Santa's Special Delivery
by Lubrican
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Chapter Three
The younger of the two cops came back in while I was sitting on the
couch waiting for Eva.
"Are you really Kit Carson?" he asked. All the rookies do
that. The older guys put them up to it because they know it
drives me nuts. They claim it's a mark of respect, because of
my record and solve rate, but they don't call me that
themselves. They just get the rookies to say it.
I sighed. "In the flesh. I'll come down to the
station and fill out a report as soon as I'm finished here.
"I'm supposed to interview you," he said.
"You're supposed to interview witnesses, not the cop who made the
bust," I corrected.
"You mean the woman?"
"I'll take care of that too," I said.
"Oh." He looked nervous and started shifting around on his
feet. It was obvious he didn't know what to do now.
I helped him.
"This is where you say 'Have a nice night, sir,' and then walk
confidently out the door to take your perp down to the station and book
him," I said.
"Oh ... right. Have a nice night, sir," he said. He
turned and left.
I looked around and saw Eva peeking at me from where the rookie
wouldn't have been able to see her. She stepped into the room.
"Kit Carson?"
I groaned. "You weren't supposed to hear that. You
okay?"
She let her head fall to one side, roll forward and then back up, like
she was stretching it.
"Actually, compared to last time he was here, I'm doing wonderful ...
fantastic, even."
"I'm glad I was here," I said. "Unless I'm the one who
brought him."
"How could you be responsible for that?" she asked.
"I don't know. I sat watching your place for an hour before
you got back. Maybe he saw me and would have left you alone
except for me coming to your door."
"I don't think so," she said. "After I got the restraining
order he stalked me every chance he got. He made sure to stay
far enough away that I couldn't do anything about it, but he wanted me
to know he was watching. And taking things from us to sell is
something he would do anyway, whether you were here or not.
He's done it plenty of times before this."
"Then I'm glad I was here," I said again.
"Me too."
"But I am sorry that Timothy had to see all this," I said.
"This was supposed to be a quick in and out, brighten his day - yours
too, by the way - and be on my way kind of deal."
"It was very thoughtful," she said. "And it did brighten my
day. But it's an awfully lot of money to spend on a stranger."
"I can't take all the credit," I said. "There's a group of us
who kind of get together to do something like this every year around
this time."
"It's still a lot to offer to a stranger," she said. "Though
you do seem to know a lot more about us than the average stranger
would. It was a little creepy when you knew his full name and
all that. You're really a cop?"
"Guilty as charged," I said. "Thanks for not shooting me, by
the way."
"Shooting you?" She frowned. "I don't understand."
"It's a police thing. Sometimes a woman gets upset when
you're trying to arrest her man. Never mind."
"He's not my man," she said firmly. "He gave me a big tip one
time and asked me out and I was stupid enough to go out on some dates
with him. He decided he was my man, and it all went downhill
from there."
"Oh," I said. "I thought he was Timothy's father."
"Now you're just being stupid," she said firmly. "I have
better sense than to let a man like Wallace Gardner into my
bed. That's one of the reasons he beat me up so many
times. He said he would convince me that I loved him and
wanted him between my legs if it killed me. I believed him,
and that's when I got the restraining order."
"So where's Tim's father?" I asked. I'm a cop. I'm
used to asking personal questions that people think are none of my
business.
"Dead," she said. She looked away. "He had a defect
in one of the blood vessels in his brain and he had an aneurism out of
the blue one day. One minute he was making toast, and the
next minute I was freaking out. Timothy was only four at the
time."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Not as much as I am," she replied.
"I'll be honest," I said. "I've never lost anybody that close
to me before. I've been around a lot of people who have, but
I still can't imagine what they're going through."
"I'm glad you're honest. The people I can't take are the ones
who claim they know how I feel."
I stood up. "This was supposed to be a merry
Christmas. I wish there could be a do over."
"You did a nice thing," she said. "Go on home to your
family. You can give them a merry Christmas."
"Haven't got one," I said.
"Why on Earth not?" She was pretty good at asking personal
questions too, as it turned out.
"Law enforcement doesn't lend itself to having happy
families. Too much time on the job, too much stress at home
about whether you'll come home or not ... stuff like that."
"So you're divorced?"
"I never wanted to inflict that kind of life on a woman," I
said. "I tell myself I'm a confirmed bachelor."
"I see," she said. "Maybe Timothy and I could have a merry
Christmas after all."
I was always a sucker for a comment like that.
"Oh?"
"If you're telling the truth - if you have no family - then you have no
one to spend Christmas Day with," she said. "We would be
honored if you'd spend it with us."
"What if I have plans with friends, or other confirmed bachelors?" I
suggested.
"Do you?"
"Well ... no, actually."
"Please come," she said.
I looked at her. I managed to keep my eyes on her face, and
let me tell you that took some control. She was a nice looking woman,
and right then I wanted to look at all of her. But I
controlled the urge. I didn't know if this was a good
idea. They frown on you dating victims and witnesses and all
that. But it was only one day, and Christmas at that, so
nobody would even know about it.
"Should I wear this?" I asked, plucking at the suit.
She laughed. "No, I'd like to meet the man behind the mask,
if you don't mind."
"I already brought the presents," I said. "I'll have to come
empty-handed."
"Your empty hands will be fine," she said. "See you around
eight?"
"In the morning?" I gasped, clutching my chest.
