08bis Visions of Sugar Plums (8 page)

"Do you think Connie has the water and electric information on Claws yet?"

I called Connie, but the information wasn't helpful. No additional accounts for Sandy Claws. I had her try Sandor Clausen. Big zero there, too.

Diesel stopped for a light, and I saw his eyes cut to the rearview mirror and the line of his mouth tighten. "I'm getting a real bad feeling."

Diesel made a U-turn and suddenly there was a flash of light in the sky in front of us. The light was followed by a low rumbling, and then there was another flash and smoke billowed over the rooftops.

Diesel stared at the smoke. "Ring."

It took us less than a minute to return to Claws' house. Diesel parked the Jag, and we joined the small group of people who'd collected in the street, eyes wide, mouths open in astonishment. Not often you see lightning at this time of the year. Not often you see the sort of carnage that resulted from the strike.

The Claws house was perfectly intact, but the life-size plastic Santa that had been strapped to the next-door neighbor's chimney had been blasted off the roof and lay in a smoking, melted red blob on the sidewalk. And the neighbor's garage was on fire.

"He melted Santa," I said to Diesel. "This is serious stuff."

Diesel gave his head a disbelieving shake. "He hit the wrong house. All those years of inciting terror and this is what it comes down to — frying some molded plastic. And not even the
right
molded plastic."

"I saw the whole thing," a woman said. "I was on the porch, checking my lights, and a ball of fire swooped out of the sky and hit the Patersons' garage. And then a second ball came in and knocked the Santa Claus off the roof. I've never seen anything like it. Santa just flew off the roof!"

"Did anyone else see the fireballs?" Diesel asked.

"There was a man on the sidewalk, across the street from Sandy and Elaine's house, but he's gone now. He was an older gentleman, and he seemed pretty upset."

A police car arrived, lights flashing. A fire truck followed close behind and hoses were run to the garage.

Elaine was on her porch. She had a heavy wool coat pulled around her dumpling body, and she had a belligerent set to her mouth.

Diesel draped an arm across my shoulders. "Okay, partner, let's talk to Elaine."

Elaine drew the jacket tighter when we got closer. "Crazy old fool," she said. "Doesn't know when to stop."

"Did you see him?" Diesel asked.

"No. I heard the crackle of electricity, and I knew he was out there. By the time I got to the porch, he was gone. It's just like him to attack at Christmas, too. The man is pure evil."

"It's not a good idea for you to stay here," Diesel said. "Do you have someplace else to go? Would you like me to find a safe house for you?"

Elaine tipped her chin up a fraction of an inch. "I'm not leaving my home. I have cookies to make. And someone has to keep the bird feeders filled in the backyard. The birds count on it. I've been taking care of Sandor ever since my husband died, fifteen years ago, and I've never once had to resort to a safe house."

"Sandor was always able to protect you. Now that his power is failing you need to be more careful," Diesel said.

Elaine bit her lower lip. "You'll have to excuse me. I have to get back to my baking."

Elaine retreated into her house, and Diesel and I were left on the porch. The garage fire was almost extinguished, and someone, who I suspected was Mrs. Paterson, was attempting to pry Santa off the sidewalk with a barbecue spatula.

My phone chirped from my bag.

"If that's your sister again, I'm throwing your phone in the river," Diesel said.

I pulled the phone out of my bag and pressed the off button. I
knew
it was my sister. And there was an outside chance Diesel was serious about throwing the phone in the river.

"Now what?" I asked Diesel.

"Lester knows where the factory is."

"Forget it. I'm not going back to the employment office."

Diesel smiled down at me. "What's the matter? Is the big bad bounty hunter afraid of the little people?"

"Those fake elves were crazy. And they were mean!"

Diesel ruffled my hair. "Don't worry. I won't let them be mean to you."

Swell.

Diesel parked half a block from the employment office and we sat wordlessly staring at the emergency vehicles in front of us. A fire truck, an EMT truck, and four police cars. The windows and the front door to the office were shattered, and a charred chair had been dragged out to the sidewalk.

We left the car and walked over to a couple cops I recognized. Carl Costanza and Big Dog. They were standing back on their heels, hands resting on their utility belts, surveying the damage with the sort of enthusiasm usually reserved for watching grass grow.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Fire. Riot. The usual. It's pretty ugly in there," Carl said.

