Advent Calendar Day 19: A Visit From Saint Nicholas (Green Cortina, fluffy, touch of Sam/Annie)
Title: A Visit From Saint Nicholas
Rating: Green Cortina (Some language and irreverent speech *cough* Gene! *cough*)
Word count: 2,560
Notes: Had this idea while shopping with a friend. Happened to see some flasks for sale and expressed indignation because they had plastic caps. :p It's a bit silly, but compared with yesterday's entry it's downright solemn.
Summary: A Division gets a taste of Christmas spirit as the coppers fit the holiday into their busy schedule.
The office Christmas party was a day-long affair with constant interruptions from inconsiderate thieves, murder suspects, and just work in general. Between these interruptions, the officers took turns pulling crackers and opening gifts.
“You haven’t opened one yet, boss,” Chris said, slinking toward Sam. “Go on, open a present.” He grabbed Sam by the arm and tugged him toward the spindly evergreen sitting Seuss-like in an umbrella stand on a desk.
Sam thought Chris was acting like an eager toddler and wondered if there’d been something in his eggnog. Knowing this lot, the chances were good.
“Go on,” the others echoed.
“Don’t open mine first,” he heard Annie say.
Not all of the packages told who they were from, and some gifts weren’t wrapped at all, instead being hastily tagged with a scrap of paper-at least one had been cut from a charge sheet, Sam was sure. He decided to open a small, badly wrapped present that simply bore his name in capital letters made with a felt tip pen. He wasn’t sure of the handwriting, but it certainly wasn’t Annie’s.
It didn’t take long to get enough of the green paper out of the way to see what the gift was: a flask. “No mystery who this is from,” he said, holding it up as the others nodded and cheered appreciatively.
“Nice one, Guv,” said Chris.
“Do I not drink enough to suit you?” Sam asked Gene teasingly.
The others laughed heartily; Gene only smirked. He opened his mouth to say something, but it was then that Phyllis returned after going to check on things at the front desk.
“Blag in progress, Guv,” she said breathlessly.
“By the bloody manger,” Gene complained, “don’t they know this is the time for peace on earth, goodwill toward men, an’ a bit of hush long enough for a pint of eggnog?”
Sam was already tossing his gift and its wrapping onto his desk and fumbling for his jacket. He was ready by the time Phyllis got through filling them in on the details.
“On Donder and Blitzen,” Gene muttered as he led the way out of the office.
They piled into the Cortina-all five of them, poor Annie sandwiched between Chris and Ray as usual-and Gene drove them to within a hundred feet of the shop being robbed. Sam was very glad there was no ice on the roads; Gene’s driving would have gotten them all killed or in hospital before they saw a single thief.
“To the top of the porch,” Gene said, putting the car in park. “To the top of the wall…” he cut the engine.
Sam took hold of his door’s handle. “Now dash away, dash away, dash away, all,” he finished grimly. Once again, they were off to meet an unknown level of danger, and without weapons or backup. Another average day in CID.
They spilled out of the car like confetti from an exploding cracker. Gene took the lead as usual, and Sam walked beside him.
It was cold, and Sam’s jacket wasn’t the best thing for it. Excitement would keep the chill at bay for a while, but he would definitely be glad to get inside again when this was over.
“Ray,” Gene said over his shoulder, “you an’ Chris go ‘round the back in case they try to go out that way.”
“Right, Guv.”
Ray led Chris down an alley and the others continued on.
“Sure you want those two guarding an exit unsupervised?” Sam asked, not at all joking.
“Eh… Cartwright, you go after ‘em. Least that way they’ll have a brain between ‘em.”
Annie went after the other officers without a word.
Sam glanced at Gene. “I, er… meant…”
“I know, it’s just I can’t stand being alone with either of them these days. Least when they’re together they sort o’ cancel each other out, know what I mean?”
He did know what Gene meant, and it was an all right strategy for a dinner party, but this was serious work.
“Besides,” Gene went on as they walked slower, approaching the shop’s front windows carefully, “wanna keep you where I can see you.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Me?”
“Annie I can trust to be logical. You… never know what you’ll do next.”
Sam was about to protest when a black-clothed figure burst out of the shop, not ten feet in front of them.
“Stop right there!” Gene shouted, even as Sam sprang forward to apprehend the suspect.
