You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree
With the way his day had been going, Spike wasn't surprised in the least that Hans Claus's fence operation was located in a toy shop. It was an old, dingy toy shop filled to the brim with train sets, dolls with movable eyes, one eye or no eyes at all, and bears. There must have been two hundred teddy bears staring at Spike from a wall of shelves. Strung over the musty mess were cheap tinsel garlands. "Wonder where he keeps the severed heads," Spike muttered as he stood in the center of the bleak little room.
"Well well well!" boomed a hearty voice from the rear. "Merry Christmas to you, young man! How may I assist you?"
Hans Claus had the belly for Santa, but his gray hair was greasy and his beard was wet from something. It smelled like schnapps. He was wearing dirty tomato red corduroy pants and a stretched, stained wife-beater.
"I'm looking for a Santa," said Spike. It just popped out. Claus didn't seem fazed in the least.
"Well, you found him!" He swayed from left to right and leaned on the counter. "What do you want for Christmas, little boy?" Spike's nose twitched in response to Santa's odor.
"I want to know something." Claus's bleary eyes shifted to something behind the counter and then back to Spike. Spike casually slipped the button on his trench coat, inside which his pistol resided.
"Try me," said Claus.
"Timothy Tan," said Spike. "He called you lately?"
"Never heard of him," said Claus automatically.
"That's not what his sister told me," said Spike coolly.
Claus's fat hand dipped below the counter. Spike's pistol came out of his jacket. "Don't do it." Claus sighed and held up his hands. One held a nearly empty schnapps bottle.
"Relax, bounty boy. I ain't gonna shoot you up." He took a swig. "Not yet, anyway." Spike lowered his gun.
"What do you know?" Claus came around the counter and sat on it. Both the counter and the fastener on his pants creaked.
"I ain't heard from that little fuck in six months. What do you want from me?" Spike holstered the pistol.
"Maybe just that. You don't know if he's on Ganymeade?"
"He ain't here," said Claus. "If he was, he woulda commed me, let me know when he was bringing his stuff in. The shit he gives me ain't easy to pass, and I gotta make arrangements previous. You know?"
"Yeah," said Spike. "Thanks."
"No freakin' problem," said Claus. "You want a drink?"
"Maybe some other time," said Spike, mentally adding in my next lifetime. "Later," he added aloud as he headed for the door. His comm rang.
"Spike." It was Jet. He sounded like he was whispering.
"What's up?" Spike asked.
"Faye and I just got a bead on Tan. Ganymeade Retail Complex. Get your ass moving and help us out."
"Tan's here?" Spike asked, confused. "But Claus said…"
He spun just in time to avoid a bullet from a very old Luger Claus had discovered in his waistband. "Shit!" Spike dove out the door and pressed himself against the wall under the shop window, which shattered on him from another bullet. "I knew that was too easy," Spike muttered. He turned and fired into the store. Doll's porcelain heads shattered and teddy bear stuffing filled the air. Claus, however, rolled himself over the counter and disappeared under cover. The firefight went on until most of the toys in the store had been destroyed. Claus was a bad shot, but he had Spike pinned down.
A shot zinged over his head and planted itself in a parked car across the street. Spike was counting in his head. Seven. He fired back with his own pistol, shattering something else in the shop. Claus's last shot came too close for comfort. Spike felt a stinging in his head, and saw some blackish-green hair speckle the dirty snow beside him. Eight. Spike spun, stood and pulled the trigger in one ballet-like move. There was a wet thlunk, and Claus toppled backwards with a bullet between his eyes. Spike sighed and felt his head. A chunk of hair and flesh had been gouged from the top, leaving a wide, 19th-century style part in his hair. He grimaced. "Great."
"Spike!" His comm was resting on the shop floor just inside the entrance, miraculously unharmed. Jet's voice sounded like an excited chipmunk's. "Spike! What the hell's goin' on over there?!" Spike picked up the comm and looked at the shot-up toy store and the dead fence wearily.
