08bis Visions of Sugar Plums (5 page)

Rex looked like he was thinking,
alien schmalien.
I guess when you live in a glass cage you don't care a lot about aliens in the kitchen. When you're a woman alone in an apartment, aliens are pretty damn frightening. Except for Diesel. Diesel was inconvenient and confusing, and as much as I hate to admit it, Diesel was annoyingly likeable. Frightening had dropped low on the list. "So," I said to Rex, "why do you suppose I'm not afraid of Diesel? Probably some kind of alien magic, right?"

Rex was working at getting the cookie into his cheek pouch.

"And while we're having this discussion," I said to Rex, "I want to reassure you that I haven't forgotten about Christmas. I know it's only four days away, but I made cookies today. That's a good start, right?"

Truth is, there wasn't a trace of Christmas in my apartment. Counting down four days and I didn't have a red bow or twinkle light in sight. Plus, I didn't have presents for anyone.

"How did this happen?" I asked Rex. "It seemed like just yesterday that Christmas was months away."

I opened my eyes and shrieked. Diesel was standing beside my bed, staring down at me. I grabbed the sheet and pulled it up to my chin.

"What? How?" I asked.

He handed me a large-size take-out coffee. "Didn't we do this bit yesterday?"

"I thought you were gone."

"Yeah, but now I'm back. This is the part where you say, good morning, nice to see you, thanks for the coffee."

I pried the plastic lid off and examined the coffee. It looked like coffee. It smelled like coffee.

"Cripes," he said. "It's just coffee."

"A girl can never be too careful."

Diesel took the coffee back and drank it. "Rise and shine, gorgeous. We have things to do. We need to find Sandy Claws."

"I know why
I
need to find Sandy Claws. I don't know why
you
need to find Sandy Claws."

"Just being a good guy. I thought I'd come back and help you out." Uh-hunh.

"Are you going to get up, or what?" he said.

"I'm not getting up with you standing there. And I'm not taking a shower with you in my apartment, either. Go out and wait for me in the hall."

He shook his head. "You are so untrusting."

"Go!"

I waited until I heard the front door open and close and then I slid out of bed and crept to the living room. Empty. I padded barefoot to the front door, opened the door, and looked out. Diesel was leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest, looking bored.

"Just checking," I said. "You're not going to pop into my bathroom when I'm in there, are you?"

"No."

"Promise?"

"Honey, I don't need a thrill that bad."

I closed and locked the door, ran into the bathroom, took the fastest shower in the history of Plum, rushed back to my bedroom, and got dressed in my usual uniform of jeans, boots, and T-shirt. I refilled Rex's water bottle and gave him some hamster crunches, a raisin, and a corn chip for breakfast. He rushed out of his soup can, stuffed the raisin and the corn chip into his cheek pouch, and returned to his soup can.

I'd had a brilliant idea while I was in the shower. I knew a guy who might help me find Claws. His name was Randy Briggs. Briggs wasn't an elf, but he
was
only three feet tall. Maybe that was good enough.

I thumbed through my address book and found Briggs' phone number. Briggs was a self-employed computer geek. He usually worked at home. And he usually needed money.

"Hey," I said to him. "I have a job for you. I need an undercover elf."

"I'm not an elf."

"Yes, but you're short."

"Christ," Briggs said. And he hung up.

Probably best to talk to Briggs in person. Unfortunately, I now had a dilemma. I thought there was a possibility that Diesel might go away if I never opened the door and let him in. Problem was, I needed to go out.

I opened the door and looked at Diesel.

"Yeah, I'm still here," he said.

"I need to go someplace."

"No kidding."

"Alone."

"It's the supernatural thing, isn't it? It's still got you weirded out, right?"

"Um..."

He slung an arm around my shoulders. "I bet you think Spider-man is a real cute guy. I bet you think it'd be fun to be friends with a guy like that."

"Maybe..."

"So just pretend I'm Spidey."

I looked at him sideways. "Are you Spidey?"

"No. He's a lot shorter."

I grabbed my bag and my keys and shrugged into my fleece-lined jacket. I locked my front door and took the stairs to the parking lot.

Diesel was right behind me. "We can take my car," he said.

