There's a gingerbread man in an alley off Lollipop Lane giving out suck jobs for a candy cane. Lit on sugar stick, poor bastard's got his eyes on the oven. He wants to go back in. Came out too early the first time; came out soft. Now he wants to stay inside until he's good and crisp, maybe even burnt up. Woe to the next Jelly Donut Jon who crosses him. That fool's gonna get cut open, strawberry filling spilling out everywhere. The Calico Pimp prancing around in boots, she won't be happy about it, but she'll let it slide. She'd rather a donut died than her golden throat disappeared. A lot of coins go down that gullet flowing to her pocket on a river of cream.
Seeing that, not back in town five minutes, I realize I don't want to be here, but I heard from Vixen. She needs me. I promised I'd come if she ever called.
I notice a car creeping behind me. It could be any of a dozen rotten eggs I don't care to see. Still, I pull my motorcycle into a diner on Butter Cream Boulevard. By doing so I'm practically inviting an unpleasant conversation. My only hope is they let me have a cup of hot cocoa before things get real.
Sitting at the counter I wave to the waitress. When she comes over she can't take her eyes off my nose. Most folks can't, whether they know what it means, or not. I can't get used to it. It's like they never seen red before.
Snapping my fingers I say, "Hey, cup-a cocoa. Extra marshmallows."
"I'll have that right up." She hops to it. Blink of an eye there's a steaming mug in front of me. I get one delicious sip before a badge sits next to me.
Glancing over I recognize the copper, "Detective Lorenzo Elfberg, what a pleasure to see you again."
"Cut the shit Rudy. What the fuck are you doing back in town?" Lorenzo is from the old school, back when questioning a suspect meant beating a confession out of someone with a frozen hose. I know. He's asked me a few questions.
I shrug, "No reason I can't be."
"I bet I could find something." Sliding into the vacancy beside me is a snowman.
I ask, "Who's this Frosty?"
Next thing I know the snowman slams my head into the counter. A few patrons look over, but as soon as Lorenzo flashes a badge they look away.
Snowman growls, "The name's Milkshake. Milkshake Snickerdoodle, and you don't use that word around me, got it punk?"
Sitting up I straighten my leather jacket. Now isn't the time to get weird. However, I've been around. I know a fishing expedition when I see one.
So I say, "Didn't mean nothing by it. Heard it in a snowballer song. Figured y'all call yourself that now, taking it back as it were."
Milkshake snorts, "Whatever ya backwoods whitetail trash."
"Now who's being insensitive?" I say, and take a sip, "You boys ought to have some of this. It's damn fine. Might even calm you down."
Lorenzo plucks a marshmallow off my coaster. He says, "Whatcha been doing with yourself?"
"Not that it's any of your business, I've been on the outskirts settled in with my girlfriend, Cari Bou. Told her I had business in the city. Only just rode in a half hour ago."
"She a good woman?" Milkshake asks.
"The best," I say. Never meant it before, not even with Vixen, though once upon a time I thought I did.
Milkshake says, "Then I bet you're in a hurry to get back to her."
I am, but won't admit it. Watching the cops leave I can't help thinking a strong shove this early -- something is definitely stirring. A smart person would take those threats seriously, and make no mistake when a cop says leave town there's always a threat in there, but I'm not smart enough to do what's best for me.
After finishing my cocoa I get back on my bike. The engine growls, and I almost miss the sound of jingling bells, the shimmer of chimes. Eyes to the sky I see Big Red's sleigh shooting across the heavens. A practice flight every night on the week before Christmas -- some things never change. Then I notice something isn't right. The silhouette of the sleigh suggests a reindeer is missing. I can't be sure which, but it puts a cold unpleasantness in my belly.
So I speed my ass over to Vixen's house. When I left she lived in a nice part of town, one of the perks of being a flier. Of course, she isn't the original Vixen. That'd make her centuries old, but she qualified back in the day, got to assume the call sign when the time came. So it's a bit of a shock to see her jelly dot bungalow is a cracked, half melted mess.
Parking my ride I notice a group of teddy bears loitering on the corner. They seem to be watching the place. Discretely getting a gun out of my saddle bag I stash it in a jacket pocket before heading up to Vixen's.
Knocking on the door causes it to open. That's not a good sign. Going inside I find the place isn't just torn apart, worse, there's blood on everything. Something vicious happened here, but I doubt I've got time to stick around. Still, there's seconds enough to notice one oddity.
On a wall there's a poster hanging that says, "Re-elect Papa Nash!" He's the mayor of this icy burg. If he gets re-elected that'll mean a fifth term, adding up somewhere near 22 years. However, anyone with half a brain, not living in denial, knows Papa Nash doesn't run shit. Big Red is the only one with any political power. Vixen knew that, hell, she taught it to me. So why the poster?
She used to say, "Things have to change, Rudy, but sometimes I doubt they will. Not with a vote anyhow."
I hear sirens in the distance. Sensing a frame up is in the works I don't waste time. Hurrying outside I see the teddy bears have converged on my bike.
