[vc_row type=”in_container” full_screen_row_position=”middle” column_margin=”default” column_direction=”default” column_direction_tablet=”default” column_direction_phone=”default” scene_position=”center” text_color=”dark” text_align=”left” row_border_radius=”none” row_border_radius_applies=”bg” row_position_desktop=”default” row_position_tablet=”inherit” row_position_phone=”inherit” overflow=”visible” overlay_strength=”0.3″ gradient_direction=”left_to_right” shape_divider_position=”bottom” bg_image_animation=”none”][vc_column column_padding=”no-extra-padding” column_padding_tablet=”inherit” column_padding_phone=”inherit” column_padding_position=”all” flex_gap_desktop=”10px” column_element_direction_desktop=”default” column_element_spacing=”default” desktop_text_alignment=”default” tablet_text_alignment=”default” phone_text_alignment=”default” background_color_opacity=”1″ background_hover_color_opacity=”1″ column_backdrop_filter=”none” column_shadow=”none” column_border_radius=”none” column_link_target=”_self” column_position=”default” gradient_direction=”left_to_right” overlay_strength=”0.3″ width=”1/1″ tablet_width_inherit=”default” animation_type=”default” bg_image_animation=”none” border_type=”simple” column_border_width=”none” column_border_style=”solid”][vc_column_text css=”” text_direction=”default” el_class=”txtBlock”]Christmas, tis the time of the season. An annual festival celebrating the miraculous birth of a baby, not just an ordinary baby; a baby that rocked the world. A baby, Jesus, that changed mankind and the world forever, or so the Catholic nuns told me.
Time to drink, eat, and be merry… or be dead!
Christmas, a time to be merry and bright. A season that’s red and green; you could be naughty, nice or even mean. It doesn’t take a genius to guess which one I am. I’m Nick Stihl, former top ten ranked boxer, now turned Private Investigator. My job is to right the wrongs and punish the wicked all day long. Does that make me naughty or nice?
The children are annoying and pestering their parents constantly asking for months for gifts and presents, and of course for candies, sweets, and peppermints. Adult men are looking for mistletoe, an excuse for a kiss or perhaps an excuse to get slapped. It’s the Yuletide season for sure and there are plenty of crooks waiting to score.
With the season, it brings the not so wonderful Illinois weather. A winter wonderland with ice skaters, tobogganers, and snowballs to throw. And Santa isn’t the only one to say Ho, ho, ho. Freezing rain, snow, and ice storms galore, these make the prostitutes dress up more.
Snow and more snow, the wiper blade valiantly swept back and forth in a semi-circle fighting for the driver’s visibility and safety. In this weather I normally play it safe but getting to the office needed to happen. Today was payday for my secretary, Pepper, and she needs to get her check to go Christmas shopping, or so I was told. The windshield of my 1936 Packard Eight seems to be losing the battle in the blizzard. The defroster is so overwhelmed or maybe it was on holiday and had taken a break. I only had seven or eight blocks to get to my office at the Lehman building on Main Street in Peoria, the original Sin City. Leaning forward peering into the windshield and looking through the snowflakes about the size of quarters I could kinda make out the street signs.
I thought of that train trying to make it up the steep hill: I think I can, I think I can, I think I can. Finally, I did make it to Main Street, now to find a parking spot. Life is full of challenges. Apparently, going to work today is going to be one of those challenges. Slowing down I made a lap around the block watching pedestrians on the sidewalks, hoping for someone to go to their car, hoping I won’t have to park to far. The second time around the block it happened, an early Christmas present. One couple headed to their car, the snow covering the beauty of the Studebaker Dictator coupe. Hitting the brakes and turning on my turn signal, I waited, tapping my fingers on the wood steering wheel. The man opened the door for the woman, she eagerly climbed in, and the door slammed shut. The man leaned over the hood, brushed off the snow with a gloved hand and then entered the Studebaker. A dark gray puff of smoke exited the tailpipe, my fingers tapped the wheel some more and then finally the car motored away into the swirl of white winter wonderland.[/vc_column_text][image_with_animation image_url=”285″ image_size=”full” max_width=”100%” max_width_mobile=”default” animation_type=”entrance” animation=”None” animation_movement_type=”transform_y” hover_animation=”none” alignment=”center” border_radius=”none” box_shadow=”none” image_loading=”default” el_class=”img-fluid”][vc_column_text css=”” text_direction=”default” el_class=”txtBlock”] Letting out the clutch, there was a slight grinding of the first gear, and I had procured a parking spot. Next is the fun part, getting out and going into the Lehman building. Bundling up, I wrapped the scarf around my trench coat and cinched my fedora over my raven black hair. I pushed the door open, and a gust of wind pushed back, the result being my shin getting smashed between the door and frame of the Packard Eight. A few unsavory words issued forth from my mouth, but it didn’t matter, since nobody heard them. Grimacing preparing for a gale wind, I shoved hard, braced the door open and clambered out. My galoshes found stable footing, and I more or less closed the door, or the galling wind closed it for me. Downtown Peoria is colder than a gold digger’s heart and that’s cold.