"You have a car?"

There was a black Jaguar parked a few feet from the back entrance to my apartment building. Diesel beeped the Jag open with the remote.

"Wow," I said, "you do okay for an alien."

"I'm not an alien."

"Yeah, you keep saying that, but I don't know what else to call you."

"Call me Diesel."

I angled onto the passenger side seat and buckled in. "It's stolen, right?"

Diesel looked over at me and smiled.

Damn. "We're going to Cloverleaf Apartments on Grand. It's about a mile from here, off Hamilton."

The Cloverleaf apartment building looked a lot like mine. It was a big redbrick cube and strictly utilitarian. Three stories. A front and a back entrance. Parking lot in the rear.

Randy Briggs lived on the second floor. I'd met him a while back in a professional capacity. He'd been accused of carrying a concealed weapon and had failed to appear for a court appearance. I'd dragged him kicking and screaming back into the system. The charge had actually been borderline bogus, and Briggs was ultimately released without penalty.

"And why are we doing this?" Diesel asked, climbing the stairs to the second floor.

"There was a want ad in the paper for toy makers. When I called and inquired about Sandy Claws I got disconnected."

"And in your mind, this indicates that Claws is part of the toy maker operation."

"I think it's suspicious and warrants further investigation. I'm going to ask this guy I know to help infiltrate the operation."

"Is he a toy maker?"

"No. He has other talents."

We were in the stairwell and all of a sudden we were plunged into total darkness. I felt Diesel step closer, felt his hand protectively settle at my waist.

"Power blackout," I said. "Morelli told me they were happening all over Trenton."

"Great," Diesel said. "Just what I need. Power blackouts."

"Not a big deal," I told him. "Morelli said they last long enough to snarl traffic and then disappear."

"Sunshine, it's a bigger deal than you could possibly imagine."

I had no idea what he meant by that, but it didn't sound good. I was about to ask him when the lights popped back on, and we took the rest of the stairs to the second floor. I rapped on the door to 2B and there was no response. I put my ear to the door and listened.

"Hear anything?" Diesel asked.

"Television."

I rapped again. "Open the door, Randy. I know you're in there."

"Go away," Randy called. "I'm working."

"You're not working. You're watching television." The door was wrenched open, and Randy glared out at me.

"What?"

Diesel looked down at Randy. "You're a midget."

"No shit, Sherlock," Randy said. "And, just for the record, midget is no longer politically correct."

"So, what do you like?" Diesel asked. "How about little dude?"

Randy was holding a soup ladle, and he whacked Diesel in the knee with it. "Don't mess with me, wise-ass.”

Diesel reached down, grabbed Briggs by the front of his shirt, and lifted him three feet off the floor so they were eye level. "You need to get a sense of humor," Diesel said. "And you want to lose the soup ladle."

The soup ladle slid through Randy's fingers and clattered onto the parquet floor.

"So you don't want to be called a little dude," Diesel said. "What
do
you want to be called?"

"I'm a little
person"
Randy said, feet dangling in the air.

Diesel grinned at Randy. "Little person? That's the best you can do?"

Diesel set Randy back down on the floor, and Randy gave himself a shake, looking a lot like a bird settling its feathers.

"So," I said, "now that we have that straightened out..."

Briggs looked at me. "Here it comes."

"Have I ever asked for a favor?"

"Yes."

"Okay, but I saved your life."

"My life wouldn't have been in danger in the first place if it wasn't for you!"

"All I want is for you to pose as an elf."

Diesel gave a snort of laughter.

I cut my eyes to him, and he squelched the laughter down to a grin.

"I am
not
an elf," Briggs said. "Do I have pointy ears? No. Do I wear shoes that turn up on the ends? No. Do I enjoy this humiliation? No, no, no."

"I'll pay you for your time."

"Oh," Briggs said. "That's different."

I handed the ad over to Briggs. "All you have to do is answer this ad. Probably you don't even have to say you're an elf. Probably you could just tell him you're... qualified. And then when you go for the job interview, keep your eyes open for a guy named Sandy Claws. He's FTA."

"Give me a break. Santa Claus is FTA. How about the Easter Bunny? Is the Easter Bunny FTA, too?"

