Free Yuletide Immortal (The Immortal Chronicles Book 4) by Gene Doucette Page A

grandfather face that probably served him very well when it came to certain customers.  He looked at me over his paper and through his thick lenses.
    “Used to be a jockey by that name, I recall.”
    “No kidding.”
    “Yup.  Beautiful Pete.  Hell of a jock.  Four-foot-eleven and hung like his horse, I’m told.  Course, he’s long since retired.  Haven’t heard that name in years.”
    This rattled loose an idea I had apparently been working on for a while.
    “ How many years, would you say?”
    *   *   *
    It was snowing hard by the time I reached O’Shea’s pub.  Not quite sundown and the place was already packed with guys who’d gotten off work early enough for a few drinks before having to face their families.  Santa wasn’t one of those people, but I had an idea of where I could find him if I had to.
    After about an hour, I called O’Shea over.
    “I need a favor,” I said, and slid ten dollars across the bar.
    “How big of a favor, exactly, pal?” he asked, after taking my money.  He was about ten times friendlier when I was there with Santa, but that was true of the entire city.
    “I need to talk to a certain someone.  You mind if I stand behind the bar for a minute?  I’d like to stomp on your floor.”
    He smiled.  “The kid, huh?  What’d he do this time?”
    “It’s a really long story.  Do you mind?”
    “Nah, go ahead.  He’s a pain in my ass anyway.  Just take him out back before you kick him around.”
    *   *   *
    Reaching into cabinets and pulling out screaming children is apparently a common practice in bars, as nobody there particularly minded.  Nor did anyone get an urge to step in and help the kid, who insisted rather loudly and ardently that I was about to murder him.  Given the comments I heard from the rabble, a few of these guys knew Davey already, and at least three or four owed him money.
    I didn’t release the kid until we made it into the alley, and then it was to drop him into a snow bank.
    “What’re you doing? ” he shouted.  “I ain’t got no beef with you!”
    “No beef. But you owe me.”
    “I don’t owe you nothing!  What the hell are you talking about?”
    “Listen, kid.  I don’t like children and I don’t trust them.  I do my best to avoid them when I can.  But my friend Santa is different.  He loves kids, can’t get enough of them, and I mean that in the best possible way.  So let’s get one thing clear: if you were going to piss off one of us, you pissed off the wrong one because I already expected this from you.  He didn’t.”
    “What, you want me to apologize?  You?   You didn’t even tell the old man anything, don’t think I don’t know.  He’s been asking all over town for me.  Some friend you are.”
    “Yeah, fine, I’m a lousy friend, but I’m going to make it up to him, and so are you.  But first, I want what you owe me.”
    “And what’s that?”
    “An answer to one question.   You can stop checking behind me for some help because I’m pretty sure you don’t have any friends in that bar.”
    He actually looked a little nervous, because he was coming to the same realization. I could have hurt him if I wanted to, and he knew it.  “That’s all?  A question?”
    “No, that’s not all, but it’s a start.”
    “Fine, sure, go ahead.  Ask your stupid question.”
    “The question is, how old are you?”
    He looked speechless for a change.  I’d spent just enough time with him to recognize when he was working out something in his head, but it didn’t look like he was doing any of that.  For once, he looked like he really was a kid.  Which I was pretty sure he wasn’t.
    “What?”
    “Just answer.”
    “Look at me, how old do you think I am?”
    “That isn’t an answer. Turns out Beautiful Pete was the nickname of a real jockey, but he retired six years ago.  How many years ago did you run away from that orphanage?”
    “C’mon, mister.  It’s embarrassing.  I don’t want