I don’t think the midget ex-con elves heard him.
Once we were set up the moms brought up their little darlings to tell the jolly fat man in the red suit and long white beard what they wanted for Christmas.
I warned, “Now, Fats, try to be pleasant to the kids.”
Fats just growled, “I hate this, Griff,” but when that first big-eyed tyke came up to him towing his mother behind, Fats’ whole disposition suddenly changed. He showed a big smile and gave out a few jolly Ho-Ho-Ho’s and said joyfully, “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! Now tell me, what can Santa do for you, young man?”
I was hanging on the side, talking the ponies with one of the elves, while watching Fats do his Christmas magic. And it was magic. He’s such an amazing fellow, he really did the Santa gig like a true pro. Really made the kids happy. I was sure he was giving them a wonderful memory they’d remember for the rest of their lives. You could see that a lot of the kids actually believed. It was a sweet thing to see. I can still remember back that far these days. They called it innocence in the old days. They call it being stupid or naive today. Times sure change. And kids are all the poorer for it I think.
It was when Fats got up for his noon break and to take a trip to the bathroom that I noticed a guy walk off behind him. I didn’t think too much of it then, but I watched just the same. Then it became apparent that we had what might be—or might not be—a coincidence here. Both guys having to take a whiz at the same time. I moved in. I wondered about the guy who had followed Fats. Was he just a customer who needed to take a leak, some kinky perv, or the Santa-napper we were looking for?
The store was crowded, there were a lot of kids and slow-moving old people in my way, bunches of avid shoppers loaded down with boxes and gifts, a crowd that slowed me down and separated me from Fats for a moment.
By the time I got into the men’s room, I saw a very angry Fatman, still in his Santa outfit, jamming the guy that had followed him up against the tiles by the sink. Then hitting the guy’s head against the wall.
“Try to mug Santa! You thieving little shit! You got no class! No class! And on Christmas Eve, no less! I’m telling you, I’m the last Santa you’re ever going to mess with, Jonesey.”
“I’m sorry! Really I am! I didn’t know it was you!” Jonesey begged, but Fats still held him pinned to the wall. Now I recognized him. Jonesey was a petty crook and small-time scam artist who Fats knew from the old days.
Fats banged the man’s head against the wall for emphasis as he barked, “Santa’s making a list. I’m checking it twice. I’m gonna find out who’s been naughty or nice. You dig? And you’re not nice, Jonesey!”
“Jonesey Jones?” I said walking over quietly to Fats and his prisoner. I could see that he had everything well in hand.
“Freakin’ little turd tried to take me off while I was busy taking a leak, Griff. Very inconsiderate. Damn nervy little bastard.”
Jonesey moaned. Denied everything.
“Think this is our guy, Fats?” I asked, almost certain he wasn’t.
“Nah, Griff. Just a petty ex-con looking for an easy score. Boy, did he make a big mistake!” Fats laughed, then cuffed Jonesey and handed him over to me.
“Come on, Jonesey,” I said, dragging the wily ex-con to the door. “I got some uniform cops sitting outside in a car with nothing to do tonight but take you to a nice private room downtown.”
Fats said, “Griff, take this scum-bucket out to the boys in the car, I’ve gotta get back to work. The kids’ll be growing impatient waiting for Santa. I don’t wanna let them down. You know how it is?”
I didn’t, but what the heck, “Okay, meet you back by the throne in Christmas Land in a few minutes.”
And that was the last I saw of Fats.
* * * *
I’d been gone only ten minutes, ten lousy minutes; dumped off Jonesey to the uniform guys. When I got back to Christmas Land and the throne, there was no Fats. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and the Fatman in a bright red Santa suit with red hat and long flowing white beard was not exactly difficult to miss. I asked around. The two midgets were still out on lunch break, a few of the moms and kids waiting in line knew nothing. Apparently Santa had never returned since he’d taken his break.
I retraced my steps. Checked the Men’s Room. Checked the Manager’s office, spoke to Smathers, he called in store security, his department heads. We searched each floor of the huge store, the various departments and sections and found no Fats. The loudspeaker blared Fats’ name like he was a special offer.
Will Detective Sergeant Herman Stubbs please report to the Manager’s Office right away.
There was no response.
There was no Fats.
He was gone. Like he’d disappeared into thin air.
At first I hoped it might be Fats just wandering around the store and losing track of the time, maybe talking with a kid, or maybe he’d stepped out for a quick bite to eat. Fats was always eating. Or maybe he was playing a practical joke. I knew he was still pissed at me for the whole Santa suit thing. But as time passed I began to have a very bad feeing about this.
I called in my report to Captain Landis. He told me he’d have the boys sweat Jonesey, see if the little turd knew anything, then I’d know it soon enough. I guess Jonesey coulda been a shill, but I didn’t think he had the guts for it. Anyway, Landis and the boys downtown would sweat it out of him if he knew anything.
I stayed at Thompson’s, hoping for some word. Why was someone going to all this trouble to abduct Santas on Christmas Eve? Hostages? It didn’t make any sense that I could see. I began to interview everyone who’d seen Santa before he’d disappeared.
First off I questioned Santa’s little helpers, the two midget ex-cons dressed as elves once they got back from lunch. They said they didn’t know a thing. I believed them. They laughed and thought the whole thing was funny, figuring Fats was playing a joke on me. I told them it was no joke. I asked other shoppers.
One woman and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Page from Plainview told me they’d seen Santa walk off with a short fat bald man.
“They got into the elevator,” the woman told me, “the doors closed and that’s the last I saw of them. Will the store be getting a new Santa?”
“I don’t think so,” I told them. I wasn’t in the mood to tell them that Thompson’s had lost two Santa’s already today.
I got a call from Landis. They’d sweated Jonesey like a boiled lobster but he didn’t know a thing. He was just a small-time thief. His tailing Fats was all coincidence. The real abductor must have been watching, saw Jonesey make his move. Saw me leave Fats alone to take Jonesey out to the car. Then took his chance. There was something else. I was sure Fats had left with the guy willingly. I figured he’d done it to get a lead on the Santa-napper by allowing himself to get taken. Good idea, in theory, bad idea in fact. By allowing the guy to kidnap him, Fats was now at the mercy of God knew what kind of lunatic. It was not any kind of good position for Fats to be in. My secret fear? I hoped his abductor wouldn’t find out Fats was a cop. That might turn things in a very negative direction real fast.
I was stalled for leads. I questioned everyone again. I looked over my notes. The guy I was looking for, this Santa-napper; well, I had two semi-decent I.D.’s on him. One from Mrs. Smith and Bobby, the other from the Pages. All of whom agreed the man was short, fat, and bald. Nice I.D. That could just about be anyone. It could be Captain Landis, it could be the Mayor, if could be half the businessmen in Bay City and all the old retired guys, including half the cops I knew. It could be anyone. None of this helped me at all. Yet.
I had a hunch though. I requestioned the Pages. “So let me get this straight. You saw Santa get into the elevator with this short, fat, bald guy?”
“Yes.