Free Santa Viking by Sandra Hill Page B

the security business? His biggest mistake was treating this Santa/bimbo/nun like less than the threat she posed.
    “So, Erik, do you know any Mafia?”
    Her totally off-the-wall question floored him for a moment. “No, do you?”
    “Uh-uh. But I need to find some bad guys to rob. Real quick.”
    This Mother Teresa clone was not playing with a full deck. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to pull another robbery, and you’d like to target the mob.”
    “I did not rob the Piggly Jiggly. I was just getting back my money. That’s not a robbery,” she declared vehemently. “I would never rob honest people, not that I think Piggly Jiggly is all that honest. But I need cash, desperately, and that means I’ve got to find some bad guys.”
    He groaned. This was turning into the most bizarre nightmare. “Why do you need the money?”
    She refused to answer.
    “How much? I’ve got about fifty dollars in my wallet.”
    She sniffed indignantly. “That would be robbery.”
    He crossed his eyes with frustration. How do I reason with a lunatic?
    “Besides, it’s not enough. I need about five hundred dollars. And, take my advice, you don’t resemble Brad Pitt or Kevin Costner when you cross your eyes. If fact, you look downright homely.”
    Don ’ t react. Be cool. She ’ s just a dumbbell pretend nun. What does she know about good-looking men? “We could stop at an ATM machine to get more money. My bank will let me take out three hundred dollars at a pop.”
    “I told you I’m not going to steal from innocent people. If Julio hadn’t stolen my car and purse with all my credit cards, I wouldn’t have any problems at all. I could have cashed a . check or used my own ATM or Visa cards. Nope, I need bad guys.”
    He shouldn’t ask. He really shouldn’t. “Who’s Julio?”
    “Some teenage miscreant whose life won’t be worth beans when I get a hold of him.”
    “Well, that explains everything. Listen, Ms. Claus, or Sister Claus  . . . what’s your name, by the way?”
    She hesitated for a long time, and Erik practically heard her devious mind whirring sluggishly.
    “Tiffany,” she announced finally. “Tiffany Blake.”
    He let out a hoot of laughter. “Sister Tiffany?”
    “I told you, I’m not a nun.”
    “Okay, Ti-fan-ny. Now that you’ve done your ‘Tiffany does Piggly Jiggly’ routine, what next?”
    “Pull over here,” she said abruptly. “That’s where I’m going to pull my next job. Oh, this is perfect. Surely the people who run this place qualify as bad guys.”
    Erik swerved into the parking lot with a screech of brakes and gaped at the flashing neon sign in front of a corrugated metal building: “Sam’s Smut Shop.” A handmade posterboard next to the red door listed a menu of “triple X-rated videos, sex toys, peep shows.” Then, “Body piercings and nude massages, by appointment.”
    “You’re going to rob a porno palace?”
    “Yep,” she said with a bright burst of enthusiasm. “Good idea, huh?”
    Oh, Lord! “Do you think the Christmas Curse is contagious?”

Chapter Two
     
    Tiffany does Philadelphia  . . .
    “Trust me, this is not a good idea,” Erik said, shutting off the car and turning in his seat to face her. “I don’t think you realize the seriousness of what you’re doing. Armed robbery is a felony.”
    “Only if I get caught,” she boasted bravely. Prison? Me? The worst thing I ’ ve ever done is overcharge a customer for an almond creme wedding cake.
    “Maybe you could convince a judge that the supermarket owed you thirty-nine ninety-five, if you hadn’t been carrying a loaded gun.”
    “I didn’t know it was loaded.”
    “You didn’t?”
    “Of course not. I’m not an idiot. And stop looking at me like that.”
    “How am I looking at you?”
    “Your eyes are crossing again. You’d better be careful, your face might freeze like that. Aunt Clara told us once about—”
    “Aaarrrgh! Stop changing the subject.”
    “Listen up, you