UberMas 05 - Sleigh Ride (710 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: uberbook, Favorites
Rating: 2 on 13 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2005-12-09 20:14:05 EST
Andy Largo stood by the Mason Street entrance to the mall, watching the new Santa and cursing his feet, the source of all his failures.
NorthPoint Centre wasn't a very big mall, but it was the only place in the area where people living near the tourist hell of San Francisco's Pier 39 could do some affordable shopping, at the Safeway store. There was a wide concourse near the grocery store, and every year the mall paid a guy to play Santa for local kids.
Andy had applied for the Santa gig every season for the last five years, and had been turned down every time. He had failed at greater things, but the shrinking scope of his failures didn't make them any easier to bear.
The new Santa was sitting on his snow-covered throne, taking gifts out of a large red sack. The throne was a chair on top of a few crates, all of it covered in heavy white paper and sprayed with artificial snow. Little kids were lined up, keyed-up, thrilled to be seeing Santa.
Andy wished he could be that guy, actively doing something to bring joy to someone instead of standing by a door all day in an uncomfortable polyester uniform, ignored by adults and laughed at by teenagers. Sometimes the weight of the cheap badge pinned to his shirt was more than he could stand.
The new Santa had been charming kids for hours now, sending them back to their parents with a booming laugh, a laugh echoed by the delighted children. He had given the kids cheap gifts, coloring books, puzzles, things like that, and they were happy with them simply because they had seen Santa.
Lucky bastard, Andy thought. That's guy's shift is nearly over, and he's already made more money than I will during this twelve-hour stretch.
Andy shifted his weight from one foot to the other as the new Santa stood up and waved goodbye to the kids. Parents and children began moving away. Into the stores, toward the exits and the streets.
There wasn't a time when Andy could remember his feet not aching to some degree. When he was a kid he couldn't do shit in sports because his feet ached. His parents couldn't afford the expensive orthopedic shoes recommended by a series of doctors, and Andy's dad thought his overweight kid was just lazy and custom made shoes would be a ridiculous waste of money.
When the crowd had dissipated the new Santa rolled up his big red sack and stepped down from the throne, heading down a short service corridor for the men's room.
Andy had always wanted to be a cop. By the time he was in his early twenties his feet were so fucked-up he failed the physical. He tried to join the Army, and again his feet prevented his from doing something useful with his life. He had drifted from job to job, and now, in his early fifties, he was a security guard.
Mall traffic was back to normal, people coming and going. A couple of mall employees began covering Santa's throne with a tarp so little kids wouldn't screw around on it. A pretty blonde sat in a bench nearby, looking over her shoulder every so often. A mom waiting for her kid, most likely. The restrooms were just behind her.
Andy closed his eyes, seeing the faces of children and adults who had taunted him over the years. Some of the guys he had known in grade school where now doctors, dentists, hell, even plumbers. They had good jobs, good lives. They probably didn't even remember calling Andy 'Lardo' and 'Large-O,' and making him run away in shame... and then they would mock him even more, for his lurching, waddling run.
Shifting his weight and trying to ease the ever-present ache in his feet, Andy looked down at the cheap metal badge on his chest. In the center of the four-pointed star was one word. SECURITY. The one thing Andy didn't have, thanks to his feet, and a life spent moving from one minimum wage job to another.
Andy glanced up as the new Santa came out of the men's room. The man was wearing jeans and a Navy pea coat, the big red sack holding his Santa suit thrown over one shoulder.
Lucky bastard, Andy thought, as the guy gave him a nod and stepped through the doors to Mason Street and the tiered parking facility next door.
Three sixty-five. Andy tried to put it out of his head. That guy was making three sixty-five more than Andy every hour, he only had an eight-hour shift, and he was still pocketing more cash than Andy at the end of the day.
Andy had wanted to be Santa, but his feet were too small for the fancy high-topped boots that came with the 'Official NorthPoint Centre Santa Costume,' and the mall didn't want to have to pay any workman's comp claims if Andy tripped and fell in those boots while on the job.
The pretty blonde was now standing by the bench, and raising a hand to Andy. He hitched up his pants and approached her.
"Ma'am?"
The woman looked a little embarrassed. "Hi. Sorry to bother you, but my little boy... He's a bit too old for me to take into the ladies restroom, but he's awfully young to go into the men's by himself. He's been in there a while. Can you look and see what's keeping him?"
"Sure," Andy said, heading for the restroom door.
"He's wearing jeans and a blue fleece pullover," the woman said.
The restroom seemed empty. Andy checked the stalls anyway. When he pushed open the door to the handicap stall he stopped dead, staring at what was lying in the corner of the spacious stall.
There were only two puzzle pieces to deal with here, but it still took at least thirty seconds for them to click into place.
There was no kid here.
The Santa suit and boots were lying on the floor.
When the guy playing Santa had left the mall, he had been carrying his Santa sack over one shoulder. The sack had been stuffed with... something.
Andy turned and ran back they way he had come. He passed the woman with saying a thing, seeing the alarm and fear on her face. He stepped through the doors and dashed to the parking garage, pain flaring in his feet with every step.
An old white Plymouth station wagon was pulling out onto the street. Santa's Sleigh was written on banners stuck to the sides of the car, large red and green letters. The Plymouth stopped short not far from Andy as a traffic light turned red.
