Tim Dorsey - When elves attack

Serge swiftly grabbed a giant terra-cotta flowerpot off the porch and smashed the man on the side of the head. Then he socked him in the jaw. The man went backward, losing his balance. He crashed through the side porch railing and landed unconscious between a tall hedge and the house.

Serge sniffed the air. He lifted his left leg by the ankle and checked the bottom of his shoe. “Damn.”

The door opened. Martha stood speechless, looking at a porch covered with broken pottery, busted pieces of porch railing, and Serge in an elf suit with a green shoe caked in poop.

He lowered his leg. “I can explain.”

F ive minutes later.

Three heads poked out from behind a palm tree. Martha screeched backward out of the driveway and sped off down Triggerfish Lane.

“Excellent,” said Serge.

“You call this excellent?” said Jim. “Martha’s a hair from divorcing me if she doesn’t crash the car first, my porch is half destroyed, and there’s a drunk guy with a huge gun somewhere in the shrubs.”

“All in a day,” said Serge. “With Martha gone, it’s an excellent time to get the guy out of there. Imagine if she stayed home and saw us dragging him unconscious across the lawn with a. 44 Magnum. Hallmark doesn’t make that kind of card.”

Jim grabbed his head with both hands and rocked feverishly. “Ooooo, it’s starting again. It’s just like the last time…”

Serge pulled Jim’s arms down. “You have to get a grip.”

“But every time you enter my life…”

“And every time I save you, right?” Serge lifted Jim’s chin. “Am I right or not?”

“No, you’re right. It’s just the stress.”

“Here’s the plan,” said Serge. “Go back home and act like nothing happened.”

“What are you going to do?”

“You don’t want to know,” said Serge. “In fact, forget there ever was a guy.”

“How am I supposed to forget something like that?”

“I don’t know,” said Serge. “Get busy doing something to take your mind off it. I’m sure your floors could use a good going over.”

A ’72 Chevelle raced east on Interstate 4.

Past the exit for the annual strawberry festival in Plant City. A dinosaur statue advertised a roadside attraction of more dinosaur statues. An RV dealership tried to lure customers from the highway with a row of silver Airstream trailers buried halfway in the ground straight up.

Serge took an off-ramp for Lakeland. He held a driver’s license under the map light and navigated through the streets for an address.

“Good, it’s rural.” Serge cruised slowly through a sparse neighborhood with drainage ditches near the road and no sidewalk. He slowed and double-checked the street number again. “This is the place.”

The Chevelle backed into the driveway. The trunk opened. Serge grabbed wrists.

Coleman grabbed ankles. “How many times have we done this?”

“I’ve lost count.”

“He’s heavier than most.”

Twenty minutes later. Thick ropes tied cowboy boots to the legs of a wooden chair, sitting alone in the middle of a dark living room. More ropes around his chest and hands.

Serge was faced the other way, on his knees, assembling another unique… well, what the hell was it?

“Serge.” Coleman tossed back some pills. “What the hell is it?”

“You’ll see.” More twisting, pressing, clamping. Reaching for additional parts.

“Where’d you get all that stuff?”

“Toy Town. It was supposed to be a few of my Secret Santa presents for you, but something came up.”

“Don’t those toys go separately?”

“That’s what most people think.” Further assembly. “The power structure starts boxing in your mind when you’re small. People think these are just toys, but they’re also agents of mind control. Luckily I broke the chains early.” Serge snapped a final piece in place and stood proudly. “Judge for yourself. The fruits of a free individual.”

“I don’t get it. Looks like those modern art things at the museums you always drag me to. I don’t get those either.”

“The free-thinkers will get it.”

Muted screaming from across the room. Serge turned and faced the hostage. “Maybe he’s a free-thinker. Let’s find out!”

Serge skipped across the room and pulled the duct tape off his mouth.

“Ow!”

Serge gestured at his creation. “Tell me what you think. Your honest opinion, don’t hold back. And don’t be embarrassed if you don’t get it. They probably got to you early with the toys.”

“I swear, I wasn’t going to do anything to Jim.” Tears streaming down cheeks. “I only wanted some answers.”

“Then what was the gun for?”

“That was just to scare him. Please don’t hurt me!”

“Why would you say something like that?”

“Because… that thing.”

Serge glanced across the room. “Looks harmless enough to me.”

“Listen, if you let me go, I swear you’ll never see me again.” Chest heaving. “I’ll forget Jim ever existed.”

“Really?” Serge nodded to himself. “That sounds awfully generous of you.”

“Oh, thank you. You won’t be sorry.”

“And you probably even believe that yourself.” Serge tore off a new stretch of duct tape and strapped it around his mouth. “The problem is that you’re an unknown variable.”

“Serge?” Coleman took a big sucking hit on a joint. “What’s an unknown… that other word you used?”

“Some people you can reason with. Others you have to threaten, but even most of those respond logically to the threats. They behave in a predictable pattern.” Serge walked back across the room and joined Coleman. “But this loser doesn’t know what he’s going to do next, so how can we? As long as he’s out there, a decent family isn’t safe.”

“And now I get to see what your device does?”

“Not yet.” Serge looked down at his curled green toes. “I paid a lot for these elf suits. I’d like to get some use out of them.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Since we have an audience, how about a song-and-dance routine?”

Coleman took another big hit and set it down in an ashtray. “Lead on.”

“And I’ll need that joint.”

“But you don’t get high,” said Coleman.

“There are other uses.” And Serge put it to use.

“Oh, yeah,” said Coleman. “Cool.”

“Ready?”

Serge and Coleman stood side by side in front of the hostage, wiggling against the ropes and squealing under the tape.

“What do I do?” asked Coleman.

“Just put your hands on your hips and kick those bell-fringed shoes out in a merry jig. We’ll make up the song as we go along.”

The pair began kicking and jingling.

Serge: “A one, and a two and… Ohhhhhh, what the heck can that contraption be?”

Coleman: “What the fuck’s going to happen to me?”

Serge: “These crazy elves are all over the map.”

Coleman: “But don’t have a cow, and don’t you crap.”

Serge: “Because Santa Claus is cominnnnnnnng… to town!”

The 911 calls came in all at once. At least a dozen neighbors.

And even more sheriff’s cruisers, parked helter-skelter across the front yard of a rural home in Lakeland.

People stood on front lawns in nightgowns and pajamas. A news truck arrived.

Detectives climbed out of a white Crown Vic and approached the crime tape.

A deputy stood beside the door. “Hope you haven’t eaten anything big lately.”

“What have we got in there?” asked the lead detective.

“Medical examiner’s already inside.”

The detectives ducked under the yellow ribbon.