Authors: Ken Harmon
The Fat Man (4 page)
“And that the lump of coal represents the Child,” Santa said. “A beautiful diamond is hidden inside.”
That was the furthest thing from my mind, but I’d go with it to get my way. “Now you’re getting it,” I said.
It took months to talk Santa into it. He really didn’t think it was right. But after weeks of badgering, Santa said, “I will allow it. Since you seemed to have already discussed this with Dingleberry, I imagine that you two have figured out how to determine which children receive coal.”
“We’re adding a report to the Naughty List,” I said. “I’ll have my recommendations based on mine and Dingleberry’s research, but you’ll have the final say, sir.”
“Do you really think this will work, Gumdrop?”
“Yeah, Kris, I do. Someone is going to learn a lesson.”
Boy, would they.
Anyhow, that’s how the Coal Patrol got started. We were small at first; just me and a couple of other elves dropping a few rocks here and there. Most of the kids seemed to get the message, and Santa saw the value of that. He kept us on a short leash, but let us keep the shop open. It was good work, but not what I’d call pleasant. No matter how rotten the Raymond Halls of the world are, there’s nothing fun about watching a kid be disappointed on Christmas morning. Remorse is a tough knot for a kid, but when they get it, they get it, and you’ve done them and the world a favor. Over the years, some kids stayed rotten. Raymond Hall and Junior, for example. But we turned around some kids, got them to smell the coffee and really and truly reflect the Christmas spirit. Those successes made me proud. Well, you know what goes before the fall.
THE MARSHMALLOW WORLD GAZETTE
Gumdrop Coal Fired from Coal Patrol Santa’s Dark Elf Is Out on His Ear
By Rosebud Jubilee
Veteran disciplinarian elf and founder of the Coal Patrol, Gumdrop Coal, is out on his pointy ear, relieved of his duties yesterday. According to sources, Coal had become too zealous in his punishing of children. The list of tykes getting only a lump of coal on Christmas morning had grown to unacceptable levels, said some. “Gumdrop was shelling kids like peanuts,” said Zwarte Piet, the famous elf trainer. Piet was also a personal mentor to a young Coal. “It’s sad because the program had merit, but old Gumdrop got full of too much starch for some people’s liking. Coddling kids seems to be the school of thought and unloading a bunch of rocks on a kid is not the message we need to be sending, I guess.” Charles “Candy” Cane will head the Coal Patrol effective immediately. “I am honored with this appointment from Santa,” Candy Cane said. “While discipline is indeed an important buttress of the message we want to convey, I feel the previous administration of this office took things too far. His targets were children, after all, and they, of all beings, should be afforded more compassion and mercy. As my grandmother used to say, ‘Candy, you get a lot more with honey than you do vinegar.’ I look forward to instituting a new standard for influencing naughty children in the future. One with more honey and no vinegar, and certainly no coal.”
Gumdrop Coal could not be reached for comment.
You’re darn tootin’ I couldn’t be reached for comment. I was in no condition to comment. I was perched on the last stool in the dark corner of the Blue Christmas trying on a few cups of cheer. Doubles. Elvis, the Blue Christmas’s garçon, was pouring steady, but I could still feel the bite of Candy Cane’s words and the sting of getting dumped by Santa. Cane had something to prove; he was a real comer. He got in Santa’s ear and the old man listened. I understood that Santa didn’t want to make a kid sad, but I thought my years on Coal Patrol gave me more credit with him. I hurt all over. When I took a second to stop feeling sorry for myself, I noticed good old Dingleberry was there to try and keep me company, but I really just wanted to be alone.
“Why don’t you go home, Dingleberry? I’ll be fine,” I said. “Besides, you don’t want to be seen with the likes of me. It could be a career killer if any of Cane’s minions see you hanging out with the elf who hates kids.”
“No one thinks that, Gumdrop,” Dingleberry said with a smile. He was always with a smile. “And I’m here because you’re my friend. At the end of the day, elves are here to help each other. Cane’s not going to punish me because you’re my friend.”
“You really believe that?”
“I do,” Dingleberry said.
“Huh. Next you’ll be telling me those
By George
tales are real,” I said. Being the prince that he is, Ding ignored the knock. “I thought I was doing a lot of good, but I guess that’s what I get for thinking,” I said, motioning Elvis to pour me another. Dingleberry shook his head no at the barkeep, but I said, “Ignore him, Elvis. I’m all shook up, but one more cup should steady me.” Dingleberry’s shrug gave Elvis the green light and the little man poured. “You’re a good elf, Elvis,” I said.