I flashed the photo of Sandy Claws at Briggs, and I spelled the name for him. I gave Briggs my card with my cell phone and pager number. And I left, not wanting to overstay my welcome, not wanting to give him time to change his mind.

I looked over at Diesel's knee when we were in the car. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. He hits like a girl. Someone needs to show him how to swing a soup ladle."

C
ONNIE ROSOLLI MANAGES MY COUSIN
Vinnie's bail bonds office. Connie is a couple years older than me. She has big hair, big boobs, and a short fuse. And she could probably kick my butt from here to downtown Trenton. Good thing for me, Connie never feels compelled to kick my butt since Connie and I are friends.

I called Connie and asked her to check on water and electric accounts for Claws. Between semi-clandestine computer searches and the tight-knit network of Burg women who love to dish, there isn't a lot of information Connie and I can't access.

I'd barely disconnected with Connie when my cell phone chirped. It was my mother. "Help," she said.

I could hear a lot of hysterical shouting going on in the background. "What's happening?"

"Valerie took one of those home pregnancy tests, and now she's got herself locked in the bathroom."

"Don't worry about it. She'll come out when she gets hungry."

"It's our only bathroom! I've got two kids home from school for the holidays, an old lady with a bad bladder, and your father. Everybody needs to use the bathroom."

"And?"

"Do something! Shoot the lock off."

Now if I was any kind of a good sister and loving daughter I'd have sympathy for Valerie. I'd be worried about her physical and emotional health. The ugly truth is, Valerie was always the perfect child. And I was the kid who had the skinned knee, consistently flunked spelling, and lived in Lala Land. My entire childhood was an out-of-body experience. Even as adults, Valerie had the great marriage and gave birth to two grandchildren. I had the marriage from hell that ended before my father got the wedding reception paid off. So, I love my sister and wish her well, but it's hard not to smile once in a while now that her life is in the toilet.

"Uh-oh," Diesel said. "I'm not sure I like that smile."

"It sort of slipped out. Actually, I need you to help me with a domestic problem. I need a lock opened."

"Someday I should show you some of my other skills."

Oh boy. It's never good when a man starts talking about his skills. Before you know it you're in the garage watching a power tool demonstration. And after all the power tools are revved, there's only one tool left to haul out of the box. Someday a study should be done on the effect of testosterone production in the presence of a band saw.

Everyone was huddled outside the bathroom when I got to my parents' house. Mary Alice was galloping in circles and the rest of my family was alternately pacing and yelling and banging on the door.

"Pretty amazing," Diesel said to me. "I'm always knocked out by the way a family can be at the upper end of dysfunction and insanity and still work so well as a unit. Do you want me to open the door?"

"No." I was afraid they'd all rush in and someone would get trampled in the stampede. I went downstairs to the kitchen and out the back door. There was a small roof over the back stoop, and the roof butted up to the bathroom window. When I was a kid I used to sneak out the bathroom window to hang with my friends. "Give me a boost up," I said to Diesel. "I'll bring her out through the window. Then you can open the door."

Diesel laced his fingers together, I put my foot in his hands, and he lifted me to roof level. I scrambled onto the roof and glanced down at him. He was impressively strong.

"Could you stop a runaway freight train?" I asked.

"Probably not a freight train. That would be Superman."

I looked in the window at Valerie. She was sitting on the toilet lid, staring at the little test strip. She looked up when I knocked.

"Open up," I said. "It's cold out here."

She pressed her nose to the window and looked out. "Are you alone?"

"I'm with Diesel."

She looked down to the ground, and Diesel waved to her. It was a goofy little finger wave.

Valerie opened the window, and I climbed inside.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Look at my test strip!"

"Maybe it made a mistake."

"It's the fifth time I've taken the test. They keep coming out positive. I'm pregnant. I'm goddamn pregnant. Albert Kloughn got me pregnant."

"Didn't you take precautions?"

"No, I didn't take precautions. Look at him! He looks like a loaf of yeast bread just before you bake it. He's soft and white and totally without substance. Who would have thought he'd have sperm? Do you know what this poor kid will look like?" Valerie wailed. "It'll look like a dinner roll."