Making my way to the entrance was an exercise in stumbling and slipping on the icy tundra of the cement sidewalk. Apparently, I was’t the only one having difficulty, a lady slipped and stumbled. Reaching out I caught her to stabilized her. The pretty face hiding under the hat and tight blonde curls looked familiar.
“Oh, thank you. It’s so nice to see a gentleman nowadays. That would have been a nasty fall for sure.”
“No problem, always glad to lend a helping hand.” Somehow, I knew those blue eyes from somewhere.
The sparkling blue eyes homed in on my steel-grey eyes. “Say—your, you’re Nick Stihl.”
A smile broke out on my wind chapped lips, in spite of the frigid weather. “Wells, Trudy Wells. It seems we keep running into each other.”
“Yes, the last time was at the Pere Marquette Hotel, Nick.” Trudy said. A couple of snowflakes landed on her cheeks, melting into her rouge makeup, another flake landed on an eyelash causing her to blink. Somehow it seemed a sexy blink and that got my interest aroused.
Being a professional, I ignored my interest and said, “Nice to see you, Trudy.”
“Nice to see you too, but Nick I’m disappointed in you. You never visited me at Schipper and Block.”
“Well you know how time is Trudy, we’re all to busy in today’s world.”
Her full ruby red lips formed a pout that seemed cute. I would’ve hated to been her father and had to say no to her. “You don’t write you, don’t call. Do I have to send out smoke signals to get your attention?”
Normally I’m not dense, I saw the signals, but Tudy was a former client. So, I needed to tread on thin ice. Thin ice, that’s funny with it being winter. There was the ringing of a bell in the background.
“I’m sure something could be arranged, coffee, or a drink perhaps.”
Thosehose wonderful lips went from a frown to a genuine smile. “Now you’re talking. A drink would be great, Nick. Preferably something hot.”
“Hot does sound good.” I said giving her the once over with my eyes.
Trudy is hot looking lady indeed. Even in this weather her looks could melt an ice cube at twenty feet. I wondered what kissing her could do. But that drink needed to be later.
I excused myself, “Unfortunately, I need to get to my office. We could have a drink another time.”
Trudy tried to hide a frown. “I understand, we’re all too busy for the holidays”
“Then let’s get together in January and start out the New Year right.”
“Say that does sound good Nick.”
“Terrific, but I need to get going right away.”
Pepper will be unhappy if I’m late, and she is quite the fireball. Her real name is Penelope Boyd, and they call her Pepper for a reason.
Wanting to say something clever, but my ears stopped me. Over the sound of the wind, I could hear someone calling out while the bell was ringing. Snowflakes floated down on my face, somehow missing the brim of my Fedora. Using my scarf I wiped them off.
Trudy pulled up her jacket sleeve, then her calf leathered gloved thumb pushed down her other glove and looked at her silver Omega lady’s watch. “Oh-my-God, your right I need to get to work also. We are so busy at Schipper and Block with the holidays being here. There are over a thousand employees working there for the moment. It’s a absolute madhouse.”
Peering over Trudy’s wool winter jacket, I saw through the white snowy haze and the source of the ringing. It was Santa Claus!
“I had no idea they had that many people working.” Consoling Trudy I said, “That’s a lot of headaches and drama.”
“That’s right Nick, the other day two of my employees didn’t work. One called in sick and other on just plain didn’t call.”
