The Fat Man (12 page)

I sat there thinking that the last joke I was ever going to crack was a real stinker, and that I probably deserved to die just for thinking it. But I just wished I didn’t deserve it so soon.

Above me, I heard crows and vultures explode out of the trees. I figured they were too soft to watch elf carnage, but the birds were flying the coop because of the ruckus tearing through the forest and heading right for my little shindig.

As the nearsighted mistletoe geezer locked its jaws on top of my head, I smiled—

Because I spied, like every mother’s child, that reindeer really do know how to fly.

CHAPTER 14

T
he Christmas moose with the red beak may get all the ink, but, when push comes to shove, those in the know at the Pole go with the Originals: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Dunder (yeah,
Dunder
, not Donner) and Blitzen. Santa’s A-Team is a big reason the gifts get to kids on time. Elves tip our hats to the reindeer because, without them, a lot of our toys would never make it below the tree. The reindeer are top guns; so sure, they can get a little cocky and loud. At the Blue Christmas, they hog the jukebox and stand on the bar playing air guitar. With a flashy grin and granite pecs, they’ll steal your girlfriend for a few dizzy weekends in the fast lane, but she’ll be just another notch on the old antler. She’ll come back to you, red-eyed and ashamed, swearing that you’re really the one she wants, though you’ll see in her eyes that your paunch and stupid laugh make her want to heave. You’ll hate a reindeer’s guts for that. Many days, the reindeer are just plain jerks, flying low and knocking off your hat. They’re an exclusive club and you’re not allowed in. But no matter how many times they steal your girl or send you diving into the snow, when you need someone in your foxhole, there’s no better sight than Santa’s Caribou Cavalry coming your way.

Needless to say, it warmed my cold elf heart to see Comet motoring to my rescue, especially since it looked like he had discovered a seventh gear.

Now I know why they call Comet the “Tundra Tornado.” As he barreled up to where the mistletoe monsters were getting ready to sip me until I was sapped, branches, bushes and small plants flew from Comet’s wake like they had been shot out of a cannon. The air was filled with a whirl of forest shrapnel, causing my mistletoe captors to let go and dive for cover. Comet squealed into the clearing with a force so strong the mistletoe tumbleweed that seemed tough before was knocked back to Christmas Past. “If you’re waiting on me, Gumdrop, you’re backing up,” Comet hollered. “Don’t ask questions. Hop on and let’s hi-ho the silver outta here.”

Comet didn’t have to tell me twice. I could see the mistletoe plants around us had their backs up again and weren’t going to be put off so easy. I scrambled up onto Comet’s back, put an antler in each hand, and gripped them until my knuckles were white. “Giddyup,” I said. Comet launched through the forest like a missile.

Comet darted between trees so closely that with every turn, I was positive I was about to become an unofficial woodpecker. At full throttle, Comet weaved through the forest, changing direction on a dime, as if he had lost his sight. But he could see plenty. Both of us could.

Vampire mistletoe plants don’t take too kindly to their dinner being snatched from the table in such a rude fashion. They gave word that we were on the run and the whole forest was organizing into a life-sucking mistletoe army. Hoary plants were dropping from the branches and jumping from trunks, lashing out at Comet as he whizzed by. It seemed like every turn was blocked by a claw or wall of spindly twigs, but Comet would zip through another gap just in the nick of time. I looked behind us to see a hundred mistletoe shrubs fast on Comet’s heels, fangs bared, and they were starting to spread out to surround us.

A blink later, Comet pelted past a stand of trees where a mistletoe ambush was waiting. A rugged fist of mistletoe grabbed Comet’s antlers and yanked so hard Comet’s head nearly came off. I held on for dear life and did the only thing I could think of: I sunk my teeth into the plant’s knuckles that gripped Comet’s antlers and made sure it hurt. The mistletoe pulled back with a yelp and I kicked Comet in the ribs just as a platoon of shrubs nipped at his wake.

Comet took a hard left and winged it past the reach of dark mistletoe angels raining down from the branches above. There were more mistletoe villains ahead of us and still more pushing up from the other side.