By George
tales are real,” I said. Being the prince that he is, Ding ignored the knock. “I thought I was doing a lot of good, but I guess that’s what I get for thinking,” I said, motioning Elvis to pour me another. Dingleberry shook his head no at the barkeep, but I said, “Ignore him, Elvis. I’m all shook up, but one more cup should steady me.” Dingleberry’s shrug gave Elvis the green light and the little man poured. “You’re a good elf, Elvis,” I said.
“Thank you, thank you very much,” he said, giving me a chuck on the shoulder before he sauntered down to the other end of the bar. Dingleberry and I sat quietly for a moment, but too much silence was heavy on my friend. “It really will be all right, Gumdrop.”
“Will it?” I asked. “The Coal Patrol is all I’ve known for hundreds of years, Dingleberry. It’s all I’ve ever done. We did good work. We taught some kids a lesson.”
“A hard lesson.”
“Those are the only kind worth learning, bub,” I said. “And now it’s over. It’ll end up killing Santa, you watch. Look at him. He’s working himself to the bone pleasing the good kids. Can you imagine how worn out he’s going to be once those greedy little brats realize they can get anything they want? The greed machine will go into high gear.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Dingleberry said. “Santa will be fine.”
“Look at the dark circles around his eyes,” I said. “Already, it looks like he’s wearing a mask. The Fat Man’s losing weight, Dingleberry. He’s wearing stomach padding like a dime store Santa. I bet he don’t weigh eight stones wet. This will be the end of him, I bet you.”
“Can I quote you on that, Uncle?” said a voice behind me. I turned to see Rosebud Jubilee, the pip-squeak reporter from
The Marshmallow World Gazette
rag. Rosebud was a crackerjack little thing; her red hair was a waterfall of crimson confection and the freckles on her nose and cheeks looked as good as sprinkles on an ice cream cone. She wore a purple hat because she liked wearing it. It looked a little ridiculous, but the angle of the chapeau told you she didn’t give a hoot about what you thought. A peppermint stick dangled from her lips, bouncing up and down as she talked like a conductor working up steam for the finale. She looked at me with a little smirk behind the peppermint, like she had me all figured out. I didn’t mind as much as I should have. It was a nice kind of smirk.
The Marshmallow World Gazette
rag. Rosebud was a crackerjack little thing; her red hair was a waterfall of crimson confection and the freckles on her nose and cheeks looked as good as sprinkles on an ice cream cone. She wore a purple hat because she liked wearing it. It looked a little ridiculous, but the angle of the chapeau told you she didn’t give a hoot about what you thought. A peppermint stick dangled from her lips, bouncing up and down as she talked like a conductor working up steam for the finale. She looked at me with a little smirk behind the peppermint, like she had me all figured out. I didn’t mind as much as I should have. It was a nice kind of smirk.
“Never believe anything you hear in the Blue Christmas, sister,” I said. “Didn’t they teach you that in Hack Reporting 101?”
“I cut class that day,” she said, hopping up on the stool beside me without being asked. “I was on a story about some kid that locked himself in the closet because Santy Claus kissed him off with a bag of coal.”
“Maybe the kid was naughty.”
“Maybe the kid just needed a spanking.”
“Maybe that’s what I gave him.”
“Maybe you were too rough.”
“Maybe you’d like to find out.”
“You gonna bend me over your knee, Gumdrop?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
“Are you still on the clock or you just trying to get on the Naughty List yourself?” Her smirk was now a smile. Round One, Rosebud—a knockout. I could feel Dingleberry beside me turn as scarlet as Hester’s monogram. “Elvis, the lady needs a cup of cheer. I imagine her mouth gets parched with as much as she talks.”
Rosebud Jubilee pounded the bar. “Gimme a peanut butter and banana daiquiri, straight,” she said. “And use the crunchy. Momma hasn’t had breakfast.” Elvis slid a mug of the house special to her and gave her a salute. She dispatched it in one gulp, wiped her pretty little mouth and dared me to say something else smart.
“Just so you know, all of that was off the record,” I said. “Even though it was just for laughs.” I was squirming a little, but I didn’t want her to see it.
“Don’t go and have kittens, Coal,” she said with a warm smile. I liked the smile. “I’ll get my story when it’s ready. You got to thaw out a bit before I put you in the oven.”
