Kristmas Collins (20 page)

When she didn’t move, I opened my jacket enough for her to get a good look at Alyson’s gun, which I was carrying in violation of numerous New York state gun laws, and my parole agreement.

Nicole didn’t respond, but Taylor did, “Dad! What are you doing with a gun!?”

I tried to shrug it off. “It’s America—haven’t they taught you about the Second Amendment in school?”

“We’re still on the First, which gives me the freedom of speech to say—have you lost your freaking mind?”

I had no time for this. “Everyone move—now!”

“What are you going to do if I don’t—shoot me?” Taylor was starting to remind me of her father, and it was annoying me. I grabbed her arm and pulled her ahead. Nicole begrudgingly pushed one of the strollers, while Alex manned the other.

We were able to slip out of the Santaland area with little interference. With the usual Christmas chaos and commotion going on, along with a runaway Santa careening down the escalator, we were hardly noticed. And since Nicole wasn’t screaming at the top of her lungs that someone had taken her children, nobody outside of Falcone knew that they’d been abducted. Hopefully we could keep it that way for the next few minutes.

I noticed that Jacqueline had removed herself from Wintry’s grasp and had begun retreating to safety. Part of me wanted to stop her, but right now was about self-preservation.

Just when I thought we might be home free, I realized that we were back on Boersch’s radar. We picked up the pace, but not fast enough. It was time to ditch the strollers. The twins protested. “Grandmother says Wainwrights were meant to be chauffeured,” Franny stated.

“Well, when the FBI is chasing you, it’s best to channel the Collins side of the family,” I provided some fatherly advice, and as a compromise I took Zooey in my arms. Alex followed my lead and picked up Franny. We began a fast jog toward the elevators. The Christmas shopping zombies barely took notice of us.

We hit the elevator at just the right time. I hurried everyone inside, looking back over my shoulder to see Boersch the Elf running toward us. The elevator was empty—I had visualized melding into a crowd, but this might be better.

“I thought we were going to see Santa,” Franny whined as I jammed the ‘close doors’ button.

“You promised,” said her echo.

“I promised you Santa, and you’ll get Santa,” I said, hitting the button harder as if that would help. Boersch was about ten feet away when the doors finally shut, and he was banging on them by the time we began to descend.

We didn’t get very far before the elevator stopped on the seventh floor. I had no idea what waited on the other side. So I moved to the side, out of view of the incoming, and trained my gun on the door.

It wasn’t the FBI, mall security, or Jacqueline Helada. It was a couple, probably in their early sixties, holding numerous shopping bags. They smiled at Nicole and “her children.”

“Well, aren’t you adorable,” the woman addressed the twins. “What are your names?”

“Franny and Zooey,” the girls answered in unison.

The woman looked to Nicole. “Sounds like their mother was a big JD Salinger fan.”

Nicole turned to me. “Actually their father was the one who chose the names.”

With the gun safely tucked back under my jacket, I reached out to shake their hands. “Holden Caulfield—nice to meet you.”

The couple got a chuckle out of that one. But Nicole wasn’t smiling. She shot me a look to kill, and said, “If I recall, Holden Caulfield turned out to be a certifiable nut job who ended up institutionalized.”

“I think he was just a confused teenager. You know how teenagers can be,” I defended.

“We get it from our parents … they can be really bad influences,” Taylor said, staring directly at me.

We could have continued with a full critical analysis of
Catcher in the Rye
, but the couple got off on the fifth floor. I held my breath, and gripped the gun, but no new passengers entered.

It seemed like it was taking days for the elevator to go, and then a noise rang out, almost sending me through the roof. It was a phone—Taylor’s phone.

“Don’t answer it!” I demanded.

“I have to—it’s Mom.”

Taylor looked to Nicole, who was staring at me in horror. “He’s actually been much better since prison,” she said, then answered cheerily. She went on to tell her mother that we were having the time of our lives—she didn’t get the lead in the Nativity play for nothing—before handing the phone to me.

“I tried to reach you on your phone, but I had no luck. It seems to be a trend,” Libby said.

“Sorry—I left it in the car. Good thing that Taylor brought hers.”

“She has become quite dependent on it. She tells me you’ve been enjoying your day, and it seems that everyone is in one piece.”

“It’s been great. Except for all the crowds—we still haven’t got to see Santa yet. The twins are getting a little impatient.”

“Well, you better hurry it along. My reason for calling is not to check up on you, but to remind you to have the children to their grandparents by six tonight for Christmas Eve dinner. I forgot to inform you in my haste this morning.”

“I’ll have them there. Is there anything else?” I said, needing to end the call ASAP, but trying not to raise suspicion.

“Yes, Kris, I just wanted to apologize for last night … and my tone this morning. I know that you’re a very responsible father, and I should display more trust in you. I know you would never purposely put our children in danger.”

I looked around the group. “You know me, father of the year,” I said, as the elevator started to go down once again.

The elevator opened on the bottom floor, and Taylor and Alex strolled out.

As they got about fifteen feet away, Taylor glanced back over her shoulder. And just like Dad had predicted, the stocky guy in the elf suit approached the elevator. He stepped inside, and when he reappeared, he looked pissed.

His response was to head toward her and Alex. But they had already reached the Macy’s security guard. And following Dad’s orders, they told the guard that a “crazed” man in an elf suit was chasing them, and they believed he had a gun.