We were surrounded.

I was about to raise the white flag and jump off so Comet could escape. It was me that they wanted. But with Comet’s next zigzag, I realized what he was doing.

He was tying the mistletoe into knots.

The first two batches collided in a tangle, stopping them in their tracks. The plants behind them didn’t have enough time to get out of the way and flew right into a pile, creating more of a mess. Comet made one more sharp turn and sent another wave of mistletoe into the coil that would be snarled and tangled until doomsday.

“Hey, mistletoe,” Comet said with a sneer. “Kiss this!” A second later, Comet launched straight up into the sky, rocketing over the trees and through the clouds to a sky so blue it brought tears to my eyes.

Or maybe I was crying for another reason. I can’t remember now.

Comet was a gentleman and let me compose myself for a moment before he spoke. “You hurt?” he asked. “There was a lot of bark flying around down there. You got any splinters? Don’t try and be tough; they can get infected.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I could never have flown through all that stuff. I’m not strong enough. I owe you one.”

Comet gave a snort. “Not me. I ain’t so sure you shouldn’t be hung by the chimney without care. You’re an outlaw, Gumdrop, and I don’t know if I like being in your company. No, this is a favor for somebody else.”

“Who? Dingleberry?”

“Negative,” Comet said. “Dingleberry don’t talk to me since I gave him that wedgie a while back. It was just a joke, but he’s still pretty steamed, so I wouldn’t cross the street to help that huffy little twerp. He can suck rope for all I care.”

“Who then?” I asked.

“Keep your shirt on,” Comet said. “I’m to deliver you to that clearing ahead, so you’ll see soon enough.”

Comet swooped down a few miles later to a glade just across a river from the mistletoe forest. Apparently, killer plants can’t swim because the trees just past the clearing were free from the pucker suckers. Comet barely let me climb off before he shot back into the sky without a word. I was alone with nothing but the sound of wind and water.

I don’t know why I didn’t fly away right then. Nothing was stopping me and it wasn’t like staying was a good idea. Still, something told me to hang around for a while. I had the feeling I was being watched. My guess was that whoever was watching me was in the woods, but I had my fill of forest for the moment. I decided to walk to the river and empty my head.

The water was clear and cold; the current moved fast. It looked deep too. The view up and downstream gave me no idea how far I was from anywhere, and I wondered if my rescue wasn’t a rescue at all. I wondered if Cane thought I’d be afraid to show my mug in Kringle Town and that I would choose just to starve to death by this river. Cane might have also hoped that I would become some kind of vampire from a mistletoe’s kiss, making me a threat to come after Cane. There ain’t no silver bullets in Kringle Town. But why would he send Comet to rescue me? To get me to trust him? There were too many thoughts taking laps in my head.

I mean, I could fly if I needed to, but there was nowhere to go. Nor was I too keen on the idea of being up in the reindeer’s airspace. If Comet was giving me the cold shoulder, I shivered at the thought of a dogfight with Prancer. As I pondered all of this and the mess I had gotten myself into, I did what anyone would do while pondering: I skipped rocks.

The riverbed was full of them. They were the perfect size and as smooth as velvet. Using a sidearm toss, I whipped the first stone across the water—one, two, three, four,
plunk!
I couldn’t help but smile. I sent another rock flying—seven hops before it slid into the water as quiet as a seal. Now I was going to have to break my record. I curled my finger around a stone and flung it, snapping my wrist like it had a spring in it. The rock hummed across the river, kissing the top of the water—one, two, three, four, five. Another rock whistled past mine, spraying water like some kind of Neptune pixie before it slipped into the water after eight skips. I turned around to see who or what launched the stone, but there was no one there.

I reached back to throw another rock, but before I could even get into my windup, another stone came from behind me and danced across the water like it had wings. It plopped across the water nine or ten times, cutting somersaults. Show-off.

