Andrew Klavan - True Crime

“Come on, Daddy, come on!” Gail said again.

She tugged at him some more, but Frank stayed where he was another moment. Slowly, as I watched him, he raised his hand to me. He lay his finger against the shock of hair on his brow and then lowered the finger and pointed it my way. A salute, you could call it, or maybe a farewell.

I raised my cigarette and tilted it back at him, and he laughed. Gail was pulling him away, along the sidewalk. He wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulder and pulled her to him and the three of them went off together toward the carousel.

I watched them moving off through the snow. I watched them until they passed out of sight behind the edge of the building. Then I glanced around.

The Pussy Man’s streaked red-and-yellow eyes were staring at me out from under the furry fringe of his elf’s cap.

“Shit,” I said.

I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled my wallet out. I snatched out a ten and stuffed it roughly into his tin can.

“You might as well take it before my wife does,” I said. “Now get out of here. Go drink yourself to death.”

“Hey,” said the Pussy Man. “A ten? You got more money than that, you got money on …”

I glared at him.

“Okay, okay,” he said. He plucked the bill out of the can, crushed it in his fist and stuck his fist in his coat pocket. “Thanks, newspaper man. I been out here two hours. I’m freezing my ass off.”

I shook my head. “What the hell,” I said. “For all I know, you really are Santa Claus.”

I tossed my cigarette into the gutter and started walking off across the parking lot toward my car.

What the hell , I thought. For all I know, he really is .