"Christmas morning," she said, as if that changed everything.
"Oh, all right," I said. "Maybe I should just stay," I
joked. Then I almost winced. Some jokes just don't
work as well in real life as you thought they would when they slipped
out of your mouth.
She lowered her lashes and looked at me through them.
"I owe you a lot for helping Timothy and me tonight, but I don't pay my
debts with sex."
Santa got rosier than ever about then.
"That's not what I meant," I said quickly.
"I'm sure it's not," she said.
She went to the door and pulled it open. I got up and,
thoroughly chastened, I picked up my now empty bag and started past
her. She stopped me and made me face her. She was
short enough that she had to pull me down. I thought she was
going to press my mustache back on, but instead she pulled it off.
Then she kissed me on the lips, a warm, soft-lipped, lingering kiss
that made just about every muscle in my body react as if I was the one
being stun-gunned - just with a really low voltage stun gun.
She pulled back, her eyes still closed, and the tip of her tongue
flicked out to lick one side of her upper lip.
"Thank you, Santa," she said. She opened her eyes.
"I always wanted to kiss you, ever since you brought me that Keytar
keyboard when I was nine."
"I'll have another one for you next year," I sighed.
She laughed again, stuck my mustache back on, and pushed me out the
door. "Eight o'clock sharp! We're having waffles."
I got back in my car, feeling better than I had in a long
time. I mean I get a kick out of playing Santa, but this year
was even better than usual.
Then I remembered all the paperwork I'd promised the rookie I'd do, and
groaned.
I aimed the car towards the station instead of home.
I get a fair amount of ribbing from the guys who don't participate in
the holiday festivities. I don't mind, really. If
you're going to be in the Santa business, it's got to come from the
heart or it's not genuine. I only wanted genuine people on
the team. So I expected the skeleton staff on duty at the
station that night to give me a hard time. Don Grabel was the
booking sergeant that night, and he didn't kid me at all.
"Hey, Carson," he said as I walked in. "Guess who tried to
mug three people before he showed up and broke and entered so you could
arrest him."
"You're kidding," I said.
"One of them is in the hospital with a busted open head. Fell
and hit the curb. The other two are on their way down here to
ID him. On Christmas Eve, yet! This guy has pissed
off a ton of people tonight."
"Well maybe it will be a Merry Christmas," I said.
"You made my night," he said. "The funniest part is that he's
as poor a mugger as he is at taking you on. He didn't get
anything from any of them. Just played tug of war with their
purses until the men who were with them beat him off."
I did paperwork for two hours and headed home to get a little sleep
before I had to get up at the unearthly hour of seven so I could take a
shower and get back over to Eva's by eight. The only place I
could find open on the way at all was a single convenience
store. The clerk was Muslim, and could have cared less what
day it was. They only had one sorry looking bouquet left in a
tin bucket next to the milk, but I got them anyway.
I had no idea what to get for a seven year old little boy, so I settled
on a handful of Slim Jims and a chocolate Santa.
Sad excuses for gifts in hand, I knocked at exactly eight, according to
my watch, which was set based on GMT, which I could bring up on my
computer whenever I felt like it. The door opened
only a few seconds later and Eva stared at me.
"Hi," I said uncertainly. She was still staring.
"You look taller," she said.
"Usually it's the other way around. Everybody thinks Santa
looks much bigger than me." I held out the flowers.
She took them and sniffed them. "Nobody's ever gotten me
flowers for Christmas before," she said.
"I didn't exactly have time to shop for you."
"Yes you did."
"Okay, then, I didn't exactly know you well enough to know what you'd
like."
"You did all right." She sniffed the flowers again.
"Are you going to come in, or let all the heat out?"
I went in and found Timothy standing in footy pajamas, about ten feet
away, staring at me. He didn't look scared, but he didn't
look happy either.
"Timothy, this is Kit Carson," said his mother.
"Are you any relation to the Kit Carson who was John Fremont's guide in
the American West?" asked the little boy.
"No," I said. "Actually, my name is Bob, but some of the men
I work with like to tease me and call me Kit."
"Sometimes kids at school tease me about my name too," said Timothy.
"Why?" I asked. "What's there to tease about a name like
Timothy?"
"Because I like being called Timothy instead of Tim, or Timmy, or Tiny
Tim," he said.
"Got it," I said. "Don't worry. It gets better as
you get older."
"You think so?" He had been staring at me the entire time.
"Why do you sound like Santa Claus?"
"It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it," I said. "How
come you sound like Anthony Falapasio?"
"Who's he?" asked the boy.
"He's this kid I grew up with in Queens, in New York City.
You sound just exactly like him."
"Oh. Well I'm not him."
"And I'm not Santa Claus," I said.
"I invited Bob to come to breakfast with us today," said Eva.
"How come?" asked her precocious little boy.
"Because I hope he's a nice guy. I might like to have him for
my friend."
"You mean like a boyfriend?" The child looked
horrified. "Julie Timmons wants me to be her boyfriend, but I
don't want to at all!"
"Then just tell her you're not ready for that yet," I said.
"I'm not trying to be your mommy's boyfriend. I just like
waffles, and didn't have any place to go on Christmas day.
Your mom is being nice to me."
"Are you homeless?" asked the boy.
"Enough personal questions!" sang out Eva. "I vote we eat
breakfast now."
"Yes!" shouted Timothy. "And then presents!"
"Absolutely!" shouted his mother.
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