Consoling her, I wanted Brownie points, “That does sound tough, you have to do the same amount of work with less people.”
Trudy nodded, “Exactly and there’s only so much of me.”
“What I can see of you Trudy looks mighty fine.”
“Oh Nick, you’re such a flirt.”
I could see Santa was ringing a bell, his right hand furiously going up and down like he was trying to shake away the snowy weather. Next to him on a black metal tripod, dangled a red cauldron, well mostly red. It had plenty of snow and ice caked on it. At the top of the tripod perched a white sign with a red badge shaped emblem that proudly proclaimed the name Salvation Army. Peoria citizens huddling forward fighting the weather were shuffling by and dropping change in the slot, occasionally a loose green bill was stuffed in.
I chimed in agreeing with Trudy, “That’s sure is disrespectful not to call in.”
When a donation was made Santa would belt out ho-ho-ho, and his bell would chime a bit louder and faster.
“Nick you’re a sweetheart, thanks for understanding.”
I thought maybe she would kiss me and was wondering where the mistletoe was.
What I said was, “Not a problem, you’re a great gal. I’ll help anyway I can.”
Trudy’s face changed expression, “You have helped before, Nick. The black mail case…,” a cloud of pain and sorrow clouded her fine features, “with my deceased husband, Judge Wells.”
(See: A Man of Stihl)
The whole world needs a hug, so I started with Tudy. She eagerly accepted my hug, perhaps wanting more. Over her shoulder I could see Santa still at work. But someone else was at work also. A young man, maybe a teenager was sneaking up and reaching for the pot of gold or in this case a cauldron of cash. Great, crime does not take a holiday. Hey, that would be a great name for a book or movie.[/vc_column_text][image_with_animation image_url=”286″ image_size=”full” max_width=”100%” max_width_mobile=”default” animation_type=”entrance” animation=”None” animation_movement_type=”transform_y” hover_animation=”none” alignment=”center” border_radius=”none” box_shadow=”none” image_loading=”default” el_class=”img-fluid”][vc_column_text css=”” text_direction=”default” el_class=”txtBlock”]During our hug, with the weight of the Holidays upon her, Trudy started sobbing on my broad shoulder. The thief’s hand touched the metal handle. Santa was occupied talking to two lady shoppers. What’s a guy to do? You can’t even get a decent hug in this foul stinky world.
It hurt inside but I had to— “Sorry Trudy, there’s a job needing done.” I gave her a not so gentle push or was it more of a shove.
“Nick?!?” She slipped and scampered about on her high heels on the icy frozen sidewalk trying to keep balance.
The welp grabbed the bucket and gave a hard yank, the handle came off the hook. He made a dash with the cash. Running after someone with totes over my oxford shoes was not going to make me win a race.
Santa bellowed, his deep voice rang out, “Stop thief! Help me, someone help me!”
Apparently now my name was “someone.” Well, “someone” was going to help. My right hand went to reach for my Smith & Wesson .38 that was tucked comfortably under my suitcoat which is under my trench coat. I had shot plenty of guys, wounded some, maimed some and even taken a few out—forever. But he was just a kid, a punk that deserved another chance. Just because I was “A Man of Stihl”, but I did not have a heart of steel.
Then I remembered a joke… What’s the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman? Snowballs! In a jiffy I bent over and scooped up snow and packed it together, the heat in my brown calf leather gloves making the snow moist, aiding me. The punk stood five yards from me and looked like he was going to be ten yards in a flash.
Putting my foot on an imaginary pitcher’s mound, I took aim. Pretending that I was Babe Ruth pitching for the Yankees and drew back to throw, wishing I had a catcher to call the signals. Nodding to an imaginary signal, a fast ball it was. My steel hand whipped forward releasing the snowball. It took off like a rocket after the running youth and by now he was almost ten yards away. The spherical object of snow beaned him in the base of his neck, propelling him with his running momentum forward to the frozen tundra of a sidewalk. He had been hit hard! I thought I could sense or hear his teeth chatter against the hardened cement. His teeth hit so hard he would have to make an appointment with his dentist.
Trudy cried out, “Great shot, Nick!”
