St. Nick
ST. NICK
ST. NICK
Alan Russell
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2013 Alan Russell
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
www.apub.com
eISBN: 9781477868454
Cover design by Cyanotype Book Architects
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013919787
To the children that Santa couldn’t get to.
Table of Contents
Episode One
Chapter 1: The First Noel
Chapter 2: Oh Come, All Ye Faithful
Chapter 3: Deck the Halls
Chapter 4: Jolly Old Saint Nicholas
Chapter 5: Toyland
Chapter 6: For Unto Us a Child Is Born
Episode Two
Chapter 7: What Child Is This?
Chapter 8: Silent Night
Chapter 9: All Through the Night
Chapter 10: Hark! The Herald Angels Sing
Episode Three
Chapter 11: Angels We Have Heard on High
Chapter 12: Go Tell It on the Mountain
Chapter 13: The Holly and the Ivy
Chapter 14: While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks
Chapter 15: Away in a Manger
Episode Four
Chapter 16: Twelve Days of Christmas
Chapter 17: For Here We Come A-Caroling
Chapter 18: Up on the Housetop
Chapter 19: Auld Lang Syne
Chapter 20: In the Bleak Midwinter
Chapter 21: O Come, O Come, Emmanuel
Chapter 22: Watchman, Tell Us of the Night
Episode Five
Chapter 23: Good King Wenceslas
Chapter 24: Jingle Bells
Chapter 25: God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
Chapter 26: I Saw Three Ships
Chapter 27: We Wish You a Merry Christmas
Chapter 28: We Three Kings
Chapter 29: Oh Little Town of Bethlehem
Episode Six
Chapter 30: I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
Chapter 31: The Mistletoe Bough
Chapter 32: O Christmas Tree
Chapter 33: It Came Upon a Midnight Clear
Chapter 34: O Holy Night
Chapter 35: Joy to the World
Chapter 36: The Hallelujah Chorus
About the Author
Kindle Serials
Episode One
Chapter 1
The First Noel
November 28
It was Thanksgiving, but there was no aroma of roasting turkey wafting through the apartment. Nick Pappas had waited until noon to get out of bed. He hadn’t slept in, though, and couldn’t be sure he’d even slept at all. He had remained in bed because he lacked the impetus to get up, and was afraid of what he might do when he did.
Nick carried cereal and milk over to a warped vinyl dining table that he’d picked up at a garage sale for five bucks. The condiments were already on the table: salt, pepper, and sugar. And there was something else on the table, something metal, and dark, and ugly. He didn’t look at the gun, not directly at least, but it was there.
The revolver had been next to the sugar for two weeks. It had started as a game, or that’s what Nick tried to tell himself. One day he had taken the gun out of the closet; a few days later it was out of its holster. And then it went from the mantel, to the top of the refrigerator, to the counter, to the table. It kept getting closer to him. He could almost feel its heat.
He poured milk on his cereal, but didn’t start eating right away. He wasn’t really hungry. Maybe it wasn’t cereal he wanted to eat.
No, it wasn’t a game anymore. But then it never had been.
The gun was a revolver, a wheel gun—as in, spin the wheel. Young cops thought everything but semiautomatics were antiques—they wouldn’t be caught dead with a wheel gun. Nick’s was old, but it would do the job. The choice was in front of him: eat or be eaten.
Was that it? Was that the question? Nick wished he could care more, one way or the other, but he didn’t. He was just tired. One final disappointment, he thought. But he wasn’t ready to act, not quite yet. A small part of him was still holding out.
Maybe the department would reinstate him. Unlikely, he knew, but the Fat Lady hadn’t sung yet. He could wait until the suits returned their verdict.
Was that it? Was that his best Clarence Darrow? He hadn’t even brought up Teddy, or George, or Corinne. But there were reasons he hadn’t. Teddy was an ex-wife, and George and Corinne were ex-kids, or close to it. They were probably all getting together today. Maybe some other man was going to be carving Teddy’s bird.
Even if he was reinstated, Nick knew he’d always have the reputation as the departmental screwup. There, he felt something: a twinge of residual pride. He had messed up, done the wrong thing but for what he believed was the right reason. Maybe he could live with that. Maybe. But he’d just been skating on the job anyway, putting in the hours like other burnouts.
He looked at the revolver.
When he had started the ritual, he’d told himself there was no way he really wanted to die.
Liar.
Maybe he should take the bullets out of five of the chambers, and give it a spin. He could pull the trigger. He’d just do it once. And that way he wouldn’t really be making the decision. Fate would.
Lying again. Nick knew he wouldn’t stop at one attempt. And blaming fate was a cop out.
He reached out with his hand. He still wasn’t sure if he was reaching for the sugar or for the gun. His hand was halfway there when the phone rang.
