Christopher Moore 



 The Stupidest Angel: A  Heartwarming Tale Of Christmas  Terror 



 This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are 

 drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any 

 resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely 

 coincidental. 



 Copyright © 2004 by Christopher Moore. 

 This book is dedicated to MIKE SPRADLIN who said: "You know, you oughtta write 

 a Christmas book." 

 To which I replied: "What kind of Christmas book?" 

 To which he replied: "I don't know. Maybe Christmas in Pine Cove or 

 something." 

 To which I replied: " 'Kay." 

 Acknowledgments 



 The author wishes to acknowledge those who helped: as always, Nicholas 

 Ellison, my intrepid agent; Jennifer Brehl, my brilliant editor; Lisa 

 Gallagher and Michael Morrison for continued confidence in my ability to tell 

 stories; Jack Womack and Leslie Cohen for getting me in front of my readers 

 and the press; the Huffmans, for preparing a landing pad and a warm welcome; 

 Charlee Rodgers, for the careful reads, thoughtful comments, and just putting 

 up with the process; and finally, Taco Bob, from whom I joyfully (and with 

 permission, which almost ruins it) swiped the idea for chapter 16. 



 Author's Warning 



 If you're buying this book as a gift for your grandma or a kid, you should be 

 aware that it contains cusswords as well as tasteful depictions of cannibalism 

 and people in their forties having sex. Don't blame me. I told you. 

 Chapter 1 



 CHRISTMAS CREEPS 



 Christmas crept into Pine Cove like a creeping Christmas thing: dragging 

 garland, ribbon, and sleigh bells, oozing eggnog, reeking of pine, and 

 threatening festive doom like a cold sore under the mistletoe. 



 Pine Cove, her pseudo-Tudor architecture all tarted up in holiday quaintage 

 twinkle lights in all the trees along Cypress Street, fake snow blown into the 

 corner of every shop's windows, miniature Santas and giant candles hovering 

 illuminated beneath every streetlight          opened to the droves of tourists from 

 Los Angeles, San Francisco, and the Central Valley searching for a truly 

 meaningful moment of Christmas commerce. Pine Cove, sleepy California coastal 

 village      a toy town, really, with more art galleries than gas stations, more 

 wine-tasting rooms than hardware stores          lay there, as inviting as a drunken 

 prom queen, as Christmas loomed, only five days away. Christmas was coming, 

 and with Christmas this year, would come the Child. Both were vast and 

 irresistible, and miraculous. Pine Cove was expecting only one of the two. 



                                                                                               Page 1 


----------------------- Page 2-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 Which is not to say that the locals didn't get into the Christmas spirit. The 

 two weeks before and after Christmas provided a welcome wave of cash into the 

 town's coffers, tourist-starved since summer. Every waitress dusted off her 

 Santa hat and clip-on reindeer antlers and checked to make sure that there 

 were four good pens in her apron. Hotel clerks steeled themselves for the rage 

 of last-minute overbookings, while housekeepers switched from their normal 

 putrid baby-powder air fresheners to a more festive putrid pine and cinnamon. 

 Down at the Pine Cove Boutique they put a "Holiday Special" sign on the 

 hideous reindeer sweater and marked it up for the tenth consecutive year. The 

 Elks, Moose, Masons, and VFWs, who were basically the same bunch of drunk old 

 guys, planned furiously for their annual Christmas parade down Cypress Street, 

 the theme of which this year would be Patriotism in the Bed of a Pickup 

 (mainly because that had been the theme of their Fourth of July parade and 

 everyone still had the decorations). Many Pine Covers even volunteered to man 

 the Salvation Army kettles down in front of the post office and the 

 Thrifty-Mart in two-hour shifts, sixteen hours a day. Dressed in their red 

 suits and fake beards, they rang their bells like they were going for dog-spit 

 gold at the Pavlov Olympics. 

 * * * 



 "Give up the cash, you cheap son of a bitch," said Lena Marquez, who was 

 working the kettle that Monday, five days before Christmas. Lena was following 

 Dale Pearson, Pine Cove's evil developer, through the parking lot, ringing the 

 bejeezus out of him as he headed for his truck. On his way into the 

 Thrifty-Mart, he'd nodded to her and said, "Catch you on the way out," but 

 when he emerged eight minutes later, carrying a sack of groceries and a bag of 

 ice, he blew by her kettle like she was using it to render tallow from 

 building inspectors' butts and he needed to escape the stench. 



 "It's not like you can't afford a couple of bucks for the less fortunate." 



 She rang her bell especially hard right by his ear and he spun around, 

 swinging the bag of ice at her about hip level. 



 Lena jumped back. She was thirty-eight, lean, dark-skinned, with the delicate 

 neck and finely set jawline of a flamenco dancer; her long black hair was 

 coiled into two Princess Leia cinnabuns on either side of her Santa hat. "You 

 can't take a swing at Santa! That's wrong in so many ways that I don't have 

 time to enumerate them." 



 "You mean to count them," Dale said, the soft winter sunlight glinting off a 

 new set of veneers he'd just had installed on his front teeth. He was 

 fifty-two, almost completely bald, and had strong carpenter's shoulders that 

 were still wide and square, despite the beer gut hanging below. 



 "I mean it's wrong       you're wrong       and you're cheap," and with that Lena 

 put the bell next to his ear again and shook it like a red-suited terrier 

 shaking the life out of a screaming brass rat. 



 Dale cringed at the sound and swung the ten-pound bag of ice in a great 

 underhanded arc that caught Lena in the solar plexus and sent her backpedaling 

 across the parking lot, gasping for breath. That's when the ladies at BULGES 

 called the cops       well, cop. 

 * * * 



 BULGES was a women's fitness center located just above the parking lot of the 

 Thrifty-Mart, and from their treadmills and stair-climbing machines, the 



                                                                                               Page 2 


----------------------- Page 3-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 BULGES members could watch the ins and outs of the local market without 

 feeling as if they were actively spying. So what had started as a moment of 

 sheer glee and a mild adrenaline surge for the six of them who were watching 

 as Lena chased Dale through the parking lot, turned quickly to shock as the 

 evil developer thwacked the Latin Santa-ette in the breadbasket with a satchel 

 of minicubes. Five of the six merely missed a step or gasped, but Georgia 

 Bauman     who had her treadmill cranked up to eight miles per hour at that 

 very moment, because she was trying to lose fifteen pounds by Christmas and 

 fit into a red-sequined sheath cocktail dress her husband had bought for her 

 in a fit of sexual idealism         bowled backward off her treadmill and landed in 

 a colorful spandex tangle of yoga students who had been practicing on the mats 

 behind her. 



 "Ow, my ass chakra!" 



 "That's you're root chakra." 



 "Feels like my ass." 



 "Did you see that? He nearly knocked her off her feet. Poor thing." 



 "Should we see if she's all right?" 



 "Someone should call Theo." 



 The exercisers opened their cell phones in unison, like the Jets flicking 

 switchblades as they gaily danced into a West Side Story gang-fight to the 

 death. 



 "Why did she ever marry that guy, anyway?" 



 "He's such an asshole." 



 "She used to drink." 



 "Georgia, are you all right, honey?" 



 "Can you get Theo by calling 911?" 



 "That bastard is just going to drive off and leave her there " 



 "We should go help." 



 "I've got twelve more minutes on this thing." 



 "The cell reception in this town is horrible." 



 "I have Theo's number on speed dial, for the kids. Let me call." 



 "Look at Georgia and the girls. It looks like they were playing Twister and 

 fell." 



 "Hello, Theo. This is Jane down at BULGES. Yes, well, I just glanced out the 

 window here and I noticed that there might be a problem over at the 

 Thrifty-Mart. Well, I don't want to meddle, but let's just say that a certain 

 contractor just hit one of the Salvation Army Santas with a bag of ice. Well, 

 I'll look for your car, then." She flipped the phone shut. "He's on his way." 

 * * * 



                                                                                               Page 3 


----------------------- Page 4-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 Theophilus Crowe's mobile phone played eight bars of "Tangled Up in Blue" in 

 an irritating electronic voice that sounded like a choir of suffering 

 houseflies, or Jiminy Cricket huffing helium, or, well, you know, Bob Dylan 

 anyway, by the time he got the device open, five people in the produce section 

 of the Thrifty-Mart were giving him the hairy eyeball hard enough to wilt the 

 arugula right there in his cart. He grinned as if to say, Sorry, I hate these 

 things, too, but what aw you gonna do? then he answered, "Constable Crowe," 

 just to remind everyone that he wasn't dickmg around here, he was THE LAW. 



 "In the parking lot of the Thrifty-Mart? Okay, I'll be right there " 



 Wow, this was convenient. One thing about being the resident lawman in a town 

 of only five thousand people         you were never far from the trouble. Theo 

 parked his cart on the end of the aisle and loped by the registers and out the 

 automatic doors to the parking lot (He was a denim- and flannel-clad praying 

 mantis of a man, six-six, one-eighty, and he only had three speeds, amble, 

 lope, and still). Outside he found Lena Marquez doubled over and gasping for 

 breath. Her ex-husband, Dale Pearson, was stepping into his four-wheel-drive 

 pickup. 



 "Right there, Dale. Wait," Theo said 



 Theo ascertained that Lena had only had the wind knocked out of her and was 

 going to be okay, then addressed the stocky contractor, who had paused with 

 one boot on the running board, as if he'd be on his way as soon as the hot air 

 cleared out of the truck. 



 "What happened here?" 



 "The crazy bitch hit me with that bell of hers." 



 "Did not," gasped Lena 



 "I got a report you hit her with a bag of ice, Dale. That's assault." 



 Dale Pearson looked around quickly and spotted the crowd of women gathered by 

 the window over at the gym. They all looked away, heading for the various 

 machines they had been on when the debacle unfolded. "Ask them. They'll tell 

 you she had that bell right upside my head. I just reacted out of 

 self-defense." 



 "He said he'd donate when he came out of the store, then he didn't," Lena 

 said, her breath coming back. "There's an implied contract there. He violated 

 it. And I didn't hit him." 



 "She's a fucking nutcase." Dale said it like he was declaring water wet 

 like it was just understood. 



 Theo looked from one of them to the other. He'd dealt with these two before, 

 but thought it had all come to rest when they'd divorced five years ago. (He'd 

 been constable of Pine Cove for fourteen years            he'd seen the wrong side of 

 a lot of couples.) First rule in a domestic situation was separate the 

 parties, but that appeared to have already been accomplished. You weren't 

 supposed to take sides, but since Theo had a soft spot for nutcases               he'd 

 married one himself       he decided to make a judgment call and focus his 

 attention on Dale. Besides, the guy was an asshole. 



 Theo patted Lena's back and loped over to Dale's truck. 



 "Don't waste your time, hippie," Dale said. "I'm done." He climbed into his 



                                                                                               Page 4 


----------------------- Page 5-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 truck and closed the door. 



 Hippie? Theo thought. Hippie? He'd cut his ponytail years ago. He'd stopped 

 wearing Birkenstocks. He'd even stopped smoking pot. Where did this guy get 

 off calling him a hippie? 



 Hippie? he said to himself, then: "Hey!" 



 Dale started his truck and put it into gear. 



 Theo stepped up on the running board, leaned over the windshield, and started 

 tapping on it with a quarter he'd fished from his jeans pocket. "Don't leave, 

 Dale." Tap, tap, tap. "You leave now, I'll put a warrant out for your arrest." 

 Tap, tap, tap. Theo was pissed now          he was sure of it. Yes, this was 

 definitely anger now. 



 Dale threw the truck into park and hit the electric window button. "What? What 

 do you want?" 



 "Lena wants to press charges for assault           maybe assault with a deadly 

 weapon. I think you'd better rethink leaving right now." 



 "Deadly weapon? It was a bag of ice." 



 Theo shook his head, affected a whimsical storyteller's tone: "A ten-pound bag 

 of ice. Listen, Dale, as I drop a ten-pound block of ice on the courtroom 

 floor in front of the jury. Can you hear it? Can't you just see the jury 

 cringe as I smash a honeydew melon on the defense attorney's table with a 

 ten-pound block of ice? Not a deadly weapon? 'Ladies and gentlemen of the 

 jury, this man, this reprobate, this redneck, this            if I may 

 clump-filled-cat-box-of-a-man, struck a defenseless woman             a woman who out 

 of the kindness of her heart was collecting for the poor, a woman who was only 

    " 



 "But it's not a block of ice, it's          " 



 Theo raised a finger in the air. "Not another word, Dale, not until I read you 

 your rights." Theo could tell he was getting to Dale             veins were starting to 

 pulse in the contractor's temples and his bald head was turning bright pink. 

 Hippie, huh? "Lena is definitely pressing charges, aren't you, Lena?" 



 Lena had made her way to the side of the truck. 



 "No," Lena said. 



 "Bitch!" Theo said       it slipped out before he could stop himself. He'd been 

 on such a roll. 



 "See how she is," said Dale. "Wish you had a bag of ice now, don't you, 

 hippie?" 



 "I'm an officer of the law," Theo said, wishing he had a gun or something. He 

 pulled his badge wallet out of his back pocket but decided that was a little 

 late for ID, since he'd known Dale for nearly twenty years. 



 "Yeah, and I'm a Caribou," Dale said, with more pride than he really should 

 have had about that. 



 "I'll forget all about it if he puts a hundred bucks in the kettle," Lena 

 said. 



                                                                                               Page 5 


----------------------- Page 6-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "You're nuts, woman." 



 "It's Christmas, Dale." 



 "Fuck Christmas and fuck you." 



 "Hey, there's no need for that kind of talk, Dale," Theo said, going for the 

 peace in peace officer. "You can just step out of the truck." 



 "Fifty bucks in the kettle and he can go," Lena said. "It's for the needy." 



 Theo whipped around and looked at her. "You can't plea-bargain in the parking 

 lot of the Thrifty-Mart. I had him on the ropes." 



 "Shut up, hippie," Dale said. Then to Lena, "You'll take twenty and the needy 

 can get bent. They can get a job like the rest of us." 



 Theo was sure he had handcuffs in the Volvo           or were they still on the 

 bedpost at home? "That is not the way we           " 



 "Forty!" Lena shouted. 



 "Done!" Dale said. He pulled two twenties from his wallet, wadded them up, and 

 threw them out the window so they bounced off of Theo Crowe's chest. He threw 

 the truck in gear and backed out. 



 "Stop right there!" Theo commanded. 



 Dale righted the truck and took off. As the big red pickup passed Theo's Volvo 

 station wagon, parked twenty yards up the lot, a bag of ice came flying out 

 the window and exploded against the Volvo's tailgate, showering the parking 

 lot with cubes but otherwise doing no damage whatsoever. "Merry Christmas, you 

 psycho bitch!" Dale shouted out the window as he turned onto the street. "And 

 to all a good night! Hippie!" 



 Lena had tucked the wadded bills into her Santa suit and was squeezing Theo's 

 shoulder as the red truck roared out of sight. "Thanks for coming to my 

 rescue, Theo." 



 "Not much of a rescue. You should press charges." 



 "I'm okay. He'd have gotten out of it anyway, he has great lawyers. Trust me, 

 I know. Besides, forty bucks'" 



 "That's the Christmas spirit," Theo said, not able to keep from smiling. "You 

 sure you're okay?" 



 "I'm fine. It's not the first time he's lost it with me." She patted the 

 pocket of her Santa suit. "At least something came of this." She started back 

 to her kettle and Theo followed. 



 "You have a week to file charges if you change your mind," Theo said. 



 "You know what, Theo? I really don't want to spend another Christmas obsessing 

 on what a complete waste of humanity Dale Pearson is. I'd rather let it go. 

 Maybe if we're lucky he'll be one of those holiday fatalities we're always 

 hearing about" 



 "That would be nice," said Theo. 



                                                                                               Page 6 


----------------------- Page 7-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Now who's in the Christmas spirit?" 

 * * * 



 In another Christmas story, Dale Pearson, evil developer, self-absorbed woman 

 hater, and seemingly unredeemable curmudgeon, might be visited in the night by 

 a series of ghosts who, by showing him bleak visions of Christmas future, 

 past, and present, would bring about in him a change to generosity, kindness, 

 and a general warmth toward his fellow man But this is not that kind of 

 Christmas story, so here, in not too many pages, someone is going to dispatch 

 the miserable son of a bitch with a shovel. That's the spirit of Christmas yet 

 to come in these parts. Ho, ho, ho. 



 Chapter 2 



 THE LOCAL GIRLS HAVE A WAY 

 ABOUT THEM 



 The Warrior Babe of the Outland steered her Honda station wagon down Cypress 

 Street, stopping every ten feet or so for tourists who were stepping into the 

 street from between parked cars, completely oblivious of any automobile 

 traffic. My kingdom for a razor-blade cowcatcher and Cuisinart wheel covers to 

 cut my path through this herd of ignorant peasant meat, she thought. Then: 

 Whoa, I guess I really do need the meds. So she said, "They act like Cypress 

 Street is the midway at Disneyland          like no one actually has to use the 

 street to drive on. You guys wouldn't do that, would you?" 



 She glanced over her shoulder at the two damp teenage boys who were huddled in 

 the corner of the backseat of the car. They shook their heads furiously. One 

 said, "No, Miss Michon, no we'd never. No." 



 Her real name was Molly Michon, but years ago, as a B-movie queen, she'd done 

 eight movies as Kendra, Warrior Babe of the Outland. She had a wild mane of 

 blond hair shot with gray and the body of a fitness model. She could pass for 

 thirty or fifty, depending on the time of day, what she was wearing, and how 

 deeply medicated she was. Fans agreed that she was probably somewhere in her 

 early to midforties. 



 Fans. The two teenage boys in the backseat of the car were fans. They'd made 

 the mistake of taking part of their Christmas break to go to Pine Cove in 

 search of the famed cult-film star, Molly Michon, and get her autograph on 

 their copies of Warrior Babe VI: Revenge of the Savage Skank, just released on 

 DVD, with never-before-seen outtakes of Molly's boobs popping out of her 

 gun-metal bra. Molly had seen them skulking around the outside of the cabin 

 she shared with her husband, Theo Crowe. She'd snuck out the back door and 

 ambushed them on the side of the house with a garden hose             sprayed them down 

 good, chased them through the pine forest till the hose reeled out of its 

 cart, then she tackled the taller one and threatened to snap his neck if the 

 other one didn't stop in his tracks. 



 Realizing at that point that she might have made a public relations error, 

 Molly invited her fans to come along to help pick out a Christmas tree for the 

 Santa Rosa Chapel Christmas Party for the Lonesome. (She had been making more 

 than a few minor misjudgments lately, as she'd stopped taking her meds a week 

 ago in order to save money for Theo's Christmas present.) 



                                                                                               Page 7 


----------------------- Page 8-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "So, where are you guys from?" she said cheerfully. 



 "Please don't hurt us," said Bert, the taller, thinner of the two kids (She 

 had been thinking of them as Bert and Ernie           not because they really looked 

 like the puppets, but because they had the same relative shapes              except for 

 the big hand up their bottoms, of course.) 



 "I'm not going to hurt you. It's great to have you along. The guys at the 

 Christmas-tree lot are a little wary of me since I fed one of their coworkers 

 to a sea monster a few years ago, so you guys can sort of act as a social 

 buffer." Damn, she shouldn't have mentioned the sea monster. She'd had so many 

 years of obscurity between the time she'd been pushed out of the movie 

 business until the revival to cult status of her movies that she'd lost most 

 of her people skills. And then there was that fifteen-year disconnect with 

 reality when she'd been known as Pine Cove's crazy lady             but since she'd 

 hooked up with Theo, and had stayed on her anti-psychotics, things had been a 

 lot better. 



 She turned into the parking lot of Pine Cove Hardware and Gift, where a half 

 acre of tarmac was corralled off for the Christmas-tree lot. Upon spotting her 

 car, three middle-aged guys in canvas aprons quickstepped their way into the 

 store, threw the bolt, and turned the "Open" sign to CLOSED. 



 She'd thought this might happen, but she wanted to surprise Theo, prove that 

 she could handle getting the big Christmas tree for the chapel party. Now 

 these narrow-minded minions of Black & Decker were foiling her plans for a 

 perfect Christmas. She took a deep breath and tried to exhale herself into a 

 calm moment as her yoga teacher had instructed. 



 Well, she did live in the middle of a pine forest, didn't she? Maybe she 

 should just go cut a Christmas tree herself. 



 "Let's just go back to the cabin, guys I have an ax there that will work." 



 "Noooooooo!" screamed Ernie as he reached across his damp friend, threw the 

 latch on the Honda's door, and rolled them both out of the moving car into a 

 pallet of plastic reindeer. 



 "Okay, then," Molly said, "you guys take care. I'll just see if I can cut a 

 tree out of the front yard." She swung around in the parking lot and headed 

 back home. 
 * * * 



 Slick with sweat, Lena Marquez slid out of her Santa suit like a baby lizard 

 emerging from a fuzzy red egg. The temperature had risen into the high 

 seventies before she'd finished her shift at the Thrifty-Mart, and she was 

 sure she'd probably lost five pounds in water in the heavy suit. Wearing only 

 her bra and panties, she padded into the bathroom and jumped on the scale to 

 enjoy the surprise bonus weight loss. The disk spun and settled on her usual 

 preshower weight. Perfect for her height, light for her age, but dammit, she'd 

 fought with her ex, been pounded with ice, rang out good cheer for the less 

 fortunate, and endured the jolly heat of the Santa suit for eight hours, she 

 deserved something for her efforts. 



 She took off her bra and panties and hopped back on the scale. No discernible 

 difference. Dammit! She sat, peed, wiped, and jumped back on the scale. Maybe 

 a third of a pound below normal. Ah! she thought, brushing her beard aside so 

 she could read the scale more clearly, this could be the problem. She pulled 

 off the white beard and Santa hat, flung them into the nearby bedroom, shook 



                                                                                               Page 8 


----------------------- Page 9-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 out her long black hair, and waited for the scale to settle. 



 Oh yeah. Four pounds. She did a quick Tae Bo kick of celebration and stepped 

 into the shower. She winced as she soaped up, hitting a sore spot there by her 

 solar plexus. There were a couple of purple bruises developing on her ribs 

 where the ice bag had hit her. She'd had more pain after doing too many 

 crunches at the gym, but this pain seemed to shoot on through to her heart. 

 Maybe it was the thought of spending Christmas alone. 



 This would be her first since the divorce. Her sister, whom she'd spent the 

 last few Christmases with, was going with her husband and the kids to Europe. 

 Dale, total prick that he was, had involved her in all sorts of holiday 

 activities from which she was now excluded. The rest of her family was back in 

 Chicago, and she hadn't had any luck with men since Dale             too much residual 

 anger and mistrust. (He hadn't just been a prick, he had cheated on her.) Her 

 girlfriends, all of them married or paired up with semipermanent boyfriends, 

 told her that she needed to be single for a while, spend some time getting to 

 know herself. That, of course, was total bullshit. She knew herself, liked 

 herself, washed herself, dressed herself, bought herself presents, took 

 herself out on dates, and even had sex with herself from time to time, which 

 always ended better than it used to with Dale. 



 "Oh, that get-to-know-yourself stuff will send you full-blown batshit," said 

 her friend Molly Michon. "And believe me, I am the uncrowned queen of batshit. 

 Last time I really got to know myself it turned out there was a whole gang of 

 bitches in there to deal with. I felt like the receptionist at a rehab center. 

 They all had nice tits, though, I gotta say. Anyway, forget that. Go out and 

 do stuff for someone else. That's much better for you. 'Get to know yourself' 

    what good is that? What if you get to know yourself and find out you're a 

 total harpy? Sure, I like you, but you can't trust my judgment. Go do 

 something for other people." 



 It was true. Molly could be         uh, eccentric, but she did make sense 

 occasionally. So Lena had volunteered to man the Salvation Army kettle, she'd 

 collected canned food and frozen turkeys for the Pine Cove Anonymous Neighbors 

 food drive, and tomorrow night, as soon as it got dark, she was going to go 

 out and collect live Christmas trees and drop them off at the homes of people 

 who probably wouldn't be able to afford them. That should take her mind off 

 herself. And if it didn't work, she'd spend Christmas Eve at the Santa Rosa 

 Chapel Party for the Lonesome. Oh God, there it was. It was Christmastime, and 

 she was in the Christmas spirit         she was feeling lonesome . 

 * * * 



 To Mavis Sand, the owner of the Head of the Slug saloon, the word lonesome 

 rang like the bell on a cash register. Come Christmas break, Pine Cove filled 

 up with tourists seeking small-town charm, and the Head of the Slug filled up 

 with lonesome, disenfranchised winners seeking solace Mavis was glad to serve 

 it up in the form of her signature (and overpriced) Christmas cocktail, the 

 Slow Comfortable Screw in the Back of Santa's Sleigh, which consisted of 

 "Well, fuck off if you need to know what's in it," Mavis would say. "I'm a 

 professional bartender since your daddy flushed the condom that held your only 

 hope of havin' a brain, so get in the spirit and order the goddamn drink." 



 Mavis was always in the Christmas spirit, right down to the Christmas-tree 

 earrings that she wore year-round to give her that "new-car smell." A sheaf of 

 mistletoe the size of a moose head hung over the order station at her bar, and 

 throughout the season, any unsuspecting drunk who leaned too far over the bar 

 to shout his order into one of Mavis's hearing aids would find that beyond the 

 fluttering black nylon whips of her mascara-plastered pseudo lashes, behind 



                                                                                               Page 9 


----------------------- Page 10-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 the mole with the hair and the palette knife-applied cakes of Red Seduction 

 lipstick, past the Tareyton 100s breath and the clacking dentures, Mavis still 

 had some respectable tongue action left in her. One guy, breathless and 

 staggering toward the door, claimed that she had tongued his medulla oblongata 

 and stimulated visions of being choked in Death's dark closet              which Mavis 

 took as a compliment. 



 About the same time that Dale and Lena were having their go-round down at the 

 Thrifty-Mart, Mavis, perched on her stool behind the bar, looked up from a 

 crossword puzzle to see the most beautiful man she'd ever lain eyes on coming 

 through Slug's double doors. What had once been a desert bloomed down under; 

 where for years lay a dusty streambed, a mighty river did now flow. Her heart 

 skipped a beat and the defibrillator implanted in her chest gave her a little 

 jolt that sent her sluicing electric off her bar stool to his service. If he 

 ordered a wallbanger she'd come so hard her tennis shoes would rip out from 

 the toe curl, she knew it, she felt it, she wanted it. Mavis was a romantic. 



 "Can I help you?" she asked, batting her eyelashes, which gave the appearance 

 of spastic wolf spiders convulsing behind her glasses. 



 A half-dozen daytime regulars who had been sitting at the bar turned on their 

 stools to behold the source of that oily courtesy            there was no way that 

 voice had come out of Mavis, who normally spoke to them in tones of disdain 

 and nicotine. 



 "I'm looking for a child," said the stranger. He had long blond hair that 

 fanned out over the rain flap of a black trench coat. His eyes were violet, 

 his facial features both rugged and delicate, finely cut and yet with no lines 

 of age or experience. 



 Mavis tweaked the little knob on her right hearing aid and tilted her head 

 like a dog who has just bitten into a plastic pork chop. Oh, how the pillars 

 of lust can crumble under the weight of stupidity. "You're looking for a 

 child?" asked Mavis. 



 "Yes," said the stranger. 



 "In a bar? On a Monday afternoon? You're looking for a child?" 



 "Yes." 



 "A particular child, or will just any child do?" 



 "I'll know it when I see it," said the stranger. 



 "You sick fuck," said one of the daytime regulars, and Mavis, for once, nodded 

 in agreement, her neck vertebrae clicking like a socket wrench. 



 "Get the hell out of my bar," she said. A long, lacquered fingernail pointed 

 the way back out the door. "Go on, get out. What do you think this is, 

 Bangkok?" 



 The stranger looked at her finger. "The Nativity is approaching, am I 

 correct?" 



 "Yeah, Christmas is Saturday." Mavis growled. "The hell does that have 

 anything to do with anything?" 



 "Then I'll need a child before Saturday," said the stranger. 



                                                                                               Page 10 


----------------------- Page 11-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 Mavis reached under the bar and pulled out her miniature baseball bat. Just 

 because he was pretty didn't mean he couldn't be improved by a smack upside 

 the head with a piece of earnest hickory. Men: a wink, a thrill, a damp 

 squish, and before you knew it it was time to start raising lumps and 

 loosening teeth. Mavis was a pragmatic romantic: love             correctly performed, 

 she believed      hurts. 



 "Smack 'im, Mavis," cheered one of the daytime regulars. 



 "What kind of perv wears an overcoat in seventy-five-degree weather?" said 

 another. "I say brain him." 



 Bets were beginning to be exchanged back by the pool table. 



 Mavis tugged at an errant chin hair and peered over her glasses at the 

 stranger. "Think you might want to move your little search on down the road 

 some?" 



 "What day is it?" asked the stranger. 



 "Monday." 



 "Then I'll have a diet Coke." 



 "What about the kid?" asked Mavis, punctuating the question by smacking the 

 baseball bat against her palm (which hurt like hell, but she wasn't going to 

 flinch, not a chance). 



 "I have until Saturday," said the beautiful perv. "For now, just a diet Coke 

 and a Snickers bar. Please." 



 "That's it," Mavis said. "You're a dead man." 



 "But, I said please," said Blondie, missing the point, somewhat. 



 She didn't even bother to throw open the lift-away through the bar but ducked 

 under it and charged. At that moment a bell rang, and a beam of light blasted 

 into the bar, indicating that someone had come in from outside. When Mavis 

 stood back up, leaning heavily on her back foot as she wound up to knock the 

 stranger's nads well into the next county, he was gone. 



 "Problem, Mavis?" asked Theophilus Crowe. The constable was standing right 

 where the stranger had been. 



 "Damn, where'd he go?" Mavis looked around behind Theo, then back at the 

 daytime regulars. 



 "Where'd he go?" 



 "Got me," they said, a chorus of shrugs. 



 "Who?" asked Theo. 



 "Blond guy in a black trench coat," said Mavis. "You had to pass him on the 

 way in." 



 "Trench coat? It's seventy-five degrees out," said Theo. "I'd have noticed 

 someone in a trench coat." 



 "He was a perv!" someone shouted from the back. 



                                                                                               Page 11 


----------------------- Page 12-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 Theo looked down at Mavis. "This guy flash you?" 



 Their height difference was nearly two feet and Mavis had to back up a step to 

 look him in the eye. "Hell no. I like a man who believes in truth in 

 advertising. This guy was looking for a child." 



 "He told you that? He came in here and said he was looking for a kid?" 



 "That's it. I was just getting ready to teach him some             " 



 "You're sure he hadn't lost his kid? That happens, Christmas shopping, they 

 wander away      " 



 "No, he wasn't looking for a particular kid, he was just looking for a kid." 



 "Well, maybe he wanted to be a Big Brother or Secret Santa or something," said 

 Theo, expressing a faith in the goodness of man for which he had little to no 

 evidence, "do something nice for Christmas." 



 "Goddammit, Theo, you dumbfuck, you don't have to pry a priest off an altar 

 boy with a crowbar to figure out that he's not helping the kid with his 

 Rosary. The guy was a perv." 



 "Well, I should probably go look for him." 



 "Well, you probably oughta should." 



 Theo started to turn to go out the door, then turned back. "I'm not a 

 dumbfuck, Mavis. There's no need for that kind of talk." 



 "Sorry, Theo," said Mavis, lowering her baseball bat to show the sincerity of 

 her contrition. "Why was it you came in, then?" 



 "Can't remember." Theo raised his eyebrows, daring her. 



 Mavis grinned at him. Theo was a good guy           a little flaky but a good guy. 

 "Really?" 



 "Nah, I just wanted to check with you on the food for the Christmas party. You 

 were going to barbecue, right?" 



 "I was planning on it." 



 "Well, I just heard on the radio that there's a pretty good chance of rain, so 

 you might want to have a backup plan." 



 "More liquor?" 



 "I was thinking something that wouldn't involve cooking outdoors." 



 "Like more liquor?" 



 Theo shook his head and started toward the door. "Call me or Molly if you need 

 any help." 



 "It won't rain," said Mavis. "It never rains in December." 



 But Theo was gone, out on the street looking for the trench-coated stranger. 



                                                                                               Page 12 


----------------------- Page 13-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "It could rain," said one of the daytime regulars. "Scientists say we could 

 see El Niño this year." 



 "Yeah, like they ever tell us until after half the state has washed away," 

 said Mavis. "Screw the scientists." 



 But El Niño was coming. 



 El Niño. The Child. 

 Chapter 3 


 HOSED FOR THE HOLIDAYS 



 Tuesday night. Christmas was still four days away, and yet there was Santa 

 Claus cruising right down the main street of town in his big red pickup truck: 

 waving to the kids, weaving in his lane, belching into his beard, more than a 

 little drunk. "Ho, ho, ho," said Dale Pearson, evil developer and Caribou 

 Lodge Santa for the sixth consecutive year. "Ho, ho, ho," he said, suppressing 

 the urge to add and a bottle of rum, his demeanor more akin to that of 

 Blackbeard than Saint Nicholas. Parents pointed, children waved and frisked. 



 By now, all of Pine Cove was abuzz with expat Christmas cheer. Every hotel 

 room was full, and there wasn't a parking space to be found down on Cypress 

 Street, where shoppers pumped their chestnuts into an open fire of credit-card 

 swipe-and-spend denial. It smelled of cinnamon and pine, peppermint and joy. 

 This was not the coarse commercialism of a Los Angeles or San Francisco 

 Christmas. This was the refined, sincere commercialism of small-town New 

 England, where a century ago Norman Rockwell had invented Christmas. This was 

 real. 



 But Dale didn't get it. "Merry, happy          oh, eat me, you little vermin," Dale 

 grinched from behind his tinted windows. 



 Actually, the whole Christmas appeal of their village was a bit of a mystery 

 to the residents of Pine Cove. It wasn't exactly a winter wonderland; the 

 median temperature in the winter was sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit, and only a 

 couple of really old guys could remember it ever having snowed. Neither was it 

 a tropical-beach getaway. The ocean there was bitterly cold, with an average 

 visibility of eighteen inches, and a huge elephant seal rookery at the shore. 

 Through the winter thousands of the rotund pinnipeds lay strewn across Pine 

 Cove beaches like great barking turds, and although not dangerous in 

 themselves, they were the dietary mainstay of the great white shark, which had 

 evolved over 120 million years into the perfect excuse for never entering 

 water over one's ankles. So if it wasn't the weather or the water, what in the 

 hell was it? Perhaps it was the pine trees themselves. Christmas trees. 



 "My trees, goddammit," Dale grumbled to himself. 



 Pine Cove lay in the last natural Monterey-pine forest in the world. Because 

 they grow as much as twenty feet a year, Monterey pines are the very trees 

 cultivated for Christmas trees. The good news was you could go to almost any 

 undeveloped lot in town and cut yourself a very respectable Christmas tree. 

 The bad news was that it was a crime to do so unless you obtained a permit and 

 planted five trees to replace it. The Monterey pines were a protected species, 

 as any local builder could tell you, because whenever they cut down a few 

 trees to build a home, they had to plant a forest to replace them. 



 A station wagon with a Christmas tree lashed to the roof backed out in front 



                                                                                               Page 13 


----------------------- Page 14-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 of Dale's pickup. "Get that piece of shit off my street," Dale scrooged. "And 

 Merry Christmas to all you scumbags," he added, in keeping with the season. 



 Dale Pearson, quite unwillingly, had become the Johnny Appleseed of the 

 Christmas tree, having planted tens of thousands of seedlings to replace the 

 thousands that he had chain-sawed to build rows of tract mansions across Pine 

 Cove's hills. But while the law stated that the replacement trees had to be 

 planted within the municipality of Pine Cove, it didn't say that they had to 

 go in anywhere near where they had actually been cut down, so Dale planted all 

 of his trees around the cemetery at the old Santa Rosa Chapel. He'd bought the 

 land, ten acres, years ago, in hope of subdividing it and building luxury 
 homes, but some hippie meddlers from the California Historical Society stepped 

 in and had the old two-room chapel declared a historic landmark, thus making 

 it impossible for him to develop his land. So in straight rows, with no 

 thought for the natural lay of a forest, his construction crews planted 

 Monterey pines until the trees became as thick around the chapel as feathers 

 on a bird's back. 



 For the last four years, during the week before Christmas, someone had gone 

 onto Dale's land and dug up truckloads of live pine trees. He was tired of 

 answering to the county about having to replace them. He didn't give a damn 

 about the trees, but he'd be damned if he'd put up with someone siccing the 

 county watchdogs on him over and over. He'd fulfilled his duty to his Caribou 

 buddies of passing out joke gifts to them and their wives, but now he was 

 going to catch a thief. His Christmas present this year was going to be a 

 little justice. That's all he wanted, just a little justice. 



 The jolly old elf turned off Cypress and headed up the hill toward the chapel, 

 patting the thirty-eight snub-nose revolver he'd stuffed into his wide black 

 belt. 

 * * * 



 Lena hefted the second Christmas tree into the bed of her little Toyota pickup 

 and snuggled it into one of the ten-gallon cedar boxes that she'd nailed 

 together herself just for that purpose. The underprivileged were only getting 

 four-footers this year, maybe a foot or so taller once in the box. It had 

 rained only once since October, so it had taken her nearly an hour and a half 

 to dig the two saplings from the hard, dry ground. She wanted people to have 

 live Christmas trees, but if she went for full seven-footers she'd be out here 

 all night and only get a couple. This is real work, Lena thought. By day she 

 did property management for vacation rentals at a local realtor, sometimes 

 putting in ten- or twelve-hour days during the peak seasons, but she realized 

 that hours spent and actual work were two different things. She realized it 

 every year when she came out here by herself and got behind her bright red 

 shovel. 



 Sweat was pouring down her face. She wiped her hair out of her eyes with the 

 back of a chamois work glove, leaving a streak of dirt on her forehead. She 

 shrugged off the flannel shirt she'd put on against the night chill and worked 

 in a tight black tank top and olive drab cargo pants. With her red shovel in 

 hand, she looked like some kind of Christmas commando there at the edge of the 

 forest. 



 She sank the shovel into the pine straw about a foot from the trunk of the 

 next tree she'd targeted and jumped on the blade, pogoing up and down until 

 the blade was buried to the hilt. She was swinging on the handle, trying to 

 lever up the forest floor, when a bright set of headlights swept across the 

 edge of the forest and stopped with a stereo spotlight on Lena's truck. 



