Steve Hockensmith: Naughty-Nine Tales of Christmas

"So, Becky," I said, "did they ever catch the guy who ran you off the road?"

"Nuh. The copth think it wath thome joy-riding kidth. They found the car not far from where we crashed. It had been thtolen."

I put in a little more strained chit-chat out of the spirit of Christmas charity, then said goodbye to Becky and let Arlo get back to wheedling for prescription medication. A few minutes later, a middle-aged woman appeared carrying a bunch of boxes and bags. She piled them up on top of Becky and wheeled her away.

"That Becky's mom?" I asked Arlo as he trudged back towards Santa's Workshop, obviously unsuccessful in his mission and not too happy about it.

"Yeah. I was this close to scoring some Demerol and then whoosh, here comes momma."

"Demerol? Geez, Arlo, can't you just say no?"

"Man, I can't even say 'maybe.'"

A goofy grin creased his droopy-eyed face, and my heart sank. I'd been thinking about telling him what I was up to, trying to enlist him as a partner, a sidekick. But could a guy like Arlo be trusted? He'd be like Tonto with a bong, a brain-damaged Dr. Watson, Robin the Boy Wonder with Attention Deficit Disorder.

No thanks. This elf was on her own.

The last seconds of our break melted away, and the usual assortment of squirmy, mouthy kids and testy parents lined up again. Big Buck assumed the throne and gave me a nod-and another disgusting wink-and I began leading the little lambs to the slaughter.

"Just go up the stairs and tell Santa what you want," I told the first victim when we reached the gingerbread man. She stumbled up the steps shyly. As I turned to go, I heard Big Buck let out a "Ho ho ho" and ask, "What's your name, little girl?"

And then brrrrrring , there it was again-the clue phone. And this time I actually picked up.

Names. A few minutes before, Big Buck couldn't get poor Becky's name right, and her he'd met. But when I had told him "Mr. Haney's dead," he didn't bat an eye. He knew exactly who I was talking about. Why should he remember the name-or even know it in the first place? All his pal Kev had to tell him was the last Santa got hurt and he'd better get his résumé ready stat… assuming Missy Widgitz would have even bothered with résumés when she had a red suit to fill fast. I'm guessing all you'd have needed to land the job would be a big gut and low standards.

Sure, the "Mr. Haney" thing was pretty thin, I knew that. There's Becky/Betty in a wheelchair, and we tell Big Buck somebody's died-who else would we be talking about? Context, right? But, still, it ate at me.

I couldn't wait to get my hands on that tape.

But I had to wait. Hours and hours, each one crawling by like the week before spring break. Finally we roped off the entrance, hustled the last few kids through and called it quits for the day.

Usually, Kev and Big Buck would blast out of there so fast you'd think they'd been shot out of a cannon. Not tonight, of course. They were hanging out next to the throne-next to the tape recorder-talking and throwing ominous looks my way. It was like they weren't just ogling me anymore. They were sizing me up. I killed a little time chatting with Arlo, but he had a big Christmas party to go to and couldn't stay long. It was actually sort of a relief when he left: Keeping a conversation going with Arlo's kind of like trying to play chess with a cat. You end up getting a lot of blank stares.

Once Arlo took off, I didn't have any excuse to hang around, so I went to the restroom and used my regular stall-I felt like I could start having mail delivered there-and changed out of my elfwear. I tried to polish off another chapter of my book, but Big Buck's evil grin kept muscling the words out of my head. After rereading the same paragraph for the fifth time, I threw the paperback into my shoulder bag and stood up. It was Mission: Impossible time.

When I got back to Santa's Workshop, Kev and Big Buck were finally gone. There were still plenty of shoppers around-the mall would be open for another hour-so I did a slow circuit around the Workshop, pretending to window shop at some of the crapeterias nearby: Big Lots and Lady Bug and Monkeyberry Toys. Once I was sure no one was watching me, I hopped over the faux-velvet rope, hurried up the path to Santa's throne and fished around underneath for the tape recorder.

It was still there. I quickly stuffed it in my bag and motored, congratulating myself on my nerve as I scurried to the nearest exit and headed out to the parking lot.

But then I heard something that knocked the nerve (and scared the bejesus) right out of me.

"Well, hello there."

Yeah, I know. It's not exactly "Caught you, you sneaky bitch" or "Die! Die! Die!" followed by the sound of gunfire. But hey-it was Big Buck's voice, and that was bloodcurdling enough.

I turned to find a burly, fifty-ish man in a green parka lurking in the shadows just beyond the doors. His beard was gone, replaced by a stubby cigarette that jutted from his curled lips, and he wasn't wearing his red and white suit. But there was no mistaking that smarmy voice and those bright, smirking eyes.

I stopped and caught my breath. The cold air stung my lungs.

"Geez, Buck. You scared me."

"Scared you?" He seemed to like that. "You ain't frightened of ol' Buck, are you?"

I chirped out a little chuckle as fake as a plastic snowman.

"No, no, of course not. But, you know, some guy's behind you in the dark…? It's creepy."

Big Buck nodded.

"Sure, I understand. That's why I'm here, actually. I thought somebody oughta walk you to your car."

I tried to do a quick look around without being too obvious about it. It was late, but there were still shoppers coming and going. Big Buck wouldn't try something in public… would he?

"Oh, you don't have to worry about me," I said. "I know ka-rah-tay."

I put up my hands and did a little hiii-yah!.

Big Buck laughed and copied the gesture.

"Really? That's great. Cuz I know karate, too. Maybe you and I should go at it sometime."

Forget scary. Now things were getting gross .

I couldn't handle it anymore. I turned and stalked off.

"Yeah, well, gotta go, bye."

"Hey, hold on!" Big Buck called after me. He sounded genuinely surprised.

I didn't stop.

"Hold on!"

Chubby, clutching fingers grabbed hold of my upper arm.

I whirled around, tearing myself out of Big Buck's grip.

"Do you want me to scream? Cuz I will, I swear to God!"

Big Buck took a step back, hands up.

"O.K., O.K., don't touch the merchandise. I get it."

His thick lips bent into a sneering grin that pushed his cigarette up so high I almost thought it was going to set his nose hair on fire.

"I won't follow you if you don't want my protection. I'll just watch you from right here."

"Fine," I said, though of course, it wasn't. It was really, really freaky.

I looked back once when I was half-way to my car, and Big Buck was still there, watching me. I checked again in the rear-view mirror as I drove away, and there he was. Waving. I was a couple blocks away when it hit me.

Now he knows what my car looks like .

Or maybe he'd known already. He'd been waiting for me at the right exit. Had he been spying on me? Or was it all just a coincidence? Maybe he was having a smoke and out I came and he decided to have a little fun.

Or maybe the fun was going to come later…

I watched the cars behind me, wondering if I was being followed. I didn't see anything suspicious, but then again, how would I know what "suspicious" driving looks like? Who am I, Jane Bond?

I started to feel silly, stupid, nuts. Could be I'd gone crazy from boredom. Could be I was imagining everything. Most definitely I needed to stop reading books with names like Malicious Intent and Evil Is as Evil Does .