As I approach my ride the largest teddy bear says, "Where you think yer goin'?"
Instead of chit-chatting I fire a few rounds into the bear's foot. The rest scatter allowing me to hop on my bike, and ride. I know where I need to go, but I don't know if there's time.
Seeing that, not back in town five minutes, I realize I don't want to be here, but I heard from Vixen. She needs me. I promised I'd come if she ever called.
I notice a car creeping behind me. It could be any of a dozen rotten eggs I don't care to see. Still, I pull my motorcycle into a diner on Butter Cream Boulevard. By doing so I'm practically inviting an unpleasant conversation. My only hope is they let me have a cup of hot cocoa before things get real.
Sitting at the counter I wave to the waitress. When she comes over she can't take her eyes off my nose. Most folks can't, whether they know what it means, or not. I can't get used to it. It's like they never seen red before.
Snapping my fingers I say, "Hey, cup-a cocoa. Extra marshmallows."
"I'll have that right up." She hops to it. Blink of an eye there's a steaming mug in front of me. I get one delicious sip before a badge sits next to me.
Glancing over I recognize the copper, "Detective Lorenzo Elfberg, what a pleasure to see you again."
"Cut the shit Rudy. What the fuck are you doing back in town?" Lorenzo is from the old school, back when questioning a suspect meant beating a confession out of someone with a frozen hose. I know. He's asked me a few questions.
I shrug, "No reason I can't be."
"I bet I could find something." Sliding into the vacancy beside me is a snowman.
I ask, "Who's this Frosty?"
Next thing I know the snowman slams my head into the counter. A few patrons look over, but as soon as Lorenzo flashes a badge they look away.
Snowman growls, "The name's Milkshake. Milkshake Snickerdoodle, and you don't use that word around me, got it punk?"
Sitting up I straighten my leather jacket. Now isn't the time to get weird. However, I've been around. I know a fishing expedition when I see one.
So I say, "Didn't mean nothing by it. Heard it in a snowballer song. Figured y'all call yourself that now, taking it back as it were."
Milkshake snorts, "Whatever ya backwoods whitetail trash."
"Now who's being insensitive?" I say, and take a sip, "You boys ought to have some of this. It's damn fine. Might even calm you down."
Lorenzo plucks a marshmallow off my coaster. He says, "Whatcha been doing with yourself?"
"Not that it's any of your business, I've been on the outskirts settled in with my girlfriend, Cari Bou. Told her I had business in the city. Only just rode in a half hour ago."
"She a good woman?" Milkshake asks.
"The best," I say. Never meant it before, not even with Vixen, though once upon a time I thought I did.
Milkshake says, "Then I bet you're in a hurry to get back to her."
I am, but won't admit it. Watching the cops leave I can't help thinking a strong shove this early -- something is definitely stirring. A smart person would take those threats seriously, and make no mistake when a cop says leave town there's always a threat in there, but I'm not smart enough to do what's best for me.
After finishing my cocoa I get back on my bike. The engine growls, and I almost miss the sound of jingling bells, the shimmer of chimes. Eyes to the sky I see Big Red's sleigh shooting across the heavens. A practice flight every night on the week before Christmas -- some things never change. Then I notice something isn't right. The silhouette of the sleigh suggests a reindeer is missing. I can't be sure which, but it puts a cold unpleasantness in my belly.
So I speed my ass over to Vixen's house. When I left she lived in a nice part of town, one of the perks of being a flier. Of course, she isn't the original Vixen. That'd make her centuries old, but she qualified back in the day, got to assume the call sign when the time came. So it's a bit of a shock to see her jelly dot bungalow is a cracked, half melted mess.
Parking my ride I notice a group of teddy bears loitering on the corner. They seem to be watching the place. Discretely getting a gun out of my saddle bag I stash it in a jacket pocket before heading up to Vixen's.
Knocking on the door causes it to open. That's not a good sign. Going inside I find the place isn't just torn apart, worse, there's blood on everything. Something vicious happened here, but I doubt I've got time to stick around. Still, there's seconds enough to notice one oddity.
On a wall there's a poster hanging that says, "Re-elect Papa Nash!" He's the mayor of this icy burg. If he gets re-elected that'll mean a fifth term, adding up somewhere near 22 years. However, anyone with half a brain, not living in denial, knows Papa Nash doesn't run shit. Big Red is the only one with any political power. Vixen knew that, hell, she taught it to me. So why the poster?
She used to say, "Things have to change, Rudy, but sometimes I doubt they will. Not with a vote anyhow."
I hear sirens in the distance. Sensing a frame up is in the works I don't waste time. Hurrying outside I see the teddy bears have converged on my bike.
As I approach my ride the largest teddy bear says, "Where you think yer goin'?"
Instead of chit-chatting I fire a few rounds into the bear's foot. The rest scatter allowing me to hop on my bike, and ride. I know where I need to go, but I don't know if there's time.
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