                                                                                               Page 14 


----------------------- Page 15-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 There's nothing to worry about, she thought. I'm not going to hide, I'm not 

 going to duck. She wasn't doing anything wrong. Not really. Well, sure, 

 technically, she was stealing, and breaking a couple of county ordinances 

 about harvesting Monterey pines, but she wasn't really harvesting them, was 

 she? She was just transplanting them. And . . . and she was giving to the 

 poor. She was like Robin Hood. No one was going to mess with Robin Hood. Just 

 the same she smiled at the headlamps and did a sort of "oh well, I guess I'm 

 busted" shrug that she hoped was cute. She shielded her eyes with her hand and 

 tried to squint into the headlights to see who was driving the truck. Yes, she 

 was sure it was a truck. 



 The engine sputtered to a stop. A slight nausea rose in Lena's throat as she 

 realized that it was a diesel truck. The truck's door opened, and when the 

 light went on Lena caught a glimpse of someone in a red-and-white hat behind 

 the wheel. 



 Huh? 



 Santa was coming out of the blinding light toward her. Santa with a 

 flashlight, and what was that in his belt? Santa had a gun. 



 "Dammit, Lena, I should have known it was you," he said. 

 * * * 



 Josh Barker was in big trouble. Big trouble indeed. He was only seven, but he 

 was pretty sure his life was ruined. He hurried along Church Street trying to 

 figure out how he was going to explain to his mom. An hour and a half late. 

 Home long after dark. And he hadn't called. And Christmas just a few days 

 away. Forget explaining it to his mom, how was he going to explain it to 

 Santa? 



 Santa might understand, though, since he knew toys. But Mom would never buy 

 it. He'd been playing Barbarian George's Big Crusade on the PlayStation at his 

 friend Sam's house, and they'd gotten into the infidel territory and killed 

 thousands of the 'Rackies, but the game just didn't have any way to exit. It 

 wasn't designed so you could ever get out of it, and before he knew it, it was 

 dark outside and he'd forgotten, and Christmas was just going to be ruined. He 

 wanted an Xbox 2, but there was no way Santa was going to bring it with a home 

 long after dark AND a didn't even bother to call on his list. 



 Sam had summarized Josh's situation as he led him out the door and looked at 

 the night sky: "Dude, you're hosed." 



 "I'm not hosed, you're hosed," said Josh. 



 "I'm not hosed," Sam said. "I'm Jewish. No Santa. We don't have Christmas." 



 "Well, you're really hosed, then." 



 "Shut up, I am not hosed." But as Sam said it he put his hands in his pockets 

 and Josh could hear him clicking his dreidel against his asthma inhaler, and 

 his friend did, indeed, appear to be hosed. 



 "Okay, you're not hosed," said Josh. "Sorry. I'd better go." 



 "Yeah," said Sam. 



 "Yeah," said Josh, realizing now how the longer it took him to get home the 

 more hosed he was going to be. But as he hurried up Church Street toward home, 



                                                                                               Page 15 


----------------------- Page 16-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 he realized that perhaps he would receive an emergency reprieve on his hosing, 

 for there, at the edge of the forest, was Santa himself. And although Santa 

 did appear to be quite angry, his anger was directed at a woman who was 

 standing knee-deep in a hole, holding a red shovel. Santa held one of those 

 heavy black Maglite flashlights in one hand and was shining it in the woman's 

 eyes as he yelled at her. 



 "These are my trees. Mine, dammit," said Santa. 



 Aha! Josh thought. Dammit was not bad enough to get you on the naughty list, 

 not if Santa himself said it. He'd told his mom that, but she'd insisted that 

 dammit was a list item. 



 "I'm only taking a few," said the woman. "For people who can't afford a 

 Christmas tree. You can't begrudge something that simple to a few poor 

 families." 



 "The fuck I can't." 



 Well, Josh had been sure the F-word would get you on the list. He was shocked. 



 Santa pushed the flashlight in the woman's eyes. She brushed it aside. 



 "Look," she said, "I'll just take this last one and go." 



 "You will not." Santa shoved the flashlight in the woman's face again, but 

 this time when she brushed it away, he flipped it around and bopped her on the 

 head with it. 



 "Ouch!" 



 That had to hurt. Josh could feel the blow rattle the woman's teeth all the 

 way across the street. Santa certainly felt strongly about his Christmas 

 trees. 



 The woman used the shovel to brush the flashlight out of her face again. Santa 

 bopped her again with the flashlight, harder this time, and the woman yowled 

 and fell to her knees in the hole. Santa reached into his big black belt and 

 pulled out a gun and pointed it at the woman. She came up swinging the shovel 

 in a wide arc and the blade caught Santa hard in the side of the head with a 

 dull metallic clank. Santa staggered and raised the pistol again. The woman 

 crouched and covered her head, the shovel braced blade up under her arm. But 

 as he aimed, Santa lost his balance, and fell forward onto the upraised blade 

 of the shovel. The blade went up under his beard and suddenly his beard was as 

 bright red as his suit. He dropped the gun and the flashlight, made a gurgling 

 noise, and fell down to where Josh could no longer see him. 



 Josh could barely hear the woman crying as he ran home, the pulse in his ears 

 ringing like sleigh bells. Santa was dead. Christmas was ruined. Josh was 

 hosed. 

 * * * 



 Speaking of hosed: three blocks away, Tucker Case moped along Worchester 

 Street, trying to exercise off his dinner of bad diner food with a brisk walk 

 under the weight of a large measure of self-pity. He was pushing forty, trim, 

 blond, and tan       the look of an aging surfer or a golf pro in his prime. 

 Fifty feet above him, a giant fruit bat swooped through the treetops, his 

 leathery wings silent against the night. So he could sneak up on peaches and 

 stuff without being detected. Tuck thought. 



                                                                                               Page 16 


----------------------- Page 17-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Roberto, do your business and let's get back to the hotel," Tuck called into 

 the sky. The fruit bat barked and snagged an overhead limb as he passed, his 

 momentum nearly sending him in a loop around it before he pendulumed and 

 settled in upside-down attitude. The bat barked again, licked his little doggy 

 chops, and folded his great wings around himself to ward off the coastal cold. 



 "Fine," Tuck said, "but you're not getting back into the room until you poop." 



 He'd inherited the bat from a Filipino navigator he'd met while flying a 

 private jet for a doctor in Micronesia; a job he'd only taken because his U.S. 

 pilot's license had been yanked for crashing the pink Mary Jean Cosmetic jet 

 while initiating a young woman into the Mile-High Club. Drunk. After 

 Micronesia he'd moved to the Caribbean with his fruit bat and his beautiful 

 new island wife and started a charter business. Now, six years later, his 

 beautiful island wife was running the charter business with a seven-foot 

 Rastafarian and Tucker Case had nothing to his name but a fruit bat and 

 temporary gig flying helicopters for the DEA, spotting marijuana patches in 

 the Big Sur wilderness area. Which put him in Pine Cove, holed up in a cheap 

 motel room, four days before Christmas, alone. Lonesome. Hosed. 



 Tuck had once been a ladies' man of the highest order             a Don Juan, a 

 Casanova, a Kennedy sans cash         yet now he was in a town where he didn't know 

 a soul and he hadn't even met a single woman to try to seduce. A few years of 

 marriage had almost ruined him. He'd become accustomed to affectionate female 

 company without a great deal of manipulation, subterfuge, and guile. He missed 

 it. He didn't want to spend Christmas alone, dammit. Yet here he was. 



 And there she was. A damsel in distress. A woman, alone, out here in the 

 night, crying       and from what Tuck could tell by the headlights of a nearby 

 pickup truck, she had a nice shape. Great hair. Beautiful high cheekbones, 

 streaked with tears and mud, but you know, exotic-looking. Tuck checked to see 

 that Roberto was still safely hanging above, then straightened his bomber 

 jacket and made his way across the street. 



 "Hey there, are you okay?" 



 The woman jumped, screamed a bit, looked around frantically until she spotted 

 him "Oh my God," she said. 



 Tuck had had worse responses. He pressed on "Are you okay?" he repeated. "You 

 looked like you were having some trouble." 



 "I think he's dead," the woman said. "I think            I think I killed him" 



 Tuck looked at the red-and-white pile on the ground at his feet and realized 

 for the first time what it really was: a dead Santa. A normal person might 

 have freaked out, backed away, tried to quickly extract himself from the 

 situation, but Tucker Case was a pilot, trained to function in life-and-death 

 emergencies, practiced at grace under pressure, and besides, he was lonely and 

 this woman was really hot. 



 "So, a dead Santa," said Tuck. "Do you live around here?" 



 "I didn't mean to kill him. He was coming at me with a gun I just ducked, and 

 when I looked up       " She waved toward the pile of dead Kringle. "I guess the 

 shovel caught him in the throat." She seemed to be calming down a bit. 



 Tuck nodded thoughtfully "So, Santa was coming at you with a gun?" 



                                                                                               Page 17 


----------------------- Page 18-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 The woman pointed to the gun, lying in the dirt next to the Maglite "I see," 

 said Tuck. "Did you know this         " 



 "Yes. His name is Dale Pearson. He drank." 



 "I don't. Stopped years ago," Tuck said. "By the way, I'm Tucker Case. Are you 

 married?" He extended his hand to her to shake. She seemed to see him for the 

 first time. 



 "Lena Marquez. No, I'm divorced " 



 "Me, too," said Tuck. "Tough around the holidays, isn't it? Kids?" 



 "No. Mr., uh, Case, this man is my ex-husband and he's dead." 



 "Yep. I just gave my ex the house and my business, but this does seems 

 cheaper," Tuck said. 



 "We had a fight yesterday at the grocery store in front of a dozen people. I 

 had the motive, the opportunity, and the means            " She pointed to the shovel. 

 "Everyone will think I killed him." 



 "Not to mention that you did kill him." 



 "And don't think the media won't latch onto that? It's my shovel sticking out 

 of his neck." 



 "Maybe you should wipe off your prints and stuff. You didn't get any DNA on 

 him, did you?" 



 She stretched the front of her shirt out and started dabbing at the shovel's 

 handle. "DNA? Like what?" 



 "You know, hair, blood, semen? Nothing like that?" 



 "No." She was furiously buffing the handle of the shovel with the front of her 

 tank top, being careful not to get too close to the end that was stuck in the 

 dead guy. Strangely, Tuck found the process slightly erotic. 



 "I think you got the fingerprints, but I'm a little concerned about there 

 where your name is spelled out in Magic Marker on the handle. That might give 

 things away." 



 "People never return garden tools if you don't mark them," Lena said. Then she 

 began to cry again. "Oh my God, I've killed him." 



 Tuck went to her side and put his arm around her shoulders. "Hey, hey, hey, 

 it's not so bad. At least you don't have kids you have to explain this to." 



 "What am I going to do? My life is over." 



 "Don't talk like that," Tuck said, trying to sound cheerful. "Look, you've got 

 a perfectly good shovel here, and this hole is nearly finished. What say we 

 shove Santa in, clean up the area a little, and I take you to dinner." He 

 grinned. 



 She looked up at him. 



 "Who are you?" 



                                                                                               Page 18 


----------------------- Page 19-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Just a nice guy trying to help out a lady in distress." 



 "And you want to take me out to dinner?" She seemed to be slipping into shock. 



 "Not this minute. Once we get this all under control." 



 "I just killed a man," she said. 



 "Yeah, but not on purpose, right?" 



 "A man I used to love is dead." 



 "Damn shame, too," Tuck said. "You like Italian?" 



 She stepped away from him and looked him up and down, paying special attention 

 to the right shoulder of his bomber jacket, where the brown leather had been 

 scraped so many times it looked like suede. "What happened to your jacket?" 



 "My fruit bat likes to climb on me." 



 "Your fruit bat?" 



 "Look, you can't get through life without accumulating a little baggage, 

 right?" Tuck nodded toward the deceased to make his point. "I'll explain over 

 dinner." 



 Lena nodded slowly. "We'll have to hide his truck." 



 "Of course." 



 "Okay, then," Lena said. "Would you mind pulling the shovel              uh, I can't 

 believe this is happening." 



 "I got it," Tuck said, jumping into the hole and dislodging the spade from 

 Saint Nick's neck. "Call it an early Christmas present." 



 Tuck took off his jacket and began digging in the hard ground. He felt light, 

 a little giddy, thrilled that he wasn't going to have to spend Christmas alone 

 with the bat again. 

 Chapter 4 



 HAVE YOURSELF A NASTY LITTLE 

 CHRISTMAS 



 Josh wiped the tears off his face, took a deep breath, and headed up the walk 

 to his house. He was still shaking from having seen Santa take a shovel in the 

 throat, but now it occurred to him that it might not be enough to get him out 

 of trouble. The first thing his mom would say was, Well, what were you doing 

 out so late anyway? And dumb Brian, who was not Josh's real dad but Mom's dumb 

 boyfriend, would say, "Yeah, Santa would probably still be alive if you hadn't 

 stayed so long at Sam's house." So, there on the front step, he decided to go 

 with total hysteria. He started breathing hard, pumping up some tears, got a 

 good whimpering sob going, then opened the door with a dieseling back sniffle. 

 He fell onto the welcome mat and let loose with a full fire-truck-siren wail. 

 And nothing happened. No one said a word. No one came running. 



 So Josh crawled into the living room, trailing a nice fiber-optic string of 

 drool from his lower lip to the carpet as he chanted a mucusy "Momma," knowing 



                                                                                               Page 19 


----------------------- Page 20-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 that it would completely disarm her temper and get her all fired up to protect 

 him from dumb Brian, for whom he had no magic manipulation chant. But nobody 

 called him, nobody came running, dumb Brian was not sprawled across the couch 

 like the great sleepy slug that he was. 



 Josh wound it down. "Mom?" Just the hint of a sob there, ready to go full bore 

 again when she answered. He went into the kitchen, where the memo light was 

 blinking on Mom's machine. Josh wiped his nose on his sleeve and hit the 

 button. 



 "Hi, Joshy," his mom said, her cheerful overtired voice. "Brian and I had to 

 go out to eat with some buyers. There's a Stouffer's mac and cheese in the 

 freezer. We should be home before eight. Do your homework. Call my cell if you 

 get scared." 



 Josh couldn't believe the luck. He checked the clock on the microwave. Only 

 seven-thirty. Excellent! Latch-keyed loose like a magic elf. Yes! Dumb Brian 

 had come through with a business dinner. He grabbed the Stouffer's out of the 

 freezer, popped it       box and all       into the microwave, and hit the preset 

 time. You didn't really have to peel the plastic back like they said. If you 

 just nuke it in the box, the cardboard will keep it from exploding all over 

 the microwave when the plastic goes. Josh didn't know why they didn't just put 

 that in the instructions. He went back into the living room, turned on the TV, 

 and plopped down on the floor in front of it to wait for the microwave to 

 beep. 



 Maybe he should call Sam, he thought. Tell him about Santa. But Sam didn't 

 believe in Santa. He said that Santa was just something the goys made up to 

 make them feel better about not having a menorah. That was crap, of course. 

 Goys (a Jewish word for girls and boys, Sam had explained) didn't want a 

 menorah. They wanted toys. Sam was just saying that because he was mad because 

 instead of Christmas they had snipped the tip of his penis off and said mazel 

 tov. 



 "Wow, sucks to be you," said Josh. 



 "We're the Chosen," said Sam. 



 "Not for kickball" 



 "Shut up." 



 "No, you shut up." 



 "No, you shut up." 



 Sam was Josh's best friend and they understood each other, but would Sam know 

 what to do about a murder? Especially a murder of an important person? You 

 were supposed to go to an adult in these situations, Josh was pretty sure of 

 it. Fire, an injured friend, a bad touch, you were supposed to tell an adult, 

 a parent, a teacher, or a policeman, and no one would be mad at you. (But if 

 you found your mom's boyfriend lighting a giant chili-dog-and-beer fart in the 

 garage workshop, the police absolutely did not want to know about it. Josh had 

 learned that lesson the hard way.) 



 A commercial came on, and Josh's mac and cheese was still surfing the 

 microwaves, so he debated calling 911 or praying, and decided to go with the 

 prayer. Like calling 911, you weren't supposed to pray for just anything. For 

 instance, God did not care whether or not you got your bandicoot through the 

 fire level on PlayStation, and if you asked for help there, there was a good 



                                                                                               Page 20 


----------------------- Page 21-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 chance that he would ignore you when you really needed help, like for a 

 spelling test or if your mom got cancer. Josh reckoned it was sort of like 

 cell-phone minutes, but this seemed like a real emergency. 



 "Our Heavenly Father," Josh began. You never used God's first name               that was 

 like a commandment or something. "This is Josh Barker, six-seventy-one 

 Worchester Street, Pine Cove, California nine-three-seven, five-four. I saw 

 Santa tonight, which was great, and thank you for that, but then, right after 

 I saw him, he got killed with a shovel, and so, I'm afraid that there's not 

 going to be any Christmas and I've been good, which I'm sure you'll see if you 

 check Santa's list, so if you don't mind could you please make Santa come back 

 to life and make everything okay for Christmas?" No, no, no, that sounded 

 really selfish. Quickly he added: "And a Happy Hanukkah to you and all the 

 Jewish people like Sam and his family. Mazel tov." There. Perfect. He felt a 

 lot better. 



 The microwave beeped and Josh ran to the kitchen, right into the legs of a 

 really tall man in a long black coat who was standing by the counter. Josh 

 screamed and the man took him by the arms, picked him up, and looked him over 

 like he was a gemstone or a really tasty dessert. Josh kicked and squirmed, 

 but the blond man held him fast. 



 "You're a child," said the blond man. 



 Josh stopped kicking for a second and looked into the impossibly blue eyes of 

 the stranger, who was now studying him in much the same way a bear might 

 examine a portable television while wondering how to get all those tasty 

 little people out of it. 



 "Well, duh," said Josh. 

 * * * 



 The Christmas tree took a wide left onto Cypress Street. Finding that somewhat 

 suspicious, Constable Theophilus Crowe pulled in behind it as he dug the 

 little blue light out of the glove compartment of his Volvo and stuck it on 

 the roof. Theo was relatively sure that there was a vehicle under the 

 Christmas tree somewhere, but all he could see right now were the taillights 

 shining through the branches in the back. As he followed the tree up Cypress, 

 past the burger stand and Brine's Bait, Tackle, and Fine Wines, a pinecone the 

 size of a Nerf football broke loose and rolled off to the side of the street, 

 bouncing and thumping into one of the gas pumps. 



 Theo hit the siren one time, just a chirp, thinking he'd better stop this 

 before someone got hurt. There was no way that the driver under the Christmas 

 tree could see the road clearly. The tree was driving trunk first, so the 

 widest, thickest branches were covering the front of the vehicle. The tree's 

 tires chirped with a downshift. It killed the lights and screeched around the 

 corner on Worchester Street, leaving a trail of rolling pinecones and 

 pine-fresh exhaust. 



 Under normal circumstances, if a suspect tried to elude Theo, he would have 

 called it into the county sheriff's immediately, hoping a deputy in the area 

 might provide backup, but he'd be damned if he was going to call in that he 

 was in hot pursuit of a fugitive Christmas tree. Theo turned the siren onto 

 full shriek and took off up the hill after the fleeing conifer, thinking for 

 the fiftieth time that day that life had seemed a lot easier when he'd smoked 

 pot. 



                                                                                               Page 21 


----------------------- Page 22-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 * * * 



 "Boy, you don't see that every day," said Tucker Case, who was sitting at a 

 window table at H.P.'s Café, waiting for Lena to come back from 

 freshening up in the rest-room. H.P.'s          a mix of pseudo Tudor and Country 

 Kitchen Cute      was Pine Cove's most popular restaurant, and tonight it was 

 completely packed. 



 The waitress, a pretty redhead in her forties, glanced up from the tray of 

 drinks she was delivering and said, "Yeah, Theo hardly ever chases anyone." 



 "That Volvo was chasing a pine tree," Tuck said. 



 "Could be," said the waitress. "Theo used to do a lot of drugs." 



 "No, really      " Tuck tried to explain, but she had headed back to the 

 kitchen. Lena was returning to the table. She was still in the black tank top 

 under an open flannel shirt, but she had washed the streaks of mud from her 

 face and her dark hair was brushed out around her shoulders. To Tuck she 

 looked like the sexy but tough Indian guide chick in the movies, who always 

 leads the group of nerdy businessmen into the wilderness where they are 

 assaulted by vicious rednecks, bears gone mutant from exposure to phosphate 

 laundry detergent, or ancient Indian spirits with a grudge. 



 "You look great," Tuck said. "Are you Native American?" 



 "What was the siren about?" Lena asked, sliding into the seat across from him. 



 "Nothing. A traffic thing." 



 "This is just so wrong." She looked around, as if everyone knew how wrong it 

 was. "Wrong." 



 "No, it's good," Tuck said with a big smile, trying to make his blue eyes 

 twinkle in the candlelight, but forgetting where exactly his twinkle muscles 

 were located. "We'll have a nice meal, get to know each other a little." 



 She leaned over the table and whispered harshly, "There's a dead man out 

 there. A man I used to be married to." 



 "Shh, shh, shh," Tuck shushed, gently placing a finger against her lip, trying 

 to sound comforting and maybe a little European. "Now is not the time to talk 

 of this, my sweet." 



 She grabbed his finger and bent it back. "I don't know what to do." 



 Tuck was twisted in his seat, leaning back to relieve the unnatural angle in 

 which his finger was pointing. "Appetizer?" he suggested. "Salad?" 



 Lena let go of his finger and covered her face with her hands. "I can't do 

 this." 



 "What? It's just dinner," said Tuck. "No pressure." He had never really dated 

 much     gone on dates, that is. He'd met and seduced a lot of women, but it 

 was never over a series of evenings with dinner and conversation              usually 

 just some drinks and vulgarity at an airport hotel lounge had done the trick. 

 He felt it was time he behaved like a grown-up            get to know a woman before 

 he slept with her. His therapist had suggested it right before she'd stopped 

 treating him, right after he'd hit on her. It wasn't going to be easy. In his 



                                                                                               Page 22 


----------------------- Page 23-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 experience things went a lot better with women before they got to know him, 

 when they could still project hope and potential on him. 



 "We just buried my ex-husband," Lena said. 



 "Sure, sure, but then we delivered Christmas trees to the poor. A little 

 perspective, huh? A lot of people have buried their spouses." 



 "Not personally. With the shovel they killed him with." 



 "You may want to keep it down a little." Tuck checked the diners at the nearby 

 tables to see if they were listening, but they all seemed to be discussing the 

 pine tree that had just driven by. "Let's talk about something else. 

 Interests? Hobbies? Movies?" 



 Lena tossed her head as if she didn't hear him right, then stared as if to 

 say, Are you nuts? 



 "Well, for instance," he pressed on, "I rented the strangest movie last night. 

 Did you know that Babes in Toyland was a Christmas movie?" 



 "Of course, what did you think it was?" 



 "Well, I thought, well        now it's your turn. What's your favorite movie?" 



 Lena leaned close to Tuck and searched his eyes to see if he might be joking. 

 Tuck batted his eyelashes, trying to look innocent. 



 "Who are you?" Lena finally asked. 



 "I told you." 



 "But, what's wrong with you? You shouldn't be so            so calm, while I'm a 

 nervous wreck. Have you done this kind of thing before?" 



 "Sure. Are you kidding? I'm a pilot, I've eaten in restaurants all over the 

 world." 



 "Not dinner, you idiot! I know you've had dinner before! What, are you 

 retarded?" 



 "Okay, now everybody is looking. You can't just say 'retarded' in public like 

 that     people take offense because, you know, many of them are. You're 

 supposed to say 'developmentally disabled.'" 



 Lena stood up and threw her napkin on the table. "Tucker, thank you for 

 helping me, but I can't do this. I'm going to go talk to the police." 



 She turned and stormed through the restaurant toward the door. 



 "We'll be back," Tuck called to the waitress. He nodded to the nearby tables. 

 "Sorry. She's a little high-strung. She didn't mean to say 'retarded.'" Then 

 he went after Lena, snatching his leather jacket off the back of his chair as 

 he went. 



 He caught up with her as she was rounding the corner of the building into the 

 parking lot. He caught her by the shoulder and spun her around, making sure 

 that she saw that he was smiling when she completed the turn. Blinking 

 Christmas lights played red and green highlights across her dark hair, making 

 the scowl she was aiming at him seem festive. 



                                                                                               Page 23 


----------------------- Page 24-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Leave me alone, Tucker. I'm going to the police. I'll just explain that it 

 was just an accident." 



 "No. I won't let you. You can't." 



 "Why can't I?" 



 "Because I'm your alibi." 



 "If I turn myself in, I won't need an alibi." 



 "I know." 



 "Well?" 



 "I want to spend Christmas with you." 



 Lena softened, her eyes going wide, the swell of a tear watering up in one 

 eye. "Really?" 



 "Really." Tuck was more than a little uncomfortable with his own honesty                he 

 was standing like someone had just poured hot coffee in his lap and he was 

 trying to keep the front of his pants from touching him. 



 Lena held out her arms and Tuck walked into them, guiding her hands inside his 

 jacket and around his ribs. He rested his cheek against her hair and took a 

 deep breath, enjoying the smell of her shampoo and the residual pine scent 

 picked up from handling the Christmas trees. She didn't smell like a murderer 

    she smelled like a woman. 



 "Okay," she whispered. "I don't know who you are, Tucker Case, but I think I'd 

 like to spend Christmas with you, too." 



 She buried her face in his chest and held him until there was a thump against 

 his back, followed by a loud scratching noise on his jacket. She pushed him 

 back just as the fruit bat peeked his little doggie face over the pilot's 

 shoulder and barked. Lena leaped back and screamed like a bunny in a blender. 



 "What in the hell is that?" she asked, backing across the parking lot. 



 "Roberto," Tuck said. "I mentioned him before." 



 "This is too weird. Too weird." Lena began to chant and pace in a circle, 

 glancing up at Tuck and his bat every couple of seconds. She paused. "He's 

 wearing sunglasses." 



 "Yeah, and don't think it's easy finding Ray-Bans in a fruit-bat medium." 

 * * * 



 Meanwhile, up at the Santa Rosa Chapel, Constable Theophilus Crowe had finally 

 caught up to the fugitive Christmas tree. He trained the headlights of the 

 Volvo on the suspect evergreen and stood behind the car door for cover. If 

 he'd had a public-address system he would have used it to issue commands, but 

 since the county had never given him one, he shouted. 



 "Get out of the vehicle, hands first, and turn and face me!" 



 If he'd had a weapon he would have drawn it, but he'd left his Glock on the 



                                                                                               Page 24 


----------------------- Page 25-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 top shelf of his closet next to Molly's old nicked-up broadsword. He realized 

 that the car door was actually only providing cover to the lower third of his 

 body, and he reached down and rolled up the window. Then, feeling awkward, he 

 slammed the door and loped toward the Christmas tree. 



 "Goddammit, come out of the tree. Right now!" 



 He heard a car window whiz down and then a voice. "Oh my, Officer, you are so 

 forceful." A familiar voice. Somewhere under there was a Honda CRV               and the 

 woman he had married. 



 "Molly?" He should have known. Even when she stayed on her meds, as she had 

 promised she would, she could still be "artistic." Her term. 



 The branches of the big pine tree shuffled and out stepped his wife, wearing a 

 green Santa hat, jeans, red sneakers, and a jean jacket with studs down the 

 sleeves. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail that trailed down her back. She 

 might have been a biker elf. She rushed out of the branches as if she were 

 ducking the blades of a helicopter, then ran to his side. 



 "Look at this magnificent son of a bitch!" She gestured to the tree, put her 

 arm around his waist, pulled him close, humped his leg a little. "Isn't it 

 great?" 



 "It certainly is       uh, large. How'd you get it on the car? 



 "Took some time. I hoisted it up on some ropes, then drove under it. Do you 

 think there'll be a flat spot where it dragged on the road?" 



 Theo looked the tree up and down, back and forth, watched the car exhaust 

 boiling out of the branches. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he had to 

 ask. "You didn't buy this at the hardware store, did you?" 



 "No, there was a problem with that. But I saved a ton of money. Cut it myself. 

 Completely totaled my broadsword, but look at this son of a bitch. Look at 

 this glorious bastard!" 



 "You cut it down with your sword?" Theo wasn't so worried about what she had 

 cut it down with, but from where she'd cut it. He had a secret in the forest 

 near their cabin. 



 "Yeah. We don't have a chain saw that I don't know about, do we?" 



 "No." Actually they did, in the garage, hidden behind some paint cans. He'd 

 hidden it when her "artistic" moments had been more frequent. "That's not the 

 problem, sweetie. I think the problem is that it's too big." 



 "No," she said, walking the length of the tree now, pausing to jump through 

 the branches and turn off the Honda's engine. "That's where you're wrong. 

 Observe, double doors into the chapel." 



 Theo observed. The chapel did, indeed, have double doors. There was a single 

 mercury lamp illuminating the gravel parking lot, but he could clearly see the 

 little white chapel, the shadows of gravestones showing dimly behind it                a 

 graveyard where they'd been planting Pine Covers for a hundred years. 



 "And the ceiling in the main room is thirty feet tall at the peak. This tree 

 is only twenty-nine feet tall. We pull it through the doors backward and stand 

 that baby up. I'll need your help, but, you know, you don't mind." 



                                                                                               Page 25 


----------------------- Page 26-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "I don't?" 



 Molly pulled open her jean jacket and flashed Theo, exposing his favorite 

 breasts, right down to the shiny scar that ran across the top of the right 

 one, cocked up like a curious purple eyebrow. It was like unexpectedly running 

 into two tender friends, both a little pale from being out of the sun, a tad 

 humbled by time, but with alert pink noses upturned by the night chill. And as 

 quickly as they appeared, the jacket was pulled shut and Theo felt like he'd 

 been shut out in the cold. 



 "Okay, I don't mind," he said, trying to buy time for the blood to return to 

 his brain. "How do you know the ceiling is thirty feet tall?" 



 "From our wedding pictures. I cut you out and used you to measure the whole 

 building. It was just under five Theos tall." 



 "You cut up our wedding pictures?" 



 "Not the good ones. Come on, help me get the tree off the car." She turned 

 quickly and her jacket fanned out behind her. 



 "Molly, I wish you wouldn't go out like that." 



 "You mean like this?" She turned, lapels in hand. 



 And there they were again, his pink-nosed friends. 



 "Let's get the tree set up and then do it in the graveyard, okay?" She jumped 

 a little for emphasis and Theo nodded, following the recoil. He suspected that 

 he was being manipulated, enslaved by his own sexual weakness, but he couldn't 

 quite figure out why that was a bad thing. After all, he was among friends. 



 "Sweetheart, I'm a peace officer, I can't           " 



 "Come on, it will be nasty." She said nasty like it meant delicious, which is 

 what she meant. 



 "Molly, after five years together, I'm not sure we're supposed to be nasty." 

 But even as he said it, Theo was moving toward the big evergreen, looking for 

 the ropes that secured it to the Honda. 



 Over in the graveyard, the dead, who had been listening all along, began to 

 murmur anxiously about the new Christmas tree and the impending sex show. 

 * * * 



 They'd heard it all, the dead: crying children, wailing widows, confessions, 

 condemnations, questions that they could never answer; Halloween dares, raving 

 drunks-invoking the ghosts or just apologizing for drawing breath; would-be 

 witches, chanting at indifferent spirits, tourists rubbing the old tombstones 

 with paper and charcoal like curious dogs scratching at the grave to get in. 

 Funerals, confirmations, communions, weddings, square dances, heart attacks, 

 junior-high hand jobs, wakes gone awry, vandalism, Handel's Messiah, a birth, 

 a murder, eighty-three Passion plays, eighty-five Christmas pageants, a dozen 

 brides barking over tombstones like taffeta sea lions as the best man gave it 

 to them dog style, and now and again, couples who needed something dark and 

 smelling of damp earth to give their sex life a jolt: the dead had heard it. 



 "Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah!" Molly cried from her seat astraddle the town 

 constable, who was squirming on an uncomfortable bed of plastic roses a few 



                                                                                               Page 26 


----------------------- Page 27-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 feet above a dead schoolteacher. 



 "They always think they're the first ones. Ooooo, let's do it in the 

 graveyard," said Bess Leander, whose husband had served her foxglove tea with 

 her last breakfast. 



 "I know, there are three used condoms on my grave from this week alone," said 

 Arthur Tannbeau, citrus farmer, deceased five years. 



 "How can you tell?" 



 They heard everything, but their vision was limited. 



 "The smell." 



 "That's disgusting," said Esther, the schoolteacher. 



 It's hard to shock the dead. Esther was feigning disgust. 



 "What's all the racket? I was sleeping." Malcolm Cowley, antique book dealer, 

 myocardial infarction over Dickens. 



 "Theo Crowe, the constable, and his crazy wife doing it on Esther's grave," 

 said Arthur. "I'll bet she's off her meds." 



 "Five years they've been married and they're still at this kind of thing?" 

 Since her death, Bess had taken a strong antirelationship stance. 



 "Postmarital sex is so pedestrian." Malcolm again, ever bored with provincial, 

 small-town death. 



 "Some postmortem sex, that's what I could use," said the late Marty in the 

 Morning, KGOB radio's top DJ with a bullet           a pioneer carjack victim back 

 when hair bands ruled the airwaves. "A rave in the grave, if you get my 

 meaning." 



 "Listen to her. I'd like to slip the bone to her," said Jimmy Antalvo, who'd 

 kissed a pole on his Kawasaki to remain ever nineteen. 



 "Which one?" Marty cackled. 



 "The new Christmas tree sounds lovely," said Esther. "I do hope they sing 

 'Good King Wenceslas' this year." 



 "If they do," spouted the moldy book dealer, "you'll find me justly spinning 

 in my grave." 



 "You wish," said Jimmy Antalvo. "Hell, I wish." 



 The dead did not spin in their graves, they did not move             nor could they 

 speak, except to one another, voices without air. What they did was sleep, 

 awakening to listen, to chat a bit, then, eventually, to never wake again. 

 Sometimes it took twenty years, sometimes as long as forty before they took 

 the big sleep, but no one could remember hearing a voice from longer ago than 

 that. 

 * * * 



 Six feet above them, Molly punctuated her last few convulsive climactic bucks 

 with, "I      AM     SO     GOING     TO     WASH     YOUR     VOLVO      WHEN     WE 



                                                                                               Page 27 


----------------------- Page 28-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 GET     HOME! YES! YES! YES!" 



 Then she sighed and fell forward to nuzzle Theo's chest as she caught her 

 breath. 



 "I don't know what that means," Theo said. 



 "It means I'm going to wash your car for you." 



 "Oh, it's not a euphemism, like, wash the old Volvo. Wink, wink, nudge, 

 nudge?" 



 "Nope. It's your reward." 



 Now that they were finished, Theo was having a hard time ignoring the plastic 

 flowers that were impressed in his bare backside. "I thought this was my 

 reward." He gestured to her bare thighs on either side of him, the divots her 

 knees had made in the dirt, her hair played out across his chest. 



 Molly pushed up and looked down at him. "No, this was your reward for helping 

 me with the Christmas tree. Washing your car is your reward for this." 



 "Oh," Theo said. "I love you." 



 "Oh, I think I'm going to be sick," said a newly dead voice from across the 

 woods. 



 "Who's the new guy?" asked Marty in the Morning. 



 The radio on Theo's belt, which was down around his knees, crackled. "Pine 

 Cove Constable, come in. Theo?" 



 Theo did an awkward sit-up and grabbed the radio. "Go ahead, Dispatch." 



 "Theo, we have a two-oh-seven-A at six-seven-one Worchester Street. The victim 

 is alone and the suspect may still be in the area. I've dispatched two units, 

 but they're twenty minutes out." 



 "I can be there in five minutes," Theo said. 



 "Suspect is a white male, over six feet, long blond hair, wearing a long black 

 raincoat or overcoat." 



 "Roger, Dispatch. I'm on my way." Theo was trying to pull his pants up with 

 one hand while working the radio with the other. 



 Molly was on her feet already, naked from the waist down, holding her jeans 

 and sneakers rolled up under her left arm. She extended a hand to help Theo 

 up. 



 "What's a two-oh-seven?" 



 "Not sure," said Theo, letting her lever him to his feet. "Either an attempted 

 kidnapping or a possum with a handgun." 



 "You have plastic flowers stuck to your butt." 



 "Probably the former, she didn't say anything about shots fired." 



 "No, leave them. They're cute." 



                                                                                               Page 28 


----------------------- Page 29-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 Chapter 5 



 THE SEASON FOR MAKING NEW 

 FRIENDS 



 Theo was doing fifty up Worchester Street when the blond man stepped from 

 behind a tree into the street. The Volvo had just lurched over a patched strip 

 in the asphalt, so the grille was pointed up and caught the blond man about 

 hip-high, tossing him into the air ahead of the car. Theo stood on the brake, 

 but even as the antilocks throbbed, the blond man hit the tarmac and the Volvo 

 rolled over him, making sickening crunching and thumping noises as body parts 

 ricocheted into wheel wells. 



 Theo checked the rearview as the car stopped and saw the blond man flopping to 

 a stop in the red wash of the brake lights. Theo pulled the radio off his belt 

 as he leaped from the car, and stood ready to call for help when the figure 

 lying in the road started to get up. 



 Theo let the radio fall to his side. "Hey, buddy, just stay right there. Just 

 stay calm. Help is on the way." He started loping toward the injured man, then 

 pulled up. 



 The blond guy was on his hands and knees now; Theo could also see that his 

 head was twisted the wrong way and the long blond hair was cascading back to 

 the ground. There was a crackling noise as the guy's head turned around to 

 face the ground. He stood up. He was wearing a long black coat with a rain 

 flap. This was "the suspect." 



 Theo started backing away. "You just stay right there. Help is on the way." 

 Even as he said it, Theo didn't think this guy was interested in any help. 



 The foot that faced backward came around to the front with another series of 

 sickening crackles. The blond man looked up at Theo for the first time. 



 "Ouch," he said. 



 "I'm guessing that smarted," Theo said. At least his eyes weren't glowing red 

 or anything. Theo backed into the open door of the Volvo. "You might want to 

 lie down and wait for the ambulance." For the second time in as many hours, he 

 wished he had remembered to bring his gun along. 



 The blond man held an arm out toward Theo, then noticed that the thumb on the 

 outstretched hand was on the wrong side. He grabbed it with his other hand and 

 snapped it back into place. "I'll be okay," the blond man said, monotone. 



 "You know, if that coat dry-cleans itself while I'm watching, I'll nominate 

 you for governor my own self," Theo said, trying to buy time while he thought 

 of what he was going to say to the dispatcher when he keyed the button on the 

 radio. 



 The blond man was now coming steadily toward him            the first few steps 

 limping badly, but the limp getting better as he got closer. "Stop right 

 there," Theo said. "You are under arrest for a two-oh-seven-A." 



