The girl laughed in surprise. "Okay, Santa. Don’t freak out. It’s just a bike."
"No, I’m just, well, I’m just surprised you didn’t ask for a Bamelyn like all the other kids."
"What’s a Bamelyn?"
Nick peered at her from over the round steel rims of his glasses. "You mean you don’t know what a Bamelyn is?"
"No idea. Must be a Keep thing."
"What do you mean? Where do you live?"
"We’re over in Bell Plains, probably about half an hour away from here. But this is something you should already know, Santa."
"Oh!" Nick coughed and tried to get back into character. "Of course, I knew that, it’s just that, well, I rely so much on Rudolph to get me where I’m going, I sometimes forget who lives where."
"It’s okay, man," said the girl. "I know you’re not Santa Claus. It’s still good sometimes just to tell someone what you want and have him listen."
Nick smiled warmly. "I get it. You said your name was Billie, right?"
The girl nodded.
Nick motioned to Brittney, the elf, who came bouncing over in that green leotard that seemed to get smaller every weekend. She leaned over his shoulder so he could whisper in her ear.
"Let’s give Billie here a picture on me," Nick said. "I’ll pay for it myself."
"Uh, okay," Brittney said.
"And let her have as much candy as she wants."
"You didn’t give her a secret surprise when she sat on your lap, did you?" Brittney asked in a voice half-intrigued, half-appalled.
"Jesus!" Nick said. "No! It’s just Christmas. And this girl needs a present."
"Whatever, old dude," Brittney said.
"Just do it and be friendly about it," Nick whispered fiercely.
Brittney rolled her eyes and walked away.
After Billie left, the line was strangely thin. Nick checked the time. It was already eight-thirty at night! This day had just flown by. He had no idea it was that late. Soon he would be eating some fine Southern cooking. Then he would be eating his fine Southern girlfriend. Weird shit had happened to him in Elders Keep, but that Delores was making him consider staying on after the season. He had never met anyone like her before and was afraid he never would again.
A toddler was suddenly plopped on his lab, shaking him out of his thoughts of Delores. "His name is Cody," his mother was saying, "and he’s had some colon problems recently. We think he may have a peanut allergy." A horrible noise came out of Cody’s belly. It sounded like the Kraken was arising from the depths of the youngster’s colon. Nick’s eyes widened.
"Maybe we should go ahead and take the picture," Nick politely suggested.
As soon Brittney, the helpful angry elf, took the picture, Cody’s ass exploded. It was a geyser of foulness that, while mostly contained by his diaper, shot up Cody’s back like the puck in a fecal "test your strength" carnival game. Nick could see the moisture and the rapid change of color on Cody’s white shirt and he immediately picked the child up off his lap, calling for the mother to come and get the boy before he started dripping everywhere. Nick hoped the kid at least smiled for the camera.
Nick watched Cody and his mother leave, she holding the boy out from her at full arm’s length, warning the people in front of her to get out of the way, lest they baptized in filth. He couldn’t help but laugh as the crowd divided in half, like the child was in fire. Then in that crowd, Nick noticed a boy staring at him. Nick rearranged his glasses and stared back.
It was the Brian kid, that kid from the first day. The one who had first told Nick he wanted a Bamelyn. Instinctively, Nick’s arm shot out and he pointed at Brian, willing him to stay where he was. Nick could not yell, nor could he get up to go after the kid, because he was still on the clock. Dick was somewhere in the store, watching, making sure he didn’t screw anything up.
Brian stared at Nick and shook his head, almost sadly. Then he turned, walked into the crowd and disappeared.
"Goddamn it all to hell," Nick muttered, as Brittney escorted the next bright-eyed visitor to Santa’s Kingdom to Nick’s lap.
"Her name is Emily and she’s eight years old," Brittney said. "Try to compose yourself."
***
"I'M TELLING YOU it was him, Sheriff," Nick said over the phone, leaning against his car. "His name is Brian Cameron and he’s maybe ten years old."
"And you think he’s the one that damaged your car."
"I would bet money on it, Sheriff," Nick said.