But I barely heard her since I was already rapidly striding and skating over to get the fallen scoundrel. How dare somebody steal from the Salvation Army? A few beleaguered spectators were gathering around Santa, who had gone to retrieve his mullah and gotten to the thief plastered to the sidewalk. Santa with his rotund fake belly bent over fumbling about picking up the caldron of cash. The young man attempted to get up, but Santa would have no part of that. He stomped on the fallen thief’s back and raised his black gloved hand with the copper bell and rang the bell.
Ding, ding, ding.
“You will get coal for Christmas!” Santa said.
Ding!
“Now you will be on the naughty list!” Santa yelled.
Ding!
“So, you better be nice! Santa yelled louder.
The bell smashed against the noggin of the young man. His head hit the cement again, it was like hitting a block of ice. But given the youth credit, he started to get up again.
Ding!
“No Eggnog for you!”
This time, Santa hit him harder, if that’s even possible. The bell cracked into two shiny pieces falling to the glittering freshly fallen snow. A low moan emitted from the Christmas robber.
But Santa is just getting warmed up, in fact he was mad as hell.
“How dare you try to steal from the Salvation Army? Do want the poor kids to starve?” Santa then started in on harsher words. Words that even I will not repeat. Words that would make Mrs. Clause blush.
That’s where I stepped in, and grabbed Santa’s red sleeve, I said one word. “Enough.”
Santa trembled, his face was beet red, and it wasn’t from the cold. A shrill police whistle sounded out, a “beat Cop” was walking over, swinging his Billy club. Looking around it was quite a spectacle, people milling about and next to me was Trudy. She forced a smile showing off her pearly white teeth. The punk started to get up, he had gumption.
Bending over, I yanked him to his feet by his jacket collar, he was a few inches shorter than me and couldn’t have been over eighteen. His face was ashen and the look of apprehension on his features told me how terrified he was of me. This warning needed to be one time, one time only, so that he would not be a crook or thief the rest of his like. I lifted him up, tightening his collar, so he was literally standing on his tiptoes, barely breathing.
“Listen up punk!”
He let out a gurgling sound, as I tightened my grip, his eyes were wide and fearful.
“Are you listening!?!”
His eyes widened even more, I pulled back my gloved hand, inside it was a fist of steel. Threatening that I was going to belt him one. My right fist hoover about, like the “Sword of Damocles” that is going to strike him down.
In a raspy steel voice, I spit out, “DON’T STEAL CHRISTMAS!”
Fainting he collapsed in my arms.
Trudy gasped and looked incredulously at me. “You didn’t you kill him, did you?”
Grimly I smiled and shook my head no to Trudy and no for the young man’s sake. Hopefully no to the dark path the youth might have taken. No to a life of crime and evil, not on my shift!
Time to drink, eat, and be merry… or be dead!
Christmas, a time to be merry and bright. A season that’s red and green; you could be naughty, nice or even mean. It doesn’t take a genius to guess which one I am. I’m Nick Stihl, former top ten ranked boxer, now turned Private Investigator. My job is to right the wrongs and punish the wicked all day long. Does that make me naughty or nice?
The children are annoying and pestering their parents constantly asking for months for gifts and presents, and of course for candies, sweets, and peppermints. Adult men are looking for mistletoe, an excuse for a kiss or perhaps an excuse to get slapped. It’s the Yuletide season for sure and there are plenty of crooks waiting to score.
With the season, it brings the not so wonderful Illinois weather. A winter wonderland with ice skaters, tobogganers, and snowballs to throw. And Santa isn’t the only one to say Ho, ho, ho. Freezing rain, snow, and ice storms galore, these make the prostitutes dress up more.
Snow and more snow, the wiper blade valiantly swept back and forth in a semi-circle fighting for the driver’s visibility and safety. In this weather I normally play it safe but getting to the office needed to happen. Today was payday for my secretary, Pepper, and she needs to get her check to go Christmas shopping, or so I was told. The windshield of my 1936 Packard Eight seems to be losing the battle in the blizzard. The defroster is so overwhelmed or maybe it was on holiday and had taken a break. I only had seven or eight blocks to get to my office at the Lehman building on Main Street in Peoria, the original Sin City. Leaning forward peering into the windshield and looking through the snowflakes about the size of quarters I could kinda make out the street signs.
