SORRY! I woke up with this weird notion and couldn't resist!
Merry Christmas, one and all...
I kicked Santa hard in the nuts and he went down choking, flecks of vomit staining his white beard.
Two of the nearest elves came at me with their little hammers, but they bunched up and I was able take them both out using only one barrel from my sawn-off shotgun.
There was an awful lot of brood for such little guys.
The others hung back, suitably cowed, and I was able to herd them into one of the many storerooms without ant trouble. After jamming the door shut with a chair I turned back to the big man, who was back on his knees and trying to pull himself upright by clinging to a workbench. I stepped up and gave him a smart blow to the side of the head using my gun butt, sending him staring to the land of Nod.
Than only left…her.
‘Mrs Claus’ may come over as your typical homemaker, all open-faced and guile-less, but, man, under that dress she has the curves any burlesque dancer would die for. When she came to me with the proposal of course I was suspicious. I mean, trashing the whole North Pole operation for the insurance wasn’t the kind of plan I’d normally associate with Big Red’s squeeze, but that shorty, fur-lined robe didn’t leave much to the imagination. Not that I had to use it for long, as she was keen to ‘seal the deal’ right there and then, in my office, despite the cold.
I replaced the spent cartridge and snapped the gun shut, the only sounds being ragged breathing from Claus and the ticking of a million clockwork toys under test.
Then I heard her high heels on the tiles and turned as she sashayed in from the kitchen, carrying two glasses of eggnog. She smiled.
“All set? You’re sure this will look like an industrial accident?”
I flashed her a glittering smile and took a glass, but only to set it down on a nearby lathe.
“Thanks doll, but I never touch the stuff. Don’t worry about the aftermath of this terrible tragedy though, as the word is the Big Guy upstairs isn’t so keen on the commercial aspect of Christmas these days. I put out a few feelers to Garbriel and got the definite impression that this whole deal is not surplus to requirements. Looks like you’re getting out ahead of the game. Neat.”
She grinned and fluffed her hair, the movement making her amble bust quiver in a way that drew your gaze like glue. I licked my lips and turned away, not wanting to appear too eager, fetching the small bag I’d dropped on entering the workshop.
“You got transport arranged, babe? I never thought to ask and, well, I always travel alone. Not that I wouldn’t like us to hook up when this whole thing is over, it’s just I don’t think we should be seen together until the dust has settled.”
She laughed.
“Don’t worry, the sleigh is all ready. Rudy and the gang jumped at the chance to blow this joint for a beach in Acapulco. All I’ve got to do is fetch my bag and this place is history.”
“You off your old man and boost his ride? Man, that is harsh.”
I grinned and fished the sticks of dynamite from my holdall.
“My kind of gal!”
She laughed again and turned, heading towards the living quarters with a sway of her hips that would have made angels weep. I wired up my bomb to a newly completed cuckoo clock, giving myself five minutes to get clear before the whole place was reduced to matchwood. Mrs C returned, toting a small bag which couldn’t have held more than some makeup and bikini – but I guessed she figured the insurance pay-out would fund a whole new lifestyle in the sun. She smiled.
“Ready?”
“As always, doll. We’d better leave by different exits though, just in case.”
She turned away and I gave her both barrels in the back.
Couldn’t trust her, of course. Anyone willing to see Santa go down for the sake of a few hundred thou wouldn’t think twice about having yours truly taken out of the picture, somewhere down the line. So I killed her, although with a few regrets, and set the clock ticking.
And left, the swirling snow closing round me like an old pal.
Oh, and by the way the name’s Jack, Jack Frost.
They call me the Iceman.
Merry Christmas, one and all...
I kicked Santa hard in the nuts and he went down choking, flecks of vomit staining his white beard.
Two of the nearest elves came at me with their little hammers, but they bunched up and I was able take them both out using only one barrel from my sawn-off shotgun.
There was an awful lot of brood for such little guys.
The others hung back, suitably cowed, and I was able to herd them into one of the many storerooms without ant trouble. After jamming the door shut with a chair I turned back to the big man, who was back on his knees and trying to pull himself upright by clinging to a workbench. I stepped up and gave him a smart blow to the side of the head using my gun butt, sending him staring to the land of Nod.
Than only left…her.
‘Mrs Claus’ may come over as your typical homemaker, all open-faced and guile-less, but, man, under that dress she has the curves any burlesque dancer would die for. When she came to me with the proposal of course I was suspicious. I mean, trashing the whole North Pole operation for the insurance wasn’t the kind of plan I’d normally associate with Big Red’s squeeze, but that shorty, fur-lined robe didn’t leave much to the imagination. Not that I had to use it for long, as she was keen to ‘seal the deal’ right there and then, in my office, despite the cold.
I replaced the spent cartridge and snapped the gun shut, the only sounds being ragged breathing from Claus and the ticking of a million clockwork toys under test.
Then I heard her high heels on the tiles and turned as she sashayed in from the kitchen, carrying two glasses of eggnog. She smiled.
“All set? You’re sure this will look like an industrial accident?”
I flashed her a glittering smile and took a glass, but only to set it down on a nearby lathe.
“Thanks doll, but I never touch the stuff. Don’t worry about the aftermath of this terrible tragedy though, as the word is the Big Guy upstairs isn’t so keen on the commercial aspect of Christmas these days. I put out a few feelers to Garbriel and got the definite impression that this whole deal is not surplus to requirements. Looks like you’re getting out ahead of the game. Neat.”
She grinned and fluffed her hair, the movement making her amble bust quiver in a way that drew your gaze like glue. I licked my lips and turned away, not wanting to appear too eager, fetching the small bag I’d dropped on entering the workshop.
“You got transport arranged, babe? I never thought to ask and, well, I always travel alone. Not that I wouldn’t like us to hook up when this whole thing is over, it’s just I don’t think we should be seen together until the dust has settled.”
She laughed.
“Don’t worry, the sleigh is all ready. Rudy and the gang jumped at the chance to blow this joint for a beach in Acapulco. All I’ve got to do is fetch my bag and this place is history.”
“You off your old man and boost his ride? Man, that is harsh.”
I grinned and fished the sticks of dynamite from my holdall.
“My kind of gal!”
She laughed again and turned, heading towards the living quarters with a sway of her hips that would have made angels weep. I wired up my bomb to a newly completed cuckoo clock, giving myself five minutes to get clear before the whole place was reduced to matchwood. Mrs C returned, toting a small bag which couldn’t have held more than some makeup and bikini – but I guessed she figured the insurance pay-out would fund a whole new lifestyle in the sun. She smiled.
“Ready?”
“As always, doll. We’d better leave by different exits though, just in case.”
She turned away and I gave her both barrels in the back.
Couldn’t trust her, of course. Anyone willing to see Santa go down for the sake of a few hundred thou wouldn’t think twice about having yours truly taken out of the picture, somewhere down the line. So I killed her, although with a few regrets, and set the clock ticking.
And left, the swirling snow closing round me like an old pal.
Oh, and by the way the name’s Jack, Jack Frost.
They call me the Iceman.