The command went unheeded and Sam continued his pursuit. He heard the impact of a second robber colliding with Gene behind him and then some shouting that sounded like Ray, but he kept his focus on the first figure.
The thief decided to fling his loot bag away in favor of easier running, and Sam left it where it lay. He skidded around a corner in time to see the thief rushing to the driver’s side door of a parked mini.
No, you don’t! Sam reached further, pushed harder, arrived at the car when the door was open and the thief was about to slip inside, threw his weight against the door and heard a not unsatisfying yelp from the thief as the door shut on his guilty, thieving hand.
Sam took him by the opposite wrist and turned him around, shoving him down against the roof of the car. “When an officer tells you to stop, you are bound to comply,” he said, getting out his handcuffs. “Is that clear?”
The thief practically whimpered as Sam opened the door, pulled the wrist of the injured hand into the cuff and snapped it shut.
“Come on.” Sam gripped his prisoner by the collar and walked him back the way they had come, pausing to pick up the bag along the way.
Gene and the others were handing the thief’s two accomplices over to plod already when Sam got back.
“Pay up,” Gene told Ray, and the sergeant passed a coin to each of the others.
“Ray bet a pound against all of us you’d come back without ‘im,” Chris explained.
Sam shook his head, hiding his pleasure at the knowledge that three out of four had supported him. “You lot’ll make a bet on anything.”
“An’ you,” Gene said, pointing a stern, gloved finger in the young thief’s face, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Just ‘cause you were too naughty for Father Christmas to pay you a visit, that doesn’t mean you should help yourself to the things of others, now does it?”
The thief didn’t answer except to say, “He shut a car door on my ‘and. That’s brutality, that is.”
“Oh, grow out o’ your nappy,” Gene retorted. He slapped Sam on the arm. “Any collar’s a good collar, my lad.”
Sam looked away and sighed quietly, his breath rolling away in front of him like cream in hot tea.
Back at the office, Chris prepared to open the next gift.
“Hang on,” Gene told him. “You an’ Ray have to open those ones together.”
He handed Ray his identical gift (except for some variance in the poor wrapping job) and the others watched them open matching cigarette cases. The cases were simple and probably inexpensive, but Sam would never have known it from the looks on the faces of their new owners. Ray seemed reverent and Chris ecstatic.
Then they did an interrogation with one of the thieves, to see whether the robbery had been ordered by an unknown party; then Annie and Phyllis exchanged gifts (“girlish truck” as Gene put it). Then it was another interrogation and then Gene opened his gift from Chris: bookends shaped like a horse and a pair of cowboy boots (“If only I kept books in me office, they’d be perfect.”)
Sam couldn’t resist finding Annie’s gift next. He knew she was shy about it, but everyone seemed to approve of the faux-fur overcoat she had chosen.
“Couldda used that a few hours ago,” Gene pointed out.
“Is it real?” asked Chris.
“No,” said Annie, “but it’s really soft.”
Taking that as an invitation, Chris reached out to stroke the dark brown coat in Sam’s hands.
“Thick coat like that,” Ray mused, “maybe she’s tryin’ to keep you at a distance.”
“It’s probably too heavy for most of the time, but nights like this, you need something warmer,” Annie said.
“Think she likes you in leather,” said Gene, none-too-subtly nudging Sam’s ankle with one loafer.
Sam tried to block out everyone else as he smiled at Annie. “Thank you,” he said, putting an arm around her and pulling her a little closer.
“Whoo, is it gettin’ warm in here?” Ray asked, pretending to fan himself with his cigarette case.
Chris immediately cackled with laughter and Gene and Phyllis joined in.
“All right, settle down,” Gene admonished after a while. “This is God’s birthday, for ‘eaven’s sake. Whose turn is it? Phyllis, you’re next, me girl.”
Sam bit his tongue, knowing that if he got into the nuts and bolts of the first Christmas, it would result only in a higher grade of blasphemy from the DCI.
Finally, all the gifts were open, the eggnog was gone, and the urgent paperwork was done. Everyone began gathering their things and saying good night.
“Want a lift home?” Annie asked Sam.
Sam looked around the cluttered office. “No… think I’d better tidy up a bit first. If someone doesn’t, we’ll be workin’ in this mess tomorrow. Don’t think I could face that.”
“OK.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for the necklace.”