 "What's that?" asked the blond man, now only a few feet from the Volvo. 



 Theo was relatively sure now that a 207A was not a possum with a handgun, but 

 he wasn't sure what it was, so he said, "Freakin' out a little kid in his own 



                                                                                               Page 29 


----------------------- Page 30-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 home. Now stop right there or I will blow your fucking brains out." Theo 

 pointed the radio, antenna first, at the blond guy. 



 And the blond guy stopped, only steps away. Theo could see the deep gouges cut 

 in the man's cheeks from contact with the road. There was no blood. 



 "You're taller than I am," said the blond man. 



 Theo guessed the blond man to be about six-two, maybe three. "Hands on the 

 roof of the car," he said, training the antenna of the radio between the 

 impossibly blue eyes. 



 "I don't like that," said the blond man. 



 Theo crouched quickly, making himself appear shorter than the blond man by a 

 couple of inches. 



 "Thanks." 



 "Hands on the car." 



 "Where's the church?" 



 "I'm not kidding, put your hands on the roof of the car and spread 'em." 

 Theo's voice broke like he was hitting second puberty. 



 "No." The blond man snatched the radio out of Theo's hand and crushed it into 

 shards. "Where's the church? I need to get to the church." 



 Theo dove into the car, scooted across the seat, and came out on the other 

 side. When he looked back over the roof of the car the blond man was just 

 standing there, looking at him like a parakeet might look at himself in the 

 mirror. 



 "What!?" Theo screamed. 



 "The church?" 



 "Up the street you'll come to some woods. Go through them about a hundred 

 yards." 



 "Thank you," said the blond man. He walked off. 



 Theo jumped back into the Volvo, threw it into drive. If he had to run over 

 the guy again, so be it. But when he looked up from the dash, no one was 

 there. It suddenly occurred to him that Molly might still be at the old 

 chapel. 

 * * * 



 Her house smelled of eucalyptus and sandalwood and had a woodstove with a 

 glass window that warmed the room with orange light. The bat was locked 

 outside for the night. 



 "You're a cop?" Lena said, moving away from Tucker Case on the couch. She'd 

 gotten past the bat. He'd explained the bat, sort of. He'd been married to a 

 woman from a Pacific island and had gotten the bat in a custody battle. Things 

 like that happened. She'd gotten the house they were sitting in, in her 

 divorce from Dale, and it still had a black marble Jacuzzi tub with bronze 

 Greek erotic figures inset in a border around the edge. The jetsam of divorce 



                                                                                               Page 30 


----------------------- Page 31-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 can be embarrassing, so you couldn't fault someone a bathtub or fruit bat 

 rescued out of love's shipwreck, but he might have mentioned he was a cop 

 before he suggested burying her ex and going to dinner. 



 "No, no, not a real cop. I'm here working for the DEA." Tuck moved closer to 

 her on the couch. 


 "So you're a drug cop?" He didn't look like a cop. A golf pro, maybe, that 

 blond hair and the lines around the eyes from too much sun, but not a cop. A 

 TV cop, maybe       the vain, bad cop, who has something going on with the female 

 district attorney. 



 "No, I'm a pilot. They subcontract independent helicopter pilots to fly agents 

 into pot-growing areas like Big Sur so they can spot patches hidden in the 

 forest with infrared. I'm just working for them here for a couple of months." 



 "And after a couple of months?" Lena couldn't believe she was worried about 

 commitment from this guy. 



 "I'll try to get another job." 



 "So you'll go away." 



 "Not necessarily. I could stay." 



 Lena moved back toward him on the couch and examined his face for the hint of 

 a smirk. The problem was, since she'd met him, he'd always worn the hint of a 

 smirk. It was his best feature. "Why would you stay?" she said. "You don't 

 even know me." 



 "Well, it might not be about you." He smiled. 



 She smiled back. It was about her. "It is about me." 



 "Yeah." 



 He was leaning over and there was going to be a kiss and that would be okay, 

 she thought, if the night hadn't been so horrible. It would be okay if they 

 hadn't shared so much history in so short a time. It would be okay if, if . . 

 . 



 He kissed her. 



 Okay, she was wrong. It was okay. She put her arms around him and kissed him 

 back. 



 Ten minutes later she was down to just her sweater and panties, she had driven 

 Tucker Case deeply enough into the corner of the couch that his ears were 

 baffled with cushions, and he couldn't hear her when she pushed back from him 

 and said, "This doesn't mean that we're going to bed together." 



 "Me, too," said Tuck, pulling her closer. 



 She pushed back again. "You can't just assume that this is going to happen." 



 "I think I have one in my wallet," he said, trying to lift her sweater over 

 her head. 



 "I don't do this sort of thing," she said, wrestling with his belt buckle. 



                                                                                               Page 31 


----------------------- Page 32-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "I had a test for my pilot physical a month ago," he said as he liberated her 

 breasts from their combed cotton yoke of oppression. "Clean as a whistle." 



 "You're not listening to me!" 



 "You look beautiful in this light." 



 "Does doing this so soon after, you know           does doing this make me evil?" 



 "Sure, you can call it a weasel if you want to." 



 And so, with that tender honesty, that frank connection, the coconspirators 

 chased away each other's loneliness, the smell of grave-digging sweat rising 

 romantic in the room as they fell in love. A little. 

 * * * 



 Despite Theo's concern, Molly wasn't at the old chapel, she was getting a 

 visit from an old friend. Not a friend, exactly, but a voice from the past. 



 "Well, that was just nuts," he said. "You can't feel good about that." 



 "Shut up," said Molly, "I'm trying to drive." 



 According to the DSM-IV, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental 

 Disorders, you had to have at least two of a number of symptoms in order to be 

 considered as having a psychotic episode, or, as Molly liked to think of it, 

 an "artistic" moment. But there was an exception, a single symptom that could 

 put you in the batshit column, and that was "a voice or voices commenting on 

 the activities of daily life." Molly called it "the Narrator," and she hadn't 

 heard from him in over five years          not since she'd gone and stayed on her 

 medication as she had promised Theo. That had been the agreement, if she 

 stayed on her meds, Theo would stay off of his            well, more specifically, 

 Theo would not have anything to do with his drug of choice, marijuana. He'd 

 had quite a habit, going back twenty years before they'd met. 



 Molly had stuck to the agreement with Theo; she'd even gotten decertified by 

 the state and gone off financial aid. A resurgence in royalties from her old 

 movies had helped with the expenses, but lately she'd started falling short. 



 "It's called an enabler," said the Narrator. "The Drug Fiend and the Warrior 

 Babe Enabler, that's you two." 



 "Shut up, he's not a drug fiend," she said, "and I'm not the Warrior Babe." 



 "You did him right there in the graveyard," said the Narrator. "That is not 

 the behavior of a sane woman, that is the behavior of Kendra, Warrior Babe of 

 the Outland." 



 Molly cringed at the mention of her signature character. On occasion, the 

 Warrior Babe persona had leaked off the big screen and into her own reality. 

 "I was trying to keep him from noticing that I might not be a hundred 

 percent." 



 "'Might not be a hundred percent'? You were driving a Christmas tree the size 

 of a Winnebago down the street. You 're way off a hundred percent, darlin'. " 



 "What do you know? I'm fine." 



 "You're talking to me, aren't you?" 



                                                                                               Page 32 


----------------------- Page 33-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Well . . ." 



 "I think I've made my point." 



 She'd forgotten how smug he could be. 



 Okay, maybe she was having a few more artistic moments than usual, but she 

 hadn't had a break with reality. And it was for a good cause. She'd taken the 

 money she'd saved on her meds to pay for a Christmas present for Theo. It was 

 on layaway down at the glass blower's gallery: a handblown dichromatic glass 

 bong in the Tiffany style. Six hundred bucks, but Theo would so love it. He'd 

 destroyed his collection of bongs and water pipes right after they'd met, a 

 symbol of his break with his pot habit, but she knew he missed it. 



 "Yeah," said the Narrator. "He'll need that bong when he finds out he's coming 

 home to the Warrior Babe." 



 "Shut up. Theo and I just had an adventurous romantic moment. I am not having 

 a break." 



 She pulled into Brine's Bait, Tackle, and Fine Wines to pick up a six-pack of 

 the dark bitter beer Theo liked and some milk for the morning. The little 

 store was a miracle of eclectic supply, one of the few places on the planet 

 where you could buy a fine Sonoma Merlot, a wedge of ripened French Brie, a 

 can of 10W-30, and a carton of night crawlers. Robert and Jenny Masterson had 

 owned the little shop since before Molly had come to town. She could see 

 Robert by himself behind the counter, tall with salt-and-pepper hair, looking 

 a little hangdog as he read a science magazine and sipped a diet Pepsi. Molly 

 liked Robert. He'd always been kind to her, even when she was considered the 

 village's resident crazy lady. 



 "Hey, Robert," she said as she came through the door. The place smelled of egg 

 rolls. They sold them out of the back, where they had a pressure fryer. She 

 breezed past the counter toward the beer cooler. 



 "Hey, Molly." Robert looked up, a little startled. "Uh, Molly, you okay?" 



 Crap, she thought. Had she forgotten to brush the pine needles out of her 

 hair? She probably looked a mess. She said, "Yeah, I'm fine. Theo and I were 

 just putting up the Christmas tree at the Santa Rosa Chapel. You and Jenny are 

 coming to Lonesome Christmas, aren't you?" 



 "Of course," Robert said, his voice still a little strained. He seemed to be 

 making an effort not to look at her. "Uh, Molly, we kind of have a policy 

 here." He tapped the sign by the counter, NO SHIRT, NO SHOES, NO SERVICE. 



 Molly looked down. "Oh my gosh, I forgot." 



 "It's okay." 



 "I left my sneakers in the car. I'll just run out and put them on." 



 "That would be great, Molly. Thanks." 



 "No problem." 



 "I know it's not on the sign, Molly, but while you're out there, you might 

 want to put some pants on, too. It's sort of implied." 



                                                                                               Page 33 


----------------------- Page 34-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Sure thing," she said, breezing by the counter and out the door, feeling now 

 that, yes, it seemed a little cooler out than when she'd left the house. And 

 yes, there were her jeans and panties on the passenger seat next to her 

 sneakers. 



 "I told you," said the Narrator. 

 Chapter 6 



 BE OF GOOD CHEER; 

 THEY MIGHT HAVE PUT A TREE 

 UP YOUR BUM 



 The Archangel Raziel found, after some consideration, that he did not care for 

 being run over by a Swedish automobile. As far as things "dirtside" went, he 

 liked Snickers bars, barbecued pork ribs, and pinochle; he also enjoyed 

 Spider-Man, Days of Our Lives, and Star Wars (although the concept of 

 fictional film eluded the angel and he thought they were all documentaries); 

 and you just couldn't beat raining fire on the Egyptians or smiting the 

 bejeezus out of some Philistines with lightning bolts (Raziel was good with 

 weather), but overall, he could do without missions to Earth, humans and their 

 machines in general, and (now) Volvo station wagons in particular. His broken 

 bones had knit nicely and the deep gouges in his skin were filling in even as 

 he came upon the chapel, but all things considered, he could go a very long 

 time not being run over by a Volvo again and feel just dandy about it. 



 He brushed at the all-weather radial tire print that ran up the front of his 

 black duster and across his angelic face. Licking his lips, he tasted 

 vulcanized rubber, thinking that it wouldn't be bad with hot sauce or perhaps 

 chocolate sprinkles. (There is little variety of flavors in heaven, and an 

 abundance of bland white cake has been served to the heavenly host over the 

 eons, so Raziel had fallen in the habit of tasting things while dirtside, just 

 for the contrast. Once, in the third century B.C., he had consumed the better 

 part of a bucket of camel urine before his friend the Archangel Zoe slapped it 

 out of his hand and informed him that it was, despite the piquant bouquet, 

 nasty.) 



 This wasn't his first Nativity mission. No, in fact, he had been given the 

 assignment of the very first Nativity mission, and due to having stopped on 

 the way to play some pinochle, he'd shown up ten years late, announcing to the 

 prepubescent Son himself that he "would find the babe wrapped in swaddling 

 clothes, lying in a manger." Embarrassing? Well, yes. And now, some two 

 thousand years later, he was on another Nativity mission, and he was sure now 

 that he'd found the child, that this one was going to go much more smoothly 

 (for one thing, there were no shepherds to frighten             he'd felt bad about 

 that back then). No, come Christmas Eve the mission would be accomplished, 

 he'd grab a plate of ribs and head back to heaven lickety-split. 



 But first he needed to find the site for the miracle. 

 * * * 



 There were two sheriff's cruisers and an ambulance outside the Barker house 

 when Theo arrived. 



 "Crowe, where the hell have you been?" the sheriff's deputy was yelling before 

 Theo was even out of the Volvo. The deputy was the second-shift commander; Joe 

 Metz was his name. He had a linebacker frame that he augmented with weight 

 lifting and marathon beer drinking. Theo had encountered him a dozen times in 



                                                                                               Page 34 


----------------------- Page 35-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 as many years. Their relationship had gone from a mild disregard to an open 

 disrespect      which was pretty much Theo's relationship with everyone in the 

 San Junipero County Sheriff's Department. 



 "I saw the suspect and made pursuit. I lost him in the woods about a mile east 

 of here." Theo decided he wasn't going to mention what he'd actually seen. His 

 credibility was thin enough with the sheriff's department. 



 "Why didn't you call it in? We should have units all over the area." 



 "I did. You do." 



 "I didn't hear the call go in." 



 "I called it in on my cell. My radio's broken." 



 "Why don't I know about it?" 



 Theo raised his eyebrows as if to say, Perhaps because you're a big no-necked 

 dumb-ass. At least that's what he hoped the gesture said. 



 Metz looked at the radio on his belt, then turned to disguise his action as he 

 turned a switch. Immediately the voice of the dispatcher came on, calling out 

 for the shift commander. Metz keyed the mike clipped to the epaulet of his 

 uniform shirt and identified himself. 



 Theo stood by, trying not to smile as the dispatcher reported the entire 

 situation again. Theo wasn't worried about the two units that were headed to 

 the woods up by the chapel. He was sure they weren't going to find anyone. 

 Whoever the guy in black was, he had a way of disappearing, and Theo didn't 

 even want to think of the means by which he did it. Theo had gone back to the 

 chapel, where he'd caught a glimpse of the blond man moving through the woods 

 before he was gone again. Theo had called home to make sure that Molly was 

 okay. She was. 



 "Can I talk to the kid?" Theo asked. 



 "When the EMTs are done looking at him," Metz said. "The mother's on the way. 

 She was out to dinner with the boyfriend in San Junipero. Kid seems okay, just 

 real shaken up, some bruises on his arms where the suspect picked him up, but 

 no other injuries I could see. Kid couldn't say what the guy wanted. There's 

 no property missing." 



 "You get a description?" 



 "The kid keeps giving us names of characters from video games for comparison. 

 What do we know from 'Mung-fu, the Vanquished'? You get a good look at him?" 



 "Yeah," Theo said, forcing a lump out of his throat, "I'd say Mung-fu is 

 pretty accurate." 



 "Don't fuck with me, Crowe." 



 "Caucasian, long blond hair, blue eyes, clean-shaven, six foot two, 

 one-eighty, wearing a black duster that goes to the ground. I didn't see his 

 shoes. Dispatch has it all." Theo kept thinking of the deep gouges in the 

 blond guy's cheeks. He had started to think of him as the "ghost-bot." Video 

 games     right. 



 Metz nodded. "Dispatch says he's on foot. How'd you lose him?" 



                                                                                               Page 35 


----------------------- Page 36-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "The woods are thick up there." 



 Metz was looking at Theo's belt. "Where's your weapon, Crowe?" 



 "I left it in the car. Didn't want to scare the kid." 



 Without a word, Metz stepped over to Theo's Volvo and opened the 

 passenger-side door. "Where?" 



 "Pardon?" 



 "Where in your unlocked car is your weapon?" 



 Theo felt the last of his energy flow out of him. He just wasn't good at 

 confrontation. "It's at my house." 



 Metz smiled now like the bartender had just announced pitchers all around, on 

 the house. "You know, you might be the perfect guy to go after this suspect, 

 Theo." 



 Theo hated it when the sheriffs called him by his first name. "Why's that, 

 Joseph?" 



 "The kid said he thought the guy might be retarded." 



 "I don't get it," Theo said, trying not to grin. 



 Metz walked away shaking his head. He climbed into his cruiser, then as he was 

 backing past Theo, the passenger window whirred down. "Write up a report, 

 Crowe. And we need to get a description of this guy to the local schools." 



 "It's Christmas break." 



 "Dammit, Crowe, they'll be going back to school sometime, won't they?" 



 "So you don't think your guys will catch him, then?" 



 Without another word Metz whirred up the window and whipped the cruiser out of 

 the driveway as if he'd just received an urgent call. 



 Theo smiled as he walked up to the house. Despite the excitement and terror 

 and outright weirdness of evening, he suddenly felt good. Molly was safe, the 

 kid was safe, the Christmas tree was up at the chapel, and there was just no 

 rush that compared to safely and successfully fucking with a pompous cop. He 

 paused on the top step and considered for a moment that perhaps, after fifteen 

 years in law enforcement himself, he really should have matured past that 

 particular pleasure. 



 Nah. 

 * * * 



 "Did you ever shoot anybody?" asked Joshua Barker. He was sitting on a bar 

 stool at the kitchen counter. A man in a gray uniform was fussing medical over 

 him. 



 "No, I'm an EMT," said the EMT. He ripped the blood-pressure cuff off Josh's 

 arm. "We help people, we don't shoot them." 



                                                                                               Page 36 


----------------------- Page 37-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Did you ever put that blood-pressure thing around someone's neck and pump it 

 till their eyes bugged out?" 



 The EMT looked at Theophilus Crowe, who had just entered the Barkers' kitchen. 

 Theo frowned appropriately. Josh turned his attention to the lanky constable, 

 noting that he had a badge clipped to his belt but no gun. 



 "You ever shoot anybody?" 



 "Sure," Theo said. 



 Josh was impressed. He'd seen Theo around town, and his mom always said hi to 

 him, but he never thought he actually did anything. Not anything cool, anyway. 

 "None of these guys ever shot anyone." Josh gestured to the two deputies and 

 the two EMTs stationed around the small kitchen, giving them a look that said 

 the wussies! with the full disdain his soft seven-year-old features could 

 muster. 



 "You kill the guy?" he asked Theo. 



 "Yep." 



 Josh didn't really know where to go now. If he stopped asking questions, he 

 knew that Theo would start asking questions, just like the sheriffs had, and 

 he didn't want to answer any more questions. The blond man had told him not to 

 tell anyone. The sheriff said that the blond man couldn't hurt him, but the 

 sheriff didn't know what Josh knew. 



 "Your mom is on the way, Josh," Theo said. "She'll be here in a few minutes." 



 "I know. I talked to her." 



 To the EMTs and deputies, Theo said, "Guys, can I talk to Josh alone a 

 minute?" 



 "We're done here," the lead medic said, leaving immediately. 



 Both the deputies were young and eager to be asked to do something, even if it 

 was to leave the room. "We'll be outside writing this up," said the last one 

 out. "Sergeant Metz told us to stay until the mother got home." 



 "Thanks, guys," Theo said, surprised at their congeniality. They must not have 

 been on the department long enough to learn to look down on him for being a 

 town constable, an archaic and redundant job, if you asked most area cops. 



 Once they were gone he turned to Josh. "So tell me about the man who was 

 here." 



 "I told those other police." 



 "I know. But you need to tell me. What happened. Even the weird stuff you 

 didn't tell them." 



 Josh didn't like the way Theo seemed to be ready to believe anything. He 

 wasn't being too nice, or talking baby talk like the others. 



 "There wasn't any weird stuff. I told them." Josh nodded as he spoke, hoping 

 he'd look more convincing. "None of that bad touch stuff. I know about that. 

 None of that." 



                                                                                               Page 37 


----------------------- Page 38-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "I don't mean that kind of stuff, Josh. I mean weird stuff you didn't tell 

 them because it's unbelievable." 



 Josh really didn't know what to say now. He considered crying, did a test 

 sniffle just to see if he could get things flowing. Theo reached out and took 

 his chin, lifted it so Josh had to look him in the eye. Why did adults do 

 that? Now he'd ask something that would be really hard to lie about. 



 "What was he doing here, Josh?" Josh shook his head, mostly to get out of 

 Theo's grip, to get away from that adult lie-detector look. "I don't know. He 

 just came in and grabbed me and then he left." 



 "Why did he leave?" 



 "I don't know, I don't know. I'm just a kid. Because he's crazy or something. 

 Or maybe he's retarded. That's how he talks." 



 "I know," Theo said. 



 "You do?" He did? 



 Theo leaned in close. "I saw him, Josh. I talked to him. I know he wasn't like 

 a normal guy." 



 Josh felt like he'd just taken his first deep breath since he left Sam's 

 house. He didn't like keeping secrets          sneaking home and lying about it 

 would have been enough, but witnessing the murder of Santa, and then that 

 strange blond guy showing up. But if Theo already knew about the blond guy . . 

 . "So, so, you saw him glow?" 



 "Glow? Shit!" Theo stood up and spun around as if he'd been hit in the 

 forehead with a paintball. "He glowed, too? Shit!" The tall man was moving 

 like a grasshopper locked in a running microwave. Not that Josh would know 

 what that was like, because that would be a cruel thing to do and he would 

 never do something like that, but, you know, someone told him about it once. 



 "So he glowed?" Theo asked, like he was trying to get this straight. 



 "No, I didn't mean that." Josh needed to back out of this. Theo was trippin'. 

 He'd had enough of adults trippin' for one night. Soon his mom would come home 

 to find a bunch of cops in her house and the trip to beat all trips would 

 start. "I mean he was really mad. You know, like glowing mad." 



 "That's not what you meant." 



 "It isn't?" 



 "He really glowed, didn't he?" 



 "Well, not constantly. Like, for a little while. Then he just stared at me." 



 "Why did he leave, Josh?" 



 "He said he had what he needed now." 



 "What was that? What did he take?" 



 "I don't know." Josh was beginning to worry about the constable. He looked 

 like he might hurl any second. "You're sure you want to go with the glowing 

 thing, Constable Crowe? I could be wrong. I'm a kid. We make notoriously 



                                                                                               Page 38 


----------------------- Page 39-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 unreliable witnesses." 



 "Where'd you hear that?" 



 "CSI." 



 "Those guys know everything." 



 "They have the coolest stuff." 



 "Yeah," said Theo wistfully. 



 "You don't get to use cool cop stuff like that, huh?" 



 "Nope." Theo was sounding really sad now. 



 "But you shot a guy, right?" Josh said cheerfully, trying to raise Theo's 

 spirits. 



 "I was lying. I'm sorry, Josh. I'd better go. Your mom will be home soon. You 

 just tell her everything. She'll look out for you. The deputies will stay with 

 you until she gets here. See ya, kiddo." Theo ruffled his hair and started out 

 of the kitchen. 



 Josh didn't want to tell her. And he didn't want Theo to go. "There's 

 something else." 



 Theo turned and looked back at him. "Okay, Josh, I'll stick around- " 



 "Someone killed Santa Claus tonight," Josh blurted out. 



 "Childhood ends too soon, doesn't it, son?" Theo said, putting his hand on 

 Josh's shoulder. 



 If Josh had had a gun, he'd have shot him, but being an unarmed kid, he 

 decided that of all of these adults, the goofy constable might just be the one 

 who would believe what he had seen happen to Santa. 

 * * * 



 The two deputies had come into the house with Josh's mother, Emily Barker. 

 Theo waited until she had hugged most of the breath out of her son, then 

 reassured her that everything was okay and made a quick escape. As he came 

 down the porch steps, he saw something yellow shining by the front tire of his 

 Volvo. He looked back to make sure that neither of the deputies was looking 

 out, then he crouched before the front tire and reached up into the wheel well 

 and pulled out a hank of yellow hair that had caught in the black vinyl dent 

 molding. He quickly shoved it into his shirt pocket and climbed into the car, 

 feeling the hair throbbing against his chest like a living thing. 



 * * * 



 The Warrior Babe of the Outland admitted that she was powerless without her 

 medication and that her life had become unmanageable. Molly checked off the 

 step in Theo's little blue Narcotics Anonymous book. 



 "Powerless," she muttered to herself, remembering the time when mutants had 

 chained her to a rock in the den of the behemo-badger in Outland Steel: 



                                                                                               Page 39 


----------------------- Page 40-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 Kendra's Revenge. If not for the intervention of Selkirk, the rogue sand 

 pirate, her entrails would even now be curing on the salt stalagmites of the 

 badger's cave. 



 "That would sting, huh?" said the Narrator. 



 "Shut up, that didn't really happen." Did it? She remembered it like it did. 



 The Narrator was a problem. The problem, really. If it had just been a little 

 erratic behavior, she might have been able to wing it until the first of the 

 month and go back on her meds without Theo noticing, but when the Narrator 

 showed up, she knew she needed help. She turned to the Narcotics Anonymous 

 book that had been Theo's constant companion when he was battling his pot 

 habit. He talked about working the steps all the time, and how he couldn't 

 have done it without them. She needed to do something to reinforce the rapidly 

 blurring line between Molly Michon, party planner, cookie baker, the retired 

 actress, and Kendra, mutant slayer, head breaker, the warrior temptress. 



 "'Step two,'" she read. "'Come to believe that a power greater than ourselves 

 can restore us to sanity.'" She thought for a moment and looked out the front 

 window of the cabin for the lights from Theo's car. She really hoped she could 

 get through all twelve steps before he got home. 



 "Nigoth the Worm God shall be my higher power," she declared, snatching her 

 broken broadsword from the coffee table and waving it in defiance at the Sony 

 Wega TV that mocked her darkly from the corner. "In Nigoth's name shall I 

 sally forth, and woe unto any mutant or sand pirate that crosses my path, for 

 his life shall be sacrificed and his bloody balls shall decorate the totem 

 tree of my lodge." 



 "And the wicked shall cower before the grandeur of your dirt-striped and 

 well-shaped thighs," said the Narrator, with robust enthusiasm. 



 "Goes without saying," Molly said. "Okay, step three. 'Turn your life over to 

 God as you understand Him.'" 



 "Nigoth requires a sacrifice," cried the Narrator. "A limb! Cut it from your 

 body and impale it still twitching upon the worm god's fiery purple horn." 



 Molly shook her head to rattle the Narrator around a little. "Dude," she said. 

 Molly seldom "duded" anyone. Theo had picked up the word on his patrol of Pine 

 Cove's skateboard park and now used it generally to express incredulity at the 

 audacity of someone's statement or behavior           the correct inflection on the 

 word would convey Doood, please, you've got to be joking or hallucinating, or 

 both, to even suggest such a thing. (Lately Theo had been doing some testing 

 on "Yo, dat's wack, yo." But Molly had forbade its use outside of the house, 

 for, as she pointed out, there is little more off-putting than the sound of 

 hip-hop vernacular coming out of the mouth of a white, fortysomething, goony 

 bird of a man. "Albatross of a man, yo," Theo had corrected.) 



 Thusly duded, the Narrator bid devotion down. "A finger, then! The severed 

 finger of a Warrior Babe        " 



 "Not a chance," Molly said. 



 'A lock of hair! Nigoth requires          " 



 "I was thinking I'd light a candle to symbolize that I'm turning myself over 

 to my higher power." And to illustrate her sincerity, she took a disposable 

 lighter off the coffee table and lit one of the scented candles she kept on a 



                                                                                               Page 40 


----------------------- Page 41-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 tray at the table's center. 



 "A snotty Kleenex, then!" tried the Narrator. 



 But Molly had moved on to step four in the book. "'Make a searching and 

 fearless moral inventory of yourself.' I have no idea what that means." 



 "Well, I'll be fucked in the ear by a blind spider monkey if I get it," said 

 the Narrator. 



 Molly decided not even to acknowledge the Narrator on that one. After all, if 

 the steps worked like she hoped they would, the Narrator was not going to be 

 around for much longer. She dug into the little blue book in search of 

 clarification. 



 Upon further reading, it appeared that you were supposed to make a list of all 

 the things wrong with your character. 



 "Put down that you're fucking nuts," said the Narrator. 



 "Got it," Molly said. Then she noticed that the book recommended making a list 

 of resentments. She wasn't exactly sure what she was supposed to do with them, 

 but in fifteen minutes she had filled three pages with all variety of 

 resentments, including both parents, the IRS, algebra, premature ejaculators, 

 good housekeepers, French automobiles, Italian luggage, lawyers, CD packaging, 

 IQ tests, and the fucktard who wrote the "Caution, pastry may be hot when 

 heated" warning on the Pop-Tarts box. 



 She paused for a breather and was reading ahead to step five when headlights 

 swept across the yard and raked the front of the cabin. Theo was home. 



 " 'Step five,' " Molly read. "'Confess to our higher power and another human 

 being the exact nature of our wrongs.'" 



 As Theo came through the door, Molly, her broken broadsword in hand, spun from 

 the cinnamon candle of Nigoth the Worm God and said, "I confess! I did not 

 file taxes for the years ninety-five through two thousand, I have eaten the 

 radioactive flesh of mutants, and I resent the hell out of you for not having 

 to squat when you pee. 



 "Hi, honey," Theo said. 



 "Shut up, grommet," said the Warrior Babe. 



 "So I guess I'm not going to get my Volvo washed?" 



 "Quiet! I'm confessing over here, ingrate." 



 "That's the spirit!" said the Narrator. 

 Chapter 7 



 MORNING IS BROKEN 



 It was Wednesday morning, three days before Christmas, when Lena Marquez awoke 

 to find a strange man in her bed. The phone was ringing and the guy next to 

 her made a moaning sound. He was partially covered by the sheets, but Lena was 

 pretty sure that he was naked. 



                                                                                               Page 41 


----------------------- Page 42-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Hello," she said into the phone. She lifted the sheet to look. Yep, he was 

 naked. 



 "Lena, there's supposed to be a storm on Christmas Eve and we were going to 

 have Mavis barbecue for Lonesome Christmas but she can't if it's raining and I 

 yelled at Theo last night and went out and walked around in the dark for two 

 hours and I think he thinks I'm crazy and you should probably know that Dale 

 didn't come home last night and his new           uh, the other, uh       the woman he 

 lives with called Theo in a panic and he           " 



 "Molly?" 



 "Yeah, hi, how you doing?" 



 Lena looked at the clock on the nightstand, then back at the naked man. 

 "Molly, it's six-thirty." 



 "Thanks. It's sixty-seven degrees here. I can see the thermometer outside." 



 "What's wrong?" 



 "I just told you: storm coming. Theo doubts sanity. Dale missing." 



 Tucker Case rolled over, and despite being half asleep, he appeared to be 

 ready for action. 



 "Well would you look at that," Lena thought to herself, then she realized 

 she'd said it into the phone. 



 "What?" said Molly. 



 Tuck opened his eyes and smiled at her, then followed her gaze south. He 

 pulled the sheet out of her hand and covered himself. "That's not for you. I 

 just have to pee." 



 "Sorry," Lena said, pulling the sheet quickly over her head. It had been a 

 long time since she'd had to worry about it, but she suddenly remembered a 

 magazine article about not letting a man see you first thing in the morning 

 unless he'd known you for at least three weeks. 



 "Who was that?" Molly said. 



 Lena made an eye tunnel in the sheet and looked out at Tucker Case, who was 

 getting out of bed, totally unself-conscious, totally naked, his unit leading 

 him into the bathroom, waving before him like a divining rod. She realized 

 right then that she could always find new reasons to resent the male of the 

 species      unself-consciousness was going on the list. 



 "No one," Lena said into the phone. 



 "Lena, you did not sleep with your ex again? Tell me you are not in bed with 

 Dale." 



 "I'm not in bed with Dale." Then the whole night came rolling back on her and 

 she thought she might throw up. Tucker Case had made her forget for a while. 

 Okay, maybe she could count that as a positive toward men, but the anxiety was 

 back. She'd killed Dale. She was going to jail. But she needed to pretend she 

 didn't know anything. 



 "What did you say about Dale, Molly?" 



                                                                                               Page 42 


----------------------- Page 43-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "So who are you in bed with?" 



 "Dammit, Molly, what happened to Dale?" She hoped she sounded convincing. 



 "I don't know. His new girlfriend called and said he didn't come home after 

 the Caribou Christmas party. I just thought you should know, you know, in case 

 it turns out that something bad happened." 



 "I'm sure he's okay. He probably just met some tramp at the Head of the Slug 

 and sold her on his workingman charm." 



 "Yuck," Molly said. "Oh, sorry. Look, Lena, they said on the news this morning 

 that a big storm is coming in off the Pacific. We're going to have El 

 Niño this year. We have to figure out something for the food for Lonesome 

 Christmas      not to mention what to do if a lot of people show up. The chapel 

 is awfully small." 



 Lena was still trying to figure out what to do about Dale. She wanted to tell 

 Molly. If anybody would understand, it would be Molly. Lena had been around a 

 couple of times when Molly had gone through her "breaks." She understood 

 things getting out of control. 



 "Look, Molly, I need        " 



 "And I yelled at Theo last night, Lena. Really bad. He hasn't taken off like 

 that in a long time. I may have fucked Christmas up." 



 "Don't be silly, Mol, you couldn't do that. Theo understands." Meaning, He 

 knows you're crazy and loves you anyway. 



 Just then, Tucker Case came back into the room, retrieved his pants from the 

 floor, and started pulling them on. 



 "I've got to go feed the bat," Tuck said. He pulled a banana partially out of 

 his front pocket. 



 Lena threw the sheets off her head and tried to think of something to say. 



 Tuck grinned, pulling the banana all the way out. "Oh, you thought I was just 

 glad to see you?" 



 "Uh     I     shit." 



 Tuck stepped over and kissed her eyebrow. "I am glad to see you," he said. 

 "But I have to feed the bat, too. I'll be right back." 



 He walked out of the room, barefoot and shirtless. Okay, he probably would be 

 back. 



 "Lena, who was that? Tell me?" 



 Lena realized that she was still holding the phone. "Look, Molly, I'll have to 

 call you back, okay? We'll figure something out for Friday night." 



 "But, I have to make amends         " 



 "I'll call you." Lena hung up and crawled out of bed. If she was quick she 

 could wash her face and get some mascara on before Tucker got back. She 

 started zooming around the room, naked, until she felt someone watching her. 



                                                                                               Page 43 


----------------------- Page 44-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 There was a big bay window that looked out on a forest, and since her bedroom 

 was on the second floor, it was like waking up in a tree house, but no one 

 could possibly look in. She spun around and there, hanging from the gutter, 

 was a giant fruit bat. And he was looking at her            no, not just looking at 

 her, he was checking her out. She pulled the sheet off the bed and covered 

 herself. 



 "Go eat your banana," she shouted at the bat. Roberto licked his chops. 

 * * * 



 There had been a time, during his bong-rat years, when Theophilus Crowe would 

 have stated, with little reservation, that he did not like surprises, that he 

 preferred routine over variety, predictability over uncertainty, the known 

 over the unknown. Then, a few years ago, while working on Pine Cove's last 

 murder case, Theo had gotten to know and fallen in love with Molly Michon, the 

 ex-scream queen of the B-movie silver screen, and everything changed. He had 

 broken one of the cardinal rules         Never go to bed with anyone crazier than 

 yourself      and he'd been loving life ever since. 



 They had their little agreement, if he stayed off his drug (pot) she'd stay on 

 hers (antipsychotics), and consequently she'd have his unmuddled attention and 

 he'd only get the most pleasant aspects of the Warrior Babe persona that Molly 

 sometimes slipped into. He'd learned to delight in her company and the 

 occasional weirdness that she brought into his life. 



 But last night had been too much for him. He'd come through the door wanting, 

 nay, needing to share his bizarre story about the blond man, with the only 

 person who actually might believe him and not berate him for being a stoner, 

 and she had chosen that precise moment to lapse into hostile batshit mode. So, 

 he'd fallen off the wagon, and by the time he returned to their cabin that 

 night, he had smoked enough pot to put a Rastafarian choir in a coma. 



 That's not what the pot patch he'd been growing had been for. Not at all. Not 

 like the old days, when he maintained a small victory garden for personal use. 

 No, the little forest of seven-foot sticky bud platforms that graced the edge 

 of their lot on the ranch was purely a commercial endeavor, albeit for the 

 right reason. For love. 



 Over the years, even as the prospect of ever returning to the movies became 

 more remote, Molly had continued to work out with her giant broadsword. 

 Stripped to her underwear, or dressed in a sports bra and sweatpants, every 

 day in the clearing in front of the cabin she'd declare "en garde" to an 

 imaginary partner and proceed to spin, leap, thrust, parry, hack, and slash 

 herself breathless. Beyond the fact that the ritual kept her incredibly fit, 

 it made her happy, which, in turn, pleased Theo to no end. He'd even 

 encouraged her to get involved in Japanese kendo, and to little surprise, she 

 was excellent at it, consistently winning matches against opponents nearly 

 twice her size. 



 And indirectly, all this had led to Theo's growing pot commercially for the 

 first time in his life. He'd tried other means, but banks seemed more than a 

 little reluctant to lend him nearly a half year's salary in order to purchase 

 a samurai sword. Well, not samurai precisely, but a Japanese sword               an 

 ancient Japanese sword, made by the master swordmaker Hisakuni of Yamashiro in 

 the late thirteenth century. Sixty thousand folded layers of high carbon 

 steel, perfectly balanced, and razor sharp even eight hundred years later. It 

 was a tashi, a curved cavalry sword, longer and heavier than the traditional 

 katanas used later by samurais in ground combat. Molly would appreciate the 

 weight during her workouts, as its heft was closer to that of the theatrical 



                                                                                               Page 44 


----------------------- Page 45-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 broadsword she'd brought with her as a legacy of her failed movie career. She 

 would also appreciate that it was real, and Theo hoped that she'd see that it 

 was his way of saying that he loved all the parts of her, even the Warrior 

 Babe (he just liked rubbing up against some parts more than others). The tashi 

 was now wrapped in velvet and hiding at the back of the top shelf of Theo's 

 closet, where he used to keep his bong collection. 



 The money? Well, an old friend of Theo's from the stoner days, a Big Sur 

 grower now turned wholesaler, had been happy to advance Theo the money against 

 his crop. It was supposed to have been a purely commercial venture: get in, 

 get out, and nobody gets hurt. But now Theo was showing up stoned for work for 

 the first time in years, and following a bad night, he could just sense that 

 this wasn't going to be a good day. 



 Then the call came in from Dale Pearson's girlfriend/wife/whatever, and the 

 descent into hell day started. 

