Chapter 2

Charlie came in and sat down in the chair beside my desk. He had a manila folder in his hands. He flipped it open and recited. "Eva Sinderson, twenty-seven year old, no priors, but was identified as the victim of domestic assault three times before she got a restraining order against one Wallace Gardner, who is a piece of work. Got a rap sheet as long as my arm, including assault, theft, extortion, criminal threats, weapons violations and criminal damage to property. Seems to have a taste for various controlled substances too. He's currently in the slammer for resisting arrest and assault on a police officer, doing eighteen months to two years. Eva Lives at 2206 Maple. Has one known child, Timothy Daniel Sinderson, seven years old, who is popular and, according to the principal, very deserving of our attentions. Mom is involved and helpful whenever the school needs her to be. School records show permission for Carla Hernendez to pick Timmy up at school. We don't have much on Carla yet."

I sat back. "Employment?"

"Waits tables at Angelino's. Cleans rooms at the Ramada on the weekends. Has a license to perform as a clown when juveniles are present, but I don't get any sense she's worked the clown angle for a while. Hard to do when you don't have wheels."

"No vehicle?"

"One older Ford that's been parked for quite a while. It could use tires, turn signals and some glass, according to Black. He says it looks like somebody worked it over with a ball bat. The only reason it hasn't been towed is because it's in the driveway instead of on the street."

"When was the restraining order?" I asked.

He looked through the file. "Looks like it was about a week before he went into the slammer. Latest domestic was the same date he was busted for resisting arrest, but the assault charges were dropped."

"So he got out on bail and convinced her not to press charges," I said. "But he didn't count on the cops pushing their part, and ended up in jail anyway."

"Back in jail," said Charlie. "He's been in and out since he turned eighteen."

"Sounds like she could use a little happiness," I said.

"Damn straight," said Charlie.

"Okay then," I said. "She and Timothy are confirmed on Santa's list."

On the recommendation of Timothy's teacher, who was sworn to secrecy, it was determined that Timothy would enjoy a good set of artist's pencils, because he liked to draw and, according to the teacher, was good at it. Tanya, Charlie's wife, is a painter, so I asked her if she'd choose the right stuff. She got him a case that had a couple of hundred pencils in it, along with chalk and who knows what else. It was a nice set, just the thing for Santa to bring him.

It wasn't possible to get good info on Eva without risking her finding out what was going on. The people she worked for are the kind of people who get hinky whenever they're contacted by the cops, and would warn her we were asking questions because they would never believe somebody would do what we do at Christmas. So I winged it, as usual, and got her a gift card charged up with 250 dollars. I figured that would widen those lovely eyes. It was a starter VISA card that one of the local banks worked with us on. Once the money was gone, she could actually open an account and deposit money into the card balance, or just toss it.

Our little group has its own tradition. If it's adults we're helping, we usually just send them things in the mail, with a note that it's from Santa. If kids are involved, we try to deliver everything on Christmas Eve. But that's also a time for family, so we have a get together the evening of the 23rd, and have dinner. It's always a pot luck kind of gathering, and people expect more desserts than actual food, but that's part of the fun. While we eat, we make the final arrangements for everything. It sounds like it's a big operation, but it's really not. The most we've ever done is twelve kids, and that year five of them were siblings, so there were only nine deliveries. We don't have the same players every year either. Some years some people in the group can participate, and other years give other folks a chance. But the dinner is for everybody in the group, which is comprised of about twenty-five people in all. That doesn't count donors who don't want to be a member of the actual "Santa team."

During this year's pre-Christmas Eve gathering, we had eighteen people, which was a good crowd. A lot of the wives like to be involved in the deliveries, most of which are very straightforward. The "spiel" is personalized by each "elf" but it generally goes something like this:

"Hi. I'm one of Santa's helpers, and he's got a runner problem on the sleigh tonight, so we've been drafted to deliver some of the presents. These are for you."

It's that short and that sweet. It's in and out, without answering questions, if possible. Usually people are stunned, and you can get out before they gather their wits. If there are kids present, they pretty much freak out, which also distracts the adults. I think the women just like being mysterious, and seeing the excitement on the faces of people who thought Christmas was going to be pretty thin.