It had been a weird day to begin with, but to have Rent-A-Santa on the phone, wanting to have a ten year old boy arrested, was the sweet piece of corn on the top of the turd of Sheriff Graham Strahan’s day.
"Mister Vance, with all due respect, I know the Cameron family. I’ve known Brian since he was born. He’s not that kind of kid and, believe me, I would tell you if he were."
Nick spat on the parking lot. "If you had seen that look he gave me, Sheriff, you would understand. He knows something, I guaran-damn-tee it."
"Knowing something and doing something are two different things, Mr. Vance. I know who shot John Lennon. That doesn’t mean I did it."
Nick snorted. "That’s your comforting analogy?"
Graham laughed softly. "It’s late. I’m tired. That’s all I got. Can we talk about this tomorrow? We’ll both be less cranky and I will be better equipped to see if I need to go arrest a ten year old boy."
"That’s fine, Sheriff," Nick said. "I’m sure you’re right about that."
"All right, then. Give me a call when you can. Good night, Mr. Vance."
"Thank you, Sheriff," Nick said, hanging up. Damned small towns. They certainly did things their own way. That was something he was going to have to get used to if he ended up staying on for a while. He locked his phone and unlocked his car door.
Sticking up through the cushion of the driver’s seat were about forty sharpened candy canes. On the rear view mirror, one word was smeared in something clear and sticky.
Nick ducked back out of the car, quickly, and ran around. "Where are you?" he yelled. "Where the hell are you? What do you want from me?"
It wasn’t like he expected anyone to answer. He keyed his phone. "Hey, darlin’. Do you think you could maybe pick me up at the store?"
"Sure, baby," Delores said, and her voice calmed him instantly. "Is everything okay?"
"We’ll talk about it when you get here," he said.
"Okay, sugar. I’m on my way."
***
"OH DEAR," DELORES said, and instantly put her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were huge, staring at the sweet spikes glistening in the sodium arc light of the store’s parking lot lights.
"That’s what I said," Nick said. "I said, ‘Oh, dear. Great googley-moogley, whatever shall I do?’"
She gave him a stern look and took her hand away from her mouth. "There’s no need to talk hateful, Nicholas Vance." She stepped back from it, to appreciate the whole scene from a wider angle. "Well, if you had sat on that, it wouldn’t have killed you, but it sure as shit wouldn’t have felt good, either."
"I’m telling you it was that kid, Delores. It has to be. Every time somebody fucks with me, he’s around. I know he’s doing it."
"That’s ridiculous, Nicky," Delores said, shaking her head.
"Why is it so fucking ridiculous, Dee? Kids are little shitheads. They are dangerous little monsters. Kids fucking kill each other. They pour gasoline on homeless guys and torch ‘em, just to watch them burn. They suffocate their baby siblings. They disembowel their parents while they sleep. They set Grandma’s house on fire because she didn’t buy the right kind of sugar shit cereal. Fuck kids, Dee. They’re capable of far worse than adults are because they know they won’t get punished for it. They saw it on television. It was in a video game. It was on one of Daddy’s secret DVD’s. There’s always some damned excuse and no one ever comes out and says, ‘Hey, maybe the kid is just a mean little shit.’"
Delores stared at Nick for a second, then said,
"Then there’s that point of view."
"I’m sorry, Dee," Nick said. "I just went on a little rant."
"You obviously have very strong feelings about children, Nicky," Delores said. "You’re certainly in the right occupation."
Nick patted his stomach. "Typecasting."
Delores laughed a little. "Come on. Let’s go home. Leave the car here for Sheriff Strahan to look at in the morning."
"Will that even do any good?" Nick said. "Can you dust for candy?"
"Maybe there are sugar prints in the car," Delores said.
"As long as there’s something sweet at home," Nick said, laying his head on Delores’ shoulder.
"Oh, you bet there is, darlin’," Delores said. "Come on. Everything’s gonna be just fine. Don’t you worry about a thing."
But he was worried. If he was going to stay in Elders Keep, he wanted to do so by choice, not because devil children were conspiring to make it so. But with his car becoming increasingly more fucked up, he wasn’t going to be able to leave town without a serious auto repair bill as it was.
