A Christmassy Christmas Tale for Christmas
(1,500 words)
TidyPub Version
A man dragged himself away from a roulette table to the bar, ordered a whiskey and stared through a window at the falling snow in the twilight of a winter evening.
”You look like you’re having a rough time.”
He turned around and saw a man sitting on the bar stool next to him.
”Oh, I’m sorry, was this seat taken?” he asked.
”By you, it would seem.”
”Cheers,” said the man, raising his glass before taking a gulp.
”Doing some Christmas gambling, eh?”
”Got to keep them traditions alive.”
”That’s no tradition. You should be with your family on Christmas.”
”I have no family.”
”You just haven’t found yours yet.”
The man chuckled in his glass of whiskey and ordered another one.
”Do you mind me asking,” said the Stranger. ”What do you do for a living?”
”I make films,” answered the man. ”Educational ones.”
”Oh, documentaries?”
”Pornography.”
”Celebrating those magical moments when the penis is an internal organ, eh?”
”Someone has to.”
”I think you’re just the man I’ve been looking for.”
”Look, I’m flattered, but I’m straight.”
”Is this really what you’re doing this Christmas? Just sitting in a bar, drowning your sorrows in a cheap bottle of booze?”
”My papa always said, no matter how bad things get, there’s always whiskey.”
”And he died of cirrhosis.”
”How’d you know that?”
”A man with that motto, old chap?” said the Stranger. ”Lucky guess. But I want to tell you a story. Do you want to hear it?”
”Are you paying for my drink?”
”Not here. You need to come with me.”
*
”You know what I did this weekend?” said the cop with a moustache. ”I watched a film. Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ. Have you seen it?”
”Uh, no,” said his partner.
”It’s about the last days of Jesus of Nazareth. He was executed as a criminal. You know what his crime was?”
”Uh, blasphemy?”
”Loving men. Wanted to help them. And you know how they executed him?
”I think so, yes.”
”He was crucified. Nails through his hands and feet. But first he was tortured. You know what the moral of this story is?”
”Uh, no.”
”Crime doesn’t pay.”
”But didn’t Jesus, you know, come back?”
”Criminals always return to the scene of the crime.”
The two officers watched from their police van as the few people still out were making their way through the night and snow in the dim glow of the city lights.
”Just look at that fat little hooligan,” said the Moustache Cop. ”You can just tell he’s about to desecrate public property.”
”Looks to me he’s just walking.”
”Parents should be fined for letting their brats wander the city alone. If the damn politicians knew what it’s like on the streets there’d be a curfew.”
”I haven’t even had to arrest anyone in months.”
”That’s because you don’t take your job seriously,” said the Moustache Cop. ”But I’m going to do something about that.”
*
Yes, you just mind your own business, you shithead. I’ll fix you. You just wait and see. When you least expect it, I’ll get you. And then you will know how it feels like to be trampled by shitheads like you, you shithead. I’ll get you. You. You...
*
”So let me get this straight, they really
don’t last that long?”
”Not all of them.”
”I’ll be damned.”
”Look, is this really a good idea? You’re not just going to murder and rape me, are you?
”Not in that order, eh?”
”Listen,” said the gloomy Pornographer. ”I’m freezing and you dragged me away from a my whiskey. I want to know where we’re going.”
”Calm down, we’re almost there,” said the Stranger. ”It’s going to be much better than the temporary blissful oblivion of an alcoholic beverage.”
”I strongly doubt that.”
*
I have nothing but time, you shithead. I can wait all winter...
*
”Look,” said the Stranger. ”Up there.”
”It’s a crane,” said the Pornographer.
”Good eye.”
”Someone put Christmas lights on it.”
”Exactly.”
”I will hit you if you dragged me here to look at a construction site.”
”Even a crane can be Christmassy with some lights.”
”This better not be some Dickens crap. Did you get loose from an asylum or something?”
”You just need to take things easy, and let the Christmas spirit come to you.”
”Oh my sweet merciful God.”
*
Yes, reveal yourself. Take what’s coming to you, you shithead...
*
”Oh come on, stay a while.”
”No,” said the Pornographer. ”You dragged me away from my drink to prattle on about some It’s A Wonderful Life non-sense in a cold wintry night. I’m going to go get drunk.”
”Why did you even come in the first place? What did you expect?”
”Why? I don’t know. Some weird dude wanted me to follow him on Christmas, so maybe I thought it meant something.”
”Like what?”
”Something, something Christmassy.”
”Is not a crane lit with Christmas lights against a dark sky Christmassy enough?”
”Look, maybe I was hoping for an adventure or something. Something that didn’t feel like shit, okay?”
”You’re not going to find that in a bar.”
”Weren’t you going to tell me a story? Let’s hear it, then.”
A bright yellow light blinded them as a car suddenly appeared from the dark of the night. It pulled over near them, and two men stepped out.
”What do we have here?” said the Moustache Cop. ”A clear case of prostitution and/or drug dealing.”
”What the hell?” asked the Pornographer.
”Book ’em,” said the Moustache Cop to his partner. ”You scum are going to be getting a nice trip in the Black Maria and then spend rest of the Holidays with your kind in the big house.”
”We’re going to get fired if you keep arresting everybody,” said the Partner.
”It’s our duty to keep these low-lifes off the streets.”
”The paddywagon is already full, after you arrested those two old ladies for solicitation and the kid they were paying to clear the roof of snow for reckless endangerment,” said the Partner. ”I think the kid is still crying.”
”That snow could have killed someone, from that height,” said the Moustache Cop. ”I’m making sure that at least on Christmas these streets will be safe for decent people to go about their business without being harassed by drug dealers and juvenile delinquents.”
”We’re not drug dealers,” said the Pornographer.
”We’re most certainly not,” said the Stranger. ”I may have some marijuana, but I have no intention of selling it.”
”He admitted it!”
”Wait, you have drugs?” asked the Pornographer. ”Why didn’t you just give me some instead of prattling on about cranes and crap?”
”You two will have plenty of time to sort out your shady dealings down town, now get in the...”
*
HAVE AT YOU. THAT’S WHAT YOU GET FOR TRYING TO KICK ME, YOU SHITHEAD.
*
”A pigeon!” yelled the Moustache Cop. ”A pigeon shat on my head!”
”I’ve never seen one swoop in like that,” said the Partner. ”Like a dive bomber.”
”Right in the face,” said the Pornographer. ”Reminds me of one of my movies.”
”It’s in my eyes! I can’t see!”
”It’s a Christmas miracle,” said the Stranger.
”I’ve had it with this shit!” declared the Moustache Cop, frantically wiping his face. ”You people and your goddamn birds can cause a riot for all I care! You rabble-rousers and riff-raff will have no one to blame but yourselves when chaos and disorder reigns on these streets! I’m going home and you trash can shove it and sank in the swamp of crime and perversion!”
”What about the people in the carrier?” asked his Partner.
”Let them go.”
”We’re like thirty miles away from where we...”
”I said let them go!”
A group of angry, confused, potential wrong-doers climbed out of the van, voicing their outrage to the Partner as he told them to be on their way and not to interfere with police business. The Moustache Cop was now in the car, still wiping the avian excrement from his face and cleaning his moustache with a special comb. The Partner got in the car and seemed to be talking with the Moustache Cop.
”Spending Christmas with those you care about the most, that’s all that matters,” said the Stranger as he watched the group of former suspects disband and the police van pull away.
”I don’t even know who you are,” said the Pornographer.
”Oh, you always crack me up,” said the Stranger, putting his arm over the Pornographer’s shoulder. ”We will have some good times together.”