I do know that excitement is contagious. I know this because the guys tell me how the women act when they get home, all flushed with that excitement. To be honest, I think that's why more than a few of the guys joined the group - to tap into some of that ecstatic Christmas Eve sex they heard about from the early members.

Anyway, this year, not counting the adults who got mailed things, we had adopted six families and one elderly woman who had no family and deserved a personal visit. I volunteered to do somebody, and the rest of the group assigned me to Eva and Timothy. If there's a single woman they always assign me to her. There are matchmakers in every group, and the fact that I had never been married and wasn't dating anybody seriously just drove some of the wives loco. I suppose it's a compliment, what with them thinking what a fine catch I'd be, but I work a lot, and that's tough on any relationship, much less law enforcement which, along with firefighting, has one of the highest divorce rates in the world. The military is catching up with us fast since the wars in the Middle East.

So the next night I, being one of the hams in the group, put my Santa suit back on and, using one of my smaller bags (it looks more full with fewer boxes in it), drove over to Eva's house. I timed it to arrive at eight, which is usually after dinner and before most kids have to go to bed, but the windows were all dark. I saw the car parked in the driveway. The cracks in the windows reflected the street lights, giving the car a vaguely icy appearance. There was no storm door, so I couldn't leave anything between it and the front door. In any case this was the wrong neighborhood to be leaving things lying about unsecure. And, to be honest, I wanted to see her again. Besides, I didn't have anything better to do, so I just waited.

It's pretty difficult to be inconspicuous when you're dressed as Santa Claus and sitting in a four year old Subaru. I've had people come up to me and say things. The getup attracts them. One guy tried to joke around that the Subaru made a lot more sense than a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. I was thinking about going somewhere and getting a cup of coffee and a donut (lots of people like them, you know!) when a cab arrived and an adult and child got out. In the light of the street lamp I saw her aquiline nose and pale skin under a stocking cap. Timothy was bare-headed and active, like a lot of seven-year-olds, running toward the house only to dart back to the cab while Eva paid the driver. He seemed to be in a hurry to get inside the house. I saw a shopping bag in her hand, and figured there was some Christmas treat in it he wanted to get to.

I gave them time to get into the house, and get their coats put away. Then, bag in hand, I got out of my car and went up the walk.

I knocked.

I heard a high pitched "Wait!" and the door was thrown open by Timothy. Eva was hurrying toward the door, looking worried. I could understand that, based on this neighborhood and the lateness of the hour. I didn't blame her for assuming that caution was advisable. Timothy, as yet unjaded by the world, had no such reserves. He just wanted to see who was there.

His reaction was most interesting.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, looking puzzled. The mere fact that Santa was standing on his doorstep didn't seem to be odd.

"It's Christmas Eve," I said, and smiled. My beard was made so that you could see my lips and teeth. Smiles on Santa's face often terrify a small child, but a looming mug that is a mass of white hair with a small dark hole in it is even worse. I've learned to take my chances with my own face.

His eyes widened and he sucked in breath. I watched those wide eyes shift to the bag I was carrying.

"You put him in there?" he squeaked, sounding outraged.

"I'm sorry, Timothy," I said. "The little brothers were all taken when I got back to the nursery. All that were left were twin girls, and I didn't think that was what you were looking for. Maybe next year?"

He blinked. "What will happen to the twin girls?" he asked.

This kid had a habit of coming at me from an unexpected direction. Thinking on my feet I said "If we don't get any late requests, which we usually do, then they'll become elves and live with me at the North Pole."

"That's not true," he said firmly. "You don't really live at the North Pole. People have been there and seen it."

"How about we debate all that later," I said, making it an order rather than a question. "I've got a lot to do tonight. Do you want your presents or not?"

"I get more than one?" He looked excited.

"You want your mother to go without?" That time it was a question.

"No sir!" he said immediately. He turned to look at his mother, who had an odd look on her face, having overheard our conversation. "Can he come in?"

Apparently he did listen to her, occasionally.

She hesitated, but only for long enough that an adult would notice, and then said "Yes. From what I hear it's hard to keep him out." Her face was straight, showing no emotion. "At least on this particular night," she added.

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