VI
23 December
"YOU CAN COME get your car whenever you can," Sheriff Strahan said. It was breakfast at the restaurant Delores worked at, business over coffee and a short stack.
"Let me guess," Nick said. "You got nothing. Not even any prints from where they wrote ‘Bamelyn’ on my back window?"
"No prints, no fibers," All the hairs we found were either yours or Dee’s. We also heard from the Cameron kid’s doctor. Brian Cameron has an, and I quote, ‘dramatic,’ end quote, allergy to peppermint. Being near the oils or even an unwrapped candy causes his mucous membranes to swell shut. The kid literally shuts down when he’s exposed to peppermint."
"That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have told someone else to do it, though, right?"
"You’re grasping at straws, Nick," the Sheriff said. "Whoever tried to turn your ass into a candy cane pincushion unbolted your seat, made the holes in the cushion, sharpened and placed the international objects and rebolted your seat back into position. That’s not something your average ten year old is bound to do."
Nick picked at his pancakes, trying to find something that made sense in this whole thing. "Okay," he said. "If you don’t know who fucked up my car, can you at least tell me what a Bamelyn is?"
"We asked the Cameron boy about that," said the Sheriff. "He claimed to have no idea what we were talking about."
Nick threw his fork down in disgust. It clattered against his platter. "Oh, that is sheer bullshit," he said.
Strahan raised his hand. "Now, hold on, Nick."
"Sheriff, every kid in town has got up on my lap and said they wanted a Bamelyn. And it’s only kids from the Keep! Kids who come in from out of town have no idea what a goddamned Bamelyn is. But the kids here sure do. And I can’t believe they won’t tell you. Aren’t kids afraid of cops anymore? Is there no respect for authority or ones’ elders?"
Strahan chuckled. "No, Nick. There isn’t. And it makes my job twice as hard."
Nick angrily sucked down some coffee. "I’m telling you, Sheriff. Every kid in this town, every single boy and girl in this whole place, is naughty. They shouldn’t be getting anything for Christmas."
"Sounds like you’re taking your job a little too seriously, Mr. Vance," Sheriff Strahan said.
Delores walked up to the table to refill coffee cups. "He has been working awfully hard, Sheriff," she said. "Nicky’s just venting. You have to admit this has been a weird series of events."
"It has that, Dee," the Sheriff said. "It has indeed." Then, turning to Nick, he said, "There’s a real good body shop in town. I can get them to give you the same rate they give the department for work. It’s a pretty hefty discount. But they’re not going to be able to get to it until after the holidays. Are you planning on taking off as soon as the job ends?"
Nick blushed a little. "Well, I’ve been staying with Dee. I was thinking I might just keep on doing that."
Sheriff Strahan grinned. "Sounds like you’re in no rush to leave the Keep."
Nick raised a finger. "I’m in no rush to leave Delores. No offense, but I could care fuck-all about the Keep."
There was a tap on Nick’s shoulder. It was Delores. "You’ve got about ten minutes before you have to leave, darlin’."
"All right, sugar," Nick said. "Thank you."
"Well, I’d best be letting you get on your way," Sheriff Strahan said.
"Crowds are thinning out," Nick said, "but the kids still come in to say hello. You should come and listen, Sheriff. Listen to them all ask for a Bamelyn, like it’s nothing. Then watch my eyes bug out of my head because every child in this town wants something that doesn’t exist. Do you know how hard that is for a Santa? When the kids tell you what they want and you have no idea what it is?"
"I’m sure it’s terribly frustrating, Nick. No worries. It’s almost over," the Sheriff said.
"Yeah," Nick agreed. "Almost over."
***
"ALMOST OVER," SAID Dick, clapping his hand on Nick’s shoulder. "Numbers are up over last year, and last year was a good year. You did good. You should be proud."
"Glad I could help," Nick said, as he finished combing his beard. "Thanks for not being a total asshole like you threatened to be."
Dick laughed. "Thanks for not throwing me through the front window of my own store."
The men shook hands.
"Not to piss all over our little hit parade," Nick said, "but could I get you to do me a favor?"
"That depends," Dick said. "What and when?"
