The Fat Man_ A Tale of North Pole Noir - Ken Harmon [52]
“Don’t trouble yourself too much, Gumdrop,” Not So Tiny Tim said. “It’s a little more complicated. As long as the Coal Patrol was operating, there was always the chance that children would return to obedience and prolong the supposed need for being overly good. You should be commended for teaching children to show proper respect, but to try and motivate them to be good and nice continues to justify the need for a Santa Claus and foils our plans. The only one that could sell the idea of firing you was Candy Cane. For reasons that escape me, Santa was fond of that elf and could easily be influenced by him. So Zsa Zsa and I convinced Cane to have you fired, disband the Coal Patrol, and convince Santa to give toys to every child, naughty or nice. The increased production would weaken Santa’s fortitude and compromise the quality of the toys.”
“Creating more Misfits,” I said.
Not So Tiny Tim smiled like he just heard a grandmother get hit by a bus. “Misfit Toys would be delivered to children all around the world, flooding Christmas morn with tears and anguish. And as time went on, people would start to take on the traits of their playthings and become twisted, angry and sick—just like that crowd outside! Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It’s a peach,” I said.
“The icing on a very sour cake,” Tim said, turning to me, “was that one of Santa’s own helpers started getting slaphappy with the believers, darkening everyone’s view of Santa. However, since you seemed somewhat reluctant to carry through to the best conclusion—and since your guilt would leave Santa no choice but to forsake you—Zsa Zsa gave Raymond Hall the punishment you could not. Whether you ran to us for safety, or were caught by Santa, Gumdrop Coal, you have advanced our cause considerably.”
Not So Tiny Tim was right. I could think the worst things possible and suddenly a beautiful, awful idea popped into my head. “The summit at Misfit Isle is a trap for Santa, isn’t it?” I asked.
Not So Tiny Tim’s laugh was hollow and dirty. “My dear Gumdrop. Pardon the pun, but that nagging conscience of yours is such a crutch.”
CHAPTER 20
Haven’t Earned My Wings
I guess the look on my face said it all: “I’ve got to get back to Kringle Town and save Santa!” and Not So Tiny Tim was having none of it. He gave a short whistle and the next thing I knew was that those two reindeer Tim showed me out in the street pointed their killer antlers in my direction and bounded toward me. I was about to be kebabbed by a caribou.
I like my guts to stay on the inside, thank you very much, and I wasn’t going to give up so easy. So I ran. I turned into the dark maze of Potter’s house and figured I’d find a way out, head to the bridge, cross back into Kringle Town and warn Santa. The reindeer had other ideas. I heard eight hoofs thunder into the house after me. I was in trouble and I didn’t have much of a head start. See, in Pottersville, there is no elf magic so I couldn’t fly. Good intentions don’t earn you any wings here.
Potter’s place didn’t give me many spots to hide, and the windows had bars over them. I managed to keep ahead of the reindeer ninjas because their hoofs slapped and skidded on the marble, but I knew I only had a few seconds before I was filleted. Getting back across the bridge was going to take a Miracle on 34th Street, as we elves like to say, and I needed a shortcut to that grand old avenue. So I took the stairs.
The route to the second story was a narrow staircase that twisted back on itself every few steps, chopping its way to the top. The staircase looked like it would slow the reindeer down a little bit, so I jumped up to the first landing in one leap and bounded up the rest of the flight as fast as an elf with eleven-inch legs can go.
When the reindeer took to the stairs, it sounded like the house was getting shelled. They crashed into each other pretty hard and got their legs and antlers tangled. As they scrambled to get loose of each other,