The man behind the wheel was the mall Santa.
"Gotcha," Andy said. He didn't have a gun, or mace, or a pair of cuffs. But he had a radio.
He pulled the two-way from his belt-clip and keyed the mic. His dispatcher could have the cops on this guy in no time.
The radio was dead. Christ, Andy thought. He'd forgotten to recharge it.
He stared at the station wagon. What if he was wrong? He could lose his job. What if he was right? If he tried anything, the guy could hurt him. His feet hurt. He was tired. He just wanted to go home and have a beer.
The light was changing.
"Don't be locked," Andy whispered. He stepped forward as fast as he could, pulled open the Plymouth's passenger door, and sat down just as the driver hit the gas and roared through the intersection. The door slammed shut beside him.
Still holding his dead radio, Andy looked over his shoulder. The big red Santa bag was lying on the wide bed of the station wagon. It was moving, just a little.
He glanced at the man behind the wheel. The man in the Navy pea coat was calm. He had both hands on the wheel. Around one wrist was a leather thong. The thong was looped through a short, thick length of wood.
Andy swallowed air and asked, "Did you hit the boy?"
"Children should be seen, and not heard," the man said. His voice was deep and warm. He glanced at Andy's radio. "No power lights. That's unfortunate."
Andy began to sweat. This guy was younger, bigger, stronger. What the hell did he think he was doing here?
"I can't decide if I'll kill you now, fat man," the mall Santa said, "Or if I'll make you watch me use the boy, and then kill you."
The man made a few quick turns. Now they were on a quiet residential street, not the greatest neighborhood. Andy thought the chances of being able to wave down a passing cop were slim.
"Not far from home now," the mall Santa said. The expression on his face was a curious mix or superiority and regret.
Andy had seen that expression a thousand times. On the faces of teachers handing him papers with failing grades. On the faces of potential employers who would not hire him. On the faces of women who turned down his advances.
A sigh slipped out of him as he turned away from the mall Santa. Andy's chin settled on his chest. He looked at his damnable feet. His ever-present gut. His soft, useless hands at the end of arms that never had developed much muscle. His cheap metal badge.
SECURITY
That was all he had. Just a lousy mockery of an old lawmaker's silver star.
Andy reached up and pulled the star off of his uniform shirt.
The mall Santa glanced at the road, looked back at Andy, and that was when Andy wrapped his left hand around the cheap metal star and drove it point-first into the mall Santa's right eye.
The man shrieked and let go of the wheel, both hands fluttering over the object jutting from his eyesocket.
The Plymouth careened across the road and jumped the curb. It smashed through a wooden fence, the colorful banners tearing away. The station wagon came to a stop in a junk-filled lot between two homes.
The mall Santa pushed his door open and fell to the ground, crying and probing gently at Andy's badge. He started to crawl, moving slowly.
Andy heard sirens. Far away now, but closing quickly. Someone must have called 911.
He got out of the car and opened the hatch at the back of the Plymouth. He untied a cord on the bag and then opened it.
The little boy shrank from him at first. He had a small, bloody welt on his forehead.
"It's okay kid," Andy said. "It's okay."
The little boy suddenly jumped at Andy, hugging him in fear.
Andy put a protective arm around the boy as he heard the police coming closer, watching the mall Santa move slowly on hands and knees.
It could have been a mix of hysteria and relief talking, or the combination of Andy's big stomach and his round cheeks now flushed red, but the little boy looked up at Andy and said, "Are you the real Santa?"
Andy laughed out loud, releasing an initial Ho-ho-ho that made him laugh even harder, and leaned close to the boy.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm Santa. But let's keep it secret, okay?"
"Okay," the boy replied.
The little boy held Andy's hand until his mother arrived at the scene, nearly an hour later.
User Reviews
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2005-12-12 12:08:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-12-12 09:10:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2005-12-12 00:19:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Never trust a man in a Santa suit.
Never.
This was great. Fantastic. The resourceful use of the security badge was a great, realistic touch. I assume the child will be receiving a stocking full of therapists' numbers this year?
If this is what you pulled off while sick, we should hope you lose an arm or develop a goiter before Round 2 starts...
Submitted by B-Nizzo (user info) at 2005-12-11 14:50:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 for Christmas!
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2005-12-10 23:31:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Sweet merciful crap...
I sure hope I don't wind up against YOU in round 2.
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2005-12-10 18:24:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Goddamnit why must you write so well?
Submitted by Spam (user info) at 2005-12-10 12:58:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
yeah, really liked it.
However, I did laugh everytime I saw the line 'Santa's big red sack'. which was an awful lot as it happens.
Submitted by Spacey (user info) at 2005-12-10 08:02:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
tres bien!
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2005-12-10 04:19:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by kai070169 (user info) at 2005-12-09 22:57:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
WTF i'm not reading all that, but I'm sure it was good.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2005-12-09 20:28:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"This is the best I got, guys."
So you're sick. Big whoop.
Bite me, Jack McCallum. This was STILL up to your
usual standard. Good job.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2005-12-09 20:24:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I thought this was fucking wonderful in a touching sort of way I don't generally like.
Fantastic.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-12-09 20:15:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
That's the best I got guys. I'm sick as fuck.
Not even gonna spell check. Just going to bed and hoping I feel better tomorrow.