Free Santa 365 by Spencer Quinn Page B

have them, which Plumpy did. “Paroled after eight months,” he said, “on account of overcrowding.”
    â€œSo you did eight months—”
    â€œLess six weeks on account of good behavior.”
    â€œâ€”for stealing one point two million dollars?”
    â€œStealing puts it in such a harsh light, doncha think?”
    â€œBut that’s what a Ponzi scheme is,” Bernie said. He glanced at Charlie, sort of checking out how the little fella was doing. Charlie was watching with wide eyes. What a kid! What a dad!
    Plumpy sighed. “That word,” he said. “It’s so . . . something or other, also starts with a ‘p.’ ”
    â€œPejorative?”
    â€œExactly! Forgot what a good conversationalist you were, Bernie. But the point is I never planned on running a Ponzi scheme. It ran me, is what ended up happening.”
    â€œMeaning you’re a victim?”
    â€œI knew you’d understand,” Plumpy said. “Didn’t want to say it myself. But there’s good in everything, Bernie—even injustice, and in my eight months in the wilderness, if you will—”
    â€œMinus six weeks.”
    â€œâ€”I came to a new understanding.”
    â€œOf what?” Bernie said.
    Plumpy motioned toward the red van. “What do you see?”
    â€œCar payments you shouldn’t be able to afford,” Bernie said. “Not if the investors were made whole—or even one-tenth of whole.”
    â€œYou’re way ahead of me,” Plumpy said.
    â€œOh?”
    Plumpy looked down at Charlie. Charlie’s hair happened to be doing that Indian feather stick-up thing, just another reason to love him. “Your old man’s got it up here,” Plumpy said, tapping the side of his own head. “Don’t forget that.”
    â€œHe’s not old,” Charlie said.
    â€œHeh,” said Plumpy, almost a laugh, but not quite. “Heh heh.” He turned back to Bernie. “But making people whole, that’swhere I’m at now, Bernie. Making people whole holistically.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” Bernie said.
    I was with him on that.
    â€œIt means,” Plumpy said, “that from now till I cast off these mortal coils—and maybe even after, but let’s not go there for the time being—I, Norbert Norwood Bonaparte—am all about giving back. That’s the founding principle behind my new business—Santa 365.”
    â€œHow about just giving back the one point two?” Bernie said.
    Plumpy shook his head. “All gone, I’m afraid. Pissed away, pardon the expression.”
    That was interesting. Plumpy did smell slightly of piss, but no more than most humans, and less than some.
    â€œSo instead it’s Christmas every day of the year?” Bernie said.
    â€œNot Christmas,” said Plumpy. “Santa. Santa every day of the year. There’s a need, Bernie, a terrible emptiness just waiting to be filled. My way of giving back. For no more than the most modest of honorariums, Santa pays a personal visit to your private abode.”
    â€œHow much is the honorarium?” Bernie said.
    â€œThere’s a sliding scale based on menu options chosen by the customer, but we start at a very reasonable two hundred an hour.”
    â€œThat’s what my lawyer charges,” Bernie said.
    â€œBut is he or she jolly?”
    â€œNot particularly. Is that what you’re selling? Jolliness?”
    â€œI shy away from the whole selling concept,” Plumpy said. “But, yes, jolliness is the product. I—and my associates, depending on the option choices—will bring jolliness to your and your loved ones’ lives. And since you’ve always been straight with me and I consider you a friend, I’m offering my services this holiday season.”
    â€œAt two hundred an hour.”
    â€œFor the Santa 365 entry-level