Hello! Welcome to the 11th story! Thank you for all the lovely reviews :D

'NYPD! Stop!' Flack sprinted in hot pursuit down the crowded sidewalk, dodging the last-minute Christmas shoppers (and their bags). Of course the perp didn't stop. They never did. But that had never stopped Flack. And the particularly heinous crime committed, considering what day it was, added power to his legs.

It paid off.

Helped by a braking taxi cab at the corner of 7th and 42nd, Flack grabbed the perp by the back of his coat and brought him down.

'C'mere you little punk. How low can you get, huh? Flack yelled at the guy. 'Stealing from Santa? Bet you never made it onto the good list as a kid, did you? You disgust me.'

'Guy ain't Santa,' the guy scoffed. 'Just some old dude dressed up. Anyways, ain't you too old to believe in Santy Claus?'

'I believe in not stealing from people, Santa or otherwise. Hand over the sack.'

'Here, take it.' The guy shoved the heavy burlap sack into Flack's stomach before taking off down the street.

'Dammit!' Winded and suffering the loss of his dignity, Flack scrambled to his feet, but too late. The man was gone. 'Dammit.' Doubling over, still clutching the sack, Flack tried to recover his breath, angry and embarrassed. Hell, he wasn't even on duty.

'Oh, thank goodness,' a voice spoke from beside him and he turned, startled, to see the elderly gentleman with the white beard and extravagant Santa outfit who had been robbed. 'I thought I'd never see that again. May I?'

'Uh, sure…' Captivated by the gleam in the man's eyes, Flack found himself handing the unexpectedly heavy sack to him.

The man took it, grasping it with a hand clad in a red gauntlet trimmed with white, which matched the carmine velvet robes he wore.

'My sincere thanks, young man. I'm very grateful. Losing that and its contents would have meant a lot of disappointed youngsters.'

'No problem, I mean…'

'You don't need to take it for evidence, do you?' The old man asked, still with that sparkle in his eyes, not obscured by spectacularly white and whiskery eyebrows. They were real, same as the beard, no doubt about that.

'No, that ain't necessary. Can I offer you any assistance with it? You got far to go?'

'That's a very kind offer, but no, thank you. I have transport not far away.' The man smiled, his face crinkling and Flack found himself responding with a smile in return.

'If you're sure?'

'I'm sure. Thank you.' With what appeared to be very little effort, he swung the sack over his shoulder. 'What about you? Have you far to go?'

'Not too far. I was on my way home, won't take long to walk.' Flack shrugged.

The old man studied him, holding his gaze. 'Well, may you have a peaceful and happy Christmas.'

'Uh, thank you,' Flack said, caught off-guard by the sincerity in the man's voice. 'I hope you do, too.'

A rolling laugh, that somehow held the peal of bells and the merriment of all Christmas in it rang out from the old man. 'Well, happy it will be; peaceful, certainly not, but that's how I like it. Take care of yourself, young man and thank you again.'

'My pleasure…'

Shouts across the street caught Flack's attention – a group of kids jostling each other. Having ascertained there was no harm in it, he turned back to the old man and found the street empty.

'Wait…' He spun around, looking in every direction, but the man had vanished. Not a trace left.

Only a faint jingle of bells in the air.

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