But Once a Year
Author's Note: This is a tie-in to another of my stories, Christmas at the Mansion, and answers a question Kurt never gets a straight answer to in that story.
Even though it was Christmas Eve, Jack's Pub was bustling. It was the last bar before the highway, two blocks from the bus stop and the police station. The waitresses had their smiles pasted on, as they'd been working without a break since four, when the pub opened, and it was now 11:30. Even the bartender didn't have his usual grin, grimly pushing orders across the bar and nearly snarling as the occasional customer said "Merry Christmas."
The short man in the corner had come in about an hour ago, covered in snow. He'd been an "easy" order, just asked for a beer and settled back, fading into obscurity as the customers poured in.
The four men sitting two tables down from him certainly didn't pay him any attention. They were too busy grumbling. "I tell ya, the plan was perfect!" Ralph said again, pounding his meaty fist angrily. "How is it that these low down mutant lovers always seem to be ready for us?"
"Well, maybe they read your mind, Mr. Know It All," Fred drawled, leaning back in his chair and finishing his beer. "Couldn't be that you decided to break cover and run toward the church, screaming, while we were still trying to finish the … art we were making, could it?"
Ralph's big red face grew even more crimson as his eyebrows drew down. "They're unbelievers. I wanted to teach one of them the true meaning of Christmas, up close and personal."
Jack growled. "Because you did that, that damned security guard of theirs probably broke my arm." The others muttered in agreement.
Ralph glowered. "I woulda had him, if you hadn't all decided to run when he hit you a little. What are you, anyway? Men, or girls?"
Mike bit his lip, glaring at the man. "I remember somebody screaming, 'We gotta go! He's too much for us!' and leaving his buddies behind. Who was that? I wonder."
Ralph stood, swaying, like a punch-drunk boxer, sweeping the room in general with a hateful, wounded expression. "If you don't like what I do for you, you can just call someone else the next time you want those damned Unitarials taught a lesson!" His arm shot out, index finger extended, pointing at half the room as he staggered. "I'm going home."
The other men rose, too, hurriedly placing money on the table and heading for the door. They nodded and smiled at the other people in the bar, who had diverted some attention to them as Ralph's last yell penetrated the thick, smoky air.
The short man in the corner gave a grim smile of satisfaction. Good. Kurt's church was going unmolested this Christmas Eve again. He quietly put a twenty down on the table, anchored it with his mug, and tugged his hat further over his eyes. It was about time to go pick up the elf, anyway.
