The Fat Man_ A Tale of North Pole Noir - Ken Harmon [50]
Dead.
Didn’t see that coming. Where’s Rudolph when you need him?
CHAPTER 19
A Warped, Frustrated Old Man
Potter’s body was heaped on the floor like a pile of laundry. The wheelchair beside him was empty and eerie. The whole scene was about as charming as the mumps, but I didn’t turn away until I heard the voice behind me.
“I see a vacant seat. A chair without an owner, carefully preserved.”
I turned to see a sight that could only be seen in a place like Pottersville—Not So Tiny Tim.
The place across the bridge from Kringle Town warps everything and, in Pottersville, Tiny Tim was a hulking hunchback, a monster carrying a big stick. He limped toward me, dragging a bum leg and leaning on a crutch that looked like it could turn the Ten Commandments into gravel. He smiled like he had just burned down a church. “Gumdrop Coal,” he said. “Welcome to the winter of our discontent.”
“Tim, what are you doing?” I stammered. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, I think you know, sir,” Not So Tiny Tim said. “You said as much on the boat a few days ago. You just had no idea how far things had progressed.”
The memory of the boat ride to Misfit Isle roared back into my brain. I remembered how I had teased Tim about being too nice for his own good, how he should use that crutch of his to clean a few clocks. I thought the little guy went quiet because of modesty. Now I knew that Tiny had crossed the bridge into Pottersville and turned into big trouble.
Not So Tiny Tim saw the light go on in my brain and decided it was time to get down to business. “Billy,” he said, “Mr. Coal and I need to talk alone. I assume you were able to finish your assignment?”
A wide, sick grin burst out of Uncle Billy’s face and he shook his head “yes” like it wasn’t fully connected. “I did indeed,” he said. “I did indeed. No worries there.”
“Very well,” Not So Tiny said. “Then you will find a bottle and a booth waiting for you at Nick’s, Billy. With my compliments.”
Uncle Billy was too excited to speak. He gave a quick little bow and hustled out the door without giving me another thought.
“I saw old Sherlock Stetson out there in the graveyard. Or what’s left of him,” I said. “Is that what earned Uncle Billy your compliments?”
“I’m afraid so,” Not So Tiny Tim said. “The Misfit detective chose the wrong time to actually solve a mystery. I could not let him disrupt our plans.”
“So am I next?”
“That, Gumdrop Coal, is entirely up to you,” Not So Tiny Tim said. “However, based on the wisdom you shared with my good version back in Kringle Town, I hoped to compel you to follow your own advice and join us here in Pottersville.”
“Why would I want to do that?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“To redefine the meaning of Christmas,” Not So Tiny Tim hissed. “Gumdrop, you should be proud of the beating you gave Raymond Hall and that other rabble. You discovered the justice of practical thought and swift, appropriate action. My hope is that you have finally purged yourself of Kringle Town’s diet of sentimental hogwash and will now savor a feast of power and influence that is served when you view the world as hopeless as it really is. Christmas should reflect that hopelessness and focus instead on getting what you deserve. And when the Fat Man is out of the way, we can do just that!”
Panic ripped through my gut like a bad burrito. “Tim, you don’t mean that. Let’s go back to Kringle Town, where you can get right again.”
“Pish-posh, Gumdrop,” Not So Tiny Tim said. “This is where I belong and so do you. In Kringle Town, Tiny Tim is a boring, pathetic Boy Scout who limps through the holiday pageant like vanilla eggnog. Potter gave me a talking-to a while back and pointed out that as a sinner, Uncle Scrooge was interesting, rich and respected. When he changes, the story is over. As Tiny Tim, I was tolerated, but only barely so. Following Potter, I crossed the bridge a few times to see if it was true. Every time I did, I grew up to the