The Fat Man_ A Tale of North Pole Noir - Ken Harmon [73]
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Zsa Zsa,” I said. “I think I know how to get all of you Misfits into the hands of kids this Christmas. I think Santa will listen to what I have to say. I’ve had a big change of heart about bad kids and bad toys.”
That got the attention of the Misfits in the balloon. They looked at each other with a mix of doubt, fear and hope. Zsa Zsa wasn’t buying though. “It’s a lie!” she screamed. “You vill only banish us to someplace else. You and Santa hate all that is not perfect, not nice.”
“If I wanted to banish you, why am I holding on to this balloon?” I asked. “I’m trying to pull you back, but I need help. Dingleberry is a good flyer. Let him go, and together we’ll help this crazy blimp land safely. Then, I promise, you Misfits will be on Santa’s sleigh this Christmas Eve.”
Zsa Zsa ground her boot down on my fingers until they were black. I could not hold on much longer. “Please. I’ve caused enough trouble. Let me fix things.”
Behind Zsa Zsa, the Misfits were discussing my proposition and leaning toward believing me. But before a vote could come to the floor, Zsa Zsa lifted her foot off my fingers, kicked me in the face and sent me packing.
The kick stung, but what was worse was the helpless feeling when I blasted off into space, out of control. In that first instant, I went cold with fear and could see myself spinning and falling, not able to get right before it was too late. I wondered if I would pass out from flying aimlessly, or would it be more like turning out the lights when I blew into the side of a mountain or hit the ground? Nothing I imagined was appealing, but that’s just how my luck was going. And then, in the very next instant, somehow, Dingleberry Fizz had me by the hand.
The Misfits had let Dingleberry go and, in a move pinched from By George and the Skunk Pirates of the Gypsy Sea, Dingleberry grabbed a Crocodile Cobra fang, looped around it a couple of times to build up speed and then launched himself over Zsa Zsa’s head and out of the balloon’s mouth. He beelined to me and snatched me from death’s door before I had a chance to wipe my feet on the mat.
“I’ve got you, buddy,” Dingleberry said. The next second, he handed me one of the towropes to the balloon and said, “Let’s bring this balloon back to the parade.”
Dingleberry double-checked that I had a good hold of the cord and then he leaped into the air and snagged another towrope. He wrapped the cord around his hand and gave me the high sign. “PULL!” he shouted over the rushing wind.
Like a couple of plow mules, Dingleberry and I bent into the air with the balloon ropes over our shoulders and flew straight down as hard as we could. If we could move the balloon closer to earth, the winds would be less, but it was tough sledding. The hole in the balloon was huge now, and the gas blowing still steered the blimp willy-nilly. But Dingleberry and I just kept at it. We’d gain a foot and then lose a yard, but inch by inch we were getting closer. When we came through a cloud, we could see an itty-bitty speck way down below: Kringle Town Square.
The sight gave me and Dingleberry a boost and we were able to tug at the balloon a little harder. Then we heard one last pffffffftttttttttt raspberry behind us and realized that the Misfit balloon was out of gas and was just a big piece of rubber in the sky.
The Crocodile Cobra suddenly looked like it had swallowed a pit and shriveled up into a long, wrinkled raincoat. It started to drop fast and the Misfits inside screamed like there was no tomorrow. And if we didn’t hurry, there wouldn’t be.
“Grab the tail,” I shouted to Dingleberry, “and I’ll grab the head.”
Dingleberry swooped through the sky and snagged the tail first, stopping the Crocodile Cobra’s free fall. I swung over and grabbed a bump on the critter’s nose and flew up until the balloon was straight and steady. Inside, the Misfits went from crying to shouting for joy. Even