Chapter #100Christmas Spirits by: Seuzz   That's not the way you want to see Saratoga Falls, and Rick shrugs when you say so. "I think I'd like to visit Olympia for Christmas, though. I should meet Charles, right?"
"Sure," Rick says. He pulls out some money. "Here's an advance on something I owe you. Buy something nice for 'em all."
"I don't know who they are or what they like," you say, totally missing Rick's "something I owe you."
"Can't go wrong with liquor," he says. "Liquor for the men, chocolate for the girls."
"And Father Ed?" Kali asks acidly.
"He's a Jesuit, not a hermaphrodite."
"You know what I mean."
"I'll drop you off at a sex shop, squirt, you can buy a ball-gag for him."
"Rick!" Kali glares at him.
"Fine. Get him a rubber chicken. He'll hate anything you give him, but he'll love squawking over that."
You give Kali a pained glance. "I've heard him speak highly of the Three Stooges," she says. "If you see anything themed to them--"
"And the usual drill," Rick says. "In and out without being spotted, then back in to leave the cash."
"Are you going with me?"
"Why, can't I trust you to shoplift without me being there?"
* * * * *
You complete the expedition without incident, but when you get back there's news: Charles doesn't want you for Christmas, but he does want you to move to Olympia when Rick and Kali are prepared to relinquish you. "I'm flying to Olympia in the morning," Kali says. "You'll be spending Christmas with Rick." You feel your face fall. "I'll assume you're thinking how much you'll miss my company," she murmurs.
"Does Rick do Christmas?"
"In his own way."
* * * * *
"You got family, Rick?" Your voice is slurred, and the fingers around your shot glass are numb. How can he put so much away without showing it?
A soft honky-tonk tune plays in the bar, and sad and worn decorations adorn the mirrors behind the bar. Shabby men in shabby clothes huddle at the bar or in the booths. Rick looks shabbier even than them. You glance in the mirror: Nick Martin is the nicest-looking fella in the place. You fumble a toast at him. "Well," you ask again. "You got family?"
"I didn't crawl outta the primordial ooze, squirt, whatever Miko says," Rick mutters.
"Yeah, wha' izzat all about with her, Rick?"
"Fine, we'll talk about the old cop," he growls. He tosses back a shot and gestures for another, for him and for you.
"Old cop? Whozzat? Your dad? Why do you call him--?"
"Because he was a cop."
"Oh. Was he good?"
"Nah. Only got decorated twice."
"Soun's good to me."
"Good for what he was. A detective that made his quota."
"Whazzat mean?"
He glares over at you. "Thought you was studyin' for the business, Martin."
"I am. Was. Well, summon who looks like me was." You shrug, and toss back the shot.
"Well, maybe it was before your time. Long ago in a city far, far away. You made cases. That's all they cared about. Making cases, to show they were doing their job."
You blink stupidly, and grasp at an inference that you're sure wasn't intended. "You mean didn' matter if they's guilty?"
"That's right. He made his quota, and drank himself into an early grave."
"Oh, jeez. I'm sorry, Rick."
"Don't be. He's happier that way, or he wouldna done it."
You hunch against the bar. Liquor has made you tactless as well as brave. "I know why you drink, Rick."
"Sure you do." He stares down into his glass. "Saw my first one on Christmas morning when I was ten," he says quietly. "Never been a Christmas person since."
"Firs' what?"
"First thing." He sniffs at his drink. "So excited. It was a big box, biggest under the tree. I only had three of them, presents. Insisted on saving that one for last. Opened it up and--" He looks away. "One of them wriggled out, grabbing at me. I screamed." He drinks. "The old cop slapped me, 'cos he thought I was screaming at his gift."
"Wha' wuzzit?"
"Erector set. Big box was a blind, a little joke, foolin' with me. Old cop thought I was ungrateful, didn't believe me when I told 'im what I actually saw."
"Shit. Tha's a helluva thing to happen on Chrizzmas, Rick."
"Yeah. Didn't help a few years later, when I figured out what it was all about. There'd been a killing in a department store. Blood all over the toy aisle. I know now he lifted that set as 'evidence', and passed it on to me."
"Oh, Jesus, Rick."
"Yeah. He was a good man. 'S why he killed himself. I never got to tell him what a good man I thought he was. Another round over here!" he calls to the bartender. "Spirits, squirt," he says, and lifts his glass. "The spirits of Christmases past. May they stay there."
You clink glasses.
* * * * *
The first Tuesday after New Years: "For heaven's sake, child, don't slouch," Kali says. She straightens your shoulders and raises your chin. "Head up. You've never looked so much like a bag of loose bones."
"Maybe because I don't usually travel looking like this." You tug at the knot around your neck and shrug inside the tight suit jacket.
"I remember when people dressed up to travel," Kali snaps. "Instead of like they'd just stumbled awake with a hangover."
"How old are you, Kali?" Rick asks from the sofa.
"I'll thank you not to ask personal questions, Rick."
"Then don't drop veiled remarks about my travel dress."
"I wasn't making a veiled remark about your travel dress. I was explicitly referencing the way you always dress."
"And I wasn't talking about this suit," you whine, and scratch under a pit. "I'm talking about my face."
"It's a nice face, Will," Kali says, and fixes you with a bright but penetrating smile. "It's yours."
"They're all mine. You've said so yourself. This isn't my real face any more than-- Why won't you let me wear my Nick Martin face? That's the one I put on when--"
"Because you're going to meet Charles," she says. "It's only respectful to meet the head of our Order under your own face. Well, the face you were born with. Other people brought your other faces into the world. You brought this one."
"No I didn't. The Libra put it on me, and fucked it up, too."
"It's yours, child. The Libra-- Well, it set it on you backwards." She straightens the lines on your suit, and plucks at invisible dust motes.
"I guess I should just be glad it didn't put my butt where my face is," you mutter.
"I'll drink to that," Rick says, and takes another deep slug from his tumbler.
Kali steps back. "Well, I can't stop you from slouching between here and Olympia," she says as she eyes you critically. "But keep your head up when you meet Charles." You must have shown some emotion, for she gasps slightly. "Good heavens, child, you're not afraid of him, aren't you?"
"Shouldn't I be? He's the head of the Stellae."
"Yes."
"He's got Glundandra and Arbol for ousiarchs, right?"
"Yes."
"So shouldn't I be scared?"
"Good heavens no, child! There's no reason to fear him."
"Why, is he like bears? He's more scared of me than I am of him?"
"Don't be insolent."
But Rick laughs. "No, tell him that when you meet him. He'll get a kick out of it." He ignores the look Kali has shot at him, and stands with a sigh. "Okay, I think I'm liquored up enough to face the LA traffic. Come on, let's-- Oh, for the love of-- Don't be looking like that when you meet him!" Rick's lip curls in disgust.
"Like what?" you whine.
"Like you're gonna piss yourself. It's enough you pissed yourself the first time you met me, squirt. Don't do it with him."
You turn with a sigh, but freeze when the penny drops. You turn back with a dirty look. "Is that how come you always call me 'squirt'? Because I pissed myself when you tried fileting me with that knife?"
Rick's eyes widen, and his mouth tightens. "Out of the monkey suit, squirt. Now!"
"What's gotten into you?" Kali exclaims.
"You only now figured out where I got your nickname?" Rick jabs a finger in your face. "I want another month of field work before sending you on to the old man. I got a case now you can help me with. Sharpen your skills until you can make the obvious deductions."
* * * * *
Two more months of exercises follow. There are no more jobs for the Stellae, but Rick has you help him on one of his normal investigations. Frank and Joe stop in for an overnight stay, during which you have a nice talk, and they let you copy their imago. Both are flattered by your request, for their own reasons: Frank likes that you want a "fighting form"; Joe preens at being one of your "bedroom faces."
And then, finally, you do make it onto an airplane.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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