Originally Posted by
StratBastard
Part 3
Spencer ‘T-Rock’ Jefferson peered at him cautiously from the protective tangle of limbs wrapped around his head. “How you know my name? I know you ain’t the Po-Po.”
“No, Spence… I’m not the “Po-Po”, or your parole officer, or even your conscience. The name is Santa Claus… Nick to my friends.”
“Yeah, sure man, whatever you say,” T-Rock says. This guy didn’t look like no Santa he ever heard of. Maybe Biker Claus. Okay, sure… the suit looks like it might have been red in some decade long past; it was hard to tell, as it was pretty damned tattered and had more stains than a two dollar whore’s mattress. The pants too were in a similar state of deterioration, and were ripped out at the crotch… exposing rags which may have once been undergarments. And you really couldn’t call that beard white either; it was an unkempt, tangled, and nicotine-tinged yellow mess, with what appeared to be food particles distributed generously throughout. Peeking out of the mess was at least one dead tooth in a row of many determined to follow its lead. And his breath smelled like a dead rat marinated in whisky. “Except, like… it’s the 28th of December, dig? Christmas is over.”
“I got a late start. Where’s the kid Spence? I know she was here just a little while ago’
“Marcie’n me had us a little static, aint no big thang. She took Cecie to her Momma’s down-street for a bit,” T-Rock says, slowly lowering his arms as the tone of the conversation calmed a little. Just some old street crazy, he thought to himself. Pretty soon he’ll start hearin’ voices outside or somethin’ and totter the fuck out of here. Just play it cool man.
The old crazy fuck leveled his gaze at him, saying “You’re just gonna keep on coming back, aren’t you Spence? Gonna keep on slapping her down every time she tries to make something work for this family, and you’ll keep showing up every time you think there might be a nickel in her purse… right? Hurting and taking, that’s what you know, isn’t it? You’re just never going to go away on your own, are you?”
Spence was getting ready to lip off again, and pointed his finger. ‘Hey, this is my house, and…”
Santa didn’t really hear the rest. His undivided attention was now focused exclusively on T-Rock’s extended arm. Track marks. Fresh.
Santa’s eyes narrowed like the slits of a Nazi machine-gun turret.
“Where’s the stash, Spence old buddy?” Santa asked smiling, sweet as butter and honey but still with those laser-intent eye slits.
T-Rock looked stricken. ‘Stash? Aint no stash, crazy mother-fucker. Don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout.”
Santa considered. “It’s under the cushion, isn’t it? Where the gun was too,” he decided, turning and walking back towards the couch. Lifting the cushions, he of course found it instantly… right where it had to be.
T-Rock was instantly up and scrambling across the cold linoleum floor. He reached the beer bottle lying at the foot of the couch, and lifting it high smashed it against the table edge. Brandishing the jagged neck before him, he advanced with murder burning in his remorseless eyes.
“You a DEAD MAN, mother-FUCKER! He screamed in an ecstasy of fury. “NOBODY takes my shit… NOBODY!”
Santa turned to meet him with almost a sigh of regret. “You have to have it your way, don’t you?”
Santa pulled the door closed behind him as best he could; it was quite a mess, but she would get it fixed up soon enough. He shouldered his sack with effort and began the short walk back to the sleigh. It was quite a bit heavier than when he went in. And it was dripping.
He rolled it off his shoulders and into the back of the sleigh, where it settled with a few complaining creaks from the pine floor paneling. Take a little something, leave a little something, Santa thought to himself. He had heard that somewhere or other, and it sounded like a pretty good policy.
Along with the full ounce of high-grade China White, he had discovered a nice little wad of cash under the couch cushions… way more than the $2000 Spencer had taken from his woman. Apparently he had been into something profitable, although almost certainly at the expense of some unlucky other or others. On the Naughty or Nice List, Spence had hardly been what you could call a climber. No matter; it made a tidy little Christmas bundle for Marcie, and he had left it where she was sure to discover it… wrapped in a nice red bow of course. Cecie would get to see that dentist this year after all, and perhaps they could also move out of this shit-hole neighborhood. Santa knew that things often worked out if you just kept your best hopes in front of you and your spirits sunny and bright. He whistled “Jingle bells” as he climbed back up onto his bench seat.
He drew in a great breath, and began calling out “On Donder, on…” but broke into a harsh and extended fit of coughing. Waiting to catch his breath he nearly nodded right off, but caught himself and suddenly sat bolt upright… shaking his old head with a chuckle.
“I guess there’s no need to stand on ceremony boys, let’s just roll”
And with that, the sleigh began to roll, gaining speed quickly and lifting from the snowy ground below. Santa was feeling decidedly like his old self again, and before the night sky swallowed them completely his voice rang out once more strong and true;
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”