Tim Dorsey: When elves attack

Coleman’s head began to loll. “Ooooo, definitely going to be sick.”

“That’s the two-minute warning,” said Serge. “To the bathroom, now!”

Serge propped Coleman up and began leading him with an arm around his waist.

“Is everything okay?” Martha asked with concern.

“Just something he ate,” said Serge.

“Fireflies,” said Coleman, snatching air and opening an empty hand in disappointment.

Serge grinned nervously at Martha. “Where’s your bathroom? Preferably one of the less nice.”

Martha turned and pointed. “Just down the hall on the left.”

“Thanks.” Serge gave Coleman a tug around the waist. “Come on, you!”

Jim walked over to his wife. “Is everything all right?”

“Something Coleman ate…”

Outside, a vehicle with its lights off turned the corner of Triggerfish Lane and rolled slowly down the street. At the other end of the block, another car came around the corner and also killed its lights. The first vehicle, a Ford Focus, slowed and parked at the curb three houses east of the Davenport residence. The other, a black Delta 88, parked three houses west.

Drivers’ doors opened simultaneously. Two silhouettes ambled toward each other on the sidewalk. But their attention was elsewhere, eyes trained on the Davenports’ brightly lit porch.

Inside, Martha smiled warmly at City and Country. “So where do you know Serge from?”

“Saint Pete. We all had warrants at the time.”

Martha maintained composure and decided to change the topic. “Edith? How’s life been treating you?”

“Like a bitch on roller skates.” She handed Martha a small, gift-wrapped package with a big red bow.

“What’s this?”

“It’s your present. Serge was helping Jim pick something out for you.”

Martha unwrapped it and stared.

“It’s called a Yule log,” said Edna. “Here’s the power switch.”

A humming sound.

“Trust me,” said Country. “It’ll rock your world like an earthquake. Especially if you put it in your-”

“Okay!” Jim sprang to his feet. “Anyone need more eggnog?…”

Meanwhile, in one of the back bathrooms, Serge held Coleman’s elf hat and kept his head aimed for minimal mess and explanation. “There you go, big boy, get it all out.”

“Oooo God, that feels better… Wait, some more…”

Back outside: Two silhouettes approached on the sidewalk, converging toward the Davenports’ home. Fifty yards apart, the two men noticed each other, but in the dim light each considered the pedestrian coming toward him to be just a harmless night stroller out for fresh air. The first one slowed, so the second would pass before they got to the house.

The second one slowed, waiting for the other to pass.

Slower and slower until they both came to a complete halt on the sidewalk, twenty yards apart.

They squinted hard. Then their eyes flew open at the same time.

“You!” yelled the fired mall cop.

“You!” yelled the fired assistant mall manager.

They charged and tackled each other on the Davenports’ lawn, rolling and clawing and pulling hair. Both reaching in vain for guns in ankle and belt holsters. A finger got bent back- “Ahhhh!” — an eye gouged- “Ahhhh!..”

Inside the house: “What’s all that noise?” said Edith. “Sounds like someone’s fighting.”

“Seems to be coming from the yard,” said Edna.

Jim walked toward the front. “I’ll go check it out.”

He opened the door. Shouting became louder. “I’ll kill you, motherfucker!”

Martha headed for the door because she was concerned, and the G-Unit followed because they were nosy.

Two men scratched and punched, covered with grass and dirt. “You’re a dead man…”

“I’ll report you to the police!” yelled Martha.

They were too busy to listen. Then they rolled under better lighting.

“Jim,” said Martha. “That looks like the mall cop I got fired. And the other one’s the assistant mall manager I reported him to. I thought he had hair.”

“He was bald when I fired him,” said Jim.

“You fired the mall manager?”

Just then, the two men stopped rolling to catch their breath. They happened to look up at the couple standing on the front of the porch.

“You!” the ex-mall cop yelled at Martha and Jim.

“You!” the ex-manager yelled at Jim and Martha.

A spontaneous truce to unite against common foes. The men jumped up and charged the house, drawing their guns. Everyone scrambled inside and tried to close the door, but the security guard crashed through.

Soon everyone was crammed together on the largest sofa, silent, eyes following the two men pacing back and forth through the living room, cursing under their breaths and waving guns.

They crisscrossed again in front of the couch, each chugging from bottles of eggnog.

“I’m sure we can work this out,” said Jim.

“Shut up!” The ex-manager spun with his pistol. “You fired me for nothing. And your stupid wife and her stupid anonymous report got me beat up!”

The guard stepped forward with his own gun. “You got me fired, and you hired professional elves to beat me up!”

“Maybe you should slow down on the drinking,” said Jim. “In a situation like this-”

The guard and manager together: “Shut up!..”

Down the hall, Serge and Coleman crawled across ceramic tiles with big wads of toilet paper. “Make sure you wipe everything down and get every last speck. When it comes to bathrooms, wives are like those French boars that sniff out truffles.”

Coleman pulled his head out from behind the toilet. “I think that’s the last of it.”

Serge fished through the cabinet under the sink. “Here’s some air freshener.”

He tossed it to Coleman, who sprayed liberally and set the can on the counter. “What do you think?”

“Smells like you threw up a bowl of potpourri.”

“Did you hear something?” asked Coleman.

“Like what?”

“Yelling.”

“Must be the TV.” They left the bathroom and headed down the hall.

“There’s the yelling again,” said Coleman.

“Now that you mention it,” said Serge. “I don’t remember yelling in the Grinch special.”

They came around the corner. The jingle bells gave them away. Curled felt feet slid to a stop on the hardwood floor. Two men aiming guns at them.

The security guard went ballistic with recognition. “You! You’re the elves who attacked me in the restroom!”

“Wasn’t us,” said Serge. “Must have been those bad elves from the cheatin’ side of town.”

“Shut up!” Then a malicious smile. “The gang’s all here. I get to take everyone out!”

“Hey,” said the ex-manager. “I get some, too.”

“Okay, we’ll split,” said the guard. “Plenty to go around.” Then turning with rage again: “But the elves are mine!.. Any last words before I blow your brains out?”

“Yes,” said Serge. “I’d like to filibuster… The letter A is a vowel and the first in our alphabet derived from alpha in the Greek-”

“No filibuster!”

“The cloture rule isn’t in effect,” said Serge.

“Yes, it is!”

“I never heard a motion from the floor,” said Serge. “Plus, you need a super-majority, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got the votes-”

“Shut up!”

“Parliamentary pussy.”

“That’s it! You die!” The guard stretched out his shooting arm.

From somewhere else: “Now!”

“What the-”

The ex-guard went down first. Then the former mall manager.

Horrible screaming. The two assailants desperately clawed the floor in an attempt to drag themselves to safety.

Four tiny elves swarmed like piranhas. Edith bit an ear, Edna an ankle. Ethel clubbed with the Yule log. Eunice pulled an ornament off the tree and stabbed.