Free When Elves Attack by Tim Dorsey Page B

me get out there and help.” Serge crouched on his hands and knees and crawled through the front door under the tree. He stood up next to Coleman. “Get a good grip and pull as hard as you can on three . . . Three!”
    Grunting and more grunting.
    â€œIt’s stuck good,” said Coleman.
    Serge let go. “Fuck it. Leave it there. Can’t let this slow down the yuletide juggernaut.”
    They crawled under the tree and into the house. Coleman grabbed another cold one. “Why was it so important to rent a house near Jim’s place, anyway?”
    â€œBecause he’s my hero.” Serge began nailing stockings to the wall. “The courage of holding down a family. I want to be just like him, and what better way than to live as close as possible and observe his secrets? We’ll tap into their rhythms and mimic everything they do until it becomes natural.”
    â€œWhat’s the point?”
    â€œI’m taking it to the next level!” Serge grabbed a nail from his teeth and resumed hammering. “Don’t get me wrong. Fleeing all over the state from the cops, staying in crappy motels, and stealing shit has its place. But you need to raise a family to grow as a human. And what better time to start than Christmas?”
    â€œBut we’re not a family,” said Coleman.
    â€œBut we are!” said Serge. He went to the dining table. “Just need to get some chicks in the mix, and the whole family dynamic will take care of itself.”
    â€œWho are you thinking of?”
    Serge just smiled.
    Coleman took a step back. “You don’t mean . . .”
    â€œThat’s right. City and Country!”
    Coleman took an extra-long guzzle from a bottle of Jack to steady his nerves. “Those are some badass babes. But they’re still on the run for that murder.”
    â€œExcept they didn’t do it. They’re innocent.”
    â€œMaybe they were innocent back then, but all the years on the lam. Who knows how many crimes?”
    Serge began tapping on the laptop. “We’re judging?”
    â€œNo. I wouldn’t mind seeing them again. They’re smokin’ hot!” Coleman took a slug of whiskey and cracked open two beers. “But they’re in deep hiding. How are you going to find them?”
    â€œHow all fugitives keep in touch. Facebook.” Serge typed a few more minutes. “There, found them. Now I’ll just send our new address, then poke them and hit them with snowballs for good measure . . . They’ll be here in no time.”
    Serge closed the laptop and walked to the front window.
    Coleman followed, snorting off the back of his hand.
    â€œIs that cocaine?” asked Serge.
    Coleman’s eye sparkled. “White Christmas, dude!” He leaned in for another snort. “What do we do until the babes get here?”
    â€œStudy the Davenports’ lifestyle so we’ll know how to start a family. Of course we’ll have to invade their privacy, but it’s what everyone does in the suburbs. I didn’t make the rules.” He raised a pair of binoculars and aimed them across the street, where he saw Martha staring back at him with her own binoculars.
    Serge smiled and waved.
    TAMPA BAY MALL
    One of the assistant managers barricaded himself in his office, but nobody had noticed yet.
    A mall cop arrived.
    Not the new recruit Jim Davenport had just hired.
    He pounded on the door. “Give me that anonymous complaint!”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œI want it now!”
    â€œGo away!”
    â€œI’ll kick the door in!”
    â€œI’ve got a gun!”
    â€œYou do not!” The fired security guard began crashing into the door with his shoulder until it finally gave and splintered off the hinges.
    The guard ran to the front of the desk. “Give me that complaint!”
    The assistant manager took up a defensive position on the other side. “I don’t