When security apprehended the man he looked doubly angry. He claimed he was an Agent Boersch from the FBI, but they weren’t buying it.

They didn’t have time to revel in their victory. Their instructions were to get out of Macy’s immediately, and take Dad’s car directly to their grandparents’ house.

They left the department store through the 34th Street exit without any hassle, and walked to the vehicle was parked at the nearby Herald Square Hotel. But when they pulled the Volvo SUV out onto 34th Street, Taylor had another idea.

“Dad’s acting weird,” she said.

“Ya think?”

“It’s too bad you don’t share your sarcasm with everyone. It’s so insightful.”

“I mean he pulled a gun on some lady, and then made us run from an FBI agent in an elf suit … weird might be an understatement.”

“We need to figure out what’s going on.”

Alex perked up. “If that involves us not going to Wainwright Manor, I’m in.”

“I’ll bet if we go to his apartment we can pick up some clues. I know where Alyson keeps the spare key.”

She figured they could get to Brooklyn, check out his apartment, and still make it back to Greenwich for the six o’clock borefest. But the gridlocked traffic on 34th Street wasn’t cooperating. It seemed like it would take them an hour to get from Sixth Avenue to Fifth.

“What’s with all these military trucks?” Alex commented on the vehicles in front of them that were holding up traffic. “Is there a war going on in Manhattan that nobody told us about?”

“I think Dad might have started one,” Taylor replied.

“Yeah, with that Nicole woman.”

Taylor laughed. “Did I mention you should talk more often, little brother.”

My paranoid eyes bounced from side to side as we made our way across the third floor. Just because the cavalry wasn’t waiting for us when we got off the elevator didn’t mean they weren’t hiding in the weeds … or the men’s clothing section.

We had made our way through the sportswear section when Franny whined, “Daddy—my legs are tired.”

“Mine too!” Zooey exclaimed.

“We’re almost to Santa, girls. Just hold on a little bit more.”

Unlike the twins, Nicole and I weren’t a tight team. She said nothing, her face distressed, and mind focused on one thing—getting back her children.

We entered the “A Pea in the Pod” maternity section, and I led us toward the fitting room where we were to meet up. When Nicole heard her daughter’s giggle she ran ahead and pulled back the curtain.

What she saw was a three hundred pound Santa happily trying on maternity wear with her children … sorta.

It was a “magic fitting room” that featured an eighty-inch mirror display, which was able to superimpose clothing on their reflection. To the kids … and perhaps Duma, it was as much fun as any video game they’d ever played.

Nicole shoved Duma away from her son, shouting at the oversized Santa, “Don’t you ever go near him again!” She hugged young Peter so hard that he looked like he was in pain. She inspected every inch of him, searching for any sign that he was harmed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” he said, seemingly confused about the fuss.

She pulled him into another intense hug. “I was so scared that I wouldn’t see you again.”

“Why wouldn’t you see me? Santa was just getting me away from that crazy lady. He said Mr. Collins would bring you to me.”

Nicole ignored that inconvenient truth and ran her hands over his neck. “Does it hurt, Peter?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” he squealed, uncomfortable with the babying.

“You’re really brave, you know that, right?”

He just nodded.

She turned her attention to her daughter, who was busy trying on virtual maternity wear.

“I think I want this dress for Christmas, Mom.”

“You’re a little young for that type of clothes, honey,” she said, and then gave her daughter the same hugging treatment. She appeared more receptive to it.

I observed the twins, who had been rendered speechless by the sight of Santa. “You did bring us to Santa!” Zooey finally spoke.

“You always come through in the end, Daddy,” Franny added.

“And because you two have been so good today, I’m going to let you spend some time with Santa, while I take care of a few things. Would you like that?”

They began jumping up and down on the legs that were too sore to walk just minutes ago. I took that as a yes.

“Can we spend more time with Santa, too?” asked Nicole’s daughter.

Nicole grabbed Janie by the arm and pulled her away. I took that as a no.

Before she could leave the fitting room, Duma reached out and grabbed Nicole by her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Get your hands off me!”

“You need to start listening before you end up hurt.”

“Leave me alone.”

“It’s not me you should be worried about. That woman who tried to take your son is on the loose. And because you didn’t listen to Kris the first time, she almost got him back there.”

“The FBI wouldn’t be after you if you weren’t some sort of criminals.”

“Kris will explain when you’re on your way.”

“I’m not going anywhere with him!”

“I’m sorry I got you involved in this, but right now this is your best chance to keep them safe,” I pleaded.

Then Franny spoke on my behalf, “Daddy always comes through in the end … you’ll see.”

Nicole didn’t appear convinced, but she had trusted the “system” to protect her family once before, and it failed miserably. She peered right into Franny, just like she’d done to me that day in the courtroom. “You better be right.”

Duma looked to me. “You know where to go, correct?”

I nodded.

“And remember to wait for your blockers,” he instructed, before picking up Franny and Zooey like a couple of feathers. He then led us out of the fitting room and into plain sight.

I spotted Falcone interrogating a Macy’s employee in the distance. He was closing in. Duma pointed for us to go the other direction, while he walked right toward trouble. When Falcone spotted him, he shouted, “Freeze! FBI.”

Duma set my children down, and put his hands up in surrender—giving us the opportunity to slip out undetected.

“I told you—I’m babysitting.”

Falcone feigned laughter as he paced the small detention center room below Macy’s. “Babysitting … good one. You shoulda been a comedian.”