Free The Fat Man by Ken Harmon

I figured I was entitled. I sat in the dark all through the wee hours trying to untie my knot of trouble, wondering if it could get any worse. I drank more than a little cheer to help me think. Instead, I forgot. And slept. A few groggy hours later, I was about to take a little satisfaction thinking I was at rock bottom. Then, there was a knock at the door.
    It got worse all right. Brother, did it get worse.

CHAPTER 10
    Decorations of Red

    Dear Gumdrop ,
    The game’s afoot! I have deduced that there really is a Misfit Mafia! Great Caesar’s Ghost! I may need your help, so stay close!
    Sherlock Stetson
    P.S. Zsa Zsa says hello to her vittle Gumdrop and that if you’ve got the chimney sweeper, she’s got the flue. Don’t worry; I’ll get her some soup.
    W hen I opened my door, I saw Bert the Cop on my welcome mat, looking like dinner hadn’t agreed with him for the past ten years. I made it my business to look hard and see if there was a firing squad behind him, so I didn’t notice the note from Sherlock sticking out of my mailbox by the door. If I had, the rest of my night might have turned out a lot different. But I didn’t and it was time to tuck into the bed I had made.
    A cop was the last thing I needed, but my guess was that my little jaunts into the human world had broken some ancient Kringle Town law. I figured Santa had sent Bert to write me a ticket or, at least, give me a warning. I might even get a couple of days in the hoosegow to cool off, but I was past caring. I swung the door open and motioned Bert in, just to get it over with.
    “Holly Jolly, Bert,” I said, pointing to a chair. “You’re a little far from home. How are things in Bedford Falls?”
    “It’s a wonderful life there,” Bert said. He sat, but he wasn’t comfortable. He was checking out my place as quickly as he could with a glance. He frowned when what he was looking for didn’t show up. “How have you been, Gumdrop? I hear you’ve had a little trouble lately.”
    “Well, I caused most of it, and Santa’s already read me the riot act,” I said. “If he sent you to rap my knuckles or throw me in the pokey to teach me a lesson, I’ll play nice, Bert. I’m done being a tough elf.”
    “Santa didn’t send me, Gum,” Bert said. “I’m here on kind of official business. Where have you been in the last twelve hours or so?”
    “Right here.”
    “Alone, I suppose.”
    “Santa was here about 7:30,” I said. “Dingleberry was right behind him. I started keeping company with a bottle of cheer from about 8:30 on.”
    “That was eight hours ago,” Bert said, frowning.
    “I wasn’t awake for all of them, so I’ll trust your math,” I said. “Tell me, Bert, what do you think I might have been up to in those eight hours?”
    Bert stared at me level, cold. “Raymond Hall Senior is dead,” he said like he hated saying it. “His kid found him. Human cops figure he had only been dead a couple of hours.” Bert pulled a notepad and a pen out of his pocket and flipped to a blank page. “Know anything about it?”
    I waited for a few seconds before I tried to come up with an answer that would make Bert close his pad. I was hoping it was some kind of gag, but the ice in Bert’s eyes told me all I needed to know. I returned Bert’s stare and said, “No, Bert. I don’t know anything. I haven’t seen Hall since I roughed him up last week. Hadn’t even thought about him until Santa came in and took me behind the woodshed. I know it looks bad, but that’s the truth.”
    Bert gave the inside of his cheek a chew and then scribbled a note. “You’ll get a fair shake from me, Gumdrop, you know that,” he said. “But don’t think I’ll play the sap for you. If you did this, even Clarence the angel won’t be able to save you.”
    “What happened?” I asked.
    According to what Bert heard through the grapevine, Little Ray found his dad in the telephone room. Senior was on the floor, beat up, blood everywhere. The kid