I thought of that train trying to make it up the steep hill: I think I can, I think I can, I think I can. Finally, I did make it to Main Street, now to find a parking spot. Life is full of challenges. Apparently, going to work today is going to be one of those challenges. Slowing down I made a lap around the block watching pedestrians on the sidewalks, hoping for someone to go to their car, hoping I won’t have to park to far. The second time around the block it happened, an early Christmas present. One couple headed to their car, the snow covering the beauty of the Studebaker Dictator coupe. Hitting the brakes and turning on my turn signal, I waited, tapping my fingers on the wood steering wheel. The man opened the door for the woman, she eagerly climbed in, and the door slammed shut. The man leaned over the hood, brushed off the snow with a gloved hand and then entered the Studebaker. A dark gray puff of smoke exited the tailpipe, my fingers tapped the wheel some more and then finally the car motored away into the swirl of white winter wonderland.[/vc_column_text][image_with_animation image_url=”285″ image_size=”full” max_width=”100%” max_width_mobile=”default” animation_type=”entrance” animation=”None” animation_movement_type=”transform_y” hover_animation=”none” alignment=”center” border_radius=”none” box_shadow=”none” image_loading=”default” el_class=”img-fluid”][vc_column_text css=”” text_direction=”default” el_class=”txtBlock”] Letting out the clutch, there was a slight grinding of the first gear, and I had procured a parking spot. Next is the fun part, getting out and going into the Lehman building. Bundling up, I wrapped the scarf around my trench coat and cinched my fedora over my raven black hair. I pushed the door open, and a gust of wind pushed back, the result being my shin getting smashed between the door and frame of the Packard Eight. A few unsavory words issued forth from my mouth, but it didn’t matter, since nobody heard them. Grimacing preparing for a gale wind, I shoved hard, braced the door open and clambered out. My galoshes found stable footing, and I more or less closed the door, or the galling wind closed it for me. Downtown Peoria is colder than a gold digger’s heart and that’s cold.
Making my way to the entrance was an exercise in stumbling and slipping on the icy tundra of the cement sidewalk. Apparently, I was’t the only one having difficulty, a lady slipped and stumbled. Reaching out I caught her to stabilized her. The pretty face hiding under the hat and tight blonde curls looked familiar.
“Oh, thank you. It’s so nice to see a gentleman nowadays. That would have been a nasty fall for sure.”
“No problem, always glad to lend a helping hand.” Somehow, I knew those blue eyes from somewhere.
The sparkling blue eyes homed in on my steel-grey eyes. “Say—your, you’re Nick Stihl.”
A smile broke out on my wind chapped lips, in spite of the frigid weather. “Wells, Trudy Wells. It seems we keep running into each other.”
“Yes, the last time was at the Pere Marquette Hotel, Nick.” Trudy said. A couple of snowflakes landed on her cheeks, melting into her rouge makeup, another flake landed on an eyelash causing her to blink. Somehow it seemed a sexy blink and that got my interest aroused.
Being a professional, I ignored my interest and said, “Nice to see you, Trudy.”
“Nice to see you too, but Nick I’m disappointed in you. You never visited me at Schipper and Block.”
“Well you know how time is Trudy, we’re all to busy in today’s world.”
Her full ruby red lips formed a pout that seemed cute. I would’ve hated to been her father and had to say no to her. “You don’t write you, don’t call. Do I have to send out smoke signals to get your attention?”
Normally I’m not dense, I saw the signals, but Tudy was a former client. So, I needed to tread on thin ice. Thin ice, that’s funny with it being winter. There was the ringing of a bell in the background.
“I’m sure something could be arranged, coffee, or a drink perhaps.”
Thosehose wonderful lips went from a frown to a genuine smile. “Now you’re talking. A drink would be great, Nick. Preferably something hot.”
“Hot does sound good.” I said giving her the once over with my eyes.
Trudy is hot looking lady indeed. Even in this weather her looks could melt an ice cube at twenty feet. I wondered what kissing her could do. But that drink needed to be later.
I excused myself, “Unfortunately, I need to get to my office. We could have a drink another time.”
Trudy tried to hide a frown. “I understand, we’re all too busy for the holidays”
“Then let’s get together in January and start out the New Year right.”