"Bodies?"

"Cookies. Smashed cookies all over the place."

Big Dog had an elf ear in his hand. He held it up and looked at it. "And these things."

"It's an elf ear," I said.

"Yeah. These ears are all that's left of the little buggers."

"Did they burn?" I asked.

"No. They ran," Carl said. "Who would have thought the little guys could run that fast? Couldn't catch a single one of them. We arrived on the scene, and they took off like roaches when the light goes on."

"How did the fire get started?"

Carl shrugged and looked up at Diesel. "Who's he?"

"Diesel."

"Does Joe know about him?"

"Diesel is from out of town." Way out. "We're working a skip together."

There wasn't anything more to be learned from the employment office, so we left Carl and Big Dog and returned to the car. The sun was shining some place other than Trenton. Streetlights were on. And the temperature had dropped by ten degrees. My feet were wet from slogging through two fire scenes and my nose was numb, frozen like a popsicle.

"Take me home," I said to Diesel. "I'm done."

"What? No shopping? No Christmas cheer? Are you going to let your sister beat you out in the present race?"

"I'll shop tomorrow. I swear I will."

Diesel parked the Jag in my apartment building parking lot and got out of the car.

"It's not necessary to see me to the door," I said. "I imagine you want to get back to the Ring search."

"Nope. I'm done for the day. I thought we'd have something to eat and then chill in front of the TV."

I was momentarily speechless. That wasn't the evening I had planned out in my mind. I was going to stand in a scalding hot shower until I was all wrinkly. Then I was going to make myself a peanut butter and marshmallow Fluff sandwich. I like peanut butter and Fluff because it combines the main course with the dessert and it doesn't involve pots. Maybe I'd watch some television after dinner. And if I was lucky I'd be watching it with Morelli.

"That sounds great," I said, "but I have plans for tonight. Maybe some other time."

"What are your plans?"

"I'm seeing Morelli."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," No. I wasn't sure. I figured the possibility was about fifty percent. "And I wanted to take a shower."

"Hey, you can take a shower while I make dinner."

"You can cook?"

"No," he said. "I can dial."

"Okay, so here's the thing, I don't feel entirely comfortable with you in my apartment."

"I thought you were getting used to the Super Diesel thing."

Old Mr. Feinstein shuffled past us on his way to his car. "Hey, chicky," he said to me. "How's it going? You need any help here? This guy looks shifty."

"I'm fine," I told Mr. Feinstein. "Thanks for the offer, though."

"See that," I said to Diesel. "You look shifty."

"I'm a pussycat," Diesel said. "I haven't even come on to you. Okay, maybe a little teasing, but nothing serious. I haven't grabbed you... like this." He wrapped his fingers around my jacket lapels and pulled me to him. "And I haven't kissed you... like this." And he kissed me.

My toes curled in my shoes. And heat slashed through my stomach and headed south.

Damn.

He broke from the kiss and smiled down at me. "It isn't as if I've done anything like that, right?"

I gave him a two-handed shot to the chest, but he didn't budge, so I took a step back. "There will be no kissing, no fooling around, no
anything."

Sure.

I did an
I give up
gesture, turned, and went into the building. Diesel followed after me, and we waited in silence for the elevator. The doors opened, and Mrs. Bestler smiled out at me. Mrs. Bestler is just about the oldest person I've ever seen. She lives alone on the third floor, and she likes to play elevator operator when she gets bored.

"Going up," she called out.

"Second floor," I said.

The elevator doors closed, and Mrs. Bestler chanted, "Ladies' handbags, Santa's workshop, better dresses." She looked at me and shook her finger. "Only three shopping days left."

"I know. I know!" I said. "I'll go shopping tomorrow. I swear, I will."

Diesel and I stepped out of the elevator, and Mrs. Bestler sang,
"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas"
as we walked down the hall.

"I'm laying odds she's eighty proof," Diesel said, opening my door.

My apartment was dark, lit only by the blue digital clock on my microwave and the single, red, blinking diode on my answering machine.

Rex ran on his wheel in the kitchen. The soft whir of his wheel reassured me that Rex was safe and probably there weren't any bridge trolls hiding in my closet tonight. I flipped the light, and Rex immediately stopped running and blinked out at me. I dropped a couple Fruit Loops into his cage from the box on the counter, and Rex was a happy camper.

