Tim Dorsey - When elves attack

The caregiver stood up and turned to her colleague. “Tourette’s.” They walked away.

Four women on the sofa snickered.

“Who’s in?” said Edith.

“For what?” asked Eunice.

“An adventure,” said Edith. “The world out there is our oyster.”

“But we can’t drive,” said Edna.

“They took away our licenses, not our hands and feet.”

“But we’ll get in trouble.”

“They’ll just bring us back.”

“So what’s your plan?” asked Ethel.

“I know where they keep the keys to the shuttle bus.”

“Let’s do it,” said Eunice.

“Grab the vodka,” said Edith. “We’re blowing this Popsicle stand.”

Two men in green outfits stood on the corner.

Cars automatically hit the brakes as they approached the intersection.

“You’re right,” said Coleman. “They’re actually slowing down.”

“Told you,” said Serge. “Every year there’s newspaper stories of cops who dress up as holiday characters to catch speeders. So I figured since we already have the costumes, and these assholes drive way too fast in a neighborhood full of kids…”

“That doesn’t look like a radar gun.”

“It’s not,” said Serge, aiming at another car that slammed the brakes. “It’s just a black caulking gun from Home Depot.”

“Wouldn’t a hair dryer work better?” asked Coleman. “Why not use that instead of a caulking gun?”

“Because I don’t want to look foolish.”

Coleman watched another driver slam on the brakes. “You sure we won’t get in trouble doing this?”

“There’s no law against standing on a street corner dressed like an elf and pointing caulking guns at traffic. That’s the whole problem with the general population: They’re blind to the obvious possibilities.”

“But isn’t it against the law to impersonate police officers?”

“I’d say the elf suits are a good defense that we’re making a strong effort not to look like cops.”

“But you said they dress up like holiday characters to catch speeders.”

“That’s right.” Serge aimed the caulking gun at an approaching car. “It’s the police who are impersonating elves. We’re the ones who should have the beef.”

Crash!

“Serge.” Coleman pointed at steam shooting out from under a hood. “That guy hit the brakes when he saw your caulking gun, and the other guy rear-ended him.”

The drivers were out of their cars, cursing each other in the street. Just about to come to blows.

“Everybody just calm down!” yelled Serge, running into the road. “You were speeding, and you were following too close. But since it’s so close to Christmas, I’m going to let you off with a warning.” He began walking away.

One of the motorists: “Thank you, officer.”

“Oh, I’m not a police officer,” said Serge. “Just a concerned elf with a caulking gun. Please drive safely.”

They went back to the house.

An hour later, electrical cords crisscrossed the lawn.

Serge stood at the top of a ladder, one step above where the warning label said not to step above. “Coleman, hand me another string of lights.”

“I’m tired.”

“Just hand ’em!”

Coleman grudgingly complied, reaching into an enormous box at his feet. “You bought twenty cases of lights. It filled the whole car and trunk, and I had to sit with the last box in my lap.”

“This is going to be the best display in the whole city!.. Give me another string.”

Coleman handed it up. “But why do we have to go through all this work if we’re just going to take it all down in a couple weeks?”

“Because that’s the true meaning of Christmas. Running up the December electric bill.” Serge draped another strand over a palm frond.

“How much more do we have to do?”

“Almost finished.” Serge jumped down from the ladder. “We covered all the shrubs, and the roof, and palm trees, and garbage cans, and the pile of yard waste, and the broken washing machine we rolled down to the curb. And just in time because it’s starting to get dark. I can’t wait to turn it all on and win total respect from the street.”

“What about that giant display on the next block with the inflatable snowman and life-size reindeer?”

“That guy’s obsessive. The street will just think he’s weird like the people who fill their yards with birdbaths and Roman statuary.”

“Serge, the sun’s almost down and you have four cases left. I don’t think we’re going to make it.”

“I will if you don’t slow me down.” Serge tore open a cardboard flap. “Here, take some lights from this case and make your own decoration.”

“Where?”

“The blank spot on the wall next to the front windows. Use this special tape.”

Serge resumed with accelerated motion, frantically festooning case after case. Coleman slowly taped up a few strings of his own lights.

A half hour later, they finished at the same time. Serge beamed with pride. “There! Now, to set the whole neighborhood ablaze with good cheer!”

He grabbed the main power supply cable from the house, ready to plug it into the primary string of lights. “Countdown! Five, four, three, two, one-”

A screech of tires. A GTX with gold rims skidded up to the curb in front of the Davenport residence.

Serge squinted and growled.

Inside the car, heavy necking.

“Wow,” said Coleman. “They’re really going at it.”

“Mr. Snake is getting on my last nerve. Nicole is just a kid.”

“They’re going at it even more.”

Serge stepped forward for a better view. “That’s too much activity for making out. Something’s not right.”

“Maybe they’re doing it.”

“Shut up, Coleman.”

From the car: “Stop! Let go of me! I said stop!..”

“Look,” said Coleman. “He’s grabbing her wrists. Now she’s screaming bloody murder.”

“Motherfucker!” Serge was ready to blast into a sprint.

Coleman became puzzled. “Why are you stopping?”

“Over there.” Serge pointed. “The front door opened. Jim’s running down to the street. It will be better in Nicole’s eyes if her father rescues her.”

The screaming brought other neighbors out onto their porches, just in time to see Jim reach the car. He opened the passenger door and pulled Nicole free. They both tumbled backward onto the lawn.

The driver’s door flew open. Snake raced around the car, tackling Jim. He jumped on top and began smashing away with pile-driver fists. Jim covered up the best he could, but still took an ugly beating to the face. Nicole jumped on Snake’s back. “Get off my father!”

Snake turned and gave her a wicked backhand slap across the face, knocking the girl to the ground. Then returned his attention to Jim, pummeling away again.

Suddenly Jim felt Snake’s deadweight collapse on him. He slowly uncovered his eyes to see Serge standing over them with brass knuckles on his right hand.

“Daddy!” Nicole crawled over, crying, and pushed Snake off him. “You’re bleeding!”

“I’m okay, honey.” Jim got up and hugged his daughter. Then he looked over at Serge. “Thank you.”

Serge’s mouth was solemn. “You two just go in the house.”

Jim looked down. “But what about-”

“Don’t worry about him,” said Serge. “Forget all this happened. Right now you need to get inside and take care of each other.”

Jim nodded, and he and Nicole walked toward the porch steps with arms around each other.

A shuttle bus pulled up the driveway at Bayshore Manors.

The staff gingerly helped four elderly women out of the vehicle.