“Say that does sound good Nick.”
“Terrific, but I need to get going right away.”
Pepper will be unhappy if I’m late, and she is quite the fireball. Her real name is Penelope Boyd, and they call her Pepper for a reason.
Wanting to say something clever, but my ears stopped me. Over the sound of the wind, I could hear someone calling out while the bell was ringing. Snowflakes floated down on my face, somehow missing the brim of my Fedora. Using my scarf I wiped them off.
Trudy pulled up her jacket sleeve, then her calf leathered gloved thumb pushed down her other glove and looked at her silver Omega lady’s watch. “Oh-my-God, your right I need to get to work also. We are so busy at Schipper and Block with the holidays being here. There are over a thousand employees working there for the moment. It’s a absolute madhouse.”
Peering over Trudy’s wool winter jacket, I saw through the white snowy haze and the source of the ringing. It was Santa Claus!
“I had no idea they had that many people working.” Consoling Trudy I said, “That’s a lot of headaches and drama.”
“That’s right Nick, the other day two of my employees didn’t work. One called in sick and other on just plain didn’t call.”
Consoling her, I wanted Brownie points, “That does sound tough, you have to do the same amount of work with less people.”
Trudy nodded, “Exactly and there’s only so much of me.”
“What I can see of you Trudy looks mighty fine.”
“Oh Nick, you’re such a flirt.”
I could see Santa was ringing a bell, his right hand furiously going up and down like he was trying to shake away the snowy weather. Next to him on a black metal tripod, dangled a red cauldron, well mostly red. It had plenty of snow and ice caked on it. At the top of the tripod perched a white sign with a red badge shaped emblem that proudly proclaimed the name Salvation Army. Peoria citizens huddling forward fighting the weather were shuffling by and dropping change in the slot, occasionally a loose green bill was stuffed in.
I chimed in agreeing with Trudy, “That’s sure is disrespectful not to call in.”
When a donation was made Santa would belt out ho-ho-ho, and his bell would chime a bit louder and faster.
“Nick you’re a sweetheart, thanks for understanding.”
I thought maybe she would kiss me and was wondering where the mistletoe was.
What I said was, “Not a problem, you’re a great gal. I’ll help anyway I can.”
Trudy’s face changed expression, “You have helped before, Nick. The black mail case…,” a cloud of pain and sorrow clouded her fine features, “with my deceased husband, Judge Wells.”
(See: A Man of Stihl)
The whole world needs a hug, so I started with Tudy. She eagerly accepted my hug, perhaps wanting more. Over her shoulder I could see Santa still at work. But someone else was at work also. A young man, maybe a teenager was sneaking up and reaching for the pot of gold or in this case a cauldron of cash. Great, crime does not take a holiday. Hey, that would be a great name for a book or movie.[/vc_column_text][image_with_animation image_url=”286″ image_size=”full” max_width=”100%” max_width_mobile=”default” animation_type=”entrance” animation=”None” animation_movement_type=”transform_y” hover_animation=”none” alignment=”center” border_radius=”none” box_shadow=”none” image_loading=”default” el_class=”img-fluid”][vc_column_text css=”” text_direction=”default” el_class=”txtBlock”]During our hug, with the weight of the Holidays upon her, Trudy started sobbing on my broad shoulder. The thief’s hand touched the metal handle. Santa was occupied talking to two lady shoppers. What’s a guy to do? You can’t even get a decent hug in this foul stinky world.
It hurt inside but I had to— “Sorry Trudy, there’s a job needing done.” I gave her a not so gentle push or was it more of a shove.
“Nick?!?” She slipped and scampered about on her high heels on the icy frozen sidewalk trying to keep balance.
The welp grabbed the bucket and gave a hard yank, the handle came off the hook. He made a dash with the cash. Running after someone with totes over my oxford shoes was not going to make me win a race.
Santa bellowed, his deep voice rang out, “Stop thief! Help me, someone help me!”
Apparently now my name was “someone.” Well, “someone” was going to help. My right hand went to reach for my Smith & Wesson .38 that was tucked comfortably under my suitcoat which is under my trench coat. I had shot plenty of guys, wounded some, maimed some and even taken a few out—forever. But he was just a kid, a punk that deserved another chance. Just because I was “A Man of Stihl”, but I did not have a heart of steel.