 * * * 



 Theo drowned his eyes in Visine and stopped at Brine's Bait, Tackle, and Fine 

 Wines for a large coffee before he headed over to Lena Marquez's house in 

 search of her ex-husband. While it was clear from the incident at the 

 Thrifty-Mart on Monday, and a dozen earlier incidents, that their dislike for 

 each other bordered on hatred, it hadn't stopped them from hooking up from 

 time to time for some familiar post-divorce sex. Theo wouldn't have even known 

 about it, except Molly was good friends with Lena and women talked about that 

 sort of thing. 



 Lena lived in a nice two-story Craftsman-style house on a half acre of pine 

 forest that butted up to one of Pine Cove's many ranches. It was more house 

 than she would have been able to afford working as a property manager, but 

 then, she had put up with Dale Pearson for five years of marriage, and for 

 five years since, so it was the least she deserved, Theo thought. He liked the 

 sound of his hiking boots on the porch as he walked to the front door, and he 

 thought that he and Molly should build a porch on their little cabin. He 

 thought they could maybe get a wind chime, and a swing, have a little heater 

 so they could sit outside on cold evenings. Then he realized, as he felt that 

 vibration of footsteps coming to the door, that he was totally and completely 

 baked. That they would know he was baked. That no amount of Visine or coffee 

 was going to cover the fact that he was baked. Twenty years of functioning 

 stoned was not going to serve him now          he'd lost his edge, he was no longer 

 in the game, the eye of the tiger was bloodshot. 



 "Hi, Theo," Lena said, opening the door. She wore a man's oversize sweatshirt 

 and red socks. Her long black hair, which normally flowed down her back like 

 liquid satin, was all knotted up at the back of her head, and there was a big 

 tangle sticking out by one ear. Sex hair. 



 Theo shuffled on the porch like a kid getting ready to ask the girl next door 

 for a first date. "I'm sorry to bother you so early, but I wondered if you've 

 seen Dale. Since Monday, I mean." 



 She seemed to fade away from the door, like she was ready to faint. Theo was 

 sure it was because she knew he was high. "No, Theo. Why?" 



 "Well, uh, Betsy called, and said that Dale didn't come home last night." 

 Betsy was Dale's new wife/girlfriend/whatever. She was a waitress down at 

 H.P.'s Cafe and over the years had become notorious for having affairs with a 

 lot of married guys. "I was just, uh . . ." Why wouldn't she interrupt him? He 

 didn't want to say that he knew that she and Dale got together for spite sex 



                                                                                               Page 45 


----------------------- Page 46-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 occasionally. He wasn't supposed to know. ". . . so, uh, I was just 

 wondering." 



 "Hi, who's this?" said a blond guy who had appeared shirtless behind Lena in 

 the doorway. 



 "Oh, thank God," Theo said, taking a deep breath. "I'm Theo Crowe, I'm the 

 town constable." He looked at Lena for an introduction. 



 "This is Tucker       uh, Tuck." 



 She had no idea what this guy's last name was. 



 "Tucker Case," said Tucker Case, stepping around Lena and offering his hand to 

 shake. "I should have introduced myself to you sooner, I guess, since we're in 

 the same business." 



 "What business is that?" Theo never thought of himself as being a businessman, 

 but he guessed that he was now. 



 "I'm flying helicopter for the DEA," said Tucker Case. "You know, infrared, 

 finding growers and stuff." 



 Clear! His heart has stopped! Code blue! Five hundred milligrams of 

 epinephrine, direct shot to the pericardium, stat! He's flatlining, people. 

 Clear! 



 "Nice to meet you," Theo said, hoping his heart failure wasn't showing. "Well, 

 sorry to bother you. I'll just be on my way." He let go of Tuck's hand and 

 started walking away, thinking: Don't walk stoned, don't walk stoned               for 

 the love of God, how did I do this all of those years? 



 "Uh, Constable," Tuck said. "Why was it that you stopped by? Ouch!" 



 Theo turned. Lena had just punched the pilot in the arm, evidently pretty hard 

    he was massaging it. 



 "Uh, nothing. Just a fellow didn't go home last night, and I thought Lena 

 might have an idea where he went." Theo was trying to back away from the 

 house, but then stopped, remembering that he might trip on the porch steps. 

 How would he explain that to the DEA? 



 "Last night? That's not even a missing person for, what, twenty-four, 

 forty-eight hours? Ouch! Dammit, that's not necessary." Tucker Case rubbed his 

 shoulder where Lena had punched him again. 



 Theo thought that she might have violence issues with men. 



 Lena looked at Theo and grinned, as if she was embarrassed about the punch. 

 "Theo, Molly called me this morning and told me about Dale. I told her I 

 hadn't seen him. Didn't she tell you?" 



 "Sure. Sure, she told me. I just, you know, I thought you might have some 

 ideas. I mean, your friend is right, Dale's not really missing, officially, 

 for another twelve hours or so, but, you know, it's a small town, and I, you 

 know, have a job and stuff." 



 "Thanks, Theo," Lena said, waving to him even though he was only a few feet 

 away and wasn't moving away from the house. The pilot was waving, too, 

 smiling. Theo didn't like being around new lovers who had just gotten laid, 



                                                                                               Page 46 


----------------------- Page 47-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 especially when things weren't going that well in his own love life. They 

 seemed smug, even if they weren't trying to be. 



 He spotted something dark swinging from the ceiling of the porch, right where 

 the wind chime would have been on his and Molly's porch, if he hadn't just 

 sacrificed their security by relapsing into dope-fiendism. It couldn't be what 

 it looked like. 



 "So, that's a, uh, that looks like          " 



 "A bat," said Lena. 



 Holy fuck, Theo thought, that thing is huge. "A bat," he said. "Sure. Of 

 course." 



 "Fruit bat," Tucker Case clarified. "From Micronesia." 



 "Oh, right," Theo said. Micronesia was not a real place. The blond guy was 

 fucking with him. "Well, I'll see you guys." 



 "See you at Lonesome Christmas on Friday," Lena said. "Say hi to Molly." 



 " 'Kay," Theo said, climbing into the Volvo. 



 He closed the car door. They went inside. He let his head hit the steering 

 wheel. 



 They know, he thought. 

 * * * 



 "He knows," Lena said, her back against the front door. 



 "He doesn't know." 



 "He's smarter than he looks. He knows." 



 "He doesn't know. And he didn't look dumb, he looked kind of stoned." 



 "No, he wasn't stoned, that was suspicion." 



 "Don't you think if he was suspicious he might have asked where you were last 

 night?" 



 "Well, he could see that, with you walking out there with your shirt off, and 

 me looking so, you know        so     " 



 "Satisfied?" 



 "No, I was going to say 'disheveled.'" She punched his arm. "Jeez, get over 

 yourself." 



 "Ouch. That is completely out of line." 



 "I'm in trouble here," Lena said. "You can at least be supportive." 



 "Supportive? I helped you hide the body. In some countries that implies 

 commitment." 



 She wound up to punch him, then caught herself, but left her fist there in the 



                                                                                               Page 47 


----------------------- Page 48-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 air, just in case. "You really don't think he was suspicious?" 



 "He didn't even ask why you have a giant fruit bat hanging out on your porch. 

 He's oblivious. Just going through the motions." 



 "Why do I have a giant fruit bat hanging from the porch?" 



 "Comes with the package." He grinned and walked away. 



 Now she felt stupid, standing there, her fist in the air. She felt 

 unenlightened, dense, silly, unevolved, all the things she thought only other 

 people were. She followed him into the bedroom, where he was putting on his 

 shirt. 



 "I'm sorry I hit you." 



 He rubbed his bruised shoulder. "You have tendencies. Should I hide your 

 shovel?" 



 "That's a horrible thing to say." She almost punched him, but instead, trying 

 to be more evolved, and less threatening, she put her arms around him. "It was 

 an accident." 



 "Release me. I have to go spot bad guys with my helicopter," he said, patting 

 her on the bottom. 



 "You're taking the bat with you, right?" 



 "You don't want to hang out with him?" 



 "No offense, but he's a little creepy." 



 "You have no idea," said Tuck. 

 Chapter 8 



 HOLIDAY HEARTBREAK 



 Christmas Amnesty. You can fall out of contact with a friend, fail to return 

 calls, ignore e-mails, avoid eye contact at the Thrifty-Mart, forget 

 birthdays, anniversaries, and reunions, and if you show up at their house 

 during the holidays (with a gift) they are socially bound to forgive you 

 act like nothing happened. Decorum dictates that the friendship move forward 

 from that point, without guilt or recrimination. If you started a chess game 

 ten years ago in October, you need only remember whose move it is               or why 

 you sold the chessboard and bought an Xbox in the interim. (Look, Christmas 

 Amnesty is a wonderful thing, but it's not a dimensional shift. The laws of 

 time and space continue to apply, even if you have been avoiding your friends. 

 But don't try using the expansion of the universe as an excuse              like you 

 kept meaning to stop by, but their house kept getting farther away. That crap 

 won't wash. Just say, "Sorry I haven't called. Merry Christmas." Then show the 

 present. Christmas Amnesty protocol dictates that your friend say, "That's 

 okay," and let you in without further comment. This is the way it has always 

 been done.) 



 "Where the fuck have you been?" said Gabe Fenton when he opened the door and 

 saw his old friend Theophilus Crowe standing there, holding a present. Gabe, 

 forty-five, short and wiry, unshaven and slightly balding, was wearing khakis 

 that looked like he'd slept in them for a week. 



                                                                                               Page 48 


----------------------- Page 49-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Merry Christmas, Gabe," said Theo, holding out the present, a big red bow on 

 it     sort of waving the box back and forth as if to say, Hey, I have a 

 present here, you're not supposed to sandbag me for not calling for three 

 years. 



 "Yeah, nice," said Gabe. "But you might have called." 



 "Sorry. I meant to, but you were involved with Val, I didn't want to 

 interrupt." 



 "She dumped me, you know?" Gabe had been seeing Valerie Riordan, the town's 

 only psychiatrist, for several years now. Not for the last month, however. 



 "Yeah, I heard about that." Theo had heard that Val wanted someone who was a 

 little more involved with human culture than Gabe. 



 Gabe was a behavioral field biologist who studied wild rodents or marine 

 mammals, depending on who was providing the funding. He lived at a small 

 federally owned cottage by the lighthouse with his hundred-pound black 

 Labrador retriever, Skinner. 



 "You heard? And you didn't call?" 



 It was nearly noon, and Theo's buzz had mostly worn off, but he was still 

 thrown. Guys were not supposed to lament the lack of support from a friend, 

 unless it was backup in a bar fight or help in moving heavy stuff. This was 

 not normal behavior. Maybe Gabe really did need to spend more time around 

 human beings. 



 "Look, Gabe, I brought you a present," Theo said. "Look at how glad Skinner is 

 to see me." 



 Skinner was, in fact, glad to see Theo. He was crowding Gabe in the doorway, 

 his beefy tail beating against the open door like a Snausage war drum. He 

 associated Theo with hamburgers and pizza, and had once thought of him as the 

 emergency backup Food Guy (Gabe being the primary Food Guy). 



 "Well, I suppose you should come in," said Gabe. The biologist stepped away 

 from the door and allowed Theo to enter. Skinner said hi by shoving his nose 

 into Theo's crotch. 



 "I'm working in here, so things are a little messy." 



 A little messy? An understatement on a par with calling the Bataan Death March 

 a nature hike       it looked like someone had loaded all of Gabe's belongings 

 into a cannon and fired them into the room through the wall. Dirty laundry and 

 dishes covered every surface except for Gabe's worktable, which, except for 

 the rats, was immaculate. 



 "Nice rats," Theo said. "What are you doing with them?" 



 "I'm studying them." 



 Gabe sat down in front of a series of five-gallon aquariums arranged around a 

 center tank in a star pattern and linked by Habitrail tubes, with gates for 

 routing rats from one chamber to another. Each of the rats had a silver disk 

 about the size of a quarter glued to its back. 



 Theo watched as Gabe opened a gate and one of the rats rushed to the center 



                                                                                               Page 49 


----------------------- Page 50-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 tank and immediately tried to mount its occupant. Gabe picked up a small 

 remote control and hit the button. The attacking rat nearly did a backflip 

 trying to retreat. 



 "Ha! That'll teach 'im," Gabe shouted. "The female in the center cage is in 

 estrus." 



 The rat backed away tentatively and did some sniffing, then attempted to mount 

 the female again. Gabe hit the button. The male was jolted off of her. 



 "Ha! Now do you get it?!" Gabe said maniacally. He looked up from the cages to 

 Theo. "There are electrodes on their testes. The silver disks are batteries 

 and remote receivers. Every time he gets sexually aroused, I'm hitting his 

 little nuts with fifty volts." 



 The rat made another attempt and again Gabe hit the button. The rat spazzed 

 its way to the corner of the cage. 



 "You stupid shit!" Gabe shouted. "You think they'd learn. I'll hit each of 

 them with the jolt a dozen times today, but when I open the cage tomorrow, 

 they'll all run back in and try to mount her again. You see, you see how we 

 are?" 



 "We?" 



 "Us. Males. See how we are. We know there's going to be nothing but pain, but 

 we go back again and again." 



 Gabe had always been so steady, so calm, so professionally detached, 

 scientifically obsessed, so dependably nerdy           Theo felt as if he were 

 talking to a whole different person, like someone had scrubbed off all the 

 intellect and had exposed the nerves. "Uh, Gabe, I'm not sure that we should 

 equate ourselves with rodents. I mean          " 



 "Oh, sure. That's what you say now. But you'll call me and tell me I was 

 right. Something will happen and you'll call. She'll stomp your heart and 

 you'll finish the destruction she starts. Am I right? Am I right?" 



 "Uh, I      " Theo was thinking about the graveyard sex followed by the fight 

 he'd had with Molly last night. 



 "So I'm going to change the association. Watch this." Gabe stormed over to a 

 bookshelf, threw aside a bunch of professional journals and notebooks until he 

 found what he was looking for. "See. See her." Gabe held up a recent 

 Victoria's Secret catalog. The model on the front was wearing garments 

 spectacularly inadequate in concealing her appeal. She looked as if she just 

 couldn't be happier about it. "Beautiful, right? Amazing, right? Hold that 

 thought." Gabe reached into the pocket of his khakis and pulled out a 

 stainless remote just like the one on the rat table. "Beautiful," he said, and 

 he hit the button. 



 The biologist's back arched and he suddenly became six inches taller, all the 

 muscles of his body seeming to flex at once. He convulsed twice, then fell to 

 the floor, the crumpled catalog still in his hand. 



 Skinner lapsed into a barking fit. Don't die, Food Guy, my bowl is on the 

 porch and I can't open the door by myself, he was saying. It was the same 

 every time, he was always glad when the Food Guy wasn't actually dead, but the 

 Food Guy's convulsions made him anxious. 



                                                                                               Page 50 


----------------------- Page 51-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 Theo rushed to his friend's aid. Gabe's eyes were rolled back and he twitched 

 a couple of times before he sucked in a deep breath and looked Theo in the 

 eye. "See. You change the association. Won't be long and I'll have that 

 reaction without the electrodes glued to my scrotum." 



 "Are you okay?" 



 "Oh yeah. It will take hold, I know it. It hasn't worked with the rats yet, 

 but I'm hoping it will before they all die." 



 "They're dying of this?" 



 "Well, it has to hurt or they'll never learn." Gabe held up his remote again 

 and Theo snatched it out of his hand. 



 "Stop it!" 



 "I have another set of electrodes and receiver. You want to try it? I've been 

 dying to try it out in the field. We could go to a titty bar." 



 Theo helped Gabe to his feet, then set him in a chair facing away from the rat 

 table and pulled a chair around for himself. 



 "Gabe, you are out of control. I'm sorry I didn't call." 



 "I know you've been busy. It's okay." 



 Great, now he has the appropriate Christmas Amnesty reaction, Theo thought. 

 "These rats, the electrodes, all of it, it's just wrong. You're just going to 

 end up with either a bunch of paranoid misogynist males, or a pile of 

 corpses." 



 "You make that sound like a bad thing." 



 "You got your heart broken. It will heal." 



 "She said I was dull." 



 "She should see this." Theo gestured around the room. 



 "She wasn't interested in my work." 



 "You guys had a good run. Five years. Maybe it was just time. You told me 

 yourself that the human male was not evolved for monogamy." 



 "Yeah, but I had a girlfriend when I said that." 



 "So it's not true?" 



 "No, it's true, but it didn't bother me when I had a girlfriend. Now I know 

 that I am biologically programmed to spread the seed of my loins far and wide, 

 to as many females as possible, a series of torrid, meaningless matings, only 

 to move on to the next fertile female. My genes are demanding that I pass them 

 on, and I don't know where to start." 



 "You might want to shower before you start the seed spreading." 



 "You don't think I know that? That's why I was trying to reprogram my 

 impulses. Tame the animus, as it were." 



                                                                                               Page 51 


----------------------- Page 52-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Because you don't want to shower?" 



 "No, because I don't know how to talk to women. I could talk to Val." 



 "Val was a pro." 



 "She was not. She never turned a trick in her life." 



 "Listener, Gabe. She was a pro listener           a psychiatrist." 



 "Oh, right. Do you think I should start with a prostitute, or 'tutes?" 



 "For a broken heart? Yeah, I'm sure that will work just as well as the 

 electrodes on your scrotum, but first I need you to do something for me." Theo 

 thought maybe, just maybe, work         nonfreakish work       might bring his friend 

 back from the brink. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the hank 

 of yellow hair he'd taken out of the Volvo's wheel well. "I need you to look 

 at this and tell me about it." 



 Gabe took the hair and looked at it. "Is this crime stuff?" 



 "Sort of." 



 "Where did you get it? What do you need to know?" 



 "Tell me everything you can about it before I tell you anything, okay?" 



 "Well, it appears to be blond." 



 "Thanks, Gabe, I was thinking maybe you could look at it under the microscope 

 or something." 



 "Doesn't the county have a crime lab for that?" 



 "Yeah, but I can't take it to them. There are circumstances." 



 "Like?" 



 "Like they will think I'm stoned or nuts or both. Look at the hair," Theo 

 said. "You tell me. I'll tell you. 



 "Okay, but I don't have all that cool CSI stuff." 



 "Yeah, but the guys at the crime lab don't have batteries Super-Glued to their 

 gonads. You've got them there." 

 * * * 



 Ten minutes later Gabe looked up from his microscope. "Well, it's not human," 

 he said. 



 "Swell." 



 "In fact, it doesn't appear to be hair." 



 "So what is it?" 



 "Well, it seems to have a lot of the qualities of optic fiber." 



 "So it's man-made?" 



                                                                                               Page 52 


----------------------- Page 53-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Not so fast. It has a root, and what appears to be a cuticle, but it doesn't 

 look like keratin. I'd have to have it tested for proteins. If it's 

 manufactured, there's no evidence of the process. It looks as if it was grown, 

 not made. You know polar-bear hair has fiber-optic properties              channels 

 light energy through to the black skin for heat." 



 "So it's polar-bear hair?" 



 "Not so fast." 



 "Gabe, goddammit, where in the hell did it come from?" 



 "You tell me." 



 "Just us, okay? This doesn't leave this cottage unless We get some 

 confirmation, okay?" 



 "Of course. Are you okay, Theo?" 



 "Am I okay? You're asking me if I'm okay?" 



 "Everything all right with you and Molly? The job? You're not smoking dope 

 again, are you?" 



 Theo hung his head. "You say you have another one of those electrodes?" 



 Gabe brightened. "You'll need to shave a spot. Can I open my present while 

 you're in the bathroom? You can use my razor." 



 "No, go ahead and open your present. I have some stuff I need to tell you." 



 "Wow, a salad shooter. Thanks, Theo." 

 * * * 



 "He took the salad shooter," Molly said. 



 "Wow, was that important to him?" Lena asked. 



 "It was a wedding present." 



 "I know, I gave it to you. It was a wedding present to me and Dale, too." 



 "See, there was tradition." Molly was inconsolable. She drank off half of her 

 diet Coke and slammed the plastic Budweiser cup down on the bar like a pirate 

 cursing over a schooner of grog. "Bastard!" 



 It was Wednesday evening, and they were at the Head of the Slug saloon to 

 coordinate the replanning of the food for the Christmas for the Lonesome 

 party. Lena's first reaction to Molly's call to help was to beg off and stay 

 at home, but even as she was creating an excuse, she realized that she'd only 

 sit home obsessing alternately on getting caught for killing Dale and getting 

 her heart broken by this strange, strange helicopter pilot. She decided that 

 maybe meeting with Molly and Mavis down at the Slug wasn't such a bad idea. 

 And she might be able to find out from Molly if Theo suspected her in Dale's 

 disappearance. Yeah, fat chance, with Molly obsessing on Theo's              whatever it 

 was that Theo was supposed to have done wrong. It sounded to Lena like he had 

 just taken a salad shooter to work with him. You were supposed to empathize 

 with your friend's problems, but they were, after all, your friend's problems, 



                                                                                               Page 53 


----------------------- Page 54-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 and Lena's friends, Molly in particular, could be a little wacky. 



 The bar was full of singles in their twenties and thirties and you could feel 

 a desperate energy sparking around the dark room, like loneliness was the 

 negative and sex was the positive and someone was brushing the wires together 

 over an open bucket of gasoline. This was the fallout of the holiday 

 heartbreak cycle that started with young men who, lacking any stronger 

 motivation toward changing their lives, would break up with their current 

 girlfriend in order to avoid having to buy her a Christmas present. The 

 distraught women would sulk for a few days, eat ice cream, and avoid calling 

 relatives, but then, as the idea of a solitary Christmas and New Year started 

 to loom large, they swarmed into the Slug in search of a companion, virtually 

 any companion, with whom they could pass the holidays. Full speed ahead and 

 forget the presents. Pine Cove's male singles, to display their newfound 

 freedom, would descend on the Slug, and avail themselves of the affections of 

 dejected women in a game of small-town sexual musical chairs played hungrily 

 to the tune of "Deck the Halls"         everyone hoping to have slipped drunkenly 

 into someone more comfortable before the last fa was la-la-ed. 



 There might have been a bubble around Lena and Molly, however, for they were 

 obviously not part of the game. While both were certainly more than attractive 

 enough to garner attention from the younger men, they had about them a 

 mystique of experience, of having been there and moved on, of 

 unbullshitability. Essentially, they scared the hell out of all but the 

 drunkest of the Slug's suitors, and the fact that they were drinking straight 

 diet Coke scared the hell out of the drunks. Molly and Lena, despite their own 

 personal distress, had slain their own holiday desperation dragons, which was 

 how the Lonesome Christmas party had started in the first place. Now they were 

 on to new, individual anxieties. 



 "Sloppy joes," said Mavis, a great cloud of low-tar smoke powering the 

 announcement and washing over Lena and Molly. It had been illegal to smoke in 

 California bars for years, but Mavis ignored the law and the authorities 

 (Theophilus Crowe) and smoked on. "Who doesn't like his meat sloppy on a bun?" 



 "Mavis, it's Christmas," Lena said. So far Mavis had only suggested soupy or 

 saucy entrées       Lena suspected that Mavis had misplaced her dentures 

 again and was therefore lobbying for a gummable feast. 



 "With pickles, then. Red sauce, green pickles, Christmas theme." 



 "I mean shouldn't we do something nice for Christmas? Not just sloppy joes?" 



 "At five bucks a head, I told her that barbecue was the only way to feed 

 them." Mavis leaned in and looked at Molly, who was muttering malevolently 

 into her ice cubes. "But everyone seems to think it's going to rain. Like it 

 ever rains in December." 



 Molly looked up and growled a little, then looked at the television screen 

 behind Mavis and pointed. The sound was muted, but there was a weather map of 

 California. About eight hundred miles off the coast there was a great blob of 

 color whirling in jump-frame satellite-photo motion, making it appear that a 

 Technicolor amoeba was about to consume the Bay Area. 



 "Ain't nothin'," Mavis said. "They won't even give it a name. If that thing 

 was crouched like that over Bermuda, they'd have given it a name two days ago. 

 Know why? 'Cause they don't come onshore here. That bitch will turn right a 

 hundred miles off Anacapa Island and go down and dump all over the Yucatan. 

 Meanwhile we won't be able to wash our cars because of the drought." 



                                                                                               Page 54 


----------------------- Page 55-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "The rain at least will stop any sand-pirate attacks," Molly said, crunching 

 an ice cube. 



 "Huh?" said Lena. 



 "The hell did you say?" Mavis adjusted her hearing aid. 



 "Nothing," Molly said. "What do you guys think about lasagna? You know, some 

 garlic bread, a little salad." 



 "Yeah, we can probably do it for five bucks a head if we don't use sauce or 

 cheese," said Mavis. 



 "Lasagna just doesn't seem very Christmasy," said Lena. 



 "We could put it in Santa Claus pans," Molly suggested. 



 "No!" Lena snapped. "No Santas! We can do a snowman or something, but no 

 friggin' Santas." 



 Mavis reached over and patted Lena's hand. "Santa played a little grab-ass 

 with a lot of us when we were little, darlin'. Once your mustache starts 

 growing you're supposed to let go of that shit." 



 "I am not growing a mustache." 



 "Do you wax? Because you can't see a thing," said Molly, being supportive. 



 "I do not have a mustache," said Lena. 



 "You think it's bad being a Mexican, Romanian women have to start shaving when 

 they're twelve," Mavis said. 



 Lena took that opportunity to plant her elbows squarely on the bar and grip 

 two great handfuls of her hair, which she began to pull, slowly and steadily, 

 to make her point. 



 "What?" said Mavis. 



 "What?" said Molly. 



 And there was an awkward moment of silence among the three             only the muted 

 jukebox thumping in the background and the low murmur of people lying to one 

 another. They looked around to avoid talking, then turned to the front door as 

 Vance McNally, Pine Cove's senior EMT, came through it and let loose a long, 

 growling belch. 



 Vance was in his midfifties, and fancied himself a charmer and a hero, when, 

 in fact, he was a bit of a dolt. He had been driving the ambulance for over 

 twenty years now, and nothing gave him pleasure like being the bearer of bad 

 news. It was the measure of his importance. 



 "You guys hear that the highway patrol found Dale Pearson's truck parked up in 

 Big Sur by Lime Kiln Rock? Looks like he was fishing and fell in. Yep, surf 

 coming up from that storm, they'll never find him. Theo's up there now 

 investigating." 



 Lena stumbled back to her bar stool and climbed up. She was sure everyone in 

 the bar, all the locals anyway, were looking at her for a reaction. She let 

 her long hair hang down by her face, hiding in it. 



                                                                                               Page 55 


----------------------- Page 56-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "So, lasagna it is," said Mavis. 



 "But no fucking Santa pans!" Lena snapped, not looking up. 



 Mavis pulled both of their plastic cups off the bar. "Normal circumstances, 

 you'd be cut off, but as it is, I think you two really need to start 

 drinking." 

 Chapter 9 



 THE LOCAL GUYS, THEY HAVE 

 THEIR MOMENTS 



 Thursday morning it became official: Dale Pearson, evil developer, was a 

 missing person. Theo Crowe was going over the big red truck parked by the 

 pounding Pacific at Lime Kiln Rock in the Big Sur wilderness area above Pine 

 Cove. This was the area where half the world's car commercials were filmed 

 everything from Detroit minivans to German lux-o-cruisers was filmed snaking 

 around the cliffs of Big Sur, as if all you needed to do was sign the lease 

 papers and your life would be an open road of frothy waves beating on majestic 

 seawalls, with nothing but leisure and prosperity ahead. Dale Pearson's big 

 red truck did look carefree and prosperous, parked there by the sea, despite 

 the crust of salt forming on the paint and the appearance that the owner had 

 been washed away in the surf. 



 Theo wanted that to be the case. The highway patrol, who had found the truck, 

 had reported it as an accident. There was a surf-casting rod there on the 

 rocks, conveniently monogrammed with Dale's initials. And the Santa hat he'd 

 been wearing was found washed up nearby, and therein lay the problem. Betsy 

 Butler, Dale's squeeze, had said that Dale had gone out two nights ago to play 

 Santa at the Caribou Lodge and had never come home. Who went fishing in the 

 middle of the night while wearing a Santa hat? Granted, according to the other 

 Caribou, Dale had done "some drinking," and he was a little wound up from his 

 confrontation with his ex-wife the day before, but he hadn't lost his mind 

 completely. Negotiating the cliffs by Lime Kiln Rock to get down to the water 

 during the day was risky business; there's no way that Dale would have tried 

 it in the middle of the night. (Theo had lost his footing and slid twenty feet 

 before he caught himself, wrenching his back in the process. Sure he was a 

 little stoned, but then, Dale would have been a little drunk.) 



 The highway patrolman, who had a crew cut and looked to be about twelve                an 

 escapee from one of the hygiene films Theo had seen in sixth-grade health 

 class, Why Mary Won't Go in the Water - had Theo sign off on his report, then 

 climbed in his cruiser and headed up the coast into Monterey County. Theo went 

 back and looked through the truck again. 



 All the things that should have been there           some tools, a black Mag 

 flashlight, a couple of fast-food wrappers, another fishing rod, a tube of 

 blueprints      were there. And all the things that shouldn't            bloody knives, 

 shell casings, severed limbs, evidence of bleach from cleanup              were not. It 

 was like the guy had just driven up here, climbed down the cliff, and washed 

 away. But that just couldn't be the case. Dale could be mean-spirited, crude, 

 and even violent, but he wasn't stupid. Unless he knew the exact topography of 

 these cliffs, and had a good flashlight, he'd never have made it down in the 

 dark. And his flashlight was still in the truck. 



 Theo wished that he had better training in crime-scene investigation. He'd 

 learned most of what he knew from television, not at the academy where he'd 



                                                                                               Page 56 


----------------------- Page 57-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 spent a miserable eight weeks fifteen years ago when the corrupt sheriff who 

 had found his personal pot patch had railroaded him into becoming Pine Cove's 

 constable. Since the academy, almost every crime scene he'd encountered had 

 been turned over to the county sheriff or highway patrol almost immediately. 



 He went over the truck cab again looking for something that might be a clue. 

 The only thing remotely out of order was some dog hairs on the headrest. Theo 

 couldn't remember if Dale had a dog. 



 He put the dog hairs in a sandwich bag and dialed Betsy Butler on his cell 

 phone. 



 She didn't sound that broken up about Dale's disappearance. "No, Dale didn't 

 like dogs. He didn't like cats either. He was kind of a cow man." 



 "He liked cows? Did you guys have a pet cow?" Could it be cow hair? 



 "No, he liked to eat them, Theo. Are you okay?" 



 "No, sorry, Betsy." He had been so sure that he didn't sound stoned. 



 "So, do I get the truck? I mean, are you going to bring it here?" 



 "I have no idea," said Theo. "They'll tow it to the impound yard. I don't know 

 if they'll release it to you. I'd better go, Betsy." He snapped the phone 

 shut. Maybe he was just tired. Molly had made him sleep on the couch last 

 night     saying something about him having mutant tendencies. He hadn't even 

 known that she liked the salad shooter. He was sure that she could tell that 

 he'd been smoking pot. 



 He flipped the phone back open and called Gabe Fenton. 



 "Hey, Theo. I don't know what that stuff is you brought me, but it's not hair. 

 It won't burn or melt, and it's damn hard to cut or break. Good thing it was 

 torn out by the roots." 



 Theo cringed. He had almost forgotten about the crazed blond guy he'd run 

 over. He shuddered now, thinking about it. "Gabe, I have some more hair I'd 

 like you to look at." 



 "Oh my God, Theo, did you run over someone else?" 



 "No, I didn't run over anybody. Jeez, Gabe." 



 "Okay. I'll be here all day. Actually, I'll be here all night, too. It's not 

 like I have anywhere to go. Or anyone who cares whether I live or die. It's 

 not like      " 



 "Okay. I'm coming over." 

 * * * 



 There were two men and three women, including Lena, in the offices of 

 Properties in the Pines when Tucker Case came through the door. The women were 

 immediately intrigued by him and the men immediately disliked him. It had 

 always been that way with Tuck. Later, if they got to know him, the women 

 would dismiss him and the men would still dislike him. Basically, he was a 

 geek in a cool guy's body        one feature or the other worked against him. 



 It was an open stable of desks and Tuck went directly to Lena's desk at the 



                                                                                               Page 57 


----------------------- Page 58-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 back. As he went he smiled and nodded to the realtors, who smiled back weakly, 

 trying not to sneer. They were beat from showing properties to Christmas 

 vacation be-backs who wouldn't move here even if they could find employment in 

 this toy town. They'd just failed to plan any vacation activities and so 

 decided to take the kids out for a rousing round of jerk off the realtor. Or 

 so went the party line at the MLS meetings. 



 Lena met Tuck's gaze and instinctively smiled, then frowned. 



 "What are you doing here?" 



 "Lunch? You. Me. Eating. Talking. I need to ask you something." 



 "I thought you were supposed to be flying." 



 Tuck hadn't seen Lena in her business clothes            a sensible skirt and blouse, 

 just a little mascara and lipstick, her hair pinned up with lacquered 

 chopsticks, a few strands escaping here and there to frame her face. He liked 

 the look. 



 "I flew all morning. There's weather. The edge of a storm coming." He really 

 wanted to pull the chopsticks out of her hair and throw her down there on the 

 desk and tell her how he really felt, which was somewhat aroused. "We could 

 get Chinese," he added. 



 Lena looked out the window. The sky was going dark gray over the shops across 

 the street. "There's no Chinese place in Pine Cove. Besides, I'm really 

 swamped here. I handle vacation rentals and it's Christmas Eve eve." 



 "We could go to your place for a quick lunch. You have no idea how quick I can 

 be if I put my mind to it." 



 Lena looked past him to her coworkers, who, of course, were now staring. "Is 

 that what you need to ask me?" 



 "Oh, no, no, of course not. I wouldn't           that would be, well, yes        but 

 there's something else." Now Tuck was feeling the realtors watching him, 

 listening to him. He leaned over Lena's desk so only she could hear. "You said 

 this morning that that constable guy your friend is married to lives in a 

 cabin at the edge of a ranch. It wouldn't be the big ranch north of town, 

 would it?" 



 Lena was still looking past him. "Yes, the Beer-Bar Ranch, belongs to Jim 

 Beer." 



 "And there's an old single-wide trailer next to the cabin?" 



 "Yes, that used to be Molly's, but now they live in the cabin. Why?" 



 Tuck stood back and grinned. "Then white roses it is," he said, a little too 

 loudly for the benefit of the audience. "I just didn't know if they'd be 

 appropriate for the holidays." 



 "Huh?" Lena said. 



 "See you tonight," Tuck said. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, then 

 sauntered out of the office, smiling apologetically at the exhausted realtors 

 as he went. 



 "Merry Christmas, you guys," he said, waving from the door. 



                                                                                               Page 58 


----------------------- Page 59-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 * * * 



 The first thing that Theo noticed when he entered Gabe Fenton's cabin was the 

 aquariums with the dead rats. The female was scampering around the center 

 cage, sniffing and crapping and looking rat-happy, but the others, the males, 

 lay on their backs, feet shot to the sky, like plastic soldiers in a death 

 diorama. 



 "How did that happen?" 



 "They wouldn't learn. Once they associated the shock with sex, they started 

 liking it." 



 Theo thought about his relationship with Molly over the last few days. He 

 pictured himself in the dead-rat display. "So you just kept shocking them 

 until they died?" 



 "I had to keep the parameters of the experiment constant." 



 Theo nodded gravely, as if he understood completely, which he didn't. Skinner 

 came over and headbutted him in the thigh. Theo scratched his ears to comfort 

 him. 



 Skinner was worried about the Food Guy, and he was hoping that maybe the 

 Emergency Backup Food Guy might give him one of the tasty-smelling white 

 squirrels in the cages on the table, now that it appeared that the Food Guy 

 was finished cooking them. This teasing was as bad as when that kid at the 

 beach used to pretend to throw the ball, then not throw the ball. Then pretend 

 to throw the ball, but not throw the ball. Skinner had to knock the kid down 

 and sit on his face. Boy, had he been bad-dogged for that. Nothing hurt like 

 being bad-dogged, but if the Food Guy kept teasing him with the white 

 squirrels, Skinner knew he was going to have to knock him down and sit on his 

 face, maybe even poop in his shoe. Oh, I am a bad, bad dog. No, wait, the 

 Emergency Backup Food Guy was scratching his ears. Oh, that felt good. He was 

 fine. Doggie Xanax. Never mind. 



 Theo handed Gabe the sandwich bag with the hairs in it. 



 "What's the oily substance in the bag?" Gabe said, examining the specimen. 



 "Potato-chip flotsam. The bag is from my lunch yesterday." 



 Gabe nodded, then looked at Theo the way the coroner always looks at the cop 

 on TV     like: You numbskull, don't you know that you're contaminating 

 evidence just by continuing to draw breath and I'd be a lot more comfortable 

 with you if you'd stop? 



 He took the bag over to the microscope on the counter, removed a couple of the 

 hairs, and put them on a slide with a cover, then fitted it into the 

 microscope. 



 "Please don't tell me it's polar bear," Theo said. 



 "No, but at least it's an animal. It seems to have a distinct 

 sour-cream-and-onion signature." Gabe pulled back from the microscope and 

 grinned at Theo. "Just fucking with you." He gave Theo a gentle punch to the 

 arm and looked back into the microscope. "Wow, the medulla is absent and 

 there's low birefringence." 



                                                                                               Page 59 


----------------------- Page 60-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Wow," echoed Theo, trying but not really feeling the low-birefringence stoke 

 that Gabe was. 



 "I have to check the hair database online, but I think it's from a bat." 



 "There's a database for that? What, Bat Hair Dot-Com?" 



 "That was supposed to be the whole purpose of the Internet, you know. To share 

 scientific information." 



 "Not a Viagra- and porn-delivery system?" Theo said. Maybe Gabe was going to 

 be okay after all. 



 Gabe moved to the computer at his desk and scrolled through screen after 

 screen of microscope photos of mammal hair until he found one he liked, then 

 went back to the microscope and checked it again. 



 "Wow, Theo, you've got yourself an endangered species here." 



 "No way." 



 "Where the hell did you get this? Micronesian giant fruit bat." 



 "Out of a Dodge pickup truck." 



 "Hmm, that's not listed as their habitat. It wasn't parked in Guam, was it?" 



 Theo fished his car keys out of his pocket. "Look, Gabe, I have to go. Meet at 

 the Slug for a beer tonight, okay?" 



 "We can have beer now, if you want. I have some in the fridge." 



 "You need to get out. I need to get out. Okay?" Theo was backing out the door. 



 "Okay. I'll meet you at six. I have to go pick up some Super Glue solvent at 

 the Thrifty-Mart." 



 "Bye." Theo jumped off the porch and loped to the Volvo. 



 Skinner barked at him in four-four time. Hello? Tasty white squirrels? Still 

 in the little box? Hello? You forgot? 

