Twas the Night before (the Christmas Carol edition)

Twas the Night Before (the Christmas Carol edition)

Nothing stirring but no one sleeping either. When the vigorish is due its best to sleep with one eye open, even if it is Christmas Eve.

He’d always had afleeting relationship with money, passing through but never sticking. His working theory was if you ain’t got it they can’t collect it. Blood from a turnip.

Suddenly a clatter from his living room. He immediately knew it was the fat man; never had the pleasure but the legend preceded. The collection agency.

Away to the window he flew like a flash. Looking for an exit strategy. He never did it but always thought it was possible to leap from the window onto the tree in the backyard and then shimmy down. Well, no time like the present. He grabbed his cap and made the jump.

He was able to grab a limb, but too far out to consider shimmying. Luckily, he was spared a decision on what to do next.  The limb snapped and down came baby, cradle and all. He ignored the pain shooting through his hip and considered his next move.

He decided to cut through the neighbor’s back yard and make his way down to the creek. He had done this before, so often he could walk it blindfold.

Both he and his neighbor, Dick Wilkins, had lived in these houses since they were kids. There was a time when they were inseparable; he remembered the Christmas when they were ten and Dick got a walkie-talkie set. The evenings spent talking from their bedrooms facing each other across the driveways.  At some point he had lost touch with Dick. Now it was just a wave whenever they crossed paths.

He was pretty sure Dick wouldn’t begrudge this trespass. However, he forgot that Dick gave his dog free reign of the backyard. Surprising how motivating an angry dog can be. He made it over the fence to the other side, but not without paying the ferryman; that dog took a chuck out of his pants right at his backside.

As he made his way down to the creek it started to snow. Looking back, he could see his footprints. Nothing like making the fat man’s job even easier. At the crest of the hill it looked like the creek had frozen over. He took one step and started sliding down the hill.

He slipped and tumbled the rest of the way down onto the creek. The ice held. Well, right up until he tried to stand up. The creek creaked and, sure enough, his right foot went through to the water below. With some effort he was able to pop it back up through the remaining ice; it came up sans boot.

Now he had to get somewhere warm quick. His friend Fred lived just down the block. He and Fred had once even started a business together. It quickly failed, mostly due to his gambling, but Fred never held it against him. Fred had invited him to his last five Christmas parties, but he hadn’t attended any. It didn’t seem to faze Fred; he got yet another email invite this year.

He rang Fred’s doorbell and turned to scan the street for the fat man. He reflected that he had even dated Fred’s sister Sara for a stretch. Like everything else, that had ended badly as well. 

And then it hit him A baseball bat. Right in the kidney. He went down to the ground. When he looked up Sara was bringing the bat over her shoulders to take another swing. Instead, he rolled down the front stairs, onto the street and quickly limped away.

He was defeated. He decided to go home and face the music. Clearly, he wasn’t good at getaway.

He made it back home and opened the front door.  There in his chair was the fat man with a pipe, the smoke encircling his head like a wreath. Dressed in his signature red. He gave a wink of his eye as he approached. Then the fat man whispered, these shadows do not portend well to you seeing next Christmas.

“Shadows of things that might be or will be?”, he asked. The fat man merely laid his finger on the side of his nose and walked out the door. But not before turning around and saying, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”