Then I remembered a joke… What’s the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman? Snowballs! In a jiffy I bent over and scooped up snow and packed it together, the heat in my brown calf leather gloves making the snow moist, aiding me. The punk stood five yards from me and looked like he was going to be ten yards in a flash.
Putting my foot on an imaginary pitcher’s mound, I took aim. Pretending that I was Babe Ruth pitching for the Yankees and drew back to throw, wishing I had a catcher to call the signals. Nodding to an imaginary signal, a fast ball it was. My steel hand whipped forward releasing the snowball. It took off like a rocket after the running youth and by now he was almost ten yards away. The spherical object of snow beaned him in the base of his neck, propelling him with his running momentum forward to the frozen tundra of a sidewalk. He had been hit hard! I thought I could sense or hear his teeth chatter against the hardened cement. His teeth hit so hard he would have to make an appointment with his dentist.
Trudy cried out, “Great shot, Nick!”
But I barely heard her since I was already rapidly striding and skating over to get the fallen scoundrel. How dare somebody steal from the Salvation Army? A few beleaguered spectators were gathering around Santa, who had gone to retrieve his mullah and gotten to the thief plastered to the sidewalk. Santa with his rotund fake belly bent over fumbling about picking up the caldron of cash. The young man attempted to get up, but Santa would have no part of that. He stomped on the fallen thief’s back and raised his black gloved hand with the copper bell and rang the bell.
Ding, ding, ding.
“You will get coal for Christmas!” Santa said.
Ding!
“Now you will be on the naughty list!” Santa yelled.
Ding!
“So, you better be nice! Santa yelled louder.
The bell smashed against the noggin of the young man. His head hit the cement again, it was like hitting a block of ice. But given the youth credit, he started to get up again.
Ding!
“No Eggnog for you!”
This time, Santa hit him harder, if that’s even possible. The bell cracked into two shiny pieces falling to the glittering freshly fallen snow. A low moan emitted from the Christmas robber.
But Santa is just getting warmed up, in fact he was mad as hell.
“How dare you try to steal from the Salvation Army? Do want the poor kids to starve?” Santa then started in on harsher words. Words that even I will not repeat. Words that would make Mrs. Clause blush.
That’s where I stepped in, and grabbed Santa’s red sleeve, I said one word. “Enough.”
Santa trembled, his face was beet red, and it wasn’t from the cold. A shrill police whistle sounded out, a “beat Cop” was walking over, swinging his Billy club. Looking around it was quite a spectacle, people milling about and next to me was Trudy. She forced a smile showing off her pearly white teeth. The punk started to get up, he had gumption.
Bending over, I yanked him to his feet by his jacket collar, he was a few inches shorter than me and couldn’t have been over eighteen. His face was ashen and the look of apprehension on his features told me how terrified he was of me. This warning needed to be one time, one time only, so that he would not be a crook or thief the rest of his like. I lifted him up, tightening his collar, so he was literally standing on his tiptoes, barely breathing.
“Listen up punk!”
He let out a gurgling sound, as I tightened my grip, his eyes were wide and fearful.
“Are you listening!?!”
His eyes widened even more, I pulled back my gloved hand, inside it was a fist of steel. Threatening that I was going to belt him one. My right fist hoover about, like the “Sword of Damocles” that is going to strike him down.
In a raspy steel voice, I spit out, “DON’T STEAL CHRISTMAS!”
Fainting he collapsed in my arms.
Trudy gasped and looked incredulously at me. “You didn’t you kill him, did you?”
Grimly I smiled and shook my head no to Trudy and no for the young man’s sake. Hopefully no to the dark path the youth might have taken. No to a life of crime and evil, not on my shift!
Merry Christmas everyone!
Don’t let someone “steal” your holidays.[/vc_column_text][image_with_animation image_url=”287″ image_size=”full” max_width=”100%” max_width_mobile=”default” animation_type=”entrance” animation=”None” animation_movement_type=”transform_y” hover_animation=”none” alignment=”center” border_radius=”none” box_shadow=”none” image_loading=”default” el_class=”img-fluid”][/vc_column][/vc_row]
