Seasonal fiction: Naughty (Brimstone)
Naughty
Brimstone Christmas fic for sidewinder, Dec 2004
TV-14 rating. Violence, slash.
“Not your best look.” Zeke took another long pull on the straw of his eggnog shake. It was appallingly
bad, but he’d been in the mood for something sweet and had never tried one. He was sitting on a bench,
watching the mall crew shingle a house with giant peppermints.
The Devil tossed the white fur pompom at the end of the red velvet hat over his shoulder. “Really? I thought
it was amