Free The Fat Man by Ken Harmon Page A

called the cops and they had been taking pictures and dusting ever since. Bert heard that the human cops were stumped because there was no sign of a break-in, no weapon and no one else in the house.
    “So naturally you think an elf with magical powers got in, whacked Raymond and got out,” I said. “That would explain why the human cops are stymied.”
    “It would explain a lot of things,” Bert said.
    “Have you gone to Hall’s house?” I asked.
    “Wanted to come here first,” Bert said. “I wanted to see if you were here and how you would take the news.”
    “How’d I do?”
    “So far, you’re a cool customer, I’ll give you that,” Bert said. He scanned my place again, studying.
    “Looking for a murder weapon?”
    “You got a typewriter, Gumdrop?”
    “You think I gave Raymond Hall the powder with a typewriter, Bert?”
    Bert gave me a hard look and then fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Someone sent this to The Marshmallow World earlier tonight. Know anything about it?”
    I took the paper and read it. Somebody was writing me a death sentence and they did it on a typewriter.
    ‘Twas the night before christmas, when all throuth the
home,
The Creature stirred trouble, wherever he roamed;
The kittens were hung by the chimney with glee,
By a miserable kid who was really naughty;
The brat was nestled, cold-blooded in bed,
While visions of misery danced in his head;
And Momma drinking bourbon, and I with my pills,
Hid from our child that we wanted to kill;
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter;
It sounded like the kid emptied a drawer full of knives;
I peeked out the door, afraid for our lives;
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an elf famous for giving kicks in the rear;
He had rocks on his back and soot in his soul,
I knew in an instant he was Gumdrop Coal.
“Now hellion, now rascal, now little brat!
“This is what you get for being a rat!”
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Giving coal to my kid, the little jerk;
With a snarl, Gumdrop bit the Gingerbread Man’s head,
Spit out the crumbs and left the ginger carcass for dead;
And I heard him exclaim as left in a bound,
“Say so long to the Fat Man, there’s a new elf in town!”
    I could feel Bert staring hard at me while I read. I was in a tough spot. “I don’t really think ‘naughty’ and ‘glee’ rhyme, do you?” I asked, handing the paper back.
    “Trying to be cute, huh?” Bert asked. “Your mug shot’s not going to be so cute, wise guy.”
    “Smart up, Bert,” I said. “Somebody’s putting the shuck on me and you. This little limerick just happens to show up the night Raymond Hall is mysteriously rubbed out and you don’t think that’s fishy? You believe that I wrote it after I killed Raymond and sent it in just for kicks? Next you’ll tell me you believe in the Tooth Fairy.”
    “Watch your mouth or you’ll be missing a few teeth,” Bert said, meaning it.
    “C’mon, Bert. Someone’s playing you.”
    “I don’t play at being a cop,” Bert said. “You’re the number one suspect, until I think different. But like I said, I’m giving you a fair shake.”
    “I appreciate it,” I said. I gave us half a minute to cool down and then asked, “Do you think I could tag along with you to see Raymond?”
    “Sounds like you want to return to the scene of the crime,” Bert said, getting up.
    “I want to be there when you investigate,” I said. “I want to clear my name of this tonight.”
    W hen Bert and I arrived at the Hall house, the human cops were still there. We stood silent and invisible on the border of Kringle Town and the human world, watching them do their grim work. Bert took notes on his pad and I tried to ignore the wails of sorrow coming from the other side of the house. It was a tough break that Little Ray found his dad. He probably hated my guts. I would if I were in his shoes. His