 * * * 



 When Theo pulled up to Lena Marquez's house, there was a generic white economy 

 rental car (A Ford Mucus, he thought) parked out front. He looked for the bat 

 he'd seen hanging from the porch ceiling, but it wasn't there. He hadn't even 

 filed the experience of running over the apparently indestructible blond guy, 

 and now he was facing the possibility that he might actually be about to 

 confront a murderer. Just in case, he'd stopped at home and gotten his gun off 

 the shelf in the closet and his handcuffs off the bedpost where Molly had last 

 imprisoned him when they had still been speaking. (She'd been in the yard out 

 behind the cabin, working out with a bamboo shinai kendo sword she'd been 

 using since breaking her broadsword          he'd snuck in and out without 

 confrontation.) He unsnapped the Glock's nylon holster that was clipped to the 

 back of his jeans and rang the doorbell. 



 The door opened. Theo screamed and drew his gun as he jumped back. 



 On the other side of the threshold, Tucker Case screamed and dove backward 



                                                                                               Page 60 


----------------------- Page 61-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 also, shielding his face with his hands. His hat made a little yelping sound. 



 "Hold it right there," Theo said. He could feel his pulse beating in his neck. 



 "I'm holding, I'm holding. Jesus, what the fuck is this about?" 



 "You have a bat on your head!" 



 "Yeah, and for that you're going to shoot me?" 



 The bat, his huge black wings wrapped around the pilot's head, gave the 

 impression of a large leather cap with a Mohawk crest of fur that culminated 

 in a big-eared little dog face that was now barking at Theo. 



 "Well, uh, no." Theo lowered the gun, feeling a little embarrassed now. He was 

 still in his shooter's crouch, though, which now, with the gun lowered, made 

 him look like he was posing as the world's skinniest sumo wrestler. 



 "Can I get up?" Tuck asked. 



 "Sure, I just wanted to talk to Lena." 



 Tucker Case was exasperated and his bat had fallen over one eye. "Well, she's 

 at her office. Look, if you're going to get high, maybe you ought to leave the 

 gun at home, huh?" 



 "What?" Theo had been careful to use some Visine, and it had been hours since 

 he'd hit his Sneaky Pete pot pipe. He said, "I'm not high. I haven't gotten 

 high in years." 



 "Yeah, right. Constable, maybe you'd better come in." 



 Theo stood and tried to shake off the appearance that he'd just had about five 

 years of life scared out of him by a guy with a bat on his head. He followed 

 Tucker Case into Lena's kitchen, where the pilot offered him a seat at the 

 table. 



 "So, Constable, what can I do for you?" 



 Theo wasn't sure. He'd planned on talking to Lena, or at least the two of them 

 together. "Well, as you probably know, we found Lena's ex-husband's truck up 

 in Big Sur." 



 "Of course, I saw it." 



 "You saw it?" 



 "From the helicopter. Tucker Case, contract pilot for the DEA, remember? You 

 can check me out if you want to. Anyway, we've been patrolling that area." 



 "You have?" The bat was looking at Theo and Theo was having trouble following 

 his own thoughts. The bat was wearing tiny sunglasses. Ray-Bans, Theo could 

 see by the trademark in the corner of one lens. "I'm sorry, Mr., uh               Case, 

 could you take the bat off your head. It's very distracting." 



 "Him." 



 "Pardon?" 



 "It's a him. Roberto. He no like the light." 



                                                                                               Page 61 


----------------------- Page 62-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Pardon?" 



 "Friend of mine used to say that. Sorry." Tucker Case unwrapped the bat and 

 put it on the floor, where it spidered away, walking on its wing tips into the 

 living room. 



 "God, that's creepy," Theo said. 



 "Yeah, you know, kids. What are you gonna do?" Tuck dazzled a perfect grin. 

 "So, you found this guy's truck? Not him, though?" 



 "No. It was made to look like he was washed into the ocean while fishing off 

 the rocks." 



 "Made to look? So, you suspect foul play?" Tuck bounced his eyebrows. 



 Theo thought the pilot should be taking this more seriously. It was time to 

 drop the bomb. "Yes. First, he never came home after the Caribou Christmas 

 party Tuesday night, where he played the joke Santa. No one goes surf-fishing 

 in the middle of the night, wearing a Santa suit. We found the Santa hat still 

 in the truck, and I found hairs from a Micronesian fruit bat on the headrest." 



 "Well, that's a coincidence. Jeez, that's got to make you suspicious, doesn't 

 it?" Tucker Case got up and went over to the counter. "Coffee? I just made 

 it." 



 Theo stood up, too, just because he didn't want the suspect to get away, or 

 maybe to show that he was taller, because it seemed like the only advantage he 

 had over the pilot. 



 "Yes, it is suspicious. And I talked to a kid Tuesday night who said he saw a 

 woman killing Santa Claus with a shovel. I didn't think anything of it then, 

 but now I think the kid might have actually seen something." 



 Tucker Case was busying himself with getting cups out of the cupboard, milk 

 out of the fridge. "So, you did tell the kid that there's no Santa, right?" 



 "No, I didn't." 



 Now Tucker Case turned, coffeepot in hand, and regarded Theo. "You know that 

 there is no Santa, don't you, Constable?" 



 "This is not a joke," Theo said. He hated this            hated being the MAN. He was 

 supposed to be the smart-ass in the face of authority figures. 



 "Cream?" 



 Theo sighed. "Sure. And sugar, please." 



 Tuck finished preparing the coffee, brought the cups to the table, and sat 

 down. 



 "Look, I see where you're going with this, Theo. Can I call you Theo?" 



 Theo nodded. 



 "Thanks. Anyway, Lena was with me Tuesday night, all night." 



 "Really? I saw Lena on Monday. She didn't mention you. Where did you meet?" 



                                                                                               Page 62 


----------------------- Page 63-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "At the Thrifty-Mart. She was a Salvation Army Santa. I thought she was 

 attractive, so I asked her out. We hit it off." 



 "You make it a habit of hitting on the Salvation Army Santas?" 



 "Lena said that you're married to a scream queen called Kendra, Warrior Babe 

 of the Outland." 



 Theo nearly shot coffee out his nose. "That was a character she used to play." 



 "Yeah, Lena says sometimes that's not so clear to her. My point is: Love is 

 where you find it." 



 Theo nodded. Yeah, that was true. Before he drifted into a wistful state of 

 mind, Theo reminded himself that this guy was, in an offhand way, attacking 

 the woman he loved. "Hey," Theo said. 



 "It's okay? Who am I to judge? I married an island girl who had never seen 

 indoor plumbing until I brought her to the States. Didn't work out               " 



 "Fruit-bat hair in the truck," Theo interrupted. 



 "Yeah, I knew you'd come back to that. Well, who knows? Roberto goes out on 

 his own from time to time. Maybe he met this Dale guy. Maybe they hit it off. 

 You know, love is where you find it. I doubt it, though. I hear that this Dale 

 guy was a real creep." 



 "Are you implying that your bat may have something to do with the 

 disappearance of Dale Pearson?" 



 "No, you nitwit, I'm saying that my bat may have had something to do with bat 

 hair, which, even you, with your Sherlock Holmes-like powers of observation, 

 may have noticed he is all covered with." 



 "I can't believe you're a cop," Theo said, getting truly angry now. 



 "I'm not a cop. I just fly the helicopter for the DEA. They hire me by the 

 season, and this is close to the harvest season in Big Sur and surrounding 

 areas, so here I am, flying around looking in the forest for dark green 

 patches while the agents in the back look at it through infrared and record 

 everything on GPS so they can get specific warrants. And man, do they pay 

 well. 'Vive la war on drugs,' I say. But no, I'm not a cop." 



 "I didn't think so." 



 "Funny thing is, I have learned to spot the right color of green from the sky, 

 and usually the infrared confirms my suspicions. This morning I spotted about 

 a thousand-square-foot patch of marijuana growing just north of the Beer-Bar 

 Ranch. You know where that is?" Theo felt a lump in his throat the size of one 

 of Gabe's dead rats. "Yes." 



 "Man, that's a lot of pot, even by commercial growers' standards. Felony 

 quantity. I turned the helicopter          steered away without calling it to the 

 agent's attention, but weather permitting, we could go back. There's a storm 

 coming in, you know? Roberto and I drove by there this afternoon just to make 

 sure. I guess I can always show the agents tomorrow." Tucker Case put down his 

 coffee, leaned on his elbows, and turned his head sideways like he was a cute 

 kid in a cereal commercial who was reaching sugar nirvana. 



                                                                                               Page 63 


----------------------- Page 64-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "You're a very unlikable man, Mr. Case." 



 "Oh my God, you should have seen me before I had my epiphany. I used to really 

 be an asshole. I'm actually very charming now. By the way, I saw your wife 

 working out in the yard at your house          very nice. The whole sword thing is a 

 little scary, but otherwise, very nice." 



 Theo got to his feet, feeling a little dizzy even as he stood, like he'd been 

 hit with a sock full of sand. "I'd better be going." 



 Tucker Case put his hand on Theo's shoulder as he walked him to the door. "You 

 probably don't believe this, Theo, but at another time, I'm sure we'd be 

 friends. And you have to understand, I really, really want things to work out 

 with Lena. It was like we met just at the precise moment, the exact second, 

 that I got over my divorce and was ready to love again. And it's so nice to 

 have someone to bone under the Christmas tree, don't you think? She's a great 

 woman." 



 "I like Lena," Theo said. "But you are a psychopath." 



 "You think?" Tuck said. "I've really been trying to be more helpful." 



 Chapter 10 



 LOVE, KICKED TO THE CURB 



 "You did what?" Lena said, then adding, "And take that bat off your head, it's 

 unnerving to have a hat looking at you like that." 



 "Like what?" Tuck said. 



 "Don't change the subject. You blackmailed Theo Crowe?" She was pacing her 

 kitchen. Tuck sat at the counter, wearing a gold oxford-cloth shirt that 

 complemented the bat on his head while accentuating the sea blue of his eyes. 

 The bat, for once, wasn't wearing sunglasses. 



 "Not really. It was only sort of implied. He'd figured out that I'd been in 

 your ex-husband's truck. He knew. Now he'll just forget it." 



 "He may not. He may have some integrity, unlike some people." 



 "Hey, hey, hey. Let's not point the finger here, my ex is still living well in 

 the Caymans on money that I rightfully stole from an organ-smuggling doctor, 

 while yours, need I remind you         " 



 "Dale's death was an accident. Everything since then, all this craziness, has 

 been your doing. You come into my life at the worst possible moment, like you 

 had a plan all along, and things have gone more and more out of control. Now 

 you're blackmailing my friends. Tucker, are you insane?" 



 "Sure." 



 "Sure? Just like that? Sure, you're insane?" 



 "Sure, everyone is. If you think anyone is sane you just don't know enough 

 about them. The key       and this is very relevant in our case           is to find 

 someone whose insanity dovetails with your own. Like us." He flashed what Lena 



                                                                                               Page 64 


----------------------- Page 65-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 thought was supposed to be a charming grin, which was somewhat defused by his 

 trying to untangle one of Roberto's wing claws from his hair. 



 Lena turned from him and leaned against the counter in front of the 

 dishwasher, hoping to steel herself for what she had to do. Unfortunately Tuck 

 had just run a load of dishes and the steam from the vent in front was 

 streaming through her thin skirt and making her feel inappropriately moist for 

 righteous indignation. She spun around with resolve and allowed the dishwasher 

 to steam her backside as she made her pronouncement. 



 "Look, Tucker, you are a very attractive man . . ." She took a deep breath on 

 the pause. 



 "No way. You're breaking up with me?" 



 "And I do like you, despite the situation           " 



 "Oh, right, you don't want to have anything to do with an attractive guy who 

 you like, heaven forbid        " 



 "Would you shut up!" 



 The bat barked at her tone. 



 "You, too, fur face! Look, in another time and place, maybe. But you're too 

 I'm too      you just accept things too easily. I need           " 



 "Your anxiety?" 



 "Would you please let me finish?" 



 "Sure, go ahead." He nodded. The bat, now on his shoulder, nodded as well. 

 Lena had to look away. 



 "And your bat is freaking me out." 



 "Yeah, well, you should have been around when he used to talk." 



 "Out! Tucker! I need you out of my life. I have too much to deal with               you 

 are too much to deal with." 



 "But the sex, it was great, it was          " 



 "I understand if you want to go to the authorities            I may even go myself 

 but this just isn't right." 



 Tucker Case hung his head. Roberto the fruit bat hung his head. Tucker Case 

 looked at the fruit bat, who, in turn, looked at Lena, as if to say, Well, I 

 hope you 're happy, you broke his heart. 



 "I'll get my stuff," Tuck said. 



 Lena was crying, and she didn't want to be crying, but she was. She watched 

 Tuck pick up his things around the house and stuff them into a flight bag, 

 wondering how he had spread so much crap around her house in only two days. 

 Men, they were always marking territory. 



 He paused at the door and looked back. "I'm not going to go to the 

 authorities. I'm just going to go." 



                                                                                               Page 65 


----------------------- Page 66-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 Lena rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache but mainly to cover her 

 tears. "Okay, then." 



 "I'm going, then . . ." 



 "Good-bye, Tucker." 



 "You won't have anyone to sex up under the Christmas tree . . ." 



 Lena looked up. "Jeez, Tuck." 



 "Okay. I'm going now." And he did. 



 Lena Marquez went into her bedroom to call her friend Molly. Maybe crying over 

 the phone to a girlfriend would bring a sense of normalcy back into her life. 

 * * * 



 Sour Nerds? Cinnamon Geeks? Or Gummy Boogers? Sam Applebaum's mom was picking 

 out a "nice" reasonably priced Cabernet, and Sam was allowed one item of candy 

 from the rack at Brine's Bait, Tackle, and Fine Wines. Of course the Boogers 

 would last the longest, but they were all mundane green-apple finish, while 

 the Nerds proffered a fruity variety and an impudent little top note of tang. 

 Cinnamon Geeks had a rich nose and a bit of a bite up front, but their tiny 

 certified-public-accountant shape betrayed their bourgeois origins. 



 Sam was learning wine words. He was seven and he very much enjoyed unnerving 

 adults with his wine-word vocabulary. Hanukkah had just ended and there had 

 been a lot of dinners at Sam's house over the last week, with a lot of wine 

 talk, and Sam had joyfully freaked out a whole table of his relatives by 

 pronouncing after the blessing that the Manischewitz blackberry (the only wine 

 he was allowed to taste) was a "tannacious little cunt of a red, but not 

 without a certain buttery geranium charm." (He finished dinner in his room 

 over that one       but it was tannacious. Philistines.) 



 "You are one of the Chosen?" said a voice up and to the right of Sam. "I 

 destroyed the Canaanites so your people would have a homeland." 



 He looked up and saw a man with long blond hair wearing a long black duster. A 

 jolt went through Sam like he'd just licked a battery. This was the guy that 

 had scared his friend Josh so badly. He looked around and saw his mom was in 

 the back of the store with Mr. Masterson, the owner. 



 "Can I get these with this?" asked the man. He had three candy bars in one 

 hand, and a small silver coin about the size of a dime in the other. The coin 

 looked very old. 



 "That's a foreign coin. I don't think they take it." 



 The man nodded thoughtfully and looked very sad at the news. 



 "But Nestle's Crunch is a fine choice," said Sam, trying to buy time, and keep 

 the guy from going off on him. "A bit naive, but an undergrowth of ambergris 

 and walnut gives it legs." 



 Sam looked around for his mom again. She was still talking wine with Mr. 

 Masterson, flirting about it         Sam could be cut up in pieces and put away in 

 freezer bags and she wouldn't notice. Maybe he could get the guy to leave. 



 "Look, they aren't looking. Why don't you just take them?" 



                                                                                               Page 66 


----------------------- Page 67-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "I can't," said the blond man. 



 "Why not?" 



 "Because no one has told me to." 



 Oh no. This guy looked like a grown-up, but actually he had the mind of a dumb 

 little kid inside. Like that guy in Sling Blade, or the president. 



 "Then I'll tell you to, okay?" Sam said. "Go ahead. Take them. You'd better 

 get going, though. It's going to rain." Sam couldn't remember ever talking to 

 an adult like this before. 



 The blond man looked at his candy bars, then at Sam. "Thank you. Peace on 

 Earth, goodwill toward men. Merry Christmas." 



 "I'm Jewish, remember? We don't celebrate Christmas. We celebrate Hanukkah, 

 the miracle of the lights." 



 "Oh, that wasn't a miracle." 



 "Sure it was." 



 "No, I remember. Someone snuck in and put more oil in the lamp. But I will 

 grant a Christmas miracle tomorrow. I must go." With that, the blond man 

 backed away, hugging his candy bars to his chest. "Shalom, child." And in an 

 instant he was just gone. 



 "Great!" Sam said. "Just great. Throw that in my face!" 

 * * * 



 Kendra     the Warrior Babe of the Outland, combat mistress of the hot-oil 

 arena, slayer of monsters, menace to mutants, scourge of the sand pirates, 

 sworn protector of the cud-beast herdsmen of Lan, and intramural Blood 

 Champion of the Termite People (mounds seven through twelve inclusive) 

 enjoyed cheese. So it came to pass, on that twenty-third of December, with her 

 noodles wet and congealing in the colander, that she did raise her 

 well-muscled arm to the sky and call the wrath of all the Furies down upon her 

 higher power, Nigoth the Worm God, for allowing her to leave the mozzarella at 

 the Thrifty-Mart checkout counter. But the gods do not concern themselves in 

 the affairs of lasagna, so the sky did not explode with vengeful fire (or at 

 least not that she could see from the kitchen window) to incinerate the mingy 

 god who would dare desert her in her most dire hour of cheese. What happened 

 was nothing at all. 



 "Curse be unto yon, Nigoth! Would that my blade was not broken, I would track 

 you to the ends of the Outland and sever your thousand and one eyestalks, just 

 to make sure I got your favorite. Then I would feed them raw to the most 

 heinous      " 



 Then the phone rang. 



 "Helloo," Molly sang sweetly. 



 "Molly?" Lena said. "You sound out of breath. Are you okay?" 



 "Quick, think of something," said the Narrator, "Don't tell her what you were 

 doing." 



                                                                                               Page 67 


----------------------- Page 68-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 The Narrator had been with Molly almost constantly for the last two days, 

 mostly an irritation, except that he had remembered how much oregano and thyme 

 to use in the red sauce. Nevertheless, she knew that he was a sign she needed 

 to get back on her meds ASAP. 



 "Oh, yeah, I'm fine, Lena. Just buffing the muffin. 



 You know, gray afternoon, storm coming in, Theo's a mutant             I thought I'd 

 cheer myself up." 



 There was a long silence on the line, and Molly wondered if she'd sounded 

 convincing. 



 "Completely convincing," said the Narrator. "If I wasn't here, I'd swear you 

 were still doing it." 



 "You're not here!" Molly said. 



 "Pardon?" said Lena. "Molly, I can call back if this is a bad time." 



 "Oh, no, no, no. I'm okay. Just making lasagna." 



 "I've never heard it called that before." 



 "For the party." 



 "Oh, right. How's it going?" 



 "I forgot the mozzarella. Paid for it, then left it at the check stand." She 

 looked at the three cartons of ricotta sitting on the counter, mocking her. 

 Soft cheeses could be so smug. 



 "I'll go pick it up and bring it over." 



 "No!" Molly felt a jolt of adrenaline at the thought that she'd have to push 

 through a long girlfriend session with Lena. Things were getting so blurry 

 between Pine Cove and the Outland. "I mean, it's okay. I can do it. I enjoy 

 cheese     shopping for cheese." 



 Molly heard a sniffle on the other end of the line. 



 "Mol, I really need to help you with the goddamn lasagna, okay? Really." 



 "Well, she sounds as nutty as you are," said the Narrator. Molly swatted at 

 the air to shut him up        did a finger-to-lip emphatic rocking shush mime. 

 "She's a crisis junkie if I ever saw one." 



 "I need to talk to someone," Lena said with a sniff. "I broke up with Tucker." 



 "Oh, I'm so sorry, Lena. Who's Tucker?" 



 "The pilot I was seeing." 



 "The guy with the bat? You just met him, didn't you? Take a bath. Eat some ice 

 cream. You've known him two days, right?" 



 "We shared a lot." 



 "Cowboy up, Lena. You fucked him and kicked him to the curb. It's not like he 



                                                                                               Page 68 


----------------------- Page 69-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 stole your design for a coldfusion reactor. You'll be okay." 



 "Molly! It's Christmas. You're supposed to be my friend." 



 Molly nodded at the phone, then realized that Lena couldn't hear her. True, 

 she wasn't being a very good friend. After all, she was sworn protector of the 

 cud-beast herdsmen of Lan, as well as a member of the Screen Actors Guild, it 

 was her duty to pretend she cared about her friend's problems. 



 "Bring the cheese," she said. "We'll be here." 



 "We?" 



 "Me. Bring the cheese, Lena." 

 * * * 



 Theo Crowe showed up at Brine's Bait, Tackle, and Fine Wines just in time to 

 miss everything. Robert Masterson, the owner of Brine's, had called him as 

 soon as he'd seen the mysterious blond man talking to Sam Applebaum, and Theo 

 had rushed right over, only to find that there was nothing to find. The blond 

 guy hadn't hurt or threatened Sam, and the boy seemed fine, except that he 

 kept babbling about changing his religion and becoming a Rastafarian like his 

 cousin Preston who lived on Maui. Theo realized midway through the interview 

 that he was not the guy to enumerate the reasons why one should not spend his 

 life smoking dope and surfing like Sam's cousin Preston because he: (A) had 

 never learned to surf, and (B) didn't have the foggiest idea how 

 Rastafarianism worked, and (C) would eventually have to use the argument: And 

 look at what a complete loser I am          you don't want that for yourself, do 

 you, Sam? He left the scene feeling even more useless than he had after the 

 verbal bitch-slapping he'd taken from the pilot at Lena Marquez's house. 



 When Theo pulled into his driveway at lunchtime, hoping he might be able to 

 patch things up with Molly and get some sympathy and a sandwich, he saw Lena's 

 truck parked in front of the cabin and his heart sank. He debated shuffling 

 over to the commercial pot patch and smoking a sticky bud before going in, but 

 that sounded an awful lot like the behavior of an addict, and he was simply on 

 a little slide from grace, not a blowout. Still, he came through the door 

 humbled, not sure at all how he was going to handle Lena, who might be a 

 murderer, let alone Molly. 



 "Traitor!" Molly said from over a pan of noodles she was layering into a pan 

 with sauce, meat, and cheese. She had sauce on her hands up to her elbows and 

 looked like she'd been engaged in some very messy surgery. The back door out 

 of the kitchen had slammed shut as he came in. 



 "Where's Lena?" Theo said. 



 "She went out the back. Why, are you afraid she'll reveal your secret?" 



 Theo shrugged and approached his wife, his arms out to the side in a "gimme a 

 break" gesture. Why was it that when she was angry her teeth looked really 

 sharp? He never noticed that any other time. "Mol, I was just doing it so I 

 could get you something for Christmas          I didn't mean to       " 



 "Oh, I don't care about that         you're investigating Lena. My friend Lena. You 

 just went to her house like she's a criminal or something. It's the radiation, 

 isn't it?" 



 "There's evidence, Molly. And it's not that I got high. I found fruit-bat 



                                                                                               Page 69 


----------------------- Page 70-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 hairs in Dale's truck and her boyfriend has a fruit bat. And the little Barker 

 kid said      " Theo heard a car start up outside. "I should talk to her." 



 "Lena wouldn't hurt anyone. She brought me cheese for Christmas, for Christ's 

 sake. She's a pacifist." 



 "I know that, Molly. I'm not saying that she hurt anyone, but I need to find 

 out     " 



 "Besides, some fuckers just need killing!" 



 "Did she tell you       " 



 "I think it's the pot that makes you reveal your mutant self." She had a 

 lasagna noodle in her hand and was waving it at him. It sort of looked like 

 she was shaking a living creature, but then, he was still a little buzzed. 



 "Molly, what are you talking about, 'my mutant self'? Are you taking your 

 meds?" 



 "How dare you accuse me of being crazy. That's worse than if you asked me if 

 it was my time of the month, which it isn't, by the way. But I can't believe 

 that you'd imply that I need to be medicated. You mutant bastard!" She flung 

 the noodle at him and he ducked. 



 "You do need to be medicated, you crazy bitch!" Theo didn't deal well with 

 violence, even in the form of soggy semolina, but after the initial outburst, 

 he immediately lost the will to fight. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was 

 thinking. Let's just        " 



 "Fine!" Molly said. She wiped her hands on a dish towel, then tossed it at 

 him. In dodging it, he felt like he was moving in blurred bullet time in the 

 Matrix, but in truth he was just a tall guy who was a little baked and the 

 towel would have missed him anyway. Molly stomped through the little house, 

 into their bedroom, and dropped to the floor on the far side of the bed. 



 "Molly, you okay?" 



 She came up holding a package the size of a shoe box wrapped in Christmas 

 paper with a few dust bunnies clinging to it. She held it out to him. "Here. 

 Take it and go. I don't want to see you, traitor. Go." 



 Theo was stunned. Was she leaving him? Asking him to leave her? How had this 

 gone so wrong so fast? 



 "I don't want to go. I'm having a really bad day, Molly. I came home hoping to 

 find a little sympathy." 



 "Yeah? Okay. Here you go. Aw, poor stoned Theo, I'm so sorry that you have to 

 investigate my best friend the day before Christmas Eve when you could be out 

 playing in an illegal pot patch that looks like the jungle plateau of the 

 gibbon people." She held out his present and he took it. 



 What the hell was she talking about? "So it is about the victory garden?" 



 "Open it," she said. 



 She didn't say a word more. She put a hand on her hip and fixed him with that 

 "I am so going to kick your ass or fuck your brains out" look that excited and 

 terrified him, as he wasn't always sure which way she would go with it, only 



                                                                                               Page 70 


----------------------- Page 71-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 that she was going to get satisfaction one way or the other and he was going 

 to be sore the next day because of it. It was a Warrior Babe look, and he 

 realized fully, then, that she was having an episode. She probably really was 

 off her meds. This had to be handled just right. 



 He backed away a few steps and tore the paper off the package. Inside was a 

 white box with the silver seal of a very exclusive local glassblower, and 

 inside that, wrapped in blue tissue, was the most beautiful bong he'd ever 

 seen. It was like something out of the Art Nouveau era, only fashioned from 

 modern materials, blue-green dichromatic glass with ornate silver branches 

 running through it that gave it the appearance of walking through a forest as 

 he turned it in his hand. The bowl and handle, which fit his hand perfectly, 

 appeared to be cast of solid silver with the same organic tree-branch design 

 seeming to leap right out of the glass. This had to have been made just for 

 him, with his tastes in mind. He felt himself tearing up and blinked back the 

 tears. "It's beautiful." 



 "Uh-huh," Molly said. "So you can see it's not your garden that bothers me. 

 It's just you." 



 "Molly, I only want to talk to Lena. Her boyfriend threatened to blackmail me. 

 I was only growing       " 



 "Take it and go," Molly said. 



 "Honey, you need to call Dr. Val, maybe see if she'll see you              " 



 "Get out, goddammit. You don't tell me to see the shrink. Get out!" 



 It was no use. Not now, anyway. Her voice had hit the Warrior Babe frenzy 

 pitch     he recognized it from the times he'd taken her to the county hospital 

 before they'd become involved as lovers. When she'd just been the town's crazy 

 lady. She'd lose it if he pressed her any more. "Fine. I'll go. But I'll call 

 you, okay?" 



 She just gave him that look. 



 "It's Christmas . . ." One last try maybe. 



 The look. 



 "Fine. Your present is on the top shelf in the closet. Merry Christmas." 



 He dug some underwear and socks out of the drawer, grabbed a few shirts out of 

 the closet, and headed out the front door. She slammed it hard enough behind 

 him to break one of the windows. The glass hitting the sidewalk sounded like a 

 summary of his whole life. 

 Chapter 11 



 A SLUG TRAIL OF GOOD CHEER 



 He might have been made of polished mahogany except that when he moved, he 

 moved like liquid. The stage lights reflected green and red off his bald head 

 as he swayed on the stool and teased the strings of a blond Stratocaster with 

 the severed neck of a beer bottle. His name was Catfish Jefferson, and he was 

 seventy, or eighty, or one hundred years old, and not unlike Roberto the fruit 

 bat, he wore sunglasses indoors. Catfish was a bluesman, and on the night 

 before the night before Christmas, he was singing up a forlorn twelve-bar 



                                                                                               Page 71 


----------------------- Page 72-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 blues fog in the Head of the Slug saloon. 



 Caught my baby boning Santa, 

 Underneath the mistletoe (Lawd have mercy). 

 Caught my baby boning Santa, 

 Underneath the mistletoe. 

 Used to be my Christmas angel, 

 Now she just a Christmas ho. 



 "I hear dat!" shouted Gabe Fenton. "Sho-nufF, sho-nuff. True dat, my brutha." 



 Theophilus Crowe looked at his friend, just one in a whole line of awkward, 

 heartbroken men at the bar, rocking almost in rhythm to the beat, and shook 

 his head. "Could you possibly be any whiter?" Theo asked. 



 "I gots the blues up in me," Gabe said. "She sho-nuff did me wrong." 



 Gabe had been drinking. Theo, while not quite sober, had not. 



 (He had shared a toothpick-thin spliff of Big Sur polio weed with Catfish 

 Jefferson between sets, the two of them standing in the back parking lot of 

 the Slug, trying to coax fire out of a disposable lighter in a forty-knot 

 wind.) 



 "Didn't think you muthafuckas had weather here," Catfish croaked, having 

 sucked the joint so far down that the ember looked like the burning eye of a 

 demon staring out of a cave of dark finger and lip. (The calluses on the tips 

 of his fingers were impervious to the heat.) 



 "El Niño," Theo said, letting loose a blast of smoke. 



 "Say what?" 



 "It's a warm ocean current in the Pacific. Comes up the coast every ten years 

 or so. Screws up the fishing, brings torrential rains, storms. They think we 

 might be having an El Niño this year." 



 "When will they know?" The bluesman had put on his leather fedora and was 

 holding it fast against the wind. 



 "Usually after everything floods, the wine crop is ruined, and a lot of 

 cliffside houses slide into the ocean." 



 "And dat because the water too warm?" 



 "Right." 



 "No wonder the whole country hate your ass," said Catfish. "Let's go inside 

 fo' my narrow ass gets blowed back to Clarksville." 



 "It's not that bad," said Theo. "I think it'll blow over." 

 * * * 



 Winter denial      Theo did it, most Californians did it           they assumed that 

 because the weather was nice most of the time, it would be nice all of the 

 time, and so, in the midst of a rainstorm, you'd find people outdoors without 

 an umbrella, or when nights dipped into the thirties, you'd still see someone 

 dip-pumping his gas in surfer shorts and a tank top. So even as the National 

 Weather Service was telling the Central Coast to batten down the hatches, as 



                                                                                               Page 72 


----------------------- Page 73-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 they were about to get the storm of the decade, and even though winds were 

 gusting to fifty knots a full day before the storm made landfall, the people 

 of Pine Cove carried on with their holiday routine like nothing out of the 

 ordinary could happen to them. 



 Winter denial: therein lay the key to California Schadenfreude              the secret 

 joy that the rest of the country feels at the misfortune of California. The 

 country said: "Look at them, with their fitness and their tans, their beaches 

 and their movie stars, their Silicon Valley and silicone breasts, their orange 

 bridge and their palm trees. God, I hate those smug, sunshiny bastards!" 

 Because if you're up to your navel in a snowdrift in Ohio, nothing warms your 

 heart like the sight of California on fire. If you're shoveling silt out of 

 your basement in the Fargo flood zone, nothing brightens your day like 

 watching a Malibu mansion tumbling down a cliff into the sea. And if a tornado 

 just peppered the land around your Oklahoma town with random trailer trash and 

 redneck nuggets, then you can find a quantum of solace in the fact that the 

 earth actually opened up in the San Fernando Valley and swallowed a whole 

 caravan of commuting SUVs. 



 Mavis Sand even indulged in a little California Schadenfreude, and she was a 

 Californian born and raised. Secretly, she wished for and enjoyed the forest 

 fires every year. Not so much because she liked watching the state burn down, 

 but because for Mavis's money, there was nothing better than watching a burly 

 man in rubber handling a hefty hose, and during the fires, there were plenty 

 of those on the news. 



 "Fruitcake?" Mavis said, offering a suspicious slice on a dessert plate to 

 Gabe Fenton, who was drunkenly trying to convince Theo Crowe that he had a 

 genetic predisposition toward the blues, using some impressively large words 

 that no one but he understood, and periodically asking if he could get an 

 "amen" and "five up high," which, as it turned out, he could not. 



 What he could get was fruitcake. 



 "Mercy, mercy, my momma done made a fruitcake look just like that," Gabe 

 howled. "Lawd rest her soul." 



 Gabe reached for the plate, but Theo intercepted it and held it out of the 

 biologist's reach. 



 "First," Theo said, "your mother was an anthro professor and never baked a 

 thing in her life, and second, she is not dead, and third, you are an 

 atheist." 



 "Can I get an amen?!" Gabe countered. 



 Theo raised an eyebrow of accusation toward Mavis. 



 "I thought we talked about no fruitcake this year." 



 The prior Christmas, Mavis's fruitcake had put two people into detox. She'd 

 sworn that it would be the last year. 



 Mavis shrugged. "This cake's nearly a virgin. There's only a quart of rum and 

 barely a handful of Vicodin." 



 "Let's not," Theo said, handing the plate back. 



 "Fine," Mavis said. "But get your buddy off his blues jag. He's embarrassing 

 me. And I once blew a burro in a nightclub and wasn't embarrassed, so that's 



                                                                                               Page 73 


----------------------- Page 74-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 saying something." 



 "Jeez, Mavis," Theo said, trying to shake the picture from his mind. 



 "What? I didn't have my glasses on. I thought he was a hirsute insurance 

 salesman with talent." 



 "I'd better get him home," Theo said, nudging Gabe, who had turned his 

 attention to a young woman on his right who was wearing a low-cut red sweater 

 and had been moving from stool to stool all night long, waiting for someone to 

 talk to her. 



 "Hi," Gabe said to the woman's cleavage. "I'm not involved in the human 

 experience and I have no redeeming qualities as a man." 



 "Me either," said Tucker Case, from the stool on the other side of the 

 red-sweater woman. "Do people keep telling you that you're a psychopath, too? 

 I hate that." 

 * * * 



 Tucker Case, under several layers of glibness and guile, was actually quite 

 broken up over his breakup with Lena Marquez. It wasn't so much that she had 

 become a part of his life in the two days he had known her, but that she had 

 begun to represent hope. And as the Buddha said: "Hope is merely another face 

 of desire. And desire is a motherfucker." He'd gone out seeking human company 

 to help dilute the disappointment. In another time, he'd have picked up the 

 first woman he encountered, but his man-slut days had left him lonelier than 

 ever, and he would not tread that lubricious path again. 



 "So," Tuck said to Gabe, "did you just get dumped?" 



 "She led me on," Gabe said. "She tore my guts out. Evil, thy name is woman!" 



 "Don't talk to him," Theo said, taking Gabe by the shoulder and unsuccessfully 

 trying to pull him off his bar stool. "This guy's no good." 



 The young woman sitting between Tuck and Gabe looked from one to the other, 

 then to Theo, then at her breasts, then at the men, as if to say, Are you guys 

 blind? I've been sitting here all night, with these, and you're going to 

 ignore me. 



 Tucker Case was ignoring her         well, except for inspecting her sweater cakes 

 as he talked to Gabe and Theo. "Look, Constable, maybe we got off on the wrong 

 foot     " 



 "Wrong foot?" Theo's voice almost broke. As upset as he appeared, he appeared 

 to be talking to the woman in the red sweater's breasts, rather than to Tucker 

 Case, who was only a foot beyond them. "You threatened me." 



 "He did?" said Gabe, angling for a better look down the red sweater. "That's 

 harsh, buddy. Theo just got thrown out of the house." 



 "Can you believe guys our age can still fall so hard?" Tuck said to Theo, 

 looking up from the cleavage to convey his sincerity. He felt bad about 

 blackmailing Theo, but, much like helping Lena hide the body, sometimes 

 certain unpleasantries needed to be done, and being a pilot and a man of 

 action, he did them. 



 "What are you talking about?" Theo asked. 



                                                                                               Page 74 


----------------------- Page 75-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Well, Lena and I have parted ways, Constable. Shortly after you and I spoke 

 this morning." 



 "Really?" Now Theo looked up from the woolly mounds of intrigue. 



 "Really," Tuck said. "And I'm sorry things happened the way they did." 



 "That doesn't really change anything, does it?" 



 "Would it make a difference if I told you that I absolutely did not harm this 

 alleged Dale Pearson, and neither did Lena?" 



 "I don't think he was alleged," said Gabe, slurring at the breasts. "I'm 

 pretty sure he was confirmed Dale Pearson." 



 "Whatever," said Tuck. "Would that change anything? Would you believe that?" 



 Theo didn't speak right away but appeared to be waiting for an answer from the 

 decolletage oracle. When he looked up at Tuck again he said, "Yeah, I believe 

 you." 



 Tuck nearly aspirated the ginger ale he was drinking. When he stopped 

 sputtering he said, "Wow, you suck as a lawman, Theo. You can't just believe a 

 strange guy who tells you something in a bar." Tuck wasn't accustomed to being 

 believed by anyone, so to have someone take him at face value . . . 



 "Hey, hey, hey," said Gabe. "That's uncalled for            " 



 "Well, fuck you guys!" said the woman in the red sweater. She jumped up from 

 her stool and snatched her keys off the bar. "I am a person, too, you know? 

 And these are not speakerphones," she said, grabbing her breasts underneath 

 and shaking them at the offenders, her keys jingling cheerfully as she did, 

 completely defusing the effect of her anger. 



 "Oh     my     God," said Gabe. 



 "You can't just ignore a person like that! Besides, you're all too old and 

 you're losers and I'd rather be alone on Christmas than spend five minutes 

 with any of you horn dogs!" And with that she threw some cash on the bar, 

 turned, and stormed out of the bar. 



 Because they were men, Theo, Tuck, and Gabe watched her ass as she walked 

 away. 



 "Too old?" Tuck said. "She was what, twenty-seven, twenty-eight?" 



 "Yeah," Theo said. "Late twenties, maybe early thirties. I didn't think we 

 were ignoring her." 



 Mavis Sand took the money off the bar and shook her head. "You were all paying 

 her proper attention. Woman's got some issues when she's jealous of her own 

 parts." 



