The Fat Man_ A Tale of North Pole Noir - Ken Harmon [58]
Moo!
“That’s tough,” I said.
“Tell me about it,” Butter said. “I can’t imagine it’s going to get any better with Not So Tiny Tim in charge.”
“Listen, Butter. That girl at home I was telling you about is a reporter. I’ll tell her about the milk black market and she’ll write a story that will blow the whole thing up. Rosebud’s words are bombs and her powder is dry. She’ll shame the elves who are buying black market milk. This whole thing will disappear like a desert mirage. I’ll help her, I promise you. Just help me get back to Kringle Town. “
“It wouldn’t matter,” Butter said.
“Why not?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, this town is full of carnivores and they like their meat rare and bloody. And they’re always hungry.”
Moo!
“Besides,” Butter continued. “You ain’t gonna make it back to Kringle Town, lamb. You ain’t gonna see that little girl and you ain’t gonna tell that story. Not So Tiny Tim’s got other plans for you, and they’re fowl.”
“I didn’t expect them to be pretty,” I said.
“No, fowl, not foul,” Butter said. “F-O-W-L. Potter’s gonna chain you up with the Five Golden Rings and let the Seven Swans a-Swimming, Six Geese a-Laying, Four Calling Birds, Three French Hens, Two Turtle Doves and Partridge in a Pear Tree peck you to death in front of the whole town. Kind of like gladiating with birds. I ain’t gonna sugarcoat it, sweetie, those birds are plumb mean. The swans honk like a runaway bus, the geese pelt you with eggs, the calling birds and the French hens are pecking you all over, and the turtle doves aren’t doing any lovin’, I can tell you that. And the partridge is the meanest buzzard you’ll ever hope to meet. I’ve heard the last thing you’ll smell is pears and your guts.”
“Maybe I could get my hands on some birdseed, an anvil and a catapult,” I said.
My joke managed to make Butter smile just a little bit. “Sweetie, even Colonel Sanders couldn’t save you.”
“But you could,” I said. Butter was listening. “You help me get back to Kringle Town and come with me. Ginger and the girls can supply milk for the elves directly and cut the bad guys out of the dairy business. And we won’t work you too hard, either. You’ll be loved, appreciated. I promise.”
“What happens when a cow can’t give milk anymore?” Butter asked. “We know what ‘roast beast’ really is.”
“Nativity scenes,” I said. “There are always churches and towns looking to borrow cows to act in live Nativity scenes, and Santa’s always looking for extra livestock. Sure, Ginger and the girls may have to act for a few weeks with a bunch of hammy Methodists who don’t know their myrrh from a hole in the ground, and some of the llamas can get an attitude because they are in such short supply, but it’s an easy gig and no one gets put out to pasture.”
Moo! Ginger liked the idea.
Moo! So did the other jersey girls.
Butter looked at Ginger and scratched the bovine’s big ears. Then she turned to the other milkmaids and cows. No one said anything, but my plan had given them plenty of cud to chew on. “If you’re lying to us just to help you escape, you’ll be sorry,” Butter said.
“Butter, I promise you will be happy in Kringle Town,” I said. “No bull.”
Moo!
She laughed. “What’s your plan?” Butter asked.
“I need to ask you a few questions, first. And you’ve got to tell me the truth. My plan will take a little luck,” I said. “And a whole lot of faith.”
CHAPTER 23
I Can’t Remember a Worse December
If there was anything to make me feel chicken, it was the sight of swans, geese, calling birds, turtle doves and a partridge that looked like he could hunt crocodiles with a stick from his pear tree licking their beaks when I was led into the arena. We were outside in a stadium built just for bird bloodbaths.