The Fat Man_ A Tale of North Pole Noir - Ken Harmon [51]
“I wasn’t thinking,” I said. “I made a mistake.”
Not So Tiny Tim barked. “What you felt was instinct, natural. Those who can’t behave must be punished. Those with the spleen and strength to punish earn the power to rule. You have that strength, Coal. The Coal Patrol is a perfect example. You just didn’t carry it to its full course until you made an example of Raymond Hall.”
“But I didn’t kill Raymond,” I said.
“So join us and learn how to finish the job,” Not So Tiny Tim said. He shuffled over and opened the door to the ugly street. “This is your world, Gumdrop. These people would respect your ability. It’s why you belong here.”
Outside, the mob had formed a circle around two reindeer. The bucks were sharpening their antlers to deadly points, preparing for a bloody fight to the end. The crowd screamed bets to each other and waved wadded bills in the air. There was nothing like this in Kringle Town. I was taking it all in, when it hit me.
“Us?” I asked.
The hunchback turned and smiled. “Potter encouraged me to cross the bridge, promising me the attention and respect I deserved. But the old man did not thirst for power like I did. He did not know what it felt like to be a crippled child passed by Christmas’s hustle and bustle. Limping and twisted, I could not hope to keep up while others pursued the perfect holiday, with Santa bestowing perfect gifts.”
“So Potter was given the powder?”
“Precisely,” Not So Tiny Tim said. “He did not have the proper motivation to crush Santa and the Christmas spirit completely. But someone else did. And I think you do, too. Your cravings for justice proved you would be a worthy partner. But when you did not kill Raymond, we needed a reason for you to seek asylum here. So naughty Raymond Hall got decked. A small sacrifice to call a lost sheep into the fold.”
I felt like I was going to faint or be sick, or both. On one hand, I had been played like a toy piano. On the other, maybe the big hoss was right. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. The world was going to heck in a hand-cart no matter what Santa did. I just didn’t know if I wanted Not So Tiny Tim to be right. “Who’s your partner?” I asked.
“Gumdrop, who else shares my affection for twisted ugliness?” Not So Tiny Tim asked with a big grin. “Who else believes the mean and the horrible should enjoy their rightful place in this world? Who has been cast aside? Forgotten? Looked on as useless trash?”
I knew. “The Misfits,” I said. I felt like the saddest guy on earth. I didn’t just need to sit down. I wanted to lie down in a hole and never get up again.
“I can’t say that I blame them. Not after the way Santa treated them.”
“So Sherlock Stetson was right,” I said. “There really is a Misfit Mafia.”
Not So Tiny Tim made a face that indicated that Sherlock Stetson was spilt milk. “Sherlock Stetson couldn’t find water if he fell out of a boat,” he said. “There is no true Misfit Mafia. Just me and a few Misfits with a brilliant idea. Sherlock would have never had a clue of our enterprise had he not been married to the Misfit master-mind.”
“Zsa Zsa’s your partner?” I asked. I knew the answer, but I hoped I was wrong.
“A brilliant doll,” Not So Tiny Tim said with true appreciation. “Santa underestimated her, which was his first mistake. Banishing her was his second. Once Potter brought us together, we became a force that cannot be stopped.”
“So you’re going to make the world even more miserable by dumping a bunch of Misfit Toys into it,” I said. “Zsa Zsa and the Misfits get their revenge on Santa, and you are going to make the good kids feel forgotten because good as gold Tiny Tim was given the short end of the stick.”
“See how easily that came to you?” Not So Tiny Tim said. “You are precisely right, Gumdrop.”
“You’ll excuse