Tim Dorsey - When elves attack

The facility’s director came out in alarm. “Where’d you find them?”

“A club in Ybor City,” said the driver. “With shirtless male bartenders.”

“How’d they get the shuttle bus?”

A shrug.

“Okay, take them inside. It’s getting late…”

The quartet of women shuffled into the dayroom to watch Seinfeld in syndication.

“They caught us,” said Edna.

“So what?” said Edith. “They just brought us back. I told you we wouldn’t get in trouble.”

“They’re going to do something,” said Eunice.

“No they’re not.”

One of the caregivers walked over with a look of concern. “You really had us scared. Please don’t do that again.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

The woman walked away.

Edith smiled at the others. “See?”

“Well, at least it was fun while it lasted,” said Ethel.

“What are you talking about?” said Edith. “That just whetted my appetite.”

“But they locked up the keys to the shuttle bus,” said Eunice. “We won’t be able to get away now.”

“So we’ll call a cab.”

“And do what?” said Ethel.

“We need to hook up with someone we already know, for safe harbor.” Edith got up and shuffled across the room. “So they won’t be able to track us down next time.”

“Where are you going?” asked Edna.

“To the computers.”

“I don’t think they’ll let us on after what we pulled today,” said Ethel.

“Of course they will,” said Edith. “They’re always encouraging us to get online and keep our minds sharp.”

A few minutes later, the rest of the G-Unit huddled around Edith, tapping away on the keyboard.

“Facebook?” said Edna.

Tap, tap, tap. “You can find anybody on Facebook.” A few more keystrokes. Edith sat back, gesturing at the screen. “And I just found him.”

“ That guy?” said Ethel.

Edith leaned forward again and typed. “I’ll just send him a message, and then we wait and keep checking the computer until he responds.”

“How do you know he’ll respond?”

“I hit him with a snowball.”

Two hours after sunset. Four lawn chairs sat in a row on the front yard, facing the house.

A patio table at the end, with bottles of booze and an ashtray full of roaches.

“Hurry up already!” said City.

Country took a hit and stubbed out another joint. “Stupid Christmas lights. This better be good.”

“It’s going to be great!” said Serge. He held a pair of electric cords a few inches apart. “Countdown: three, two, one!” He plugged them in.

Their faces lit up with awe at the bright, reflected light of over a thousand colorful little bulbs.

“Ooooooooooo.”

Even City and Country were impressed.

“I especially like what you did with the palm trees,” said City.

“Looks like a Corona beer ad,” said Country. She turned back to the house. “But what’s that dark spot. The lights didn’t go on.”

“That’s Coleman’s project.”

“Serge,” asked Coleman. “Can I do mine now?”

“Just one second,” said Serge. “I want to set the mood. Did you know that the first Christmas ever celebrated in North America took place in the Sunshine State? It’s true: In 1539, the discoverer Hernando de Soto held festivities in Tallahassee, and since it’s Florida, the spot is now marked by a kiosk.” Serge looked up at the stars. “What must it have been like in such a pioneering time to experience Christmas in the yet-unexploited peninsula. Better still, what if de Soto had Christmas lights? These are the questions that need to be asked. What kind of decoration would such a courageous explorer create to commemorate the first Christmas in the New World? Let us pretend.” Serge turned to his pal. “Go for it!”

Coleman held his own electrical cords. “Three, two, one!” He plugged them in. “Cool!”

The others stared curiously at the strands of Christmas lights forming an outline on the wall of a giant dick and balls.

“De Soto had unusual tastes,” said Serge.

Across the street, Martha Davenport watched through the window with binoculars. The last set of lights caught her attention. “What the-?”

Serge stood up. “But we’re not finished! My finest hour awaits!” He walked to the porch and returned with bigger wires and a control box like he was going to run a toy train set.

“What’s that stuff?” asked Coleman.

“I got the idea from when I used to have a toy train set.” Serge patted the control box. “I customized this from parts I bought at Radio Hut. The two big dials are variable voltage controls. I twist them back and forth to brighten and dim the lights.”

“What for?”

“The crowning jewel of my kick-out-the-jams Christmas display! It’s like building models as a kid. And what was the best part of building models?”

“That’s easy,” said Coleman. “Blowing them up with M-80s.”

“Except I’m not going to blow something up. Actually sort of, but not really, but, well, you’ll see.”

Coleman reached in his pocket. “I definitely need to blow some gage for this.”

“Mellow,” said Serge. “We’re on a neighborhood street. It’s bad enough Country finished that last roach out here. We don’t need to do anything strange to attract attention.”

“I got the answer.” Coleman snapped his fingers. “I’ll use a one-hitter that looks like a cigarette.”

“Regular brain trust out here.”

Coleman packed the end of a thin metal tube painted white. “But those wires don’t look like the others.”

“Because they’re not.” Serge held one up for illustration. “My crown jewel needed more amperage, so I ran these special high-capacity extension cords from one of those weird outlets behind the oven in our kitchen. Then I spliced the control box to manipulate the effect. You know those crazy Christmas displays on YouTube where the lights dance to music?”

Coleman passed the hitter to Country. “There’s going to be music?”

“No, but some serious audio. I was going to do this project anyway, but then a special feature fell into my lap…”

From the darkness: “You’re a dead man! I am so going to kill you!”

Coleman turned to Serge. “I don’t think Mr. Snake is enjoying this as much as we are.”

“Because he doesn’t have a personal involvement in the project like us. But that’s about to change in a big way.”

Serge reached for the left dial and ever so slowly turned it clockwise. Lights grew brighter.

The foursome raised their eyes. Snake sat in a chair at the very top of the roof, wrapped countless times with rope and Christmas lights… Getting brighter…

Coleman leaned over. “What’s the second dial?”

“Volume control.”

Coleman strained for a look at the roof. “I don’t see any speakers.”

“Snake is our speaker.”

“But how…?”

“You know all those piercings he has?”

“Like a pincushion.”

“The other dial controls a second set of lights, except I removed the lights and wired their sockets to his piercings.”

Coleman took a hit. “Righteous.”

“Observe.” Serge looked up and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Are you going to stay away from Nicole?”

“Fuck you! I’ll do whatever I want!”

A quick twist of the dial.

“Ahhhhhh!.. Dammit!”

“And I also want you to stay away from Jim and his whole family.”

“Eat shit!.. Ahhhhh!.. Stop doing that!”

Serge winked at Coleman. “I think you get the picture.”

“But, Serge,” said Coleman, glancing up the street at people on porches. “Aren’t you worried about the neighbors calling the police?”