I hit the play button on the answering machine and unbuttoned my jacket.

First message. "It's Joe. Give me a call."

Next message. "Stephanie? It's your mother. You don't have your cell phone on. Is something wrong? Where are you?"

Third message. "It's Joe again. I'm stuck on this job, and I won't make it over tonight. And don't call me. I can't always talk. I'll call back when I can."

Fourth message. "Christ," Morelli said.

"Guess it's just you and me," Diesel said, grinning. "Good thing I'm here. You'd be lonely."

And the terrible part was that he was right. I had one foot on the slippery slope of Christmas depression. Christmas was sliding away from me. Five days, four days, three days... and before my eyes, Christmas would come and go without me. And I'd have to wait an entire year to take another crack at a ribbons and bows, candy canes, and eggnog Christmas.

"Christmas isn't ribbons and bows and presents," I said to Diesel. "Christmas is about good will, right?"

"Wrong. Christmas is about presents. And Christmas trees. And office parties. Boy, you don't know much, do you?"

"Do you really believe that?"

"Aside from all the religious blah, blah, blah, which we won't get into... I think Christmas is whatever turns you on. That's what I really believe. Everyone decides what they want out of Christmas. Then everyone gets a shot at making it happen."

"Suppose every year you blow it? Suppose every year you screw up Christmas?"

He crooked his arm around my neck. "Are you screwing up Christmas, kiddo?"

"I can't seem to get to it."

Diesel looked around. "I noticed. No garlands of green shit. No angels, no Rudolphs, no kerplunkers or tartoofers."

"I used to have some tartoofers but my apartment got firebombed and they all went up in smoke."

Diesel shook his head. "Don't you hate when that happens?"

I woke up in a sweat. I was having a nightmare. There were only two days left until Christmas, and I still hadn't bought a single present. I gave myself a mental head smack. It wasn't a nightmare. It was true. Two days until Christmas.

I jumped out of bed and scurried into the bathroom. I took a fast shower and power-dried my hair. Yikes. I tamed it with some gel, got dressed in my usual jeans, boots, and T-shirt, and went to the kitchen.

Diesel lounged against the sink, coffee cup in hand. There was a white bakery bag on the counter, and Rex was awake in his cage, leisurely working his way to the heart of a jelly doughnut.

"Morning, sunshine," Diesel said.

"There are only two days left until Christmas," I said. "Two days! And I wish you would stop letting yourself into my apartment."

"Yeah, right, that's gonna happen. Have you given Santa your list? Have you been naughty?"

It was early in the morning for an eye roll, but I managed one anyway. I poured myself coffee and took a doughnut.

"It was nice of you to bring doughnuts," I said. "But Rex will get a cavity in his fang if he eats that whole thing."

"We're making progress," Diesel said. "You didn't shriek when you saw me here. And you didn't check the coffee and doughnuts for alien poison."

I looked down at the coffee and had a rush of panic. "I wasn't thinking," I said.

Half an hour later we were on a side street with a good view of Briggs' apartment building. Briggs was going to work today. And we were going to follow him. He'd lead us to the toy factory, I'd locate Sandy Claws, I'd snap the cuffs on him, and
then
I could have Christmas.

At exactly eight-fifteen, Randy Briggs strutted out of his building and got into a specially equipped car. He cranked the engine over and drove out of the lot, heading for Route 1. We followed a couple cars back, keeping Briggs in sight.

"Okay," I said to Diesel. "You flunked levitation and obviously you can't do the lightning thing. What's your specialty? What tools have you got on your utility belt?"

"I told you, I'm good at finding people. I have heightened sensory perception." He cut his eyes to me. "Bet you didn't think I knew big words like that."

"Anything else? Can you fly?"

Diesel blew out a sigh. "No. I can't fly."

Briggs stayed on Route 1 for a little over a mile and then exited. He left-turned at the corner and entered a light industrial complex. He drove past three businesses before pulling into a parking lot, adjacent to a one-story redbrick building that was maybe five thousand square feet. There were no signs announcing the name or the nature of the business. A toy soldier on the door was the only ornamentation.