Naughty Nine Tales of Christmas Crime (28 page)

Around the corner there's the loading dock and about a dozen Monkeyberry employees waiting for me. I also see five familiar faces: Basil and Ivor Boraborinski and my truckin' buddies Dave Reeves, Milford Corn and Ernie Hutchings. I'd C.B.ed ahead for the cavalry, you see, and there they were.

While the Monkeyberry folks go try to head off the stampeding moms, I get my rig pulled around and back up to the dock. Then I climb out and go around back of the trailer, where the boys are waiting for me with the Monkeyberry manager.

"Good gosh, Bass, you look like heck," Ernie says.

"You should see the other fellas," I say. "In fact, you can. Do me a favor and try to look tough for a minute, would ya? They ain't gonna be too jolly."

And I open up the trailer doors, and there's my two Robin Hood wannabes squinting at the light—which they hadn't seen in quite some time except maybe what came in through the bullet holes. They looked like they'd just spent a day tumbling around in a clothes dryer. (I admit I didn't go out of my way to avoid every pothole I saw on my way back to River City.)

"I suggest you two get a move on before somebody calls the police," I say.

Soup stands up slowly and stumbles towards us. He's still got his mask on, but I can read his eyes. He doesn't look angry, just confused.

"Where are we?"

"The North Pole," I say. "Now scoot."

Soup looks us all up and down for a second, then comes to the only logical conclusion: He's getting off easy.

"Let's go, Kev," he says. And the two of them come on out of the truck, hop off the loading dock and walk off into a beautiful, crisp, clear Indiana winter morning. From there I don't know where they went—and I don't much care.

"Don't explain," the Monkeyberry manager says. He's already rushed into the truck to check out the dolls. He comes back to me with a delivery voucher and a pen. "Just sign this."

"With pleasure." And I haven't even gotten half-way through my name when the manager-man yanks the paperwork back and starts shouting "Go go go!" at more Monkeyberry employees who almost run right us over, they're so frantic to get those darned dolls on the shelves.

"Come on, Bass—tell us what happened," Milford says after we've jumped out of the way.

"Well, I tell ya'," I say. And my knees start to buckle at the idea of running through the whole thing. "Fellas, I'm exhausted. Thank you for your help, but I'm gonna have to give you a rain check on the story."

The boys are all gearjammers like me. They know what it's like to come off a long haul. So they all slap me on the back and tell me to go on home.

"I'll have your check for you tomorrow," Ivor says as I'm going.

"You better," I say.

I don't know how I got home. The job was done, the adrenaline was wearing off and I couldn't tell if my eyes were open or not. When I came in the door, Bootsie catches sight of my bloody ear and just about screams.

"Shhhhh," I say. "You'll wake the boys."

This was back when noon was early-rising for them.

"What happened to your ear, Billy?" Bootsie says. She's the only one ever called me "Billy."

I sit down in my La-Z-Boy and look at the Christmas tree and the presents underneath it and the cards and the porcelain Santas and the lights all over the place.

"I can't tell you how sweet it is to be home for Christmas," I say, and then I fall asleep in the time it takes to tell it.

When I woke up, it was December 26th.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Steve Hockensmith is the New York Times best-selling author of
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls
. His first novel,
Holmes on the Range
, was a finalist for the Edgar, Shamus, Anthony and Dilys awards, and its heroes went on to star in four sequels (
On the Wrong Track
,
The Black Dove
,
The Crack in the Lens
and
World's Greatest Sleuth!
). Before turning his hand to novels, he was a prolific writer of short fiction, and more collections of his stories are forthcoming . . . assuming anyone gives a crap about this one. His website is www.stevehockensmith.com, but you probably could have guessed that, smart cookie that you undoubtedly are. He thanks you for reading all the way to the end of the book, which is coming up rrrrrrrrrrrrrright . . . .

Now.

Table of Contents

NAUGHTY

Nine Tales of Christmas Crime

by Steve Hockensmith