampton Cove?”

“All right. In all of New York State.”

I cocked my head at him.

“In the entire country! There. Are you happy now?”

“I’m getting there.”

We walked to Chase’s car, and I spotted a Santa walking down the sidewalk, swinging a big bell with one hand, hoisting his prosthetic belly with his other. He looked a little seedy, the red of his costume more a dirty copper, and his beard tied up with string. He reminded me of something, though. We weren’t just here to find Chase’s grandfather, but also to find Hampton Cove’s new Santa.

I turned to Chase. “We have to go down to Thornton Fifth Avenue.”

“Why? You want to put in some last-minute Christmas shopping?”

“No, that’s where the new Hampton Cove Santa used to work.”

He nodded. “Get in. There’s nothing more we can do here anyway.”

The seedy Santa had drawn even with us, and the reek of alcohol came off him in waves. Ugh. Not what I needed to get me into the holiday spirit. “Ho ho ho!” he hollered. “Who’s the pretty lady?”

“I’m good, buddy,” I said, trying to get away from him. He grabbed my arm.

“Have you been naughty or nice?”

“Both.”

He gave me a leering grin. “Wanna get naughty with me?”

“No, I do not.”

His grin faded. “Give Santa a kiss.”

“I’d rather kiss that dog’s butt.”

But he was already puckering his lips and closing his eyes. I tried to push him away but his grip on my arm was pretty firm for someone as drunk as he was. Luckily help arrived in the form of Chase. “The lady said she’s not interested, buddy,” he said, and disentangled me from Seedy Santa.

The guy opened his eyes, his lips still puckered. “Hey, what happened to the pretty lady?”

“She turned into pretty old me,” Chase growled, getting into the guy’s face. “Now buzz off.”

Seedy Santa stared at Chase, a look of confusion on his face. “Weird things are happening,” he muttered, then staggered off. “Dames turning into dudes. Must be a Christmas miracle.”

Yeah, that was probably it. “Thanks for saving me from Santa,” I told Chase.

“If that was Santa, I’m Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” said Chase.

“No, you’re not. You’re my hero, that’s what you are. My dashing knight in shining armor.”

He grinned. “I like that.”

We got into the car and Chase drove off in the direction of Midtown Manhattan. Traffic was heavy, as was to be expected, though the streets were all pretty much snow-free. Cars were honking, and we moved along at a snail’s pace each time we got to an intersection. Chase still managed to make good time, proving he knew his way around Manhattan. He navigated some of the back streets and side streets until we suddenly arrived on Fifth Avenue and at Thornton’s, the well-known department store. He ducked into a parking garage, managed to ditch the car and we got out.

The window displays of Thornton’s depicted the nativity scene and various other Christmas-themed representations. They looked really neat, and kids stood with their noses pressed up against the glass, their parents resisting the urge to do the same. Tourists snapped pictures and when I saw that one window display featured a very realistic Santa and his elves, I knew this was the place to be.

Rockefeller Center was just around the corner, with its huge Christmas tree and its ice skating rink, so I said, “Maybe we can go ice skating after this.”

“Maybe we can find my grandpa first,” he retorted.

“Right.” I kept forgetting we were here on a mission, and not to take in the sights.

“We can go ice skating in Hampton Cove when we get back,” he offered when he saw my disappointment. “It’s not the same as Rockefeller Center but it’s pretty neat all the same.”

“Deal,” I said, and we walked into the store.

Inside, the Christmas decorations were even more pronounced than outside, and so were the crowds. We muscled our way through the milling throngs, and finally arrived at the Christmas village that had been set up in the toy section. A long line of kids stood waiting for a chance to say hi to Santa, who looked pretty juvenile, even with his white beard. I wondered if the kids were fooled.

A handsome woman with long dark hair stood watching nearby, dressed in the Thornton uniform of black slacks, white shirt and green vest, and I approached her. “Excuse me, Miss, but I’m looking for one of your previous Santas.” I showed her my press pass. “Hampton Cove Gazette. Our new Santa is rumored to be your old one. What can you tell me about him?”

She smiled. “Not much, I’m afraid. I haven’t been here all that long myself. All I know is that the previous Santa was let go because he was too old. Management wanted to hire a younger Santa this year, so they went with this one.”

We both stared at the new Santa, who was so young he should be the one dandling on Santa’s knee. “Isn’t he… a little too young?”

“He is pretty young,” the woman admitted. “But so far he’s doing a great job.”

Just then, the kid sitting on Santa’s knee slapped his face. “I want Iron Man! Not stupid Santa!”

“Well, you’re gonna get Santa, you snot-nosed little—” Then he caught sight of the parents watching on from the sidelines and he quickly corrected himself, lowering his voice to the Santa timbre. “Ho ho ho. Aren’t you a feisty one?”

The kid jumped from Santa’s lap and kicked his shin. “I want Iron Man !”

Santa winced. “And you will get Iron Man, unless you’re naughty.”

“I’m not naughty. I’m nice! I’m always nice! Everybody says so!”

Santa, having had enough, said in his regular voice, “I saw Iron Man on the second floor, buddy.”

The kid’s face lit up. “For real?”

“Sure. Now run along. He’s waiting for you.”

“Yay!”

“Go get him, tiger.”

The kid’s mother shook her head disgustedly and stalked off, her kid prancing happily by her side. “Mommy! Iron Man is on the second floor. Can we go—pleaaaaaaaase!”

“He lacks experience,” the woman said, after witnessing the scene. “But he’ll grow into it.”

“The previous Santa—the one that grew out of it—what was his name?”