“Why not just throw me right into the frying pan?” I asked. “Everybody else has.”
“Off the record and cross my little old heart,” Rosebud said, “I think you got a raw deal.”
“Your story didn’t say as much,” Dingleberry said from my elbow.
Rosebud sized Dingleberry up and decided to go easy on him. “The first rule of journalism, Mr. Fizz, is to meet your deadline,” she said. “Your chum here couldn’t be reached for comment. I looked under every rock I knew and, believe me, I know plenty. The boss wanted the story I had in my Royal typewriter so far and that’s what got the ink. Now, if Gumdrop wants to tell me his side of the story, then I’m ready to listen.”
“Don’t do it, Gumdrop,” Dingleberry said, suddenly worried. “It’s a trick and you’re in enough trouble already.”
“Does he tuck you in too?” Rosebud asked me. There was that smile again. It was a nice smile.
“Only if I can’t find somebody better,” I said, trying my luck. She didn’t slap me, so I gave Dingleberry the heave-ho. “Dingleberry, why don’t you run along now. I appreciate you coming to see me, but I’m going to finish my chat with Miss Jubilee—it is Miss, isn’t it?”
“Momma tucks herself in.”
“I’m going to finish talking to her and then I’m going to go home and figure out what to do next,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
“But,” Dingleberry said, scared.
“Really, Ding. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
Dingleberry chewed on it a half minute more and then slid off the stool. “You call me when you get home, OK? Please.”
“I will. I promise. You run along now.”
It was quiet for a minute after Dingleberry skipped off, as if Rosebud and me realized that we didn’t deserve to know an elf as fine as Dingleberry Fizz. “He worries,” I said finally.
“I gathered,” she said. “I bet it’s nice to have somebody worried about you.”
“That would be a good bet,” I said. “No one’s worried about you?”
“No,” Rosebud said, twisting the peppermint around her mouth. “I’m a snowflake in a blizzard. The only people who care about me are the housewives waiting for the next piece of gossip or the politicians who think I can turn their lies into lullabies. If I got run over by a reindeer tomorrow, nobody would miss me.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“That’s sweet, but I’m OK with the idea of it. It means I’m free to do what I want.” Rosebud said it, but the silence behind it lacked her usual spunk. I filled it.
“So why you still circling this story, Jubilee?” I asked. “There’s no more meat to it. I’m finished. End of story.”
“I think you were set up,” she said. “And I think you think it, too.”
“Candy Cane,” I said.
“Santa’s bright boy.”
“I don’t doubt he bent the old man’s ear,” I said. “But I think he’s just trying to make his mark. The Coal Patrol was the easiest target. Folks have been telling me I was too rough on kids for years. Santa still gets hate mail from the Raymond Halls of the world because of me. Maybe Santa thought it was time for a change.”
“You don’t think that,” she said, leaning in. “You just said you thought that naughty and nice kids both getting presents would kill Santa. Now suddenly change is good? Tie that bull up outside, cowboy.”
“Once Cane sees what spoiling all children will do to Santa, he’ll pull back,” I said. “I bet they’ll just give a few less presents to the naughty kids. The point is that they don’t want the kids to have their face rubbed in it, which is what a bag of coal does.” Rosebud looked at me like I was selling cheese. I smiled and gave her hand a little pat. “Boy, your ribbons are tied too tight, honey, if you think Cane’s out to get Santa. Without the big guy, we’d all be out of business. Why would he want Santa out?”
Rosebud moved her hand, but not right away, I noticed. “Maybe he thinks he could do the old man’s job better,” she said, spitballing. “He already thinks he can do your job better. Maybe Cane wants to run the show.”
“That’s a pipe dream,” I said. “It’ll never happen. The world would never stand for it.”
“They would if they didn’t have a choice.”
The idea that somebody was trying to hurt Santa burned me, even if it was just a bunch of cockamamie bunk from a two-bit reporter in a purple hat. I got up to leave. “I feel sorry for you, Jubilee. It must be awful to have to try and sleep with those kinds of ideas in your head. Farewell, my lovely.”
“You don’t think it’s possible?” she asked. “You’re not going to do anything about it?”
“I am going to support Santa and the new Candy Cane Coal Patrol any way I can!” But the words didn’t taste right in my mouth. Something in my gut told me that little Miss Know-It-All might be on to something, but I needed to go someplace where I could add things up.
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