“Do you like it?” he asked anxiously. “’Cause I can change it. I wasn’t sure…”
“It’s nice. I like it. Good night, Sam. Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas,” he echoed. He felt warm in his chest as she walked away. It was strange, but this had been the best Christmas he’d had in a long time.
Gene was still in his office planning the next day’s agenda as Sam gathered discarded bottles and wrapping paper and swept up bits of ribbon and confetti. They both went about their work quietly so as not to disturb the peaceful calm that was the last pleasure of the holiday.
When he was finally satisfied that he could work in this environment, Sam returned to his desk to gather up his gifts. He would wear the overcoat over his leather jacket so he wouldn’t have to carry either of them. He would carry the Billy Joel album from Chris (“brand new! He’s the latest thing in the States”) along with the plate of biscuits from Phyllis (who knew she could cook!?), but the bottle of liquor from Ray (clearly a cop-out gift) would fit in his coat pocket, as would the flask from Gene…
Sam was in the process of tossing the green wrapping paper into the bin behind his desk when he noticed a square of plain white paper tucked inside. He had to fish it out of the bin again. On this folded scrap (it looked like part of a flyleaf torn from a book) Gene had written,
“You earned it, Deputy Dog.”
Turning back to the desk, Sam picked up the flask and looked at it closely for the first time, turning it over in his hands. There was an engraving he hadn’t noticed before.
“DI Sam Tyler”
“Shhhit,” Sam whispered. He read the note again, then looked at the flask again. This was a nice flask. It was the sort with the attached cap that was reinforced and wouldn’t snap off after a few months’ use. It was smooth and shiny and personalized. And he had barely looked at it. Did I even thank him?! All I got him was a book he probably won’t even read…
Sam walked slowly toward Gene’s office, fumbling with the flask in mortification. The door wasn’t latched, so he nudged it open and stood in the doorway, amazed to see Gene leaning on his desk, looking for all the world as if he were reading the beginning of Breaking the Chain: a New Approach To Confronting Substance Abuse. Sam had decided to give him this book in hopes that it could help Gene with future drugs-related cases… and if it gave him incentive to quit smoking, so much the better.
Gene looked up. “So. You believe in Father Christmas, Sam?”
A little taken aback, Sam said, “Well… when I was small. My mum told me that Saint Nicholas was a real person. An’ when he died, he still wanted to help the people he’d left behind, so God made him a deal-once a year, he could go back in spirit an’ spread peace and… good things.”
“Clever woman, your mum. Easin’ you off the idea of presents gradually.”
Sam smiled and shook his head. “Listen… Sorry I didn’t get the chance to thank you properly. For your gift. Guess I… just didn’t know what to say. Didn’t see your note until just now…”
Gene smirked, looking as if he were ready with a snide comment, should Sam decide to pause much longer.
“Anyway… thank you. It… I didn’t expect…”
“All right, Gladys, no need to get out the hankies,” Gene said, almost properly smiling now. “Tomorrow night we’ll give it a christening. Now come on; I’ll take you home.”
As he sat in the Cortina’s passenger seat, record and biscuits in his lap, Sam could feel the flask against his hip through the lining of his new coat. He thought back over the events of the day. Even though he’d been with A Division most of a year, Gene was still surprising him. He could be very confusing… sending Annie to supervise Ray and Chris, for instance, saying Sam was unpredictable. Though, come to think of it… He said he didn’t want to divide us up differently because he couldn’t stand being alone with Ray or Chris these days. What had changed that? Was it presumptuous to think it was because he’d been exposed to more civilized company and it had spoiled him for anything less?
Well, here he is driving me home when he didn’t have to. He chose my company. A different sort of warmth from what Annie made him feel began to steal over him. Some days it seemed like Gene absolutely hated him, but that was clearly not the case.
For once, they hadn’t talked the entire trip (not even a “what you doing in the road at this hour, you daft ******?!”), but for once it was a comfortable silence. Gene parked the Cortina and sighed, seeming satisfied.
“Well, here you are.”
“Thanks, Guv. And…” Sam hesitated as he unfastened his seatbelt. “If you don’t like the book…”
“Sam, shut up. Get inside; go to sleep-gonna need you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, OK.”
Sam went into his apartment, set his things on the table and turned on his lamp. Then he heard the Cortina pulling away-Gene had waited until his light came on before leaving. Sam went to the window and looked out in time to see the Cortina pause at the corner (not quite a complete stop) and then lurch around it.