Teddy, he thought. She had broken down and decided to invite him over for Thanksgiving dinner. But even as he reached for the phone, he knew it wouldn’t be Teddy. They had been divorced for almost five years now, and she had moved on with her life. She only talked with him when she had to, and that wasn’t very often. Maybe it was Georgie or Corinne. The kids were a little more forgiving than Teddy, but not much.
As he picked up the receiver, Nick wished he had a cell phone with a display, or at least an answering machine. That way he could have screened who was calling. When he’d furnished the apartment a few years back, he had done all his interior designing around a few garage sales. It was a shame no one had been selling an answering machine. By his own choice, he didn’t have a cell phone. He had lost his last cell phone just before everything hit the fan, and since then he’d seen no need to replace it. His home phone rang seldom enough.
“Got your bird in the oven yet, Nico?”
Forster. No one else called him Nico, at least not anymore. Forster had heard Nick’s mom call him that. He and Forster had been young then, both of them working patrol. Of course, Forster had been smarter than Nick. He’d put in his twenty years and walked away with his pension and his health. Now he was well into his second career.
“Yeah,” said Nick. “It’s cooking right now.”
“Don’t lie to me, Nico. I’ll bet you haven’t used your oven once since you moved in.”
“For your information, I’ve become quite the cook. I didn’t buy some store stuffing. I filled my bird with a cornbread and chestnut stuffing.”
“Something’s full of it, but I don’t think it’s your bird.”
“Being skeptical of others isn’t a healthy way to live, Wally.”
Forster hated being called Wally.
He went by Walt, or even Walter, but never Wally.
He pretended not to notice. “Our bird is about to come out of the oven, Nico, and I’m not talking some fantasy turkey with chestnut and corn stuffing …”
“Cornbread.”
“Whatever. This is a twenty-pound bird. It’s got a chest bigger than a Las Vegas showgirl’s. And for whatever reason, Maggie wants you to join us.”
“I wish you’d told me before I made my stuffing.”
Forster played along with the lie. “That’s what refrigerators are for.”
“I appreciate the offer. But I’ve got other plans.”
“Maggie isn’t the only one who wants you here. I was hoping we could talk business. I need you, Nico.”
“For what?”
“Come over and we’ll talk about it.”
“I told you, I got plans.”
“I need you starting tomorrow, Nick. That’s when it all happens, you know. Christmas season.”
Forster was the Director of Security for Plaza Center, one of San Diego’s largest malls. “Doors open at five a.m. in some of the stores,” he said. “My headache starts at five-oh-one.”
“I’m no rent-a-cop.”
“Don’t need a rent-a-cop,” Forster said. “I got enough of those. I need someone undercover. Two days ago we had a mugging. The victim is still in the ICU, and she wasn’t the first. Two scumbags roughed her up. I need you on lookout while they’re trying to scout other marks. We’ll put you in a central location.”
“I like the central location of my apartment.”
“I’m asking for a favor. I got a lot of people breathing down my neck. Muggings don’t help business and these guys are bad news.”
Forster didn’t give Nick a chance to decline the offer. “Besides, you owe me,” he said.
“What do you mean I owe you?”
“You saved my life.”
It had happened their second year on patrol. Forster had never seen the second gun. Nick had.
“That’s right. So why do I owe you?”
“The Chinese say if you save someone’s life, then you’re responsible for them the rest of your life.”
“You think I care what Confucius says? Here’s your newsflash: I’m no Chinaman. I’m one hundred percent Greek, and we’re talking the real thing, not the frat boy I Eta Pi kind of Greek.”
“No, what you are is a cop. And when a cop’s partner asks for help, you do whatever it takes.”
“You haven’t been my partner for years.”
“What? There’s a statute of limitations?”
Nick took a long breath. Forster sounded like he needed him for real. This wasn’t like the charity minimum-wage job he’d offered him when he had first been suspended from the force.
“A week,” said Nick, “I’ll do it for a week.”
“Opa! I need you tomorrow morning no later than seven, Nico. And you better wear your Kevlar vest.”
“Why? Are the suspects armed?”
“Who said anything about the suspects? I’m talking about the shoppers. There’s nothing quite as dangerous as the day-after-Thanksgiving sale.”
Nick could hear the change in Forster’s voice: He’d landed his fish. Now he was just playing with it.
“I can hardly wait.”
“Do it, Nico. I don’t even need to see it. Just do it so I can hear over the phone. That’ll be good enough.”
As empty as he was feeling, Nick still almost grinned. Anthony Quinn’s Zorba the Greek character had duped the whole world into thinking that Greeks everywhere loved to dance. Ever since seeing Zorba, Forster had been asking Nick to dance. That phony Quinn wasn’t even Greek. He was Mexican.
“I don’t dance, Wally.”
“It’s in your blood, Nico. You know it. You’re denying yourself. That can’t be healthy.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Maybe not yet. But you’re like an active volcano that’s just waiting to erupt. And when it happens, I want to be there.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“See you tomorrow, Nico.”