 "I was thinking about icebergs," said Gabe. "About how only ten percent of 

 them show above the surface, yet below lies the really dangerous part. Oh, no, 

 I got the blues on me again." His head hit the bar and bounced. 



 Tuck looked to Theo. "You want some help getting him to the car?" 



                                                                                               Page 75 


----------------------- Page 76-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "He's a very smart guy," said Theo. "He has a couple of Ph.D.s." 



 "Okay. Do you want some help getting the doctor to the car?" 



 Theo was trying to get a shoulder under Gabe's arm, but given that he was 

 nearly a foot taller than his friend, things weren't working very well. 



 "Theo," Mavis barked. "Don't be such a friggin' wanker. Let the man help you." 



 After three unsuccessful attempts at hefting the bag of sand that was Gabe 

 Fenton, Theo nodded to Tuck. They each took an arm and walked/dragged the 

 biologist toward the back door. 



 "If he hurls I'm aiming him at you," Theo said. 



 "Lena loved these shoes," said Tuck. "But you do what you feel like you need 

 to." 



 "I have no sex appeal, a rum-pa-pa-pum," sang Gabe Fenton, in spirit with the 

 season. "My social skills are nil, a rum-pa-pa-pum." 



 "Did that actually rhyme?" asked Tuck. 



 "He's a bright guy," said Theo. 



 Mavis creaked ahead of them and held the door. "So, I'll see you pathetic 

 losers at the Lonesome Christmas party, right?" 



 They stopped, looked at one another, felt camaraderie in their collective 

 loserdom, and reluctantly nodded. 



 "My lunch is coming up, a rum-pa-pa-pum," sang Gabe. 

 * * * 



 Meanwhile, the girls were running around the Santa Rosa Chapel, putting up 

 decorations and preparing the table settings for a Lonesome Christmas. Lena 

 Marquez was making her third circumnavigation of the room with a stepladder, 

 some masking tape, and rolls of green and red crepe paper the size of truck 

 tires. (Price Club in San Junipero only sold one size, evidently so you could 

 decorate your entire ocean liner without making two trips.) The act of serial 

 festooning had taken Lena's mind off her troubles, but now the little chapel 

 was starting to resemble nothing more than the nest of a color-blind Ewok. If 

 someone didn't intervene soon the Lonesome Christmas guests would be in danger 

 of being asphyxiated in a festive dungeon of holiday bondage. Fortunately, as 

 Lena was moving the ladder to make her fourth round, Molly Michon snaked a 

 foot inside and pulled the chapel's double doors open; the wind from the 

 growing storm swept in and tore the paper from the walls. 



 "Well, fuck!" said Lena. 



 The crepe paper swam in a vortex around the middle of the room, then settled 

 into a great wad under one of the buffet tables Molly had set up to one side. 



 "I told you a staple gun would work better than masking tape," Molly said. She 

 was holding three stainless-steel pans of lasagna and still managed to get the 

 oak double doors closed against the wind with her feet. She was agile that 

 way. 



 "This is a historical landmark, Molly. You can't just go shooting staples into 



                                                                                               Page 76 


----------------------- Page 77-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 the walls." 



 "Right, like that matters after Armageddon. Take these downstairs to the 

 fridge," Molly said, handing the pans to Lena. "I'll get you the staple gun 

 out of my car." 



 "What does that mean?" Lena asked. "Do you mean our relationships?" 



 But Molly had bounded back out through the double doors into the wind. She'd 

 been making more and more cryptic comments like that lately. Like she was 

 talking to someone in the room besides Lena. It was strange. Lena shrugged and 

 headed back to the little room behind the altar and the steps that led 

 downstairs. 



 Lena didn't like going into the basement of the chapel. It wasn't really a 

 basement; it was more of a cellar: sandstone walls that smelled of damp earth, 

 a concrete floor that had been poured without a vapor barrier fifty years 

 after the cellar had been dug and so seeped moisture and formed a fine slime 

 on top in the winter. Even when the stove was cranked and an electric heater 

 turned on, it was never warm. Besides, the old, empty pews stored down there 

 cast shadows that made her feel as if people were watching her. 



 "Mmmm, lasagna," said Marty in the Morning, your drive-time dead guy in the 

 a.m. "Dudes and dudettes, the little lady has certainly outdone herself this 

 time. Get a whiff of that?" 



 The graveyard was abuzz with moldy anticipation of the Lonesome Christmas 

 party. 



 "It's highly inappropriate, that's what it is," said Esther. "I suppose it's 

 better than that horrible Mavis Sand woman barbecuing again. And how is it 

 that she's still alive, anyway? She's older than I am." 



 "Than dirt, you mean?" said Jimmy Antalvo, whose faceprint was still embedded 

 in a telephone pole on the Pacific Coast Highway, where he'd hit it at age 

 nineteen. 



 "Please, child, if you must be rude, at least be original," said Malcolm 

 Cowley. "Don't compound the tedium with cliche." 



 "My wife used to put a layer of hot Italian sausage between every layer of 

 cheese and noodles," said Arthur Tannbeau. "Now, that was some good eatin'." 



 "Sort of explains the heart attack, too, doesn't it?" said Bess Leander. Being 

 poisoned had left a bitter taste in her mouth that seven years of death could 

 not wash away. 



 "I thought we agreed not to talk about COD guilt," said Arthur. "Didn't we 

 agree on that?" COD was shorthand of the dead for Cause of Death. 



 "We did agree," said Marty in the Morning. 



 "I do hope that they sing 'Good King Wenceslas,'" said Esther. 



 "Shut the fuck up about 'Good King Wenceslas,' would you? No one knows the 

 words to 'Good King Wenceslas,' no one ever has." 



 "My, my, the new guy is cranky," said Warren Talbot, who had once been a 

 painter of landscapes but after liver failure at seventy was fertilizing one. 



                                                                                               Page 77 


----------------------- Page 78-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Well, it's gonna be a great party to listen to," said Marty in the Morning. 

 "Did you hear the constable's wife talking about Armageddon? She's definitely 

 taking a cruise down the Big Nutty." 



 "I am not!" shouted Molly, who had come down to the basement to help Lena 

 clear space in the two refrigerators for the salads and desserts that they had 

 yet to unload. 



 "Who are you talking to?" said Lena, a little frightened at the outburst. 



 "I think I've made my point," said Marty in the Morning. 

 Chapter 12 



 THE STUPIDEST ANGEL'S 

 CHRISTMAS MIRACLE 



 Sundown, Christmas Eve. The rain was coming down so hard that there didn't 

 appear to be any space between the drops           just a wall of water, moving 

 almost horizontally on wind that was gusting to seventy miles per hour. In the 

 forest behind the Santa Rosa Chapel, the angel chewed his Snickers and ran a 

 wet hand over the tire tracks at the back of his neck, thinking, I really 

 should have gotten more specific directions. 



 He was tempted to go find the child again and ask him exactly where Santa 

 Claus was buried. He realized now that "somewhere in the woods behind the 

 church" wasn't telling him much. To go back to get directions, however, would 

 dilute somewhat the whole miraculousness of the miracle. 



 This was Raziel's first Christmas miracle. He'd been passed over for the task 

 for two thousand years, but finally his turn had come up. Well, actually, the 

 Archangel Michael's turn had come up, and Raziel ended up getting the job by 

 losing in a card game. Michael had bet the planet Venus against his assigned 

 task of performing the Christmas miracle this year. Venus! Although he wasn't 

 really sure what he would have done with Venus had he won it, Raziel knew he 

 needed the second planet, if for no other reason than that it was large and 

 shiny. 



 He didn't like the whole abstract quality of the Christmas miracle mission. 

 "Go to Earth, find a child who has made a Christmas wish that can only be 

 granted by divine intervention, then you will be granted powers to grant that 

 wish." There were three parts. Shouldn't the job be given to three angels? 

 Shouldn't there be a supervisor? Raziel wished he could trade this in for the 

 destruction of a city. That was so simple. You found the city, you killed all 

 the people, you leveled all the buildings, even if you totally screwed it up 

 you could track down the survivors in the hills and kill them with a sword, 

 which, in truth, Raziel kind of enjoyed. Unless, of course, you destroyed the 

 wrong city, and he'd only done that what? Twice? Cities in those days weren't 

 that big, anyway. Enough people to fill a couple of good-size Wal-Marts, tops. 

 Now there's a mission, thought the angel: "Raziel! Go forth into the land and 

 lay waste unto two good-size Wal-Marts, slay until blood doth flow from all 

 bargains and all the buildings are but rubble           and pick up a few Snickers 

 bars for yourself." 



 A tree waving in the wind nearby snapped with the report of a cannon, and the 

 angel came out of his fantasy. He needed to get this miracle done and be gone. 

 Through the rain he could see that people were starting to arrive at the 

 little church, fighting their way through the wind and the rain, the lights in 

 the windows flickering even as the party was starting. There was no going 



                                                                                               Page 78 


----------------------- Page 79-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 back, the angel thought. He would just have to wing it (which, considering he 

 was an angel, he really should have been better at). 



 He raised his arms to his sides and his black coat streamed out behind him on 

 the wind, revealing the tips of his wings folded underneath. In his best 

 pronouncement voice, he called out the spell. 



 "Let he who lies here dead arise!" He sort of did a hand motion to cover 

 pretty much the general area. "Let he who does not live, live again. Arise 

 from your grave this Christmas and live!" Raziel looked at the half-eaten 

 Snickers he was holding and realized that maybe he should be more specific 

 about what was supposed to happen. "Come forth from the grave! Celebrate! 

 Feast!" 



 Nothing. Nothing whatsoever happened. 



 There, said the angel to himself. He popped the last of the Snickers bar into 

 his mouth and wiped his hands on his coat. The rain had subsided for a bit and 

 he could see a ways into the woods. Nothing was happening. 



 "I mean it!" he said in his big scary angel voice. 



 Not a damn thing. Wet pine needles, some wind, trees whipping back and forth, 

 rain. No miracle. 



 "Behold!" said the angel. "For I am really not kidding." 



 A great gust of wind came up at that second and another nearby pine snapped 

 and fell, missing the angel by only a few feet. 



 "There. It's just going to take a little time." 



 He walked out of the woods and down Worchester Street into town. 

 * * * 



 "Wow, I'm famished all of a sudden," said Marty in the Morning, all dead, all 

 the time. 



 "I know," said Bess Leander, poisoned yet perky. "I feel really strange. 

 Hungry, and something else. I've never felt this before." 



 "Oh, my dear," said Esther, the schoolteacher, "I can suddenly think of 

 nothing but brains." 



 "How 'bout you, kid?" asked Marty in the Morning. "You thinking about brains?" 



 "Yeah," said Jimmy Antalvo. "I could eat." 



 For Luck, There Is No Chapter 13. 



 JUST THIS CHRISTMAS PHOTO 

 ALBUM 



 Sometimes, if you look closely at family snapshots, you can see in the faces 

 of the children, portents of the adults they will become. In the adults, you 

 can sometimes see the face behind the face. Not always, but sometimes . . . 



                                                                                               Page 79 


----------------------- Page 80-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 Tucker Case 



 In this shot we see a well-to-do California family posed in front of their 

 lakeshore estate in Elsinore, California. (It's an eight-by-ten color glossy, 

 embossed with the trademark of a professional photographer's studio.) 



 They are all tanned and healthy-looking. Tucker Case is perhaps ten years old, 

 dressed in a little sport coat with a yachting ensign on the breast pocket and 

 little tasseled loafers. He is standing in front of his mother, who has the 

 same blond hair and bright blue eyes, the same smile that looks not as if she 

 is presenting her dental work, but as if she is just seconds from bursting out 

 laughing. Three generations of Cases          brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, and 

 cousins      look perfectly coiffed, pressed, washed, and shined. All are 

 smiling, except for one little girl down front, who has an expression of 

 abject horror on her face. 



 A closer look reveals the back of her red Christmas dress is tossed up to one 

 side, and snaking in from the side, from under his little blue sport coat, is 

 the hand of young Tuck, who has just stolen an incestuous squeeze of his 

 cousin Janey's eleven-year-old bottom. 



 What is telling about this picture is not the surreptitious booty grope, but 

 the motive, because here Tucker Case is at an age where he is much more 

 interested in blowing stuff up than he is in sex, yet he is precociously 

 cognizant of just how much his advances will freak his cousin out. This is his 

 raison d'être. It should be noted that Janey Case-Robbins will go on to 

 distinguish herself as a successful litigator and advocate for women's rights, 

 while Tucker Case will go on to be a serially heartbroken horn dog with a 

 fruit bat. 

 Lena Marquez 



 The shot is taken in someone's backyard on a sunny day. There are children all 

 around and it's obvious that a big party is going on. 



 She's six, wearing a fluffy pink dress and patent-leather shoes. She couldn't 

 be any cuter, with her long black hair tied up into ponytails with red ribbons 

 and flying out behind her like silk comet tails as she pursues the 

 piñata. She's blindfolded, and her mouth is wide open, letting forth a 

 burst of that high, little-girl laugh that sounds like joy itself, because 

 she's just made solid contact with the stick and she's sure that she has 

 released candy, and toys, and noisemakers for all the children. What she has, 

 in fact, done, has solidly smacked her uncle Octavio in the cojones. 



 Uncle Octavio is caught in a magic moment of transition, his face changing 

 from joy to surprise to pain, all at once. Lena is still adorable and sweet 

 and unsullied by the disaster she has wrought. Feliz Navidad! 



 Molly Michon 



 It's Christmas morning, post-present-opening storm. Tissue paper and ribbon 

 are strewn around the floor, and off to one side you can see a coffee table, 

 and on it an ashtray the size of a hubcap overflowing with butts, and an empty 

 bottle of Jim Beam. Front and center is six-year-old Molly Achevski (she would 

 change her last name to Michon at nineteen on the advice of an agent "because 

 it sounds fucking French, people love that"). Molly is wearing a red sequined 



                                                                                               Page 80 


----------------------- Page 81-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 ballerina outfit, red galoshes that hit her bare legs about midcalf, and a 

 giant, cheeky grin with a hole in the middle where her front teeth used to be. 

 She has one foot propped up on a large Tonka dump truck as if she has just 

 conquered it in a grudge match, and her younger brother Mike, four, is trying 

 to pry the truck out from under her. Tears are streaming down his cheeks. 

 Molly's other brother, Tony, five, is looking up to his sister like she is the 

 princess of all things good. She has already poured him a bowl of Lucky Charms 

 this morning, as she does for both her brothers every morning. 



 In the background, we see a woman in a bathrobe lying on the couch, one hand 

 hanging to the floor holding a cigarette that has burned itself out hours 

 before. The silvery ash has left a streak on the carpet. 



 No one has any idea who took this picture. 

 Dale Pearson 



 This one was taken only a few years ago, when Dale was still married to Lena. 

 It's the Caribou Lodge Christmas party, and Dale is, once again, dressed as 

 Santa, sitting on a makeshift throne. He is surrounded by drunken revelers, 

 all laughing, all holding the various joke gifts that Dale has passed out to 

 them earlier that night. Dale is brandishing his own present, a 

 fourteen-inch-long rubber penis, as big around as a soup can. He's waving it 

 at Lena with a leer, and she, dressed in a black cocktail dress and a single 

 string of pearls, looks quite horrified at what he's saying, which is: "We'll 

 put this rascal to good use later tonight, huh, baby?" 



 The irony of it is that later that night, he will don one of his vintage 

 German SS uniforms       everything but the jodhpurs, anyway          and what he asks 

 Lena to do with his new present is exactly what she told him he could do with 

 it at the party. She will never know if it was she who gave him the idea, but 

 it will be a milestone in her move toward divorce proceedings. 



 Theophilus Crowe 



 At thirteen, Theo Crowe is already six feet four inches tall, and weighs a 

 little over a hundred pounds. It is a classic scene of the three kings 

 following the star. The seventh-grade music class is performing Amahl and the 

 Night Visitors. Originally cast as one of the three kings, Theo is now dressed 

 as a camel. His ears are the only parts of his body that are in proportion, 

 and he looks very much like a camel fashioned out of wire by Salvador 

 Dalí. His chance to play Balthazar, the Ethiopian king, was lost when he 

 announced that the Magi had arrived bearing gold, Frankenstein, and myrrh. 

 Later, he, the two other camels, and a sheep will be suspended for smoking the 

 myrrh. (They would have never been caught had the sheep not suggested that 

 they play a quick game of "Kill the Man with the Baby Jesus" out behind the 

 theater. Evidently the myrrh was "prime smokage.") 

 Gabe Fenton 



 This one was taken just last year, at the lighthouse where Gabe has his cabin. 

 You can see the lighthouse in the background, and windblown whitecaps out to 

 sea. You can tell it's a windy day because the Santa hat that Gabe is wearing 

 is streaming out to the side, and he's holding the reindeer antlers on 

 Skinner's head. Crouched next to them, in a thousand-dollar St. John knit, red 

 and cut in the style of a Napoleonic soldier, with brass buttons and gold 

 braid on the shoulders, is Dr. Valerie Riordan. Her auburn hair is styled to 

 curl behind her ears and accentuate her diamond hoop earrings. She's done up 



                                                                                               Page 81 


----------------------- Page 82-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 in Headline News Prompter Puppet makeup, as if her face has been completely 

 sanded off, and then painted back on by a crack team of special-effects people 

    brighter, better, faster than a real human face. She's trying, really 

 trying, to smile for the camera. She is holding her hair in one hand, and 

 appears to be petting Skinner, but is, upon closer examination, holding him at 

 bay. A racing stripe across the knee of her nylons betrays an earlier attempt 

 by Skinner to share a holiday leg hump with the Food Guy's female. 



 Gabe is scruffy in khakis and hiking boots. There's a fine coating of sand on 

 his pants and boots from where he was sitting astride elephant seals that 

 morning, gluing satellite-tracking devices on their backs. He has a great, 

 hopeful smile, and not a clue that anything might be wrong with this picture. 



 Roberto T. Fruitbat 



 This picture was taken on the island of Guam, Roberto's birthplace. There are 

 palm trees in the foreground. You can tell he's just a young fellow, because 

 he has not yet acquired a pair of Ray-Bans, nor a master to bring him mangoes 

 on demand. He's curled up in a Christmas wreath made from palm fronds and 

 decorated with little papayas and red palm nuts. He is licking papaya pulp 

 from his little doggy face. The children who found him in the wreath that 

 Christmas morning are posed on either side of the door where the wreath hangs. 

 They are both girls, and have the long curly brown hair of their Chamorro 

 mother, the green eyes of their Irish-Catholic father, who is an American 

 airman. Father is taking the picture. The girls are in bright, floral mission 

 dresses with puffy sleeves. 



 Later, after church, they will try to coax Roberto into a box so they can 

 later cook him and serve him with saimen noodles. Although he escapes, the 

 incident traumatizes the young bat and he does not speak for years. 

 Chapter 14 



 THE CAMARADERIE OF THE 

 LONESOME CHRISTMAS 



 Theo wore his cop shirt to the Lonesome Christmas party. Not because he didn't 

 have anything else to wear, because there were still two clean flannels and a 

 Phish sweatshirt in the Volvo that he'd snagged from the cabin, but because 

 with the storm pounding the stuffing out of Pine Cove, he felt as if he should 

 be doing cop stuff. His cop shirt had epaulets on the shoulders (that are used 

 for, uh, holding your paulets         no     for keeping your hat under         for your 

 parrot to stand on       no) that looked cool and military, plus it had a little 

 slot in the pocket where he could pin his badge and another one where he could 

 stick a pen, which could be really handy in a storm in case you wanted to take 

 notes or something, like: 7 p.m , Still Really Fucking Windy 



 "Wow, it's really fucking windy," Theo said. It was 7 p.m. 



 Theo stood in the corner of the main room of the Santa Rosa Chapel next to 

 Gabe Fenton, who was wearing one of his science shirts: a khaki canvas utility 

 shirt with many pockets, slots, buttons, pouches, epaulets, zippers, Velcro 

 loops, snaps, and vents, so you could hopelessly lose everything you owned in 

 it and essentially sand your nipples off while patting the pockets and saying, 

 "I know I had it here somewhere." 



 "Yep," Gabe said. "It was gusting to a hundred and twenty when I left the 



                                                                                               Page 82 


----------------------- Page 83-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 lighthouse " 



 "You're kidding! A hundred and twenty miles per hour? We're all going to die," 

 Theo said, feeling suddenly better. 



 "Kilometers per hour," Gabe said. "Stand in front of me. She's looking." He 

 snagged Theo by the epaulet (aha!) and pulled him around to block the view 

 from the other side of the room. Across the open hardwood floor, Valerie 

 Riordan, in charcoal Armani over red Ferragamos, was sipping a cranberry and 

 soda from a plastic cup. 



 "Why's she here?" Gabe whispered. "Didn't she get a better offer from some 

 country club or some business guy or something?" Gabe said the word business 

 like it was a putrid taste that he needed to spit out before it sickened him, 

 which was exactly how he meant it. Although Gabe did not live in an ivory 

 tower, he did live next to one, and it gave him a skewed perspective on 

 commerce. 



 "Your eye is twitching really badly, Gabe Are you okay?" 



 "I think it's conditioning from the electrodes. She looks so great, don't you 

 think?" 



 Theo looked over at Gabe's ex-girlfriend, considered the heels, the stockings, 

 the makeup, the hair, the lines of her suit, her nose, her hips, and felt like 

 he was looking at a sports car that he could not afford, would not know how to 

 drive, and he could only envision himself entangled in the wreckage of, 

 wrapped around a telephone pole. 



 "Her lipstick matches her shoes," Theo said, by way of not really answering 

 his friend. That sort of thing didn't happen in Pine Cove. Well, Molly did 

 have some black lipstick that matched a pair of black boots she had, which she 

 wore with nothing else, but he really didn't want to think about that. In 

 fact, this moment would only have any meaning at all when he shared it with 

 Molly, which he realized he wasn't going to be doing, which made him jealous 

 of Gabe's twitch for a second. 



 The double doors to the chapel opened, and wind whipped through the room, 

 rattling the few strands of crepe paper that still clung to the wall to this 

 point and knocking a couple of ornaments off the giant Christmas tree. Tucker 

 Case came in, his bomber jacket dripping, a little furry face sticking out 

 through the V in the zipper in the front. 



 "No dogs," said Mavis Sand, who was fighting to get the doors shut. "We've 

 just let kids come the last couple of years, and I'm not happy about it." 



 Tuck grabbed the other door and pulled it shut, then reached over Mavis and 

 caught the door she was battling. "He's not a dog." 



 Mavis turned around and looked right into the face of Roberto, who made a 

 little barking sound. "That's a dog. Not much of a goddamn dog, I'll give you 

 that, but a dog. And he's wearing sunglasses." 



 "So?" 



 "It's dark, moron. Get rid of the dog." 



 "He's not a dog," Tuck said, and to illustrate his point, he unzipped his 

 jacket, took Roberto by the feet, and flung him at the ceiling. The bat 

 yelped, opened his leathery wings, and flew to the top of the Christmas tree, 



                                                                                               Page 83 


----------------------- Page 84-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 where he caught the star, swung halfway around, and settled, upside down, 

 hanging there above the room, looking, despite his cheery nature and hot pink 

 sunglasses, a little creepy. 



 Everyone in the place, thirty or so people, stopped whatever they were doing 

 and looked. Lena Marquez, who had been cutting lasagna into squares over at 

 the buffet table, looked up, made brief eye contact with Tuck, then looked 

 away. Except for the boom box playing reggae Christmas carols and the wind and 

 rain thrashing outside, there was not a sound. 



 "What?" Tuck said to everyone and no one in particular. "You people act like 

 you've never seen a bat before." 



 "Looked like a dog," Mavis said from behind him. 



 "You don't have a no-bat policy, then?" Tuck said, not turning around. 



 "Don't think so. You got a great ass, flyboy, you know that?" 



 "Yeah, it's a curse," Tuck said. He eyed the ceiling for any mistletoe he 

 might get trapped under, spotted Theo and Gabe, then made a beeline for the 

 corner where they were hiding. 



 "Oh my God," said Tuck as he was approaching. "Did you guys see Lena? She's so 

 hot. Don't you think she's hot? I miss her." 



 "Oh God, not you, too," Theo said. 



 "That Santa hat, it does something to me." 



 "That a Pteropus tokudae?" asked Gabe, peeking out quickly from behind Theo 

 and nodding toward the Christmas tree with the bat. 



 "No, that's Roberto. Why are you hiding behind the constable?" 



 "My ex is here." 



 Tuck looked over. "The redhead in the suit?" 



 Gabe nodded. 



 Tuck looked at him, back at Val Riordan, who was now chatting with Lena 

 Marquez, then again at Gabe. "Whoa, you were really crawling out of your gene 

 pool, huh? Let me shake your hand." He reached around Theo, offering his hand 

 to the biologist. 



 "We don't like you, you know?" Theo said. 



 "Really?" Tuck took his hand back. He looked around Theo at Gabe. "Really?" 



 "You're okay," said Gabe. "He's just cranky." 



 "I am not cranky," Theo said, but, in fact, he was a little cranky. A little 

 sad. A little stoned. A little out of sorts that this storm hadn't just blown 

 over like he'd hoped, and a little excited that it might actually turn into a 

 disaster. Secretly, Theophilus Crowe loved a disaster. 



 "Understandable," Tuck said, squeezing Theo's shoulder. "Your wife was a 

 biscuit." 



                                                                                               Page 84 


----------------------- Page 85-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Is a biscuit," corrected Theo, but then, "Hey!" 



 "No, it's okay," Tuck said. "You were a lucky man." 



 Gabe Fenton reached up and squeezed Theo's other shoulder. "It's true," Gabe 

 said. "When Molly isn't completely off her rocker, she is a biscuit. Actually, 

 even when she is       " 



 "Would you guys quit calling my wife a biscuit! I don't even know what that 

 means." 



 "Something we say in the islands," Tuck said. "What I'm saying is, you've got 

 nothing to be ashamed of. You guys had a good run. You can't expect her to 

 lose her sense of judgment forever. You know, Theo, every now and then 

 Eraserhead will hook up with Tinker Bell, or Sling Blade Carl will marry Lara 

 Croft     that sort of thing gives us hope          but you can't count on it. You 

 can't bet that way. Why, guys like us would always be alone if some women 

 didn't have a deep-seated streak of self-destruction, isn't that right, 

 Professor?" 



 "Truth," said Gabe. He made a sort of swear-on-the-Bible gesture. Theo glared 

 at him. 



 "Eventually a woman will wise up," Tuck continued. 



 "She's just gone off her meds." 



 "Whatever," Tuck said. "I'm just saying that it's Christmas and you should be 

 grateful that you were ever able to fool someone into loving you in the first 

 place." 



 "I'm calling her," Theo said. He pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his 

 cop shirt and keyed the button for his home number. 



 "Is Val wearing the pearl earrings?" Gabe asked. "I bought her those." 



 "Diamonds studs," said Tuck, checking over his shoulder. 



 "Dammit." 



 "Look at Lena in that Santa hat. That woman has a talent with tinsel, if you 

 know what I mean?" 



 "No idea," said Gabe. 



 "Me either. It just sounded kinky," said Tuck. 



 Theo snapped the cell phone shut. "I hate both you guys." 



 "Do not," said Tuck. 



 "No service?" asked Gabe. 



 "I'm going to see if the police radio in my car is working." 

 * * * 



 Rain was pooling in the graveyard behind the chapel as the dead pulled one 

 another from the muck. 



                                                                                               Page 85 


----------------------- Page 86-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "This looked easier in the movies," said Jimmy Antalvo, who was waist-deep in 

 a puddle and being pulled out by Marty in the Morning and the new guy in the 

 red suit. Jimmy's words were a little slurred and slurpy, between the mud and 

 a facial structure that was mostly mortician's wax and wire. "I thought I'd 

 never get out of that coffin." 



 "Kid, you're better off than a couple we've pulled out," said Marty in the 

 Morning. He nodded to a very feeble and mostly decomposed pile of animated 

 meat that had at one time been an electrician. The mushy thing made a moaning 

 sound. 



 "Who's that?" asked Jimmy. The torrential rain had washed the mud out of his 

 eyes. 



 "That's Alvin," said Marty. "All we can understand from him." 



 "I used to talk to him all the time," said Jimmy. 



 "It's different now," said the guy in the red suit. "Now you're really 

 talking, not just thinking it. His talking equipment is past warranty." 



 Marty, who had been portly in life but had slimmed down significantly since 

 his death, bent down and got a good grip on Jimmy's arm, bending the elbow 

 around his own, then made a great straining lift to pull the kid out. There 

 was a loud pop and Marty went over backward into the mud. Jimmy Antalvo was 

 waving around an empty leather jacket sleeve and yelling, "My arm! My arm!" 



 "Jeez, they should have sewn that on better," said Marty, holding the arm in 

 the air, even as the hand appeared to be doing a very jerky version of a 

 parade wave. 



 "This whole undead rigmarole is disgusting," said Esther, the schoolteacher, 

 who was standing to the side with a few others who had already been dug up. 

 Water was pouring off the shreds of her best church dress, which had been 

 reduced by time to calico tatters. "I'll not have anything to do with it." 



 "So you're not hungry?" said the new guy, muddy rainwater streaming out of his 

 Santa beard. He'd been the first one out, since he hadn't had to escape a 

 coffin. 



 "Fine, once we get the kid out we'll just push you back down your hole." 



 "I'm not saying that," said Esther. "I would enjoy a snack. Something light. 

 Mavis Sand, maybe. That woman can't have enough brains to spread on a 

 cracker." 



 "Then shut up and help us get everyone out." 



 Nearby, Malcolm Cowley was staring disapprovingly at one of the less 

 articulate members of the undead who had been pulled from his grave and was 

 showing lots of bare bone between the meat. The dead book dealer was wringing 

 out his tweed jacket and shaking his head at every comment. "Suddenly we are 

 all gluttons, are we? Well, I have always enjoyed Danish Modern furniture for 

 its functional yet elegant design, so once we have consumed the brains of 

 these revelers, I feel compelled to seek out one of these furniture boutiques 

 I have heard so much about from newlyweds in the chapel. First we feast, then 

 IKEA." 



 "IKEA," chanted the dead. "First we feast, then IKEA. First we feast, then 

 IKEA." 



                                                                                               Page 86 


----------------------- Page 87-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Can I eat the constable's wife's brain?" asked Arthur Tannbeau. "She sounds 

 like she'll be spicy        " 



 "Get everyone out of the ground, then we eat," said the new guy, who was used 

 to telling people what to do. 



 "Who died and made you boss?" asked Bess Leander. 



 "All of you," answered Dale Pearson. 



 "The man has a point," said Marty in the Morning. 



 "I think while you boys finish up here, I'll have a stroll around the parking 

 lot. Oh my, I don't seem to be walking very well," said Esther, dragging one 

 foot behind her and plowing a furrow in the mud as she moved. "But IKEA does 

 sound like a delightful after-supper adventure." 



 No one knows why, but second only to eating the brains of the living, the dead 

 love affordable prefab furniture. 

 * * * 



 Across the parking lot, Theophilus Crowe was busy having the water in his ears 

 replaced with dog spit. 



 "Get down, Skinner." Theo pushed the big dog away and keyed the mike on the 

 police radio. He had been adjusting the squelch and the gain, and getting 

 little more than distant disembodied voices, just a word here or there in the 

 static. The rain on the car was so loud that Theo put his head down by the 

 dash to better hear the little speaker, and Skinner, of course, took this as 

 an invitation to lick more rain out of Theo's ears. 



 "Ack! Skinner." Theo grabbed the dog muzzle and steered it between the seats. 

 It wasn't the dampness, or even the dog breath, which was considerable, it was 

 the noise. It was just too loud. Theo dug into the console between the seats 

 and found half a Slim Jim in a folded over wrapper. Skinner inhaled the tiny 

 meat stick and savored the greasy goodness by smacking his chops right next to 

 Theo's ear. 



 Theo snapped the radio off. One of the problems with living in Pine Cove, with 

 the ubiquitous Monterey pines, was that after a few years the Christmas trees 

 stopped looking like Christmas trees and started looking like giant upturned 

 dust mops, a great sail of needles and cones at the top of a long, slender 

 trunk and a pancake root system         a tree especially adapted to fall over in 

 high wind. So when El Niño cruised up the coast and storms like this came 

 in, first cell and cable TV repeater stations lost power, soon the town lost 

 its main power, and finally, phone lines would go down, effectively cutting 

 all communications. Theo had seen it before, and he didn't like what it 

 portended. Cypress Street would be underwater before dawn and people would be 

 kayaking through the real-estate offices and art galleries by noon. 



 Something hit the car. Theo turned on the headlights, but the rain was coming 

 down so hard and the windows were so fogged with dog breath that he could see 

 nothing. He assumed it was a small tree branch. Skinner barked, deafeningly 

 loud in the enclosed space. 



 He could go patrolling downtown, but with Mavis having closed the Slug for 

 Christmas Eve, he couldn't imagine why anyone would be down there. Go home? 

 Check on Molly? Actually, she was better equipped with her little 



                                                                                               Page 87 


----------------------- Page 88-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 four-wheel-drive Honda to drive in this mess, and she was smart enough to stay 

 home in the first place. He was trying not to take it personally that she 

 hadn't come to the party. Trying not to take to heart the pilot's words about 

 not being worthy of a woman like her. 



 He looked down, and there, cradled in bubble wrap in the console, was the 

 art-glass bong. Theo picked it up, looked it over, then pulled a film can of 

 sticky green buds from his cop-shirt pocket and began loading the pipe. 



 Theo was briefly blinded by the spark of the disposable lighter, at the same 

 time as something scraped against the car. Skinner jumped over into the front 

 seat and barked at the window, his hefty tail beating against Theo's face. 



 "Down, boy. Down," Theo said, but the big dog was now digging at the vinyl 

 panel on the door. Knowing that it meant that he'd have to deal with a lot of 

 wet dog later, but feeling that he really needed to get a buzz on in peace, 

 Theo reached over and threw open the passenger door. Skinner bounded out the 

 door. The wind slammed it behind him. 



 There was a commotion outside, but Theo could see nothing, and he figured that 

 Skinner was just frisking in the mud. The constable lit the bong and lost 

 himself in the scuba bubbles of sweet comforting smoke. 



 Outside the car, not ten feet away, Skinner was gleefully tearing the head off 

 an undead schoolteacher. Her arms and legs were flailing and her mouth was 

 moving, but the retriever had already bitten through the better part of her 

 decayed throat and was shaking her head back and forth in his jaws. A skilled 

 lip-reader would have been able to tell you that Esther was saying: "I was 

 only going to eat a little of his brain. This is entirely uncalled for, young 

 man." 



 I am so going to get bad-dogged for this, Skinner thought. 

 * * * 



 Theo stepped out of the car into an ankle-deep puddle. Despite the cold, the 

 wind, the rain, and the mud that had squished over the edge of his hiking 

 boots, Theo sighed, for he was sorely, wistfully stoned, and slipping into 

 that comfortable place where everything, including the rain, was his fault and 

 he'd just have to live with it. Not a maudlin self-pity that might have come 

 from Irish whiskey, nor an angry tequila blame, nor a jittery speed paranoia, 

 just a little melancholy self-loathing and the realization of what a total 

 loser he was. "Skinner. Get over here. Come on,boy, back in the car. 



 Theo could barely see Skinner, but the big dog was on his back rolling in 

 something that looked like a pile of wet, muddy laundry             sort of snaking 

 back and forth with his mouth open and his pink tongue whipping around in 

 ecstatic dogasm. 



 Probably a dead raccoon, Theo thought, trying to blink some rain out of his 

 eyes. I've never been that happy. I will never be that happy. 



 He left the dog to his joy and slogged back into the Lonesome Christmas. He 

 thought he felt a hand across his neck as he wrestled his way through the 

 double doors, then a loud moan when the doors slammed shut, but it was 

 probably just the wind. It didn't feel like the wind. Had to be the wind. 



 Chapter 15 



                                                                                               Page 88 


----------------------- Page 89-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 A MOMENTARY FLASH OF MOLLY 



 "By the purple horn of Nigoth, I command thee to boil!" screeched the Warrior 

 Babe. What good was a higher power, after all, if he wouldn't help you cook 

 your ramen noodles? Molly stood over the stove, naked, except for a wide sash 

 from which was slung the scabbard for her broadsword at the center of her 

 back, giving the impression that she had won honors in the Miss Nude Random 

 Violence Pageant. Her skin was slick with sweat, not because she'd been 

 working out, but because she'd chopped up the coffee table with her broken 

 broadsword and burned it, along with two chairs from the dining-room set, in 

 the fireplace. The cabin was sweltering. The power hadn't gone out yet, but it 

 would soon, and the Warrior Babe of the Outland dropped into survival mode a 

 little sooner than most people. It was in her job description. 



 "It's Christmas Eve," said the Narrator. "Shouldn't we eat something more 

 festive? Eggnog? How about sugar cookies in the shape of Nigoth? Do you have 

 purple sprinkles?" 



 "You'll get nothing and like it! You are but a soulless ghost that vexes me 

 and stirs in my mind like spiders. When my check arrives on the fifth, you 

 shall be banished to the abyss forever." 



 "I'm just saying, hacking up the coffee table? Screaming at the soup? I think 

 you could channel your energies in a more positive way. Something in the 

 holiday spirit." 



 In a momentary flash of Molly, the Warrior Babe realized that there was a line 

 she could cross, when the Narrator actually became the voice of reason, as 

 opposed to a niggling voice trying to get her to act out. She turned the 

 burner down to medium and went to the bedroom. 



 She pulled a stool over to the closet and climbed up on it so she could reach 

 to the back shelf. The problem with marrying a guy who was six foot six, is 

 you often find yourself scaling the counters to get to stuff that he placed 

 there for convenience. That, and you needed a riding steam iron in order to 

 press one of his shirts. Not that she did that very often, but if you try to 

 get a crease straight in a forty-inch sleeve once, you're as likely as not to 

 give up ironing altogether. She was nuts already, she didn't need help from 

 trying to perform frustrating tasks 



 After feeling around on the top shelf, brushing over the spare holster for 

 Theo's Glock, her hand closed on a velvet-wrapped bundle. She climbed down 

 from the stool and took the long bundle to the couch, where she sat down and 

 slowly unwrapped it. 



 The scabbard was made of wood. Somehow it had been laminated with layers of 

 black silk, so that it appeared to drink the light out of the room. The handle 

 was wrapped in black silk cord and there was a cast bronze hand guard with a 

 filigreed dragon design. The ivory head of a dragon protruded from the pommel. 

 When she pulled the sword from the scabbard, her breath caught in her throat. 