“’But I heard him exclaim,’” Sam quoted quietly to himself, “’ere he drove out of sight… Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.’”
Rating: Green Cortina (Some language and irreverent speech *cough* Gene! *cough*)
Word count: 2,560
Notes: Had this idea while shopping with a friend. Happened to see some flasks for sale and expressed indignation because they had plastic caps. :p It's a bit silly, but compared with yesterday's entry it's downright solemn.
Summary: A Division gets a taste of Christmas spirit as the coppers fit the holiday into their busy schedule.
The office Christmas party was a day-long affair with constant interruptions from inconsiderate thieves, murder suspects, and just work in general. Between these interruptions, the officers took turns pulling crackers and opening gifts.
“You haven’t opened one yet, boss,” Chris said, slinking toward Sam. “Go on, open a present.” He grabbed Sam by the arm and tugged him toward the spindly evergreen sitting Seuss-like in an umbrella stand on a desk.
Sam thought Chris was acting like an eager toddler and wondered if there’d been something in his eggnog. Knowing this lot, the chances were good.
“Go on,” the others echoed.
“Don’t open mine first,” he heard Annie say.
Not all of the packages told who they were from, and some gifts weren’t wrapped at all, instead being hastily tagged with a scrap of paper-at least one had been cut from a charge sheet, Sam was sure. He decided to open a small, badly wrapped present that simply bore his name in capital letters made with a felt tip pen. He wasn’t sure of the handwriting, but it certainly wasn’t Annie’s.
It didn’t take long to get enough of the green paper out of the way to see what the gift was: a flask. “No mystery who this is from,” he said, holding it up as the others nodded and cheered appreciatively.
“Nice one, Guv,” said Chris.
“Do I not drink enough to suit you?” Sam asked Gene teasingly.
The others laughed heartily; Gene only smirked. He opened his mouth to say something, but it was then that Phyllis returned after going to check on things at the front desk.
“Blag in progress, Guv,” she said breathlessly.
“By the bloody manger,” Gene complained, “don’t they know this is the time for peace on earth, goodwill toward men, an’ a bit of hush long enough for a pint of eggnog?”
Sam was already tossing his gift and its wrapping onto his desk and fumbling for his jacket. He was ready by the time Phyllis got through filling them in on the details.
“On Donder and Blitzen,” Gene muttered as he led the way out of the office.
They piled into the Cortina-all five of them, poor Annie sandwiched between Chris and Ray as usual-and Gene drove them to within a hundred feet of the shop being robbed. Sam was very glad there was no ice on the roads; Gene’s driving would have gotten them all killed or in hospital before they saw a single thief.
“To the top of the porch,” Gene said, putting the car in park. “To the top of the wall…” he cut the engine.
Sam took hold of his door’s handle. “Now dash away, dash away, dash away, all,” he finished grimly. Once again, they were off to meet an unknown level of danger, and without weapons or backup. Another average day in CID.
They spilled out of the car like confetti from an exploding cracker. Gene took the lead as usual, and Sam walked beside him.
It was cold, and Sam’s jacket wasn’t the best thing for it. Excitement would keep the chill at bay for a while, but he would definitely be glad to get inside again when this was over.
“Ray,” Gene said over his shoulder, “you an’ Chris go ‘round the back in case they try to go out that way.”
“Right, Guv.”
Ray led Chris down an alley and the others continued on.
“Sure you want those two guarding an exit unsupervised?” Sam asked, not at all joking.
“Eh… Cartwright, you go after ‘em. Least that way they’ll have a brain between ‘em.”
Annie went after the other officers without a word.
Sam glanced at Gene. “I, er… meant…”
“I know, it’s just I can’t stand being alone with either of them these days. Least when they’re together they sort o’ cancel each other out, know what I mean?”
He did know what Gene meant, and it was an all right strategy for a dinner party, but this was serious work.
“Besides,” Gene went on as they walked slower, approaching the shop’s front windows carefully, “wanna keep you where I can see you.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Me?”
“Annie I can trust to be logical. You… never know what you’ll do next.”
Sam was about to protest when a black-clothed figure burst out of the shop, not ten feet in front of them.
“Stop right there!” Gene shouted, even as Sam sprang forward to apprehend the suspect.
The command went unheeded and Sam continued his pursuit. He heard the impact of a second robber colliding with Gene behind him and then some shouting that sounded like Ray, but he kept his focus on the first figure.