Nick hung up the phone and went back to the table. He had this feeling the governor had called and given the condemned man another week to live. Nick wasn’t sure whether he felt relieved or not.
He sat down and reached for the sugar.
Chapter 2
Oh Come, All Ye Faithful
November 29
Forster had been right about the early bird shoppers; every one of Plaza Center’s parking spaces seemed to be taken. Nick maneuvered his Chevy up and down the aisles and finally spied a car pulling out, but he wasn’t quick enough. A green and red MINI Cooper pulled around him and squeezed into the space.
He rolled down his window, ready to give the other driver an earful. There were roof racks on the MINI that housed surfboards bigger than the car. Two bumper stickers, one that read “Miracles Happen” and another that stated “My Other Child Is an Angel,” sandwiched a personalized license plate that read XMASELF.
The driver’s door opened, and a woman hopped out. Her back was to Nick, but she carried an enormous purse blinged out with rhinestones and holiday decorations. Just as he was about to start venting, she reached into her purse and tossed something into the air. Nick stretched out his hand and caught it. The lady had tossed him a green and red candy cane, and now she was blithely skipping away—and making damn good time.
Nick’s driving luck suddenly changed. Right in front of him a driver began pulling out, and Nick claimed the spot. He left his car unlocked, the driver’s window opened. The best security system was driving a junker with nothing of value in it.
He started sucking on his candy cane, but it didn’t sweeten his disposition. Plaza Mall was dressed up in loud, gaudy colors that were supposed to entice. Red, green, and silver were everywhere. All the mall was missing only stiletto heels and fishnet stockings. There wasn’t a sign or street lamp without garland on it, and holiday music was being piped everywhere. He was only minutes into the holiday season, but it already felt old.
“Bah humbug,” Nick announced.
He walked across the parking lot, and then stepped into one of the department stores that anchored the mall. The shortcut came with a price. The department store seemed to be doing a Las Vegas version of Christmas, complete with lights, sights, and sounds. Over the store’s speakers, “Oh, Come All Ye Faithful” played to a disco beat. He wished he’d worn dark glasses and earplugs.
The merchants were desperate this year. You could sense it. Thanksgiving had come late, and December was only a few hours away. Their time clock was running.
Nick forged forward. Security offices were always in the recesses of any building. He walked the length of the department store, wondering why it was always easier to enter a store than to leave one. Eventually he found his way into the mall proper. He went down two flights of stairs and followed some “Employee Only” signs. That got him to the other side of Candy Cane Lane and an area with little color and no ornaments. There was a veneer of respectability around the administrative offices, but it didn’t go much further than that. Security was at the end of the hall.
Forster looked like a fire chief working three fires with two fire trucks. His phone was ringing, and he was talking on the other line. Two rent-a-cops, by the looks of them moonlighting Marines, were standing around, waiting to be told what to do. Forster hung up the phone, dispatched his officers to a store on level three, and then greeted Nick by tossing him some paperwork.
“Like old times,” he said. “I did your paperwork for you. Just sign wherever you find an X.”
Forster punched a button to take the other call, and Nick started applying his signature. When they had worked together, Forster had always been the one writing up their reports. He had been good with the paperwork, whereas Nick had been the talker, at least back then. Forster had been a four-year veteran when Nick was a rookie, and had always treated him like a younger brother.
&nbs
p; Nick finished with the forms before Forster finished his call. The job suited Forster, Nick thought. His former partner was looking fit and young for a fifty-five-year-old man. His light brown hair had turned mostly gray, but that didn’t age him so much as accent him, like one of those frosted Christmas trees that were everywhere around the mall.
A small knock sounded at the opened door. Two things struck Nick about the woman standing there: her smile was about as big as her body, and she was dressed as an elf. Her vest and skirt were green and red with silver highlights. She was wearing a pointy hat, and pointy slippers, with little silver bells attached to all the points. Forster motioned for her to come in and sit down.
She entered the office to the accompaniment of her bells. On anyone else, Nick decided, the outfit would have looked stupid, but on her it somehow wasn’t that ridiculous. She was blonde and pixyish, with freckles and blue eyes and dimples that went with her big smile. If she had been smaller, with larger, pointed ears, and had traded in a few of her freckles for rosy cheeks, she could have qualified for a real-life elf.
Nick stood up and the woman directed her larger-than-life smile at him. Only then did he remember the personalized license plate and the woman who had stolen his parking space. He frowned at her, but that didn’t discourage her smile any.
“You must be the police officer,” she said.
“Yes,” said Nick. It was the easier answer. “You must be the Elf.”
“Angie Gordon,” she said, bouncing closer to shake his hand, her bells jingling.
“Nick Pappas.”
Angie’s handshake was vigorous enough to set off a few more bells.