Free When Elves Attack by Tim Dorsey Page A

. . . Another hiring job? . . . They’re short-staffed? . . . But why do they need to fill the position so fast? . . . An urgent human resources problem has come up? . . . I’ll get right on it.”
    Jim closed the phone.
    The manager was standing. “Now, are you going to leave by yourself, or will I have to kick your ass?”
    â€œNo, I’m going,” said Jim. He picked up his briefcase and left the office, looking to hire a security guard to remove the assistant manager from the building.
    TRIGGERFISH LANE
    The front curtains parted a slit.
    Binoculars poked through. “Jim, come here,” said Martha.
    Jim drilled a wall anchor to hang the newest Davenport family portrait taken at Just Portraits. “What is it?”
    â€œThey’re back.”
    Jim walked across the living room. “Martha, are you going to spend your whole life at the window?”
    â€œThey’ve got a bunch of stuff in the trunk.”
    â€œThat’s a mystery. People moving in, having stuff.”
    â€œDon’t trivialize me.” She opened the curtains wider. “Those men are dangerous. I wonder what’s in all those bags? . . .”
    Across the street, Coleman hoisted a sack out of the trunk. “What’s in all these bags?”
    â€œChristmas!” said Serge, grabbing his own bag. “This is going to be the best ever!”
    They headed for the front door.
    Coleman set his bag down and leaned against the house. “I’m tired.”
    Serge got out his keys. “You only walked from the driveway to the porch.”
    â€œMaybe it’s the marijuana.”
    â€œGee, you think?” They went inside and Serge dumped the bags’ contents on the floor. Then five more trips to the car until the pile in the living room was a mountain.
    â€œWhy so much shit?” asked Coleman.
    â€œBecause I love Christmas! But usually I’m too busy with all my business travel and outstanding warrants. Not this year! My new motto: ‘I’m taking Christmas big!’ ” Serge dropped to his knees and pawed through the mound on the floor. “Here’s the plan: We do everything, all the traditions, and we do it grander than anyone ever dreamed! Here are the houselights, which will require extra generators so we don’t smash the power grid, the holiday music CDs that will need weatherproof outdoor concert speakers, the train set with extra boxes of tracks to connect all the rooms of the house, the bicycle whose assembly on Christmas Eve will make us use profanity like Kid Rock, the toys where we forget the batteries, several gingerbread house kits we’ll combine to form a mansion, DVDs of all the classic Christmas specials to run nonstop, mistletoe for all the doorways, the manger scene with a little Jesus that glows in the dark to emphasize the Holy Spirit third of the Trinity because he’s the shy one who gets the least press, all the presents we’ll wrap together and give each other as Secret Santas . . .”
    Coleman popped a special holiday-edition Budweiser. “But if we wrap the presents together, I’ll already know what you bought me.”
    Serge untangled a strand of lights. “You won’t remember.”
    Coleman took a gulp from his beer. “I love surprises.”
    Serge jumped up. “Let’s get the tree! . . .”
    Across the street: “Look at the size of that tree tied to the roof of their Chevelle,” said Martha. “It’s almost as long as the car.”
    â€œI don’t think they’ll be able to get it in the house,” said Jim.
    Moments later: “Push!” yelled Serge.
    â€œI’m pushing as hard as I can,” said Coleman. “The door’s not big enough.”
    â€œThen we’ll figure something else out . . . Pull!”
    â€œI’m pulling as hard as I can. I think it’s stuck.”
    â€œLet