 She knew immediately that it was real, it was ancient, and it had to have been 

 exorbitantly expensive. It was the finest blade she had ever seen in person, 

 and a tashi, not a katana. Theo knew she would want the longer, heavier sword 

 for working out, that she would spend hours training with this valuable 

 antique, not lock it in a glass case to be looked at. 



 Tears welled up in her eyes and the blade turned to a silver blur in her 

 vision. He had risked his freedom and his pride to buy her this, to 



                                                                                               Page 89 


----------------------- Page 90-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 acknowledge that part of her that everyone else seemed to want to get rid of. 



 "Your soup is boiling over," said the Narrator, "you sentimental sissy-girl " 



 And it was. She could hear the hiss of the water hitting the hot burner. Molly 

 leaped to her feet and looked around for a place to set the sword. The coffee 

 table had long since gone to ash in the fireplace. She looked to the bookshelf 

 under the front window, and in that second there was a deafening snap as the 

 trunk of a big pine gave way outside, followed by lighter crackles and snaps 

 as it took out branches and smaller trees on the way to the ground. Sparks lit 

 up the night outside, and the lights went out as the entire cabin shook with 

 the impact of the tree hitting in the front yard. Molly could see the downed 

 power lines out by the road arcing orange and blue through the night. 

 Silhouetted in the window was a tall dark figure, standing there,just looking 

 at her. 

 * * * 



 Although a lot of single people attended, the Lonesome Christmas party was 

 never supposed to have been a pickup scene, an extension of the holiday 

 musical chairs that went on at the Head of the Slug. People did occasionally 

 meet there, become lovers, mates, but that wasn't the purpose. Originally it 

 was just a get-together for people who had no family or friends in the area 

 with whom to spend Christmas, and who didn't want to spend it alone, or in an 

 alcohol-induced coma, or both. Over the years it had become somewhat more 

 an anticipated event that people actually chose to attend instead of more 

 traditional gatherings with friends and family. 



 "I can't imagine a more heinous horror show than spending the holidays with my 

 family," said Tucker Case as Theo rejoined the group. "How about you, Theo?" 



 There was another guy standing with Tuck and Gabe, a balding blond guy who 

 looked like an athlete gone to fat, wearing a red Star Fleet Command shirt and 

 dress slacks. Theo recognized him as Joshua Barker's stepfather/mom's 

 boyfriend/whatever, Brian Henderson. 



 "Brian," Theo said, remembering the guy's name at the last second and offering 

 his hand. "How are you? Are Emily and Josh here?" 



 "Uh, yeah, but not with me," Brian said. "We sort of had a falling-out." 



 Tucker Case stepped in. "He told the kid that there was no Santa Claus and 

 that Christmas was just a brilliant scheme cooked up by retailers to sell more 

 stuff. What else was it? Oh yeah, that Saint Nicholas was originally famous 

 because he brought back to life some children who'd been dismembered and 

 stuffed into a pickle jar. The kid's mom threw him out." 



 "Oh, sorry," Theo said. 



 Brian nodded. "We hadn't been getting along that well." 



 "He sort of fits right in with us," Gabe said. "Check out the cool shirt." 



 Brian shrugged, a little embarrassed. "It's red. I thought it would be 

 Christmasy. Now I feel        " 



 "Ha," Gabe interrupted. "Don't worry about it. The guys in the red shirts 

 never make it to the second commercial break." He punched Brian gently in the 

 arm in a gesture of nerd solidarity. 



                                                                                               Page 90 


----------------------- Page 91-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Well, I'm going to run out to the car and grab another shirt," said Brian. "I 

 feel silly. I have all my clothes in the Jetta. Everything I own, really." 



 As Brian walked toward the door, Theo suddenly remembered. "Oh, Gabe, I 

 forgot. Skinner got out of the car. He's rolling in something foul out there 

 in the mud. Maybe you should go with Brian and see if you can get him back in 

 the car." 



 "He's a water dog. He'll be fine. He can stay out until the party is over. 

 Maybe he'll jump up on Val with muddy paws. Oh, I hope, I hope, I hope." 



 "Wow, that's kinda bitter," Tuck said. 



 "That's because I'm a bitter little man," Gabe said. "In my spare time, I 

 mean. Not all the time. My work keeps me pretty busy." 



 Brian had skulked away in his Star Trek shirt. As he opened one side of the 

 double doors, the wind caught the door and whipped it back against the outside 

 church wall with a gunshot report. Everyone turned to watch the big man shrug 

 sheepishly, and Skinner, muddy and wet to the core, came trotting in, carrying 

 something in his jaws. 



 "Wow, he's really tracking in a mess," Tuck said. "I never realized the perks 

 of having a flying mammal as a pet before." 



 "What's that he's carrying in his mouth?" asked Theo. 



 "Probably a pinecone," Gabe said without looking. Then he looked "Or not." 



 There was a scream, a long protracted one, that started with Valerie Riordan 

 and sort of passed through all the women near the buffet. Skinner had 

 presented his prize to Val, dropped it on her foot, in fact, thinking that 

 because she was standing near food, and she was still the Food Guy's female 

 (for who could think of food without thinking of the Food Guy?), she would, 

 therefore, appreciate it, and perhaps reward him. She didn't. 



 "Grab him!" Gabe yelled to Val, who looked up at him with the most articulate 

 glare he had ever seen. Perhaps it was the weight of her M D. that gave it 

 eloquence, but without a word, it said: You have got to be out of your fucking 

 mind. 



 "Or not," Gabe said. 



 Theo crossed the room and made a grab for Skinner's collar, but at the last 

 second the Lab grabbed the arm, threw a head fake, then ducked out of Theo's 

 reach. The three men started to give chase, and Skinner frisked back and forth 

 across the pine floor, his head high and proud as a Lippizaner stallion, 

 pausing occasionally to shake a spray of mud onto the horrified onlookers. 



 "Tell me it's not moving," shouted Tuck, trying to cut Skinner off at the 

 buffet table. "That hand is not moving." 



 "Just the kinetic energy of the dog moving through the arm," said Gabe, having 

 gone into a sort of wrestling stance. He was used to catching animals in the 

 wild and knew that you had to be nimble and keep your center of gravity low 

 and use a lot of profanity. "Goddammit, Skinner, come here. Bad dog, bad dog!" 



 Well, there it was. Tragedy. A thousand trips to the vet, a grass-eating 

 nausea, a flea you will never, ever reach. Bad dog. For the love of Dog! He 

 was a bad dog. Skinner dropped his prize and assumed the tail-tucked posture 



                                                                                               Page 91 


----------------------- Page 92-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 of absolute humility, shame, remorse, and overt sadness He whimpered and 

 ventured a look at the Food Guy, a sideways glance, pained but ready, should 

 another BD come his way. But the Food Guy wasn't even looking at him. No one 

 was even looking at him. Everything was fine. He was good. Were those sausages 

 he smelled over by that table? Sausages are good. 



 "That thing is moving," Tuck said. 



 "No, it's not. Oh, yes it is," said Gabe. 



 There was another series of screams, this time a couple of man-screams among 

 the women and children. The hand was trying to crawl away, dragging the arm 

 along behind it. 



 "How fresh does that have to be to do that?" Tuck asked. 



 "That's not fresh," said Joshua Barker, one of the few kids in the room. 



 "Hi, Josh," said Theo Crowe. "I didn't see you come in." 



 "You were out in your car hitting a bong when we got here," Josh said 

 cheerfully. "Merry Christmas, Constable Crowe." 



 " 'Kay," Theo said. Thinking fast, or what seemed like it was fast, Theo took 

 off his Gore-Tex cop coat and threw it over the twitching arm. "Folks, it's 

 okay. I have a little confession to make. I should have told you all before, 

 but I couldn't believe my own observations. It's time I was honest with you 

 all." Theo had gotten very good at telling embarrassing things about himself 

 at Narcotics Anonymous meetings, and confession seemed to be coming even 

 easier since he was a little baked. "A few days ago I ran into a man, or what 

 I thought was a man, but was actually some kind of indestructible cybernetic 

 robot. I hit him doing about fifty in my Volvo, and he didn't even seem to 

 notice." 



 "The Terminator?" asked Mavis Sand. "I'd fuck him." 



 "Don't ask me how he got here, or what he really is. I think we've all learned 

 over the years that the sooner we accept the simple explanation for the 

 unexplained, the better chance we have of surviving a crisis. Anyway, I think 

 that this arm may be part of that machine." 



 "Bullshit!" came a shout from outside the front doors. 



 Just then the doors flew open, the wind whipped into the room carrying with it 

 a horrid stench. Standing there, framed in the cathedral doorway, stood Santa 

 Claus, holding Brian Henderson in his red Star Trek shirt, by the throat. A 

 group of dark figures were moving behind them, moaning something about IKEA, 

 as Santa pressed a .38 snub-nose revolver to Brian's temple and pulled the 

 trigger. Blood splattered across the front wall and Santa threw the body back 

 to Marty in the Morning, who began to suck the brains out of dead Brian's exit 

 wound. 



 "Merry Christmas, you doomed sons a' bitches!" said Santa. 

 Chapter 16 



 SO 



 So that sucked. 



                                                                                               Page 92 


----------------------- Page 93-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 Chapter 17 



 HE KNOWS IF YOU'VE BEEN BAD 

 OR GOOD . . . 



 While she was horrified by what was going on in the doorway of the chapel, 

 with the gunfire and brain-sucking and the threats, Lena Marquez couldn't help 

 but think: Oh, this is so awkward          both my exes are here. Dale was standing 

 there in a Santa suit, mud and gore dripping onto the floor while he roared 

 with anger, and Tucker Case had immediately headed to the back of the room and 

 dived under one of the folding buffet tables. 



 There was screaming and a lot of running, but mostly people stood there, 

 paralyzed by the shock. And Tucker Case, of course, was acting the consummate 

 coward. She was so ashamed. 



 "You, bitch!" dead Dale Pearson shouted, pointing at her with the snub-nose 

 .38. "You're lunch!" He started across the open pine floor. 



 "Look out, Lena," came a shout from behind her. She turned just in time to 

 sidestep as the buffet table behind her rose, spilling chafing dishes full of 

 lasagna onto the floor. The alcohol burners beneath the pans spilled blue 

 flame across the tabletops and onto the floor as Tucker Case stood up with the 

 table in front of him and let out a war cry. 



 Theo Crowe saw what was happening and pulled an armload of people aside as 

 Tuck barreled through the room, the tabletop in front of him, toward the 

 throng of undead. Dale Pearson fired at the tabletop as it approached, getting 

 off three shots before Tuck impacted with him. 



 "Crowe, get the door, get the door," Tuck shouted, driving Dale and his undead 

 followers back out into the rain. The blue alcohol flame climbed up Dale's 

 white beard, as well as spilling down Tuck's legs as he pushed out into the 

 darkness. Theo loped across the room and reached outside to catch the edge of 

 the door. A one-armed corpse in a leather jacket ducked around the edge of 

 Tuck's buffet-table barrier and grabbed at Theo, who put a foot on the 

 corpse's chest and drove him back down the steps. Theo pulled the door shut, 

 then reached around and grabbed the other one. He hesitated. 



 "Close the damned door!" Tuck screamed, his legs pumping, losing momentum 

 against the undead as he reached the bottom of the steps. Theo could see 

 decayed hands clawing at Tuck over the edge of the table; a man whose lower 

 jaw flapped on a slip of skin was screeching at the pilot and trying to drive 

 his upper teeth into Tuck's hand. 



 The last thing Theo saw as he pulled the door shut was Tucker Case's legs 

 burning blue and steaming in the rain. 



 "Bring one of those tables over here," Theo shouted. "Brace this door. Jam the 

 table under the handles." 

 * * * 



 There was a second of peace, just the sound of the wind and rain and Emily 

 Barker, who had just seen her ex-boyfriend shot and brain-sucked, sobbing. 



                                                                                               Page 93 


----------------------- Page 94-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "What was that?" shouted Ignacio Nuñez, a rotund Hispanic who owned the 

 village nursery. "What in the hell was that?" 



 Lena Marquez had instinctively gone to Emily Barker, and knelt with her arm 

 around the bereft woman. She looked to Theo. "Tucker is out there. He's out 

 there." 



 Theo Crowe realized that everyone was looking at him. He was having trouble 

 catching his breath and he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. He 

 really wanted to look to someone else for the answers, but as he scanned the 

 room     some forty terrified faces         he saw all the responsibility reflected 

 back to him. 



 "Oh fuck," he said, his hand falling to his hip where his holster was usually 

 clipped. 



 "It's on the table at my house," Gabe Fenton said. Gabe was holding the buffet 

 table that was braced sideways under the double latches of the church doors. 



 "Pull the table," Theo said, thinking, I don't even like the guy. He helped 

 Gabe pull the table aside and crouched in a sprinter's stance, ready to go, as 

 Gabe manned the latches. 



 "Close it behind me. When you hear me scream, 'Let me in,' well              " 



 Just then there was a crash behind them and something came flying through one 

 of the high, stained-glass windows          throwing glass out into the middle of 

 the room. Tucker Case, wet, charred, and covered with blood, pushed himself up 

 from the floor where he had landed and said, "I don't know who parked under 

 that window, but you'd better move your car, because if those things climb on 

 it, they'll be coming through that window behind me." 

 * * * 



 Theo looked at the line of stained-glass windows running down the sides of the 

 chapel, eight on each side, each about eight feet off the ground and about two 

 feet across. When the chapel had been built, stained glass was at a premium 

 and the community poor, thus the small, high windows, which were going to be 

 an asset in defending this place. There was only one large window in the whole 

 building      behind where the altar used to stand, but where now stood Molly's 

 thirty-foot Christmas tree         a six-by-ten-foot large cathedral-shaped 

 stained-glass depiction of Saint Rose, patron saint of interior decorators, 

 presenting a throw pillow to the Blessed Virgin. 



 "Nacho," Theo barked to Ignacio Nuñez, "see if you can find something in 

 the basement to board up that window." 



 As if on cue, two muddy, decaying faces appeared at the opening through which 

 Tuck had just dived, moaning and trying to get purchase on the windowsill with 

 their skeletal hands to climb in. 



 "Shoot them!" Tuck screamed from the floor. "Shoot those fucking things, 

 Theo!" 



 Theo shrugged, shook his head. No gun. 



 Something flashed by Theo and he spun to see Gabe Fenton running 

 hell-bent-for-leather at the window, holding before him a long stainless-steel 

 pan full of lasagna, evidently intent upon diving through the window in a 

 pastafarian act of self-sacrifice. Theo caught the biologist by the collar, 



                                                                                               Page 94 


----------------------- Page 95-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 stopping him like a running dog at the end of his leash. His arms and legs 

 flew out before him and he managed to hang on to the pan, but nearly eight 

 pounds of steaming cheesy goodness sailed on through the window, scorching the 

 attackers and Pollocking the wall around the window with red sauce. 



 "That's it, throw snacks at them, that'll slow them up," shouted Tuck. "Fire a 

 salvo of garlic bread next!" 



 Gabe regained his feet and jumped right up in Theo's face, or he would have if 

 he had been a foot or so taller. "I was trying to save us," he said sternly to 

 Theo's sternum. 



 Before Theo could answer, Ignacio Nunez and Ben Miller, a tall, ex-track star 

 in his early thirties, called for them to clear the way. The two men were 

 coming to the broken window with another of the buffet tables. Gabe and Theo 

 helped Ben hold the table against the wall while Nacho nailed the table to the 

 wall. "I found some tools in the basement," Nacho said between hammer blows. 

 Animated dead fingernails clawed at the tabletop as they worked. 



 "I hate cheese!" screamed the corpse, who had enough equipment to still 

 scream. "It binds me up." 



 The rest of the undead mob began pounding on the walls around them. 



 "I need to think," Theo said. "I just need a second to think." 

 * * * 



 Lena was dressing Tucker Case's wounds with gauze and antibiotic ointment from 

 the chapel's first-aid kit. The burns on his legs and torso were superficial, 

 most of the alcohol fire having been put out by the rain before it could 

 penetrate his clothing, and while his leather bomber jacket had protected him 

 somewhat from his dive through the window, there was a deep cut on his 

 forehead and another on his thigh. One of the bullets that Dale had fired 

 through the table had grazed Tuck's ribs, leaving a gash four inches long and 

 a half inch wide. 



 "That was the bravest thing I've ever seen," Lena said. 



 "You know, I'm a pilot," said Tuck, like he did this sort of thing every day. 

 "I couldn't let them hurt you." 



 "Really?" Lena said, pausing for a moment to look into his eyes. "I'm sorry I 

 was     you were      " 



 "Actually, you probably couldn't tell, but that thing with the table? Just a 

 really badly executed escape attempt." 



 Tuck winced as she fastened the bandage over his ribs with some tape. 



 "You're going to need stitches," Lena said. "Any place I missed?" 



 Tuck held up his right hand         there were tooth marks on the back of it 

 welling up with blood. 



 "Oh my God!" Lena said. 



 "You're going to have to cut his head off," said Joshua Barker, who was 

 standing by watching. 



                                                                                               Page 95 


----------------------- Page 96-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Whose?" Tuck said. "The guy in the Santa suit, right?" 



 "No, I mean your head," said Josh. "They're going to have to cut off your head 

 or you'll turn into one of them." 



 Most everyone in the chapel had stopped what they were doing and gathered 

 around Tuck and Lena, seemingly grateful for a point of focus. The pounding on 

 the walls had ceased, and with the exception of the occasional rattling of the 

 door handles, there was only the sound of the wind and rain. The Lonesome 

 Christmas crowd was stunned. 



 "Go away, kid," said Tuck. "This is no time to be a kid." 



 "What should we use?" asked Mavis Sand. "This okay, kid?" She held a serrated 

 knife that they'd been using to cut garlic bread. 



 "That is not acceptable," Tuck said. 



 "If you don't cut his head off," said Joshua, "he'll turn into one of them and 

 let them in." 



 "What an imagination this kid has," said Tuck, flashing a grin from face to 

 face, looking for an ally. "It's Christmas! Ah, Christmas, the time when all 

 good people go about not decapitating each other." 



 Theo Crowe came out of the back room, where he'd been looking for something 

 they could use as a weapon. "Phone lines are down. We'll lose power any 

 minute. Is anyone's cell phone working?" 



 No one answered. They were all looking at Tuck and Lena. 



 "We're going to cut off his head, Theo," Mavis said, holding out the bread 

 knife, handle first. "Since you're the law, I think you should do it." 



 "No, no, no, no, no, no," said Tuck. "And furthermore, no." 



 "No," said Lena, in support of her man. 



 "You guys have something you want to tell me?" Theo said. He took the bread 

 knife from Mavis and shoved it down the back of his belt. 



 "I think you were onto something with that killer-robot thing," Tuck said. 



 Lena stood up and put herself between Theo and Tuck. "It was an accident, 

 Theo. I was digging Christmas trees like I do every year and Dale came by 

 drunk and angry. I'm not sure how it happened. One minute he was going to 

 shoot me and the next the shovel was sticking out of his neck. Tucker didn't 

 have anything to do with it. He just happened along and was trying to help." 



 Theo looked at Tuck. "So you buried him with his gun? 



 Tuck climbed painfully to his feet and stood behind Lena. "I was supposed to 

 see this coming? I was supposed to anticipate that he might come back from the 

 grave all angry and brain hungry, so I should hide his gun from him? This is 

 your town, Constable, you explain it. Usually when you bury a body they don't 

 come back and try to eat your brains the next day." 



 "Brains! Brains! Brains!" chanted the undead from outside the chapel. The 

 pounding on the walls started again. 



                                                                                               Page 96 


----------------------- Page 97-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Shut up!" screamed Tucker Case, and to everyone's amazement, they did. Tuck 

 grinned at Theo. "So, I fucked up." 



 "Ya think?" Theo said. "How many?" 



 "You should cut his head off over the sink," said Joshua Barker. "That way it 

 won't make as big a mess." 



 Without a word, Theo reached down and picked Josh up by the biceps, then 

 walked over and handed him to his mother, who looked as if she were going into 

 the first stages of shock. Theo touched his finger to Josh's lips in a shush 

 gesture. Theo looked more serious, more intimidating, more in control than 

 anyone had ever seen him. The boy hid his face in his mother's breasts. 



 Theo turned to Tuck. "How many?" Theo repeated. "I saw maybe thirty, forty?" 



 "About that," Tuck said. "They're in different states of decay. Some of them 

 just look like there's little more than bone, others look relatively fresh, 

 and pretty well preserved. None of them seems particularly fast or strong. 

 Dale maybe, some of the fresher ones. It's like they're learning to walk again 

 or something." 



 There was a loud snap from outside and everyone jumped             one woman literally 

 leaping into a man's arms with a shriek. They all fell into a crouch, 

 listening to a tree falling through branches, expecting the trunk to come 

 crashing through the ceiling beams. The lights went out and the whole church 

 shook with the impact of the big pine hitting the forest floor. 



 Without missing a beat, Theo snapped on a flashlight he'd had in his back 

 pocket in anticipation of a power outage. Small emergency lamps ignited above 

 the front door, casting everyone in a deep-shadowed directional light. 



 "Those should last about an hour," Theo said. "There should be some 

 flashlights in the basement, too. Go on. What else did you see, Tuck?" 



 "Well, they're pissed off and they're hungry. I was kind of busy trying not to 

 get my brains eaten. They seemed pretty adamant about the brain-eating thing. 

 Then they're going to IKEA, I guess." 



 "This is ridiculous," said Val Riordan, the elegantly coiffed psychiatrist, 

 speaking up for the first time since the whole thing had started. "There's no 

 such thing as a zombie. I don't know what you think is happening here, but you 

 don't have a crowd of brain-eating zombies." 



 "I'd have to agree with Val," Gabe Fenton said, stepping up beside her. 

 "There's no scientific basis for zombieism           except for some experiments in 

 the Caribbean with blowfish toxins that put people in a state of near death 

 with almost imperceptible respiration and pulse, but there was no actual, you 

 know, raising of the dead." 



 "Yeah?" said Theo, giving them an eloquent deadpan stare. "Brains!" he 

 shouted. 



 "Brains! Brains! Brains!" came the responding chant from outside; the pounding 

 on the walls resumed. 



 "Shut up!" Tuck shouted. The dead did. 



 Theo looked at Val and Gabe and raised an eyebrow. Well? 



                                                                                               Page 97 


----------------------- Page 98-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Okay," Gabe said. "We may need more data." 



 "No, this can't be happening," said Valerie Riordan. "This is impossible." 



 "Dr. Val," Theo said. "We know what's happening here. We don't know why, and 

 we don't know how, but we haven't lived in a vacuum all our lives, have we? In 

 this case, denial ain't just a river in Egypt, denial will kill you." 



 Just then a brick came crashing through one of the windows and thumped into 

 the middle of the chapel floor. Two clawlike hands caught the window ledge and 

 a beat-up male face appeared at the window. The zombie pulled up enough so 

 that he could hook one elbow inside the window, then shouted: "Val Riordan 

 went down on the pimply kid who bags groceries at the Thrifty-Mart!" 



 A second later, Ben Miller picked up the brick and hurled it back through the 

 window, taking out the zombie face with a sickening squish. 



 As Ben and Theo lifted the last of the buffet tables into place to be nailed 

 over the window, Gabe Fenton stepped away from Valerie Riordan and looked at 

 her like she'd been dipped in radioactive marmot spittle. "You said you were 

 allergic!" 



 "We were almost broken up at the time," said Val. 



 "Almost! Almost! I have third-degree electrical burns on my scrotum because of 

 you!" 



 Across the room, into Lena Marquez's ear, Tucker Case whispered, "I don't feel 

 so bad about hiding the body now, how 'bout you?" She turned and kissed him 

 hard enough to make him forget for a second that he'd just been shot, set on 

 fire, beaten up, and bitten. 

 * * * 



 For years the dead had listened, and the dead knew. They knew who was cheating 

 with whom, who was stealing what, and where the bodies were hidden, as it 

 were. Besides the passive listening          those sneaking out for a smoke, 

 sideline conversations at funerals, the walking and talking in the woods, and 

 the sex and scare-yourself activities some of the living indulged in in the 

 graveyard      there were also those among the living who used a tombstone as 

 some sort of confessional, sharing their deepest secrets with someone who they 

 thought could never talk, saying things they could never say in life. 



 There were some things that people thought no one else, the living or the 

 dead, could possibly know, but they did. 



 "Gabe Fenton watches squirrel porn!" screeched Bess Leander, her dead cheek 

 pressed against the wet clapboard siding of the chapel. 



 "That is not porn, that's my work," Gabe explained to his fellow partyers. 



 "He doesn't wear pants! Squirrels, doing it, in slow motion. Pantsless." 



 "Just that one time. Besides, you have to watch in slow motion," Gabe said. 

 "They're squirrels." Everyone turned their flashlights on something else, like 

 they really weren't looking at Gabe. 



 "Ignacio Nuñez voted for Carter," came a call from outside. The staunch 

 Republican nursery owner was caught like a deer in the flashlights as everyone 

 looked at him. "I was only in this country a year. I'd just become a citizen. 



                                                                                               Page 98 


----------------------- Page 99-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 I didn't even speak English very well. He said he wanted to help the poor. I 

 was poor." 



 Theo Crowe reached over and patted Nacho's shoulder. 



 "Ben Miller used steroids in high school. His gonads are the size of BBs!" 



 "That is not true," exclaimed the track star. "My testicles are perfectly 

 normal size." 



 "Yeah, if you were seven inches tall," said Marty in the Morning, all dead, 

 all the time. 



 Ben turned to Theo. "We've got to do something about this." 



 The others in the room were looking from one to the other, each with a look on 

 his or her face that was much more horrified than when they'd been only facing 

 the prospect of an undead mob eating their brains. These zombies had secrets. 



 "Theo Crowe's wife thinks she's some kind of warrior mutant killer!" shouted a 

 rotted woman who had once been a psych nurse at the county hospital. 



 Everybody in the chapel sort of looked at one another and nodded, shrugged, 

 let out a sigh of relief. 



 "We knew that," yelled Mavis. "Everybody knows that. That's not news." 



 "Oh, sorry," said the dead nurse. There was a pause; then, "Okay, then. Wally 

 Beerbinder is addicted to painkillers." 



 "Wally's not here," said Mavis. "He's spending Christmas with his daughter in 

 L.A." 



 "I got nothing," said the nurse. "Someone else go." 



 "Tucker Case thinks his bat can talk," shouted Arthur Tannbeau, the dead 

 citrus farmer. 



 "Who wants to sing Christmas carols?" said Tuck. "I'll start. 'Deck the halls 

 . . ." 



 And so they sang, loud enough to drown out the secrets of the undead. They 

 sang with great Christmas spirit, loud and off-key, until the battering ram 

 hit the front doors. 

 Chapter 18 



 YOUR PUNY WORM GOD WEAPONS 

 ARE USELESS AGAINST MY 

 SUPERIOR CHRISTMAS KUNG FU 



 Molly slipped out the back door of the cabin and around the outside wall until 

 she could see the tall figure standing before her picture window. The fallen 

 wires had stopped sparking out by the street and the stars and moon barely cut 

 through the darkness at all. Strangely enough, she could clearly see the man 

 by her front window because there was a faint glow shining around him. 



 Radioactive, Molly thought. He wore the long black duster favored by sand 

 pirates. Why, though, would a desert marauder be out in a rainstorm? 



                                                                                               Page 99 


----------------------- Page 100-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 She assumed the Hasso No Kamae stance, back straight, the sword held high and 

 tilted back over her right shoulder, the sword guard at mouth level, her left 

 foot forward. She was three steps from delivering a deathblow to the intruder. 

 The sword balanced perfectly in her grip, so perfectly that it seemed to weigh 

 nothing at all. She could feel the wet pine needles under her bare feet and 

 wished that she'd put on shoes before dashing out into the night. The cold 

 rain against her bare skin made her think that maybe a sweater would have been 

 a good idea as well. 



 The glowing man looked toward the opposite corner of the cabin and Molly made 

 her move. Three soft steps and she stood behind him; the edge of her blade lay 

 across the side of his neck. A quick pull and she would cut him to his 

 vertebrae. 



 "Move and die," Molly said. 



 "Nuh-uh," said the glowing man. 



 The tip of Molly's sword extended a foot beyond the stranger's face. He looked 

 at the blade. "I like your sword. Want to see mine?" 



 "You move, you die," Molly said, thinking that it wasn't the sort of thing you 

 should have to repeat. "Who are you?" 



 "I'm Raziel," said Raziel. "It's not the sword of the Lord, or anything. Not 

 for destroying cities, just for fighting one or two enemies at a time, or 

 slicing cold cuts. Do you like salami?" 



 Molly didn't quite know how to proceed. This glowing sand pirate seemed 

 perfectly unafraid, perfectly unconcerned, in fact, that she was holding a 

 razor-sharp blade against his carotid artery. "Why are you looking in my 

 window in the middle of the night?" 



 "Because I can't see through the wooden part." 



 Molly snapped her wrists back and smacked Raziel in the side of the head with 

 the flat of her blade. 



 "Ouch." 



 "Who are you and why are you here?" Molly said. She snapped her blade back to 

 threaten another smack, and in that instant Raziel stepped away from her, 

 spun, and drew a sword from the middle of his back. 



 Molly hesitated, just a second, then approached and snapped her blade down, 

 this time in a real attack aimed at his shoulder. Raziel parried the blow and 

 riposted. Molly swept his blade aside and came around with her blade for a cut 

 to the left arm. Raziel got his sword around just in time to deflect her blade 

 down his arm instead of across it. The razor-sharp tashi took a long swath of 

 fabric from his coat, as well as a thin slice of flesh down his forearm. 



 "Hey," he said, looking at his now-flapping sleeve. 



 There was no blood. Just a dark stripe where the flesh was gone. He started 

 hacking, his sword describing an infinity pattern in the air before him as he 

 drove Molly back through the pine forest toward the road. She quickstepped 

 back, parrying some blows, dodging others, stepping around trees, kicking up 

 wet pine straw as she moved. She could only see her glowing attacker, his 

 sword shining now as well, the darkness around her so complete that she moved 



                                                                                               Page 100 


----------------------- Page 101-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 only by memory and feel. As she deflected one of the blows, her heel caught on 

 a root and she lost her balance. She started to go over backward and spun as 

 if to catch herself. Raziel's momentum carried him forward, his sword swinging 

 for a target that a second before had been two feet higher, and he ran right 

 onto Molly's blade. She was bent over forward; the blade extended back across 

 her rib cage and through Raziel, extending another two feet out his back. They 

 were frozen there for a moment         him bent over her back, stuck together with 

 her sword      like two dogs who needed a bucket of water thrown on them. 



 From a crouch, Molly yanked the blade out, then spun, ready to deliver a coup 

 de grace that would cut her enemy from collarbone to hip. 



 "Ouch," said Raziel, looking at the hole in his solar plexus. He threw his 

 sword on the ground and prodded the wound with his fingers. "Ouch," he said 

 again, looking up at Molly. "You don't thrust with that kind of sword. You're 

 not supposed to thrust with that kind of sword. No fair." 



 "You're supposed to die now," Molly said. 



 "Nuh-uh," said Raziel. 



 "You can't say nuh-uh to death. That's sloppy debating." 



 "You poked me with your sword, and cut my coat." He held up his damaged arm. 



 "Well, you came creeping around here in the middle of the night looking in my 

 windows, and you pulled a sword on me." 



 "I was just showing it to you. I don't even like it. I want to get web 

 slingers for my next mission." 



 "Mission? What mission? Did Nigoth send you? He is no longer my higher power, 

 by the way. This is not the kind of support I need." 



 "Fear not," said Raziel, "for I am a messenger of the Lord, come to bring a 

 miracle for the Nativity." 



 "You're what?" 



 "Fear not!" 



 "I'm not afraid, you nitwit, I just kicked your ass. Are you telling me you're 

 an angel?" 



 "Come to bring Christmas joy to the child." 



 "You're a Christmas angel?" 



 "I bring tidings of great joy, which shall be to all men. Well, not really. 

 This time it's just to one boy, but I memorized that speech, so I like to use 

 it." 



 Molly let her guard down, the tip of her sword pointed at the ground now. "So 

 the glowing stuff on you?" 



 "Glory of the Lord," said the angel. 



 "Oh piss," said Molly. She slapped herself in the forehead. "And I killed 

 you." 



                                                                                               Page 101 


----------------------- Page 102-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Nuh-uh." 



 "Don't start with the nuh-uh again. Should I call an ambulance or a priest or 

 something?" 



 "I'm healing." He held up his forearm and Molly watched as the faintly glowing 

 skin expanded to cover the wound. 



 "Why in the hell are you here?" 


 "I have a mission       " 



 "Not here on Earth, here at my house." 



 "We're attracted to lunatics." 



 Molly's first instinct was to take his head, but on second thought, she was 

 standing in the middle of a pine forest, in freezing rain and gale-force 

 winds, naked, holding a sword, and talking to an angel, so he wasn't exactly 

 announcing the Advent. She was a lunatic. 



 "You want to come inside?" she said. 



 "Do you have hot chocolate?" 



 "With minimarshmallows," said the Warrior Babe. 



 "Blessed are the minimarshmallows," the angel said, swooning a little. 



 "Come on, then," Molly said as she walked away muttering, "I can't believe I 

 killed a Christmas angel." 



 "Yep, you screwed the pooch on this one," said the Narrator. 



 "Nuh-uh," said the angel. 

 * * * 



 "Get that piano against the door!" Theo yelled. 



 The bolts on the front door had completely splintered away, and the Masonite 

 buffet table was flexing under the blows of whatever the undead were using for 

 a battering ram. The entire chapel shook with each impact. 



 Robert and Jenny Masterson, who owned Brine's Bait, Tackle, and Fine Wines, 

 started rolling the upright piano from its spot by the Christmas tree. Both 

 had been through some harrowing moments in Pine Cove's history, and they 

 tended to keep their heads in an emergency. 



 "Anyone know how to lock these casters?" Robert called. 



 "We'll need to brace it just the same," Theo said. He turned to Ben Miller and 

 Nacho Nunez, who seemed to have teamed up for the battle. "You guys look for 

 more heavy stuff to brace the door." 



 "Where did they get a battering ram?" Tucker Case asked. He was examining the 

 big rubber coasters on the piano, trying to figure out how to lock them. 



 "Half the forest has blown down tonight," said Lena. "Monterey pines don't 

 have a taproot. They probably just found one that they could lift." 



                                                                                               Page 102 


----------------------- Page 103-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Turn it on its back," Tuck said. "Brace it against the table." 



 The ram hit the doors and they popped open six inches. The table hooked under 

 the heavy brass handles was bending and beginning to split. Three arms came 

 through the opening, half a face, the eye drooling out of a rotted socket. 



 "Push!" Tuck screamed. 



 They ran the piano up against the braced table, slamming the doors on the 

 protruding limbs. The battering ram hit again, popping the doors open, driving 

 the men back, and rattling their teeth. The undead arms pulled back from the 

 gap. Tuck and Robert shoved the piano against the door and it shut again. 

 Jenny Masterson threw her back against the piano and looked back at the 

 onlookers, twenty or so people who seemed too stunned or too scared to move. 



 "Don't just stand there, you useless fucks! Help us brace this. If they get 

 in, they're going to eat your brains, too." 



 Five men pointed flashlights at each other in a "Me? You? Us?" inspection, 

 then shrugged and ran to help push the piano. 



 "Nice pep talk," said Tuck, his sneakers squeaking on the pine floor as he 

 pushed. 



 "Thanks, I'm good with the public," Jenny said. "Waitress for twenty years." 



 "Oh yeah, you waited on us at H.P.'s. Lena, it's our waitress from the other 

 night." 



 "Nice to see you again, Jenny," said Lena, just as the battering ram hit the 

 door again, knocking her to the floor. "I haven't seen you at yoga class . . 

 ." 



 "Clear the way, clear the way, clear the way!" called Theo. He and Nacho 

 Nuñez were coming across the floor from the back room carrying an 

 eight-foot-long oak pew. Behind them, Ben Miller was wrestling a pew across 

 the floor by himself. Several of the men who were holding the barricade broke 
 ranks to help him. 



 "Cantilever these against the piano and nail them to the floor," Theo said. 



 The heavy benches went up on a diagonal against the back of the piano and 

 Nacho Nuñez toenailed them to the floor. 



 The benches flexed a little with each blow of the battering ram, but they held 

 fast. After a few seconds, the pounding stopped. Again, there was only the 

 noise of the wind and the rain. Everyone played flashlights around the room, 

 waiting for whatever would come next. 



 Then they heard Dale Pearson's voice at the side of the chapel. "This way. 

 Bring it this way." 



 "Back door," someone shouted. "They're carrying it around to the back door." 



 "More pews," Theo yelled. "Nail them up in the back. Hurry, that door's not as 

 heavy as the front, it won't take two hits like that." 



 "Can't they just come through one of the walls?" asked Val Riordan, who was 

 trying to join in the effort to hold the line, despite the handicap of her 



                                                                                               Page 103 


----------------------- Page 104-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 five-hundred-dollar shoes. 



 "I'm hoping that won't occur to them," Theo said. 

 * * * 



 Supervising the undead was worse than dealing with a construction crew full of 

 drunks and cokeheads. At least his living crews had all of their limbs and 

 most of their physical coordination. This bunch was pretty floppy. Twenty of 

 the undead were hefting a broken pine-tree trunk a foot thick and as long as a 

 car. 



 "Move the goddamn tree," Dale growled. "What am I paying you for?" 



 "Is he paying us?" asked Marty in the Morning, who was hefting at midtree, on 

 a jagged, broken branch. "Are we getting paid?" 



 "I can't believe you ate all the brains," Warren Talbot, the dead painter, 

 said. "That was supposed to be for everyone." 


 "Would you shut the fuck up and get the tree around to the back door," Dale 

 yelled, waving his snub-nose revolver. 



 "The gunpowder gave them a nice peppery flavor," Marty said. 



 "Don't rub it in," said Bess Leander. "I'm so hungry." 



 "There will be enough for everyone once we get inside," said Arthur Tannbeau, 

 the citrus farmer. 



 Dale could tell this wasn't going to work. They were too feeble, they couldn't 

 get enough strength behind the battering ram. The living would be barricading 

 the back door even now. 



 He pulled some of the more decayed undead off the tree and pushed in those who 

 seemed to have much of their normal strength, but they were trying to run up a 

 narrow set of stairs carrying a thousand-pound tree trunk. Even a crew of 

 healthy, living people wouldn't be able to get purchase in this mud. The tree 

 trunk hit the door with an anemic thud. The door flexed just enough to reveal 

 that the living had reinforced it. 



 "Forget it. Forget it," said Dale. "There are other ways we can get to them. 

 Fan out in the parking lot and start looking for keys in the ignition of 

 people's cars." 