"I just shot Santa."
Jet had stopped to call Spike, but Faye was fixated on Tan. She hitched her sweater over her Glock as she closed in on him, and then pasted a smile on her face, a smile like the ones she'd been observing all day. Vacant, vapid, totally satiated by the mindless spending of money. Tan saw her and immediately stretched out his hand. Faye smiled wider. Joke's on you this time, sucker. "Please ma'am, could you spare some coins?" Faye had a hard time not laughing in his face. The guy was even sporting a phony British accent.
"Suuure," purred Faye. "Just let me get my wallet, little boy." She reached behind her for the gun. Tan's eyes widened with what Faye believed was genuine surprise when he saw it.
"Bounty hunter…" He cursed. "Shit."
"That's right," said Faye. "Now I don't wanna make a scene, Timothy, so why don't you hop out of that chair and we'll go see the nice ISSP agents so they can give me my Christmas present." A smile flickered on Tan's face. The surprise had vanished, and so had the sweet, childish expression he wore while begging. He was small, and he looked like a kid, but Faye knew a veteran grifter when she saw one, and Tan's eyes gave him away. They had the bright flicker of life that sized up everyone and everything around him, Faye included.
"Who tipped you off? My sister?" Faye smiled.
"Yes. Yes she did. Now let's get a move on here. Mall security is starting to give me the eye." Tan nodded slowly, and then stood, his overcoat falling open. Faye gasped when she got a view of the submachine pistol he was holding.
"I knew she'd give me up sooner or later," said Tan. "So now it all comes down to a question of muzzle velocity." He gestured at Faye's gun. "Glock 9mm, right?" Faye nodded tightly, her finger moving towards the trigger. "Nice gun, reliable," said Tan. "But this…this is a Uzi. It can fire three bullets to your one." He shrugged. "It's really up to you. You can try to take me out here, maybe with a leg shot. But I might shoot back, and who knows. This gun has a big kick. I might miss you and hit someone else. You know. A kid or something."
Faye growled under her breath. "You know, for a minute there I actually forgot you're a cold bastard." Tan smiled wide.
"Bad mistake…what's your name?" Faye, seething, had to put up her gun.
"Does it matter?" Tan considered.
"No." He shoved his wheelchair at Faye, hard. It was heavy, and it knocked her backwards into a fat shopper, who jumped out of the way and let Faye smack her head against the fake marble tiles of the mall floor, hard. Tan leapt nimbly over her body and took off through the crowd. Faye screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping the lunkhead would hear her.
"JET!" Jet snapped his head around and saw the fleeing Tan.
"Got him!" he yelled, giving chase. Jet was a big man, he knew. He also knew that when he needed to move, there wasn't much in this universe that could stop him. He barreled into the crowd, shoving, pushing, elbowing and sometimes literally throwing people out of the way. Tan had no such problems. He went between the legs, wound around between people's shopping bags, and reached the escalator before Jet. Unfortunately it was the 'down' escalator, and that allowed Jet to catch up.
In the one place where his long legs gave him an advantage, Jet bounded up the escalator after Tan, ignoring the hapless bodies he sent over the rail. He yanked out his pistol and bellowed, "Stop!" Jet was able to yell 'stop' in such a way that usually make punks screech to a halt and piss their pants, but Tan was unfazed. He reached the mezzanine on the second level of the mall, and was about to bolt for freedom when his long coat caught in the top of the escalator and sent him sprawling. Jet, coming up the steps at full steam, landed on top of him. Tan's jacket ripped free under his weight and sent them both sliding across the slick floor, the edge of the level zooming up in Jet's vision. He grabbed Tan with one hand and the mezzanine rail with the other. Tan shot off the edge of the balcony, but Jet's grip held. Tiny Tim's pistol fell into the heaving masses below, and he thrashed wildly as Jet held him suspended over the crowd, thinking that he was definitely too old for this shit.