The Fat Man_ A Tale of North Pole Noir - Ken Harmon [64]
But because I stopped for Sherlock, we weren’t going to make it. I had worked enough Christmas Eves studying time, distance and speed to know that Not So Tiny Tim’s mob was faster. We would get to the bridge, but they’d swallow us up halfway there and that would be the end of that. A few hours later, Santa would walk into the trap Zsa Zsa set for him on Misfit Isle and then the Christmas light would be snuffed out. There would be no more silent nights, or holy ones. Heaven and nature wouldn’t sing; they’d gripe, cry and spit regret. In a few seconds, my world—the one I forgot to love enough, the one I thought wasn’t fair enough—would be done. I missed it already.
But then I got a great reminder that Christmas was about hope and miracles.
The rope shot up into the sky. It was almost silver in the starlight, climbing higher and higher until the end of it spread across the heavens like a galaxy of good wishes. The rope unfolded into a beautiful ring and fell around the moon like a hug from an old friend. It was the kind of sight you wished for when you needed a friend. It was a whole hatful of wishes.
George Bailey lassoed the moon.
From his hiding spot in Pottersville, the real-life hero of By George Adventures gave the rope a yank and the moon drifted down as easy as if he were reeling in a kite. We ducked under the moon as we came onto the bridge and then George steered the moon between the mob and us.
“Thanks, George. I guess you are real after all,” I said.
“Yep, yep, that’s right, Gumdrop, I’m always around,” By George said. “I’m kind of a top secret Santa’s Helper. You know the old boy can’t do it all, and he asked me to hang around and keep an eye on folks that need the most looking after. There are people everywhere, even in the darkest corners of our world, who need a second chance, and, you know, I believe everyone should get a second chance. They should get a third and fourth chance too. They should get as many chances as they want to live again.”
I found myself grinning like Dingleberry Fizz. The best part was that we were safe. George hadn’t disappeared. He hadn’t built skyscrapers a hundred stories high, or bridges a mile long. He hadn’t done anything for himself. The life he lived in By George Adventures was real. By saving the day, George inspired everyone to always be on the lookout for the other guy. It is a gift so simple, it’s no wonder I didn’t see it.
The worst part was that it might have been too late to share that gift. Right now, Zsa Zsa could be putting a stake of holly through the Fat Man’s heart, ending the Ho ho ho in all of us.
Suddenly, there was a crack and I saw Not So Tiny Tim using all his strength to try and squeeze under the moon. Since he was still trying to stop me, I figured I still had a chance to save Santa.
“Take care of him for me, will ya, George?” I said, pointing to Not So Tiny Tim as I took off for Misfit Isle.
“Sure, sure, sure,” I heard George say behind me. “You run along now, I’ll tend to him. Oh golly, look! His mouth’s bleeding!”
CHAPTER 25
But Santa, Dear, We’re in a Hurry
SLAP!
Rosebud was still mad.
I met her racing down the bridge road on the Kringle Town side. When she saw me, my little tomato hauled off and rung my kisser like a heavyweight. “That’s for going to Pottersville!” she said. Then she kicked me in the shin. “And that’s for making me worry!”
There wasn’t time to explain. I had to get to Santa.
Rosebud took off her boxing gloves and put on her reporter’s hat. “What gives with the moon back there? Talk while you still have some teeth!”
There was no way I was telling Rosebud about George. He was Santa’s top helper, a spy who went into the darkest places and gave folks a second chance. Sent by Santa, George is a friend to everybody, especially if you are at your lowest, and he had been helping the desperate across the bridge. When Dingleberry would go on and on about the comic book George in