 "Drive-thru snackage?" said Marty in the Morning. "I like it." 



 "Something like that," Dale said. "Kid, you with the wax face. You're a 

 motorhead, can you hot-wire a car?" 



 "Not with only one arm," Jimmy Antalvo slurred. "That dog took my arm." 

 * * * 



 "It stopped," Lena said. She was checking Tuck's wounds. Blood was seeping 

 through the bandages on his ribs. 



 Theo turned away from the pilot and looked around the room. The emergency 

 lighting was starting to dim already and his flashlight was panning them like 

 he was looking for suspects. "No one left their keys in their car, did they?" 



                                                                                               Page 104 


----------------------- Page 105-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 There were murmurs of denial and heads shaking. 



 Val Riordan had a perfectly painted eyebrow raised at him. There was a 

 question there, even if it was unspoken. 



 "Because that's what I'd do," Theo said. "I'd get a car up to speed and crash 

 it right through the wall." 



 "That would be bad," said Gabe. 



 "That parking lot had two inches of water and mud the last time I saw it," 

 Tucker Case said. "Not every car is going to get up to speed in that." 



 "Look, we need to get some help," Theo said. "Someone has to go for help." 



 "They won't get ten feet," Tuck said. "As soon as you open a door or break a 

 window, they'll be waiting." 



 "What about the roof?" said Josh Barker. 



 "Shut up, kid," Tuck said. "There's no way up to the roof." 



 "Are we going to cut off his head now?" said Josh. 



 "You have to sever the spinal column or they just keep coming." 



 "Look," Theo said, playing his flashlight across the center of the ceiling. 

 There was a trapdoor up there, painted over and latched, but it was definitely 

 there. 



 "It leads to the old bell tower," Gabe Fenton said. "No bell, but it does open 

 onto the roof." 



 Theo nodded. "From the roof someone could tell where they all were before 

 making his move." 



 "That hatch is thirty feet up. There's no way to get to it." 



 Suddenly the high chirp of a barking bat came from above them. A half-dozen 

 flashlights swung around to spotlight Roberto, who was hanging upside down 

 from the star atop the Christmas tree. 



 "Molly's tree," said Lena. 



 "It looks sturdy enough," said Gabe Fenton. 



 "I'll go," said Ben Miller. "I'm still in pretty good shape. If I have to make 

 a run for it, I can." 



 "Right there, that proves it," said Tuck, an aside to Lena. "No guy with tiny 

 balls would volunteer for that. See how the dead lie." 



 "I'm driving an old Tercel," Ben said. "I don't think you want me trying to 
 make a run for help in that." 



 "What we need is a Hummer," said Gabe. 



 "Yeah, or even a friendly hand job," said Tuck. "But that's later. For now, we 

 need a four-wheel drive." 



                                                                                               Page 105 


----------------------- Page 106-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "You really want to try this?" Theo asked Ben. 



 The athlete nodded. "I've got the best chance of getting out. Those I can't 

 outrun I'll just go through." 



 "Okay, then," said Theo. "Let's get that tree over to the middle of the room." 



 "Not so fast," said Tuck, patting his bandages. "I don't care how fast 

 Micro-nads is, Santa still has two bullets in his gun." 

 Chapter 19 



 UP ON THE ROOFTOP, CLICK, 

 CLICK, CLICK 



 This is what it's all been about, thought Ben Miller as he climbed into the 

 tiny bell tower atop the chapel. It had taken ten minutes to saw through the 

 painted-closed seams of the hatch with the bread knife, but finally he'd made 

 it, thrown the latch, and crawled from the top of the Christmas tree into the 

 bell tower. There was just enough room to stand, his feet on narrow ledges 

 around the hatch. Thankfully, the bell had been taken away a long time ago. 

 The bell tower was enclosed by louvered vents and the wind whistled through 

 like there was nothing there at all. He was pretty sure he could kick through 

 the vents, hundred-year-old wood, after all, then make his way across the 

 steep roof, drop off whichever side looked safe, and make it to the parking 

 lot and the red Explorer he was holding the keys for. Thirty miles south to 

 the highway-patrol post and help would be on the way. 



 All of the years after high school and college when he had continued to train, 

 all the hours of roadwork, all the weights and swimming and high-protein 

 diets, it all came down to this moment. Keeping himself in shape all these 

 years when no one really seemed to care would finally pay off. Anything out 

 there that he couldn't outrun, he could take out with a lowered shoulder. 

 (He'd played one season as a jay-vee halfback in addition to his varsity track 

 career.) 



 "You okay, Ben?" Theo yelled from below. 



 "Yeah. I'm ready." 



 He took a deep breath, braced his back against one side of the bell tower, 

 then kicked at the louvered slats on the opposite side. They broke away on the 

 first kick and he was nearly launched out on the roof feetfirst. He fought to 

 get his balance       turned around on his stomach and scooted backward out the 

 opening onto the roof. Facedown, he was looking down the length of the 

 Christmas tree at a dozen hopeful faces below. 



 "Hold tight. I'll be back soon with help," he said. Then he pushed back until 

 he was on his hands and knees on the peak of the roof, cold wetness cutting 

 everywhere he touched. 



 "Please, bitch," came a voice from right by Ben's ear. He jumped sideways, and 

 started to slide down the roof. Something caught his sweater, pulling him 

 back, then something hard and cold was pressed against his forehead. 



 The last thing he heard was Santa saying, "Pretty fucking tricky for a jock." 



 Below, in the chapel, they heard the gunshot. 

 * * * 



                                                                                               Page 106 


----------------------- Page 107-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 Dale Pearson held the dead track star by the back of the collar, thinking, Eat 

 now, or save it for after the massacre? Below him on the ground, the rest of 

 the undead were begging for treats. Warren Talbot, the landscape painter, had 

 made his way halfway up the pine-tree trunk that Dale had used to climb up on 

 the roof. 



 "Please, please, please, please," said Warren. "I'm so hungry." 



 Dale shrugged and let go of Ben Miller's collar, then gave the body a shove 

 with his boot, sending it sliding down the roof and off the side to the hungry 

 mob. Warren looked behind him at where the body had fallen, then at Dale. 



 "You bastard. Now I'll never get any." 



 Disgusting sucking sounds were rising from below. 



 "Yeah, well, the quick and the dead, Warren. The quick and the dead." 



 The dead painter slid back down his tree and out of sight. 



 Dale had some revenge to take. He stuck his head inside the bell tower and 

 looked down at the horrified faces below. The wiry little biologist was 

 climbing up the Christmas tree toward the open hatch. 



 "Come on up," screamed Dale. "We haven't even gotten to the main course." 



 Dale spotted his ex-wife, Lena, staring up, and the blond guy who had charged 

 them with the buffet table had his arm around her. 



 "Die, slut!" Dale let go of the edge of the bell tower and aimed the .38 down 

 the Christmas tree at Lena. He saw her eyes go wide, then something hit him in 

 the face, something furry and sharp. Claws cut into his cheeks and scratched 

 at his eyes. He grabbed for his attacker and in doing so lost his balance and 

 fell backward. He slid down the side of the roof and off the edge onto his 

 feasting minions. 



 "Roberto!" Tuck yelled. "Get back in here." 



 "He's gone," said Theo. "He's outside." 



 Tuck started to climb up the Christmas tree behind Gabe. "I'll get him. Let me 

 come up and call him." 



 Theo grabbed the pilot around the waist and pulled him back. "Close and lock 

 the hatch, Gabe." 



 "No," Tuck said. 



 Gabe Fenton looked down briefly, then his eyes went wide when he realized how 

 high above the floor he was. He quickly pushed the bell-tower hatch shut and 

 latched it. 



 "He'll be okay," said Lena. "He got away." 



 Gabe Fenton backed down the Christmas tree. When he got to the lower branches, 

 he felt some hands at his waist, steadying him down the last few steps. When 

 he hit the floor, he turned around into Valerie Riordan's arms. He pushed away 

 so as not to smudge her makeup. She pulled him out of the branches of the 



                                                                                               Page 107 


----------------------- Page 108-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 tree. 



 "Gabe," she said. "You know when I said you weren't engaged in the real 

 world?" 



 "Yeah." 



 "I'm sorry." 



 "Okay." 



 "I just wanted you to know that. In case our brains are eaten by zombies 

 without me having a chance to say it." 



 "That means a lot to me, Val. Can I kiss you?" 



 "No, sweetheart, I left my purse in the car and don't have any lipstick to 

 touch up. But we can knock out one last stand-up quickie in the basement 

 before we die if you'd like." She smiled. 



 "What about the kid at the Thrifty-Mart?" 



 "Squirrel porn?" She raised a perfectly drawn eyebrow. 



 He took her by the hand. "Yes, I think I'd like that," he said, leading her to 

 the back room and the stairs. 



 "What's that smell?" Theo Crowe said, remarkably glad to turn his attention 

 away from Gabe and Val. "Anybody smell that? Tell me that's not              " 



 Skinner was sniffing the air and whimpering. 



 "What is that?" Nacho Nunez was following the smell to one of the barricaded 

 windows. "It's coming from over here." 



 "Gasoline," said Lena. 

 Chapter 20 



 WINGING IT 



 The angel had opened six envelopes of powdered hot-chocolate mix and 

 handpicked out all the minimarshmallows. "They trap them in these little 

 prisons with the brown powder. You must free them to put them in the cup," the 

 angel explained, tearing open another packet, pouring the contents into a 

 bowl, picking up the little marshmallows, and dropping them into his mug. 



 "Kill him while he's counting the marshmallows," said the Narrator. "He's a 

 mutant. No angel could be that stupid. Kill him, you crazy bitch, he's the 

 enemy." 



 "Nuh-uh," said Raziel, into his marshmallow foam. 



 Molly looked at him over the rim of her mug. By the candlelight in the 

 kitchen, he certainly was a striking fellow           those sharp features, the 

 lineless face, the hair, and now the chocolate-marshmallow mustache. Not to 

 mention the intermittent glowing in the dark, which had been helpful when she 

 was looking for some matches to light the candles. 



                                                                                               Page 108 


----------------------- Page 109-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "You can hear the voice in my head?" she asked. 



 "Yes. And in my head." 



 "I'm not religious," Molly said. Under the table, she held the tashi with her 

 free hand, its blade resting across her bare thighs. 



 "Oh, me either," said the angel. 



 "I mean, I'm not religious, so why are you here?" 



 "Lunatics. We're attracted to them. It has something to do with the mechanics 

 of faith. I don't really understand it. Do you have any more?" He held up the 

 empty cocoa envelope. His mug was overflowing with melted marshmallow foam. 



 "No, that's the whole box. So you're attracted to me because I'm loony and 

 will believe anything?" 



 "Yes, I think so. And because no one will believe you. So there's no violation 

 of faith." 



 "Right." 



 "But you are attractive in other ways, too," added the angel quickly, as if 

 someone had suddenly smacked him in the head with a sock full of people 

 skills. "I like your sword and those." 



 "My breasts?" It wasn't the first time that someone had said that sort of 

 thing to her, but it was the first time it had come from a messenger of God. 



 "Yes. Zoe has those. She's an archangel like me. Well, not like me. She has 

 those." 



 "Uh-huh. So there are female angels as well?" 



 "Oh yes. Not always. Everyone was changed after you happened." 



 "Me?" 



 "Man. Mankind. Women. You. Before we were all one kind. But then you happened, 

 and we were divided up and given parts. Some got those, others got other 

 things. I don't know why." 



 "So you have parts?" 



 "Would you like to see?" 



 "Wings?" Molly asked. She actually wouldn't mind seeing his wings, if he had 

 them. 



 "No, we all have those. I mean my special parts. Would you like to see?" He 

 stood and reached down the front of his pants. 



 It wasn't the first time she'd had an offer like that, but it was the first 

 time it had come from a messenger of God. 



 "No, that's okay." She grabbed his forearm and guided him back into his seat. 



 "Okay, then. I should go. I have to check on the miracle and then go home." 



                                                                                               Page 109 


----------------------- Page 110-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "The miracle?" 



 "A Christmas miracle That's why I'm here. Oh look, you have a scar on one of 

 them " 



 "He has the attention span of a hummingbird," the Narrator hissed "Put him out 

 of his misery " 



 The angel was pointing to the jagged five-inch scar above Molly's left breast, 

 the one she'd gotten when a stunt went wrong while filming Mechanized Death 

 Warrior Babe VII. The injury that had gotten her fired, the scar that had 

 ended her career as a B-movie action heroine. 



 "Does it hurt?" asked the angel 



 "Not anymore," Molly said 



 "Can I touch?" 



 It wasn't the first time that someone had asked, but             well, you know . 

 "Okay," she said. 



 His fingers were long and fine, his fingernails a little too long for a guy, 

 she thought, but his touch was warm and radiated from her breast through her 

 whole body 



 When he pulled his hand away, he said, "Better?" 



 She touched where he had touched It was smooth. Completely smooth. The scar 

 was gone. The angel blurred in her vision as tears welled up in her eyes. 



 "You complete shit bag of sentimental saccharine," said the Narrator 



 "Thank you," Molly said, with a hint of a sniffle "I didn't know you could 

 " 



 "I'm good with weather," said the angel. 



 "Idiot!" the Narrator said 



 "I have to go now," said Raziel, rising from his chair "I have to go to the 

 church to see if the miracle has worked " 



 Molly led him through the living room to the front door. She held the door for 

 him. Even so, the wind whipped his coat around him and she could see the white 

 tips of his wings below. She smiled, laughing and crying at the same time. 



 "Bye," the angel said. He walked away into the woods. 



 As Molly closed the door, something dark flew through it. The candles in the 

 living room had blown out, so all she could see was a shadow flying through 

 the house, disappearing into the kitchen. 



 She got the door shut and trod into the kitchen, holding her sword at a low 

 ready. By the candlelight in the kitchen, she could see the shadow over the 

 kitchen window, two eyes shining orange back there in the dark. 



 She picked up a candle from the table and moved toward the window until the 

 shadow cast shadows of its own. It was some kind of animal, hanging from the 

 shutter over the sink, looking like a black towel with a little doggy face. It 



                                                                                               Page 110 


----------------------- Page 111-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 didn't seem dangerous, just, well, a little goofy. 



 "Well, this is it I am getting back on my meds tomorrow, if I have to borrow 

 the money from Lena " 



 "Not so fast," said the Narrator. "It'll be so lonely in here when I'm gone. 

 And you'll be back to wearing your normal clothes. Jeans and sweaters, you 

 can't want that." 



 Ignoring the Narrator, Molly approached the creature on the shutters until she 

 was only two feet away and staring right into its eyes. "Angels are one thing, 

 but I don't even know what in the hell you are, little guy." 



 "Fruit bat," said Roberto. 



 "He might be a Spaniard," said the Narrator. "Did you hear the accent?" 

 * * * 



 "I'm going out there," Theo Crowe said, finding a grip on the Christmas tree. 



 "He still has one bullet," said Tucker Case. 



 "They are going to torch the place. I've got to get out there." 



 "To do what? You going to take their matches away?" 



 Lena took Theo by the arm. "Theo, they'll never get a fire started in this 

 rain and wind. Don't go out there. Ben didn't make it two steps." 



 "If I can get to an SUV, I can start running over people," Theo said. "Val 

 gave me the keys to her Range Rover." 



 "Well, that's not going to work," said Tuck. "There's a bunch of them. You 

 might get some of the feeble ones, but the rest will just run into the woods 

 where you can't get to them." 



 "Fine. Suggestions? This place will burn like tinder, rain or no rain. If I 

 don't do something we're going to get roasted." 



 Lena looked at Tuck. "Maybe Theo's right. If he can drive them into the woods, 

 maybe the rest of us can make a break for the parking lot. They can't get all 

 of us." 



 "Fine," Theo said. "Divide people up into groups of five and six. Give the 

 strongest member of each group the key to an SUV. Make sure everyone knows 

 where they're going once they get out the door. When you hear the horn on the 

 Range Rover play 'Shave and a Haircut,' it will mean I've done what I can do. 

 Everyone make a break for it." 



 "Wow, you came up with that while stoned," Tuck said. "I'm impressed." 



 "Just get everyone ready. I'm not going out on that roof until I'm sure no one 

 is waiting for me." 



 "What if we hear a gunshot? What if they get you before you get to the car?" 



 Theo pulled a key out of his pocket and handed it to Tuck. "Then it would be 

 your turn, wouldn't it? Val had her spare car key with her, too." 



                                                                                               Page 111 


----------------------- Page 112-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Wait a minute. I'm not running out there. You have an excuse, you're stoned, 

 you're a cop, your wife threw you out, and your life is in shreds. Things are 

 going good for me." 



 "When Constable Crowe leaves, then can we cut off his head?" asked Joshua 

 Barker. 



 "Okay, maybe not," said Tuck. 



 "I'm going," Theo said. "Get everyone ready at the door." 



 The lanky constable made his way up the Christmas tree. Tuck watched him climb 

 out on the roof, then turned to the others. "Okay, you guys heard him. Let's 

 break into groups of five and six by the front doors. Nacho, grab the hammer, 

 we're going to have to pull the nails on the reinforcements. Who's driving an 

 SUV?" 



 Everyone but the children raised their hands. 

 * * * 



 "It won't spark, it's wet," said Marty in the Morning. He was trying to coax 

 fire out of a drenched disposable lighter. The undead stood around him, 

 looking at the pile of gasoline-sodden debris they'd piled against the side of 

 the chapel. 



 "I love barbecue," said Arthur Tannbeau. "Every Sunday out at the ranch, we 

 used to      " 



 "Only in California could one refer to a citrus farm as a ranch," interrupted 

 Malcolm Cowley. "As if you and the yahoos would all go out on horseback to 

 round up the tangerines." 



 "Didn't anyone find a dry lighter or matches in any of the cars?" Dale Pearson 

 said. 



 "No one smokes anymore," said Bess Leander. "Disgusting filthy habit anyway." 



 "Said the woman who still has brain matter on her chin from that fellow in the 

 sweater," said Malcolm. 



 Bess smiled coyly, most of her gums visible through her receded lips. "They 

 were so tasty      it was like he'd never used them." 



 There was a chirp from the front of the chapel and all of them looked. Yellow 

 lights flashed on one of the vehicles up there. 



 "Someone's making a break for it," screamed Dale. "I thought I told you to 

 keep an eye on the roof." 



 "I did," said the one-armed Jimmy Antalvo. "It's dark. I can't see shit." 



 As they rushed down the side of the chapel toward the front, they saw a dark 

 shadow slide off the side of the roof to the ground. 



 Chapter 21 



 AVENGING ANGEL 



                                                                                               Page 112 


----------------------- Page 113-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, Theo thought. He twisted his ankle when he 

 hit the ground; pain shot up his leg like liquid fire. He fell and rolled onto 

 his back in the mud. He'd pushed the remote button that unlocked the Range 

 Rover too soon the vehicle had chirped and the lights had blinked, alerting 

 the undead. He'd made the jump blind, and missed. They were coming for him. 



 He pushed himself up and started hopping toward the Range Rover the car key 

 ready in his right hand, his flashlight lost behind him in the mud. 



 Grab him, you rotting fucks," screamed Dale Pearson. 



 Theo fell forward as his good foot slipped out from under him, but he rolled 

 back to his feet, a bolt of pain shooting white-hot across his shin. He caught 

 himself on the back window of the black Range Rover, snatching at the rear 

 wiper for balance. He risked a glance back toward his pursuers and heard a 

 loud thump by his head followed by a deafening screech. He turned just in time 

 to see a skeletal woman sliding across the roof of the Range Rover, leading 

 with her teeth. He ducked, but not before he felt fingernails raking his neck, 

 teeth thumping into his scalp. She rode him to the ground and he could feel a 

 grating pain in his head as the zombie tried to bite through his skull. His 

 face was pushed into the mud. His nostrils and mouth filled with water, and 

 amid a flashing whiteness of terror he thought, I'm so sorry, Molly. 



 * * * 



 "Yuck! That's hideous!" said Bess Leander, spitting a couple of teeth on the 

 back of Theo's head. 



 Marty in the Morning grabbed Theo by the head and licked the teeth marks that 

 Bess had left. "That's horrible. He's stoned. I'm not eating stoned brains." 



 The undead moaned in disappointment. 



 "Get him up," said Dale. 



 Theo inhaled a great spray of mud along with his first breath and he went into 

 a coughing fit as the undead lifted him up and held him against the back 

 window of the Range Rover. Someone wiped the mud out of his eyes, and a stench 

 that made him gag filled his nostrils. He could see the dead but animated face 

 of Dale Pearson only inches from his own. The corpse's foul breath overwhelmed 

 him. Theo tried to twist away from the evil Santa, but decaying hands held his 

 head fast. 



 "Hey, hippie," said Dale. He held Theo's flashlight down by his Santa beard to 

 illuminate his face from below. There were two stripes of bloody drool running 

 down either side of the beard. "You're not thinking that your pot-smoking ways 

 are going to save you, are you? Don't." He pulled a snub-nose revolver out of 

 the pocket of his red coat and shoved it under Theo's chin. "We'll have plenty 

 to eat. We can afford to waste you." Dale ripped open the Velcro fasteners of 

 Theo's jacket and started feeling around his waist. "No gun? You suck as a 

 lawman, hippie." He went to the pockets of Theo's cop shirt. "But this! The 

 one thing you can be depended on for." 



 Dale held up Theo's lighter, then reached in, tore the whole pocket off the 

 cop shirt, and wrapped the dry fabric around the lighter. "Marty, try this. 

 Keep it dry." Dale gave the lighter to a rotting guy with a wet Ziggy Stardust 



                                                                                               Page 113 


----------------------- Page 114-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 red mullet, who slogged back to the pile of debris at the side of the chapel. 



 Theo watched as Marty in the Morning bent over the pile of plywood, pine 

 branches, two-by-fours, cardboard, and the torn-up body of Ben Miller. The 

 wind was still whipping, the rain less intense now, but even so the drops 

 stung Theo's face when they hit. 



 Don't light, don't light, don't light, Theo chanted in his head, but then his 

 hope drained away when he saw the orange flame catch on the debris, and Marty 

 in the Morning pull away with his sleeve on fire. 



 Dale Pearson stepped aside so Theo could see the fire whipping up the side of 

 the building, then put the .38 against Theo's temple. "Take a good look at our 

 little barbecue fire, hippie. It's the last thing you're going to see. We're 

 gonna eat your crazy wife's brains char-broiled." 



 Theo smiled, happy that Molly wasn't inside, wouldn't be part of the massacre. 

 * * * 



 "I didn't hear 'Shave and a Haircut,'" said Ignacio Nunez. "Did you hear 

 'Shave and a Haircut'?" 



 Tuck panned his flashlight across a dozen frightened faces, then one whole 

 side of the chapel went orange with the light from the fire outside the 

 windows. One woman screamed, others stared in horror as smoke started to snake 

 in around the window frames. 



 "Change of plan," Tuck said. "We go now. Guys in front of your groups. Give 

 the car keys to the next person back." 



 "They'll be waiting for us," said Val Riordan. 



 "Fine, you burn up," Tuck said. "Guys, knock over whatever gets in your way, 

 everyone behind just keep going for the cars." 



 All the barricades and braces had been removed from the chapel doors. Tuck put 

 his shoulder against one door, Gabe Fenton was on the other. "Ready. One, two, 

 three!" 



 They threw their shoulders against the doors and bounced back into the others. 

 The doors had only opened a couple of inches. Someone shone a flashlight 

 through the gap to reveal a huge pine-tree trunk braced against one of the 

 doors. 



 "New plan," shouted Tuck. 



 * * * 



 Theo tried to look at the fire, but he couldn't see beyond the undead eyes of 

 Dale Pearson. Thought had fled. There was just fear and anger and the pressure 

 of the gun barrel against his temple. 



 He heard a whooshing sound and a thump by his ear and the gun barrel was gone. 

 Dale Pearson was stepping away from him, holding a dark stump where his gun 

 hand had just been. Dale opened his mouth to shout something, but in that 

 second a thin line appeared across his face at nostril level and half of his 

 head slid to the ground. He slumped in a pile at Theo's feet. The hands that 



                                                                                               Page 114 


----------------------- Page 115-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 were holding Theo let go. 



 "Brains!" screamed one of the undead. "Crazy-woman brains!" 



 Theo fell on top of Dale's rekilled body, then spun around to see what was 

 happening. 



 "Hi, honey," Molly said. She stood on the roof of the Range Rover, grinning, 

 wearing a leather jacket, sweatpants, and her red Converse All Stars, holding 

 the ancient Japanese sword in Hasso No Kamae before her, the blade gleaming 

 orange in the light from the burning church. There was a dark swath across the 

 blade where it had hewn the head of the zombie Santa. Theo had never been a 

 religious man, but he thought in that instant that this must be what it was 

 like to look on the face of an avenging angel. 



 The zombies who had been holding Theo reached for Molly's legs, and in a 

 single motion she stepped back and brought the sword around in a low arc that 

 sent a rain of severed hands flying into the mud. The undead wailed around 

 her, and tried to claw their way onto the SUV with their stumps. Bess Leander 

 tried to replicate the move she had used on Theo, stepping up the hood behind 

 Molly and diving across the roof of the Range Rover. Molly spun and 

 sidestepped, making a low swing with her sword that would have not looked out 

 of place on a golf course. Bess's head rolled off the top of the Land Rover 

 into Theo's lap. He pushed it aside and got to his feet. 



 "Honey, you might want to go let everyone out of the chapel before they burn 

 up," said Molly. "I'm not sure you want to watch this." 



 " 'Kay," said Theo. 



 The undead had left their stations at the front and back doors of the chapel, 

 where they had been waiting to ambush the escaping partyers, and charged 

 Molly. Three fell headless while Molly stood on the Land Rover, but as they 

 surrounded her, she ran and leaped over the heads of the mob, landing behind 

 them. 



 Theo ran for the front doors of the chapel, his vision blurred from the rain 

 and the blood running into his eyes from the bite wound on his head. He looked 

 back for a second and saw Molly sailing over the top of her attackers. 



 He nearly ran into two great pine logs that had been braced against the chapel 

 doors. He looked back a second and caught a glimpse of Molly mowing down two 

 more zombies, one split down the middle from the crown of his head to his 

 sternum, then he turned and tried to get his back under one of the logs. 



 "Theo, is that you?" Gabe Fenton had his face pressed in an inch-wide gap 

 between the doors. 



 "Yeah. There are logs against the doors," Theo said. "I'm going to try to move 

 them." 



 Theo took three deep breaths and lifted for all he was worth, feeling as if 

 veins would explode in his temples. The wound on his head throbbed with every 

 heartbeat. 



 But the tree trunk moved a couple of inches. He could do this. 



 "Is it working?" yelled Gabe. 



 "Yeah, yeah," said Theo. "Give me a second." 



                                                                                               Page 115 


----------------------- Page 116-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "It's filling up with smoke in here, Theo." 



 "Right." Theo strained again and the log moved another two inches to the 

 right. Another foot and they'd be able to get the door open. 



 "Hurry, Theo," said Jenny Masterson. "It's           " She went into a coughing fit 

 and couldn't finish what she was saying. Theo could hear everyone coughing 

 inside. Wails of rage and pain were coming from the side of the chapel where 

 Molly was fighting. She must be okay, they were still yelling about eating her 

 brain. 



 Another lift, another two inches. Gray smoke was streaming out the crack 

 between the doors. Theo fell to his knees with the effort and almost passed 

 out. He shook himself back into consciousness, and as he prepared to put his 

 back into another effort, hoping it wouldn't be his last, he noticed that the 

 screaming had stopped at the side of the chapel. Rain, wind, the coughing of 

 the trapped, and the crackle of the fire. That was all he heard. 



 "Oh my God. Molly!" he screamed. 



 A hand on his cheek, a voice at his ear. "Hey, sailor, need a little hand 

 getting your church door open, if you know what I mean?" 

 * * * 



 Sirens sounded in the distance. Someone had seen the burning chapel through 

 the storm and had somehow gotten through to the volunteer fire department. The 

 Lonesome Christmas survivors were gathered in the middle of the parking lot, 

 illuminated by headlights. The heat from the fire had driven them nearly 

 seventy-five yards to the street. 



 Even this far away, Theo could feel the heat on his cheek from the fire as 

 Lena Marquez bandaged his head. Others sat in the open hatchbacks of SUVs, 

 trying to catch their breath after being exposed to the smoke, drinking 

 bottled water or just lying there dazed. 



 Around the burning chapel the wet pine forest steamed, a great white cloud 

 rising into the sky. Down the left side of the chapel: carnage              a rekilling 

 ground of the undead, where Molly had hacked them into submission, even 

 chasing down the last few in the woods and decapitating them after she and 

 Theo had let the partyers out of the chapel. 



 Molly sat beside Theo, under the open hatchback of someone's Expedition. 



 "How did you know?" he asked. "How could you possibly have known?" 



 "The bat told me," Molly said. 



 "You mean he showed up and you said, 'What's wrong, boy, is Timmy trapped down 

 a well?,' and he barked to tell you that's what was wrong? Like that?" 



 "No," Molly said. "It was like, 'Your husband and a bunch of other people have 

 barricaded themselves in the chapel against a horde of brain-eating zombies 

 and you need to go save them.' Like that. He has some kind of accent. Sounds 

 Spanish." 



 "I for one am glad that you went off your meds," said Tucker Case, who was 

 standing next to Lena as she bandaged Theo's head. "A few hallucinations are a 

 small price to pay, if you ask me." 



                                                                                               Page 116 


----------------------- Page 117-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 Molly held up her hand for him to be quiet. She stood and brushed the pilot 

 aside, looking back toward the burning church. A tall dark figure in a long 

 coat was coming toward them through the killing field. 



 "Oh no," said Theo. "Everyone get in the cars and lock them." 



 "No," Molly said, dismissing Theo's instructions with a distracted backward 

 wave. "We're okay." She met the angel in the middle of the parking lot. 



 "Merry Christmas," said the angel. 



 "Yeah, you, too," said Molly. 



 "Have you seen the child? Joshua?" asked Raziel. 



 "There's a kid over there with the others," said Molly. "That's probably him." 



 "Take me to him." 

 * * * 



 "That's him," Theo said. "That's the robot guy." 



 "Shhhhhh," Molly shushed. 



 Raziel walked to where Emily Barker was holding her son, Joshua, sitting on 

 the back of Molly's Honda. 



 "Mom," wailed Joshua. He hid his face in his mother's chest. 



 But Emily was still stunned by witnessing her mate's death, and she didn't 

 react at all except to hold the boy tighter. 



 Raziel put his hand on the boy's head. "Fear not," he said. "For I bring you 

 tidings of great joy. Behold, your Christmas wish has been granted." The angel 

 waved toward the fire and the carnage and the exhausted and terrified 

 survivors as if he were a game-show hostess presenting a washer/dryer set. 

 "Not what I would have wished for," the angel said, "but I am but a lowly 

 messenger." 



 Josh rolled in his mother's arms and faced the angel. "I didn't ask for this. 

 This isn't what I wished for." 



 "Sure it is," said Raziel. "You wished that the Santa you saw killed be 

 brought back to life." 



 "No, I didn't." 



 "That's what you said. You said you wanted him brought back to life." 



 "That's not what I meant," said Joshua. "I'm a kid. I don't always get stuff 

 right." 



 "I'll vouch for that," said Tucker Case, stepping up behind the angel. "He is 

 a kid, and he is wrong most of the time." 



 "We still should cut your head off," said Josh. 



 "See," said Tuck. "Always wrong." 



                                                                                               Page 117 


----------------------- Page 118-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "Well, if you didn't mean you wanted him brought back to life, what did you 

 mean?" asked Raziel. 



 "I didn't mean I wanted Santa to be a zombie and kill big, dumb Brian and 

 everything. I wanted everything to be okay. Like it never happened. So it 

 would be a good Christmas." 



 "That's not what you said," said Raziel. 



 "That's what I wanted," said Joshua. 



 "Oh," said the angel. "Sorry." 



 "So he's an angel?" Theo said to Molly. "Like a real angel?" 



 Molly nodded, smiling. 



 "Not a killer robot?" 



 Molly shook her head. "He's here to grant a Christmas wish, to one child." 



 "Like it never happened?" the angel asked Joshua. 



 "Yeah!" said Josh. 



 "Oops," said the angel. 



 Molly stepped over and put her hand on the angel's shoulder. "Raziel, you 

 fucked up. Fix it?" 



 The angel looked at her and grinned. Perfect teeth, if a little sharp. 



 "So be it," he said. "Glory to God in the highest, peace on Earth, goodwill 

 toward men." 

 Chapter 22 



 A PERFECT LONESOME CHRISTMAS 



 The archangel Raziel hovered outside the Santa Rosa Chapel's big cathedral 

 window, looking through a small pane of pink glass that formed Saint Rosa's 

 cheek. He smiled at his handiwork, then beat his great wings and flew off to 

 find some chocolate to sustain him on his trip home. 



 * * * 



 Life is messy. Would that every puzzle piece fell into place, every word was 

 kind, every accident happy, but such is not the case. Life is messy. People, 

 generally, suck. This year, however, the Lonesome Christmas party in Pine Cove 

 was coming off with clarified joy, an infectious goodwill, and a general 

 harmony of spirit that shone in the guests with a smooth, high polish               a 

 no-mess affair. 



 "Theo," Molly said, "can you grab the other lasagna pans out of the back." She 

 was carrying two of the long stainless-steel pans herself, and she was careful 

 to bend at the knees as she set them down on the buffet table to keep the back 

 of her short cocktail dress in the realm of decency. It was a plunging 



                                                                                               Page 118 


----------------------- Page 119-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 neckline LBD (little black dress) she'd borrowed from Lena just for the party 

    the first low-cut thing she'd worn in years. 



 "We could have barbecued after all," Theo said. 



 "I told you fucksticks that the storm would turn south," Mavis Sand growled as 

 she sawed the end off a baguette like the moyl at a titanic bris. (Some 

 people's goodwill shines differently than others'.) 



 Molly set down her lasagna and turned around into the arms of her praying 

 mantis of a husband. "Whoa, sailor, Warrior Babe's got work to do." 



 "I just wanted to tell you," Theo said, "before everyone gets here, that you 

 look absolutely stunning." 



 Molly brushed her hand across her neckline. "Scars don't do that, do they? 

 They don't just disappear overnight like that, right?" 



 "Doesn't matter to me," Theo said. "Never mattered. Wait until you see what I 

 got you for Christmas." 



 Molly kissed him on the chin. "I love you, even if you have mutant tendencies; 

 now free me, Lena needs help with the salad." 



 "No, I don't," said Lena, coming out of the back room carrying a huge salad 

 bowl. Tucker Case followed close behind with a stainless caddie of dressings. 



 "Oh, Theo," Lena said, "I hope you don't mind, but Dale is going to come by in 

 his Santa suit tonight." 



 "I thought you guys were in combat," Theo said. 



 "We were, but he surprised me a couple of nights ago when I was stealing some 

 of his Christmas trees, and was just losing his temper when Tucker happened 

 along and popped him in the nose." 



 Tucker Case grinned. "I'm a pilot, we're used to handling tense situations." 



 "Anyway," Lena continued, "Dale was drunk. He started crying, getting maudlin, 

 talking about how he was having trouble with his new girlfriend, saying how he 

 hated that everyone saw him as the evil developer, so I invited him here. 

 Thought maybe if he could do something nice for the kids, it would make him 

 feel better." 



 "No problem," Theo said. "I'm glad you two are getting along." 



 "Hey, Theo!" yelled Joshua Barker as he ran across the chapel floor toward 

 them. "Mom says Santa will be at the party." 



 "A quick appearance, Josh, then he has to get on his route," Theo said. He 

 looked up to see Emily Barker and her boyfriend/husband/whatever Brian 

 Henderson coming across the room. Brian was wearing a red Star Fleet Command 

 shirt. 



 "Merry Christmas, Theo," Emily said. 



 Theo hugged Emily and shook Brian's hand. 



 "Theo, have you seen Gabe Fenton?" Brian asked. "I wanted to show him the 

 shirt, I think he'll get a kick out of it. You know, nerd solidarity." 



                                                                                               Page 119 


----------------------- Page 120-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 "He was here a little bit ago, Brian, but then Val Riordan arrived and they 

 were talking. I haven't seen them for a while." 



 "Maybe they went for a walk. Beautiful evening, isn't it?" 



 "Isn't it," said Molly, coming to Theo's side. 



 "He said he was good with weather," said the Narrator. 



 "Shhhhhhh," said Molly. 



 "Pardon?" Brian said. 



 Out behind the chapel, the dead were feeling festive as well. 



 "He's going to do her right here in the graveyard," said Marty in the Morning. 

 "Who would have thought a shrink could moan like that. A little carnal scream 

 therapy, huh, doc?" 



 "No way," said Bess Leander. "She's wearing Armani, she's not going to mess up 

 that outfit." 



 "You're right," said Jimmy Antalvo. "They'll just suck face and take the party 

 home for makeup sex. But how do you know she's wearing Armani?" 



 "You know what?" said Bess. "I have no idea. Just a feeling, I guess." 



 "I do hope they sing 'Good King Wenceslas,'" said Esther, the schoolteacher. 

 "I just love that song." 



 "Has anyone seen the biologist's dreadful dog?" asked Malcolm Cowley, the dead 

 book dealer. "Last year the beast urinated on my headstone three times." 



 "He was sniffing around a minute ago," said Marty in the Morning, "but he went 

 inside when they started to bring the food out." 



 Inside, Skinner was sitting under the Christmas tree, looking at the strangest 

 creature he'd ever seen. It was hanging from the lower branches, but it didn't 

 look like a squirrel, or smell like food; in fact, it had a face that looked 

 like another dog. Skinner whimpered and sniffed the air. If it was a dog, 

 where was its butt? How could he say hello if he couldn't sniff its butt? He 

 took a tentative step back to study the thing. 



 "What are you looking at?" said Roberto. 

 Author's Note 



 Some of the characters that appeared in The Stupidest Angel have also appeared 

 in my previous novels Raziel, the stupidest angel, appeared in Lamb, The 

 Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal. Theophilus Crowe, Molly 

 Michon, Gabe Fenton, and Valerie Riordan all appeared in The Lust Lizard of 

 Melancholy Cove. Robert Masterson, Jenny Masterson and Mavis Sand appeared 

 both in Practical Demonkeeping and The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove. Tucker 

 Case and Roberto the Fruit Bat appeared in Island of the Sequined Love Nun. 



 This file was created with BookDesigner program 

 bookdesigner@the-ebook.org 

 11/30/2007 



                                                                                               Page 120 


----------------------- Page 121-----------------------

ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html 



 LRS to LRF parser v.0.9; Mikhail Sharonov, 2006; msh-tools.com/ebook/ 



                                                                                               Page 121