The thief decided to fling his loot bag away in favor of easier running, and Sam left it where it lay. He skidded around a corner in time to see the thief rushing to the driver’s side door of a parked mini.
No, you don’t! Sam reached further, pushed harder, arrived at the car when the door was open and the thief was about to slip inside, threw his weight against the door and heard a not unsatisfying yelp from the thief as the door shut on his guilty, thieving hand.
Sam took him by the opposite wrist and turned him around, shoving him down against the roof of the car. “When an officer tells you to stop, you are bound to comply,” he said, getting out his handcuffs. “Is that clear?”
The thief practically whimpered as Sam opened the door, pulled the wrist of the injured hand into the cuff and snapped it shut.
“Come on.” Sam gripped his prisoner by the collar and walked him back the way they had come, pausing to pick up the bag along the way.
Gene and the others were handing the thief’s two accomplices over to plod already when Sam got back.
“Pay up,” Gene told Ray, and the sergeant passed a coin to each of the others.
“Ray bet a pound against all of us you’d come back without ‘im,” Chris explained.
Sam shook his head, hiding his pleasure at the knowledge that three out of four had supported him. “You lot’ll make a bet on anything.”
“An’ you,” Gene said, pointing a stern, gloved finger in the young thief’s face, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Just ‘cause you were too naughty for Father Christmas to pay you a visit, that doesn’t mean you should help yourself to the things of others, now does it?”
The thief didn’t answer except to say, “He shut a car door on my ‘and. That’s brutality, that is.”
“Oh, grow out o’ your nappy,” Gene retorted. He slapped Sam on the arm. “Any collar’s a good collar, my lad.”
Sam looked away and sighed quietly, his breath rolling away in front of him like cream in hot tea.
Back at the office, Chris prepared to open the next gift.
“Hang on,” Gene told him. “You an’ Ray have to open those ones together.”
He handed Ray his identical gift (except for some variance in the poor wrapping job) and the others watched them open matching cigarette cases. The cases were simple and probably inexpensive, but Sam would never have known it from the looks on the faces of their new owners. Ray seemed reverent and Chris ecstatic.
Then they did an interrogation with one of the thieves, to see whether the robbery had been ordered by an unknown party; then Annie and Phyllis exchanged gifts (“girlish truck” as Gene put it). Then it was another interrogation and then Gene opened his gift from Chris: bookends shaped like a horse and a pair of cowboy boots (“If only I kept books in me office, they’d be perfect.”)
Sam couldn’t resist finding Annie’s gift next. He knew she was shy about it, but everyone seemed to approve of the faux-fur overcoat she had chosen.
“Couldda used that a few hours ago,” Gene pointed out.
“Is it real?” asked Chris.
“No,” said Annie, “but it’s really soft.”
Taking that as an invitation, Chris reached out to stroke the dark brown coat in Sam’s hands.
“Thick coat like that,” Ray mused, “maybe she’s tryin’ to keep you at a distance.”
“It’s probably too heavy for most of the time, but nights like this, you need something warmer,” Annie said.
“Think she likes you in leather,” said Gene, none-too-subtly nudging Sam’s ankle with one loafer.
Sam tried to block out everyone else as he smiled at Annie. “Thank you,” he said, putting an arm around her and pulling her a little closer.
“Whoo, is it gettin’ warm in here?” Ray asked, pretending to fan himself with his cigarette case.
Chris immediately cackled with laughter and Gene and Phyllis joined in.
“All right, settle down,” Gene admonished after a while. “This is God’s birthday, for ‘eaven’s sake. Whose turn is it? Phyllis, you’re next, me girl.”
Sam bit his tongue, knowing that if he got into the nuts and bolts of the first Christmas, it would result only in a higher grade of blasphemy from the DCI.
Finally, all the gifts were open, the eggnog was gone, and the urgent paperwork was done. Everyone began gathering their things and saying good night.
“Want a lift home?” Annie asked Sam.
Sam looked around the cluttered office. “No… think I’d better tidy up a bit first. If someone doesn’t, we’ll be workin’ in this mess tomorrow. Don’t think I could face that.”
“OK.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for the necklace.”
“Do you like it?” he asked anxiously. “’Cause I can change it. I wasn’t sure…”
“It’s nice. I like it. Good night, Sam. Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas,” he echoed. He felt warm in his chest as she walked away. It was strange, but this had been the best Christmas he’d had in a long time.