Again, I turned around. “Pretty cute,” I said to no one. “If you think you can spook me, you’re going to have to try harder.” My answer was a rock that socked my bottom lip. It came from nowhere and skipped off my chin just as easily as it did the water. It stung and it scared me, and I had a hard time not showing it. My hands went to catch the blood and I screamed, “LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

After my echo finished ricocheting off the trees for a few minutes, I had to sit and listen to myself sniffle in the quiet. I couldn’t stop. I was beat and they, whoever they were, knew it.

“Boy, I thought someone said the bigger they are, the harder they fall, but I guess a shrimp boat can hit the iceberg too.”

I looked up and saw Rosebud Jubilee. She was working a peppermint stick with that pretty little mouth, and the cocksure rake of her hat seemed like it was mocking me. She had a handful of rocks. “Put some snow on that bottom lip and it won’t be so bad. Sorry about that, toots. My aim’s a little off.”

I did as I was told. The snow was cold, but it numbed the pain. “What were you aiming for?”

“Your upper lip,” she said with a smirk.

“Cute.”

“It’s about time you noticed, Coal,” Rosebud said.

“Oh, I noticed before,” I said. I felt like I had one good tussle left in me. “I just figured there was no point since you were writing ‘Mrs. Candy Cane’ in the margins of your notebook.”

“I never figured you for reading the gossip column, Coal. You read ‘Advice to the Lovelorn’ too?”

“Sure, I want to see if they answer my letter.”

“Did you sign it ‘Short on Romance’?”

“Nope,” I said. “I signed it ‘Size Matters.’ They haven’t printed it.”

“Must have been your purple prose. I guess that leaves you kind of blue,” Rosebud said.

“What kind of colorful language does Cane woo you with?” I asked. “Does he whisper sweet nothings in your ear or hypnotize you by dangling some sparkling ambition in front of you?”

“Green is not a good color for you, Gumdrop,” Rosebud said. “It clashes with your lederhosen.”

“You can’t blame me for being jealous,” I said, taking a step toward her. “I mean, how’s an elf like me supposed to compete with Santa’s bright boy? Cane is a big man in Kringle Town and I’m nothing. You might say we’re polar opposites.” I was close to her now and I could tell she was getting a touch nervous. I liked that, so I leaned in more. “Cane is a giant among elves.”

“Maybe size doesn’t matter,” Rosebud said.

“Maybe you want to prove it,” I said and bent forward for a kiss.

That’s when Rosebud slapped me so hard across the face I felt a molar bruise. “You’re gonna have to work a little harder than that before you drop down my chimney, Gumdrop Coal,” Rosebud said. Her back was up, but she was still smiling. “My being here is what proves I’m on your side, you nincompoop.”

“So you and Cane can rub me out together?” I asked, rubbing my jaw.

“Cane and the rest of Kringle Town are still looking for you in Whoville, thanks to me,” Rosebud said. “I sent you that note because I knew the route to the mistletoe forest wasn’t being watched. No one thinks you’re stupid enough to go to the woods.”

I figured Rosebud slapped me harder than I thought because I was confused. “Are you trying to tell me that the mistletoe forest wasn’t a trap set by you and Cane?”

“That’s right, sugarplum,” Rosebud said. “Momma has been undercover all this time to save your little hide, because you’re in over your head and you don’t even know it. You think you’re the only one who can turn invisible? You don’t have to be a Zwarte Pieten for that, toots. I know you didn’t deck the Hall schmuck, but I do think Cane knows who swiped Ralphie’s Red Ryder and shot him. I also think Cane will let you take the fall for it. He’s had your number for a long time and wants you out of the way. I’m just now sure about the why of it all.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Like every other alpha elf at the North Pole, Cane will talk a country mile to the fairer sex if he thinks it will lead to some stocking stuffing,” Rosebud said with a matter-of-fact shrug. “There’s a holy mackerel of a story here, and I’m the girl who’s gonna reel it in, buster. I don’t know what Cane’s scheme is exactly, but I know part of it was getting rid of the Coal Patrol and then punching you a one-way ticket to Banditoville. Cane thinks that my hanging on his every word is a bad case of puppy love and I let him think it. But what I was really doing was listening and waiting for the puzzle pieces to spit out of that pretty mouth of his.”