Author's Note: Oh, this story is so very much fun to write! Lol…yeah, so, here's another chapter! Thanks for the reviews!
Disclaimer: You know this. It's not mine. And I'm not sayin' this anymore in this story. So there.
2. Herman, Dim-Bulb, and Alleged Angels
You may ask how Arnold knew that the creature standing in his kitchen was an elf.
It wasn't because the creature was small, although it was. Not short, like a midget, but perfectly in proportion, like a half-sized human—he came up to about Arnold's waist. And it wasn't because of the ears, which were pointy and twice as large as they should be. And it wasn't because of the red and green outfit, or the peaked cap, or even the long pointed curling-over shoes with bells on the toes, although that was a dead giveaway.
No, it was because the creature was wearing a nametag that said in bold letters, "Herman Elf." Arnold was never one to jump to conclusions, you see.
The elf turned towards Arnold, and now our hero could see that the elf was smoking a cigar, wearing a surly expression on its scrunched-up face, and looking not unlike the late Walter Matthau.
"What kind of refrigerator is this?" he demanded, his voice surprisingly gruff for one so tiny. "Where's the food?"
"Uh…we don't have any," Arnold explained, rather obviously. "We, uh…well, we didn't buy food because it's almost Christmas—" the elf's expression indicated that hello, he knew that, he was an elf "—and none of us are going to be here."
The elf glared back into the fridge. "You don't even have a ham. I could really use a ham." He looked up at Arnold. "You got one in your room?"
"Uh, no." Arnold swallowed. "Excuse me, but, um…is there something I can help you with?" He paused, swallowed again. "Why are you here?"
At this point you may ask why Arnold wasn't freaking out about an elf being in his kitchen. He certainly was too old to believe in Santa Claus. The reason is simple—Arnold was a practical person. There was an elf in his kitchen. It couldn't be anything else—it was simply an elf. Therefore, elves had to exist. It was very straightforward.
Arnold accepted the elf very easily. Don't worry, though—several characters will be freaking out quite amusingly before this story is done.
Also, Arnold had pinched himself quite hard while waiting for me to finish telling you this, and determined that he was not dreaming.
"Can we get back to the story?" Arnold demanded.
Oh, sorry.
The elf pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. He saw Arnold's alarmed expression and grinned. It was a grotesque expression, with the cigar and all.
"Don't worry, this isn't the Naughty list," he assured Arnold. "Hah! You've been on the Nice list your whole life. Boring, if you ask me."
Arnold sniffed indignantly.
"Anyway, just to make sure…" The elf glanced at the paper. "You're Arnold, right?"
"Which one?" Arnold asked. "I'm not the only Arnold in the world."
The elf glanced at the list again and shrugged. "Dunno, he didn't put a last name."
"He?"
The elf gave him a withering look, going so far as to take the cigar out of his mouth to indicate just how incredibly stupid he thought Arnold was. "Santa."
"Oh." It seemed Santa was real, too. "Well, I'm Arnold."
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Herman." The cigar was back in his mouth.
"Nineteen years old? Sophomore?"
"Yes, and yes."
"Grew up in Hillwood, Brooklyn? In the Sunset Arms boarding house?"
"Yes."
"With a one Mr. Hyunh."
"Best friend one Gerald Johansen?"
"Yes, but I haven't spoken to him in—"
"Do I care? No. Shut up." Herman looked up at him, fixing him with a piercing glare. "Now listen carefully, kid, and think about this answer, because this is very important. On December 25th, 1996, were you, or were you not, the receiver of a Christmas Miracle from an alleged Christmas Angel?"
Arnold paused. They had known about that? He'd been searching for Mr. Hyunh's lost daughter Mai, and he'd struck a deal with Mr. Bailey, at the Bureau of Missing Persons—do Bailey's Christmas shopping, and Bailey'd find Mai for him. He'd dragged Gerald all over town, getting every item on the list…except a pair of Nancy Spumoni snow boots, which had been sold out for weeks.
And yet on Christmas morning, Mai Hyunh had magically appeared on their doorstep. Well, I mean, she didn't magically appear—I mean, she took a cab and walked up the stoop and everything, but…why had Mr. Bailey found her? Arnold had tried going to the Bureau after the holidays and thanking him, but Mr. Bailey had insisted that he'd had help, although he refused to reveal from whom. He said he was sworn to secrecy.
"Hello. North Pole to Dim Bulb here. Wakey wakey." Herman was impatiently awaiting the end of Arnold's flashback scene. "Did you get a CM or not?"
"CM?"
"Christmas Miracle, Dim Bulb."
"Oh! Uh, yes. Yes, I did." He paused. "How did you know about it?"
Herman checked the paper in his hand. "Wasn't a registered Christmas Angel. We had to make an investigation. Decided to let it lie. Everything worked out for the best. Your "Angel" even got an extra pair of boots, to cover up any loose ends."
"Who was the Angel?" Arnold asked, extraordinarily curious.
Herman folded the paper. "Sorry. Classified."
Arnold let it slide. "Why does it matter?" he asked, confused. "It was ten years ago."
Herman sighed and walked into the main part of the common room, his shoes jingling merrily. He sat down on the couch, winced, pulled a three-week-old piece of pizza out from under him, dropped it on the floor, and settled back. He chewed his cigar thoughtfully—he didn't seem to want to light it.
Arnold sat down in a chair across from him, waiting for the elf's response. He seemed to be working up to it. He chewed his cigar, removed it from his mouth, inspected it, chewed it again. Arnold couldn't help noticing, with some amusement, that the hooks on Herman's vest were miniature candy canes.
Herman seemed to be ready to talk. His face got very serious, and even more scrunched up. Arnold could barely see his eyes.
"They sent me to you because things are getting bad," he said finally, his voice low. "We've put the Easter Bunny in charge, and he's holding down the fort well enough, but he's not really good at delivering anything but eggs. We tried the Tooth Fairy for a while, but he was no help. The toys are still in production, the reindeer are still training, but…"
Arnold stared at him, baffled. Herman sighed, and went into a long stream of hacking coughs. When he finished, he continued as if nothing had happened.
"We picked you because—well, three reasons. Christmas Miracles are even rarer than you'd think right now, and since this is the tenth anniversary of yours…you might have some good luck again. Also, you're technically an adult, but still young enough to be able to believe. And third…well, the Tooth Fairy just kind of liked your looks. He said he'd leave you more than money if you lost a tooth now."
Arnold shuddered, then quickly put that thought out of his mind. "But what do you need me for? What am I supposed to do?"
"Oh, it's not just you," Herman replied. "There's others. But you're in charge. And we need you because we're desperate. We need him back. And if we don't get him back…we need someone who can do the job, a few nights from now."
"Who? What job?" But Arnold already knew.
Herman paused. When he looked up, his squinty eyes were bright with unshed tears. He cleared his throat.
"Santa's gone."
Dum-dum-DUM! Where is Santa? Who kidnapped him?
a) the Mafia (oh, they're behind everything)
b) the government (they're behind everything the Mafia's not behind)
c) Brainy (sadistic, very complicated plan to win Helga's love, once and for all! Mwah-ha-ha! Evil laughter ensues…)
d) Pirates (I just like 'em.)
Guess right and you get…the satisfaction of knowing you guessed right! Yippee skippees! Yeah, I'm hyper. Anyway…do you like? Do you hate? Do you think the Tooth Fairy thing was crude? (It'll get even more crude when Arnold meets the guy!) Do you like Herman? I do. Do you miss Walter Matthau? Let me know!
I'm PI, and I am outie…