Gene was still in his office planning the next day’s agenda as Sam gathered discarded bottles and wrapping paper and swept up bits of ribbon and confetti. They both went about their work quietly so as not to disturb the peaceful calm that was the last pleasure of the holiday.
When he was finally satisfied that he could work in this environment, Sam returned to his desk to gather up his gifts. He would wear the overcoat over his leather jacket so he wouldn’t have to carry either of them. He would carry the Billy Joel album from Chris (“brand new! He’s the latest thing in the States”) along with the plate of biscuits from Phyllis (who knew she could cook!?), but the bottle of liquor from Ray (clearly a cop-out gift) would fit in his coat pocket, as would the flask from Gene…
Sam was in the process of tossing the green wrapping paper into the bin behind his desk when he noticed a square of plain white paper tucked inside. He had to fish it out of the bin again. On this folded scrap (it looked like part of a flyleaf torn from a book) Gene had written,
“You earned it, Deputy Dog.”
Turning back to the desk, Sam picked up the flask and looked at it closely for the first time, turning it over in his hands. There was an engraving he hadn’t noticed before.
“DI Sam Tyler”
“Shhhit,” Sam whispered. He read the note again, then looked at the flask again. This was a nice flask. It was the sort with the attached cap that was reinforced and wouldn’t snap off after a few months’ use. It was smooth and shiny and personalized. And he had barely looked at it. Did I even thank him?! All I got him was a book he probably won’t even read…
Sam walked slowly toward Gene’s office, fumbling with the flask in mortification. The door wasn’t latched, so he nudged it open and stood in the doorway, amazed to see Gene leaning on his desk, looking for all the world as if he were reading the beginning of Breaking the Chain: a New Approach To Confronting Substance Abuse. Sam had decided to give him this book in hopes that it could help Gene with future drugs-related cases… and if it gave him incentive to quit smoking, so much the better.
Gene looked up. “So. You believe in Father Christmas, Sam?”
A little taken aback, Sam said, “Well… when I was small. My mum told me that Saint Nicholas was a real person. An’ when he died, he still wanted to help the people he’d left behind, so God made him a deal-once a year, he could go back in spirit an’ spread peace and… good things.”
“Clever woman, your mum. Easin’ you off the idea of presents gradually.”
Sam smiled and shook his head. “Listen… Sorry I didn’t get the chance to thank you properly. For your gift. Guess I… just didn’t know what to say. Didn’t see your note until just now…”
Gene smirked, looking as if he were ready with a snide comment, should Sam decide to pause much longer.
“Anyway… thank you. It… I didn’t expect…”
“All right, Gladys, no need to get out the hankies,” Gene said, almost properly smiling now. “Tomorrow night we’ll give it a christening. Now come on; I’ll take you home.”
As he sat in the Cortina’s passenger seat, record and biscuits in his lap, Sam could feel the flask against his hip through the lining of his new coat. He thought back over the events of the day. Even though he’d been with A Division most of a year, Gene was still surprising him. He could be very confusing… sending Annie to supervise Ray and Chris, for instance, saying Sam was unpredictable. Though, come to think of it… He said he didn’t want to divide us up differently because he couldn’t stand being alone with Ray or Chris these days. What had changed that? Was it presumptuous to think it was because he’d been exposed to more civilized company and it had spoiled him for anything less?
Well, here he is driving me home when he didn’t have to. He chose my company. A different sort of warmth from what Annie made him feel began to steal over him. Some days it seemed like Gene absolutely hated him, but that was clearly not the case.
For once, they hadn’t talked the entire trip (not even a “what you doing in the road at this hour, you daft ******?!”), but for once it was a comfortable silence. Gene parked the Cortina and sighed, seeming satisfied.
“Well, here you are.”
“Thanks, Guv. And…” Sam hesitated as he unfastened his seatbelt. “If you don’t like the book…”
“Sam, shut up. Get inside; go to sleep-gonna need you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, OK.”
Sam went into his apartment, set his things on the table and turned on his lamp. Then he heard the Cortina pulling away-Gene had waited until his light came on before leaving. Sam went to the window and looked out in time to see the Cortina pause at the corner (not quite a complete stop) and then lurch around it.
“’But I heard him exclaim,’” Sam quoted quietly to himself, “’ere he drove out of sight… Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.’”