"I was hoping you could run me over to the sheriff’s station on lunch break so I could get my car."
Dick shrugged. "Yeah, man. That’s cool. Is Delores working?"
Nick nodded. "Yeah. Small towns. I guess everyone knows I’ve been staying with Dee, huh?"
Dick shrugged. "It’s got nothing to do with it being a small town. It’s just what Delores does."
Nick tilted his head. "What does that mean?"
Dick took a deep breath. "I mean just that. That’s what she does. She’s a Santa hag. She takes in every Santa that comes in. Every year she does it. Everybody in town calls her ‘Mrs. Claus.’"
Nick could feel his face growing red, a fresh hot rage boiling out from his liver. His fists were clenched and even though he could hear his teeth grinding, he didn’t care.
Dick backed off a step. "Whoa, buddy, I didn’t mean to burst your bubble or anything like that. I mean, you weren’t in love with her, were you? You were just fucking her while you were in town, right?"
Nick slowly shook his head from side to side.
"Oh, man," Dick said. "Oh, man, I am so sorry. Swear to God right now. So fucking sorry."
Nick’s head pounded. He could feel the drumbeat of hatred and violence thrumming in his feet, working its way up his calves. It was the rhythm of his ancestors, campfire cries and the orgasmic agony of the hunt. He swallowed hard. "Not your fault," Nick said. "I didn’t know. I just didn’t know."
"Look, man," Dick said, "I’m not gonna touch you right now because I can see how agitated you are about this turn of events. But I will be in Santa Land in time for your lunch break, we will go get your car and I’ll buy you some lunch. Does that sound good? I mean, I’m shitty at being someone’s friend, but I work retail management. I sure as hell know how to listen."
"I appreciate that," Nick said. "Maybe more than you know."
Dick checked his watch. "Now get out there. Kids want to see Santa, you know? Push the pictures, all right? See you at lunch."
***
DICK HAD MADE arrangements for Santa’s Kingdom to be closed a couple hours longer than usual. The lines were thin, schools were closed and nobody would really come out until later at night.
Dick waited while Nick filled out the paperwork to get his car back. When he came out of the station, jingling his keys, Dick yelled, "Follow me."
"Where are we going?"
Dick
smiled. "I got this place a couple towns over I like to eat. Thought you might like it."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Oh, yeah. They’ve got great Greek food."
***
LUNCH WAS COLD and good.
***
(NOW I HAVE a machine gun ho ho ho) "And what exactly, precisely, do you want for Christmas, little girl?"
The girl simply stared at him in mild horror.
He put his finger up to his lips and shushed himself. "I’m not allowed to say ‘Christmas.’ I forgot. Let’s try this again. What, exactly, precisely and absolutely, do you want for the Holidays, little girl?"
"Bamelyn."
Nick shook his head. "No. You don’t get that. No Bamelyn for you."
"But you’re the real Santa," the little girl said. "You have to bring me what I ask for."
"I don’t have to bring shit, little lady," Nick said, his breath reeking of anise. "Let’s get that straight right now. I don’t have to do bring you a goddamned thing. I do it because I choose to. And even if I choose to, I don’t have to bring you things that are stupid. Like a stupid Bamelyn."
The girl’s eyes welled up with tears, ready to cascade down her cheeks. "But I want Bamelyn!"
"I want a girlfriend who doesn’t spend all year waiting for a new expedition to the South Pole, if you know what I mean."
The girl stared.
"You don’t know what I mean."
She shook her head.
"Whatever. Look. Just take some candy from the little lady in the green unitard over there, emphasis on the ‘tard,’ because she’s a little slow and go on home. I promise there will be at least one present under your tree. Fuck all if I know what it will be."
"But Santa would know."
"Well, Santa ain’t telling, how about that? Now, go on."
The girl walked off with little candy canes in her hand.
Nick stood up. "Is that it? Anyone else want to see Santa?" He was yelling at this point. "Tomorrow’s the last day! Better make all your wishes count! Last chance to ask for a Bam-A-Lam or whatever the cornbread hell you Southerners want for Jesus’ birthday!"
Black Friday: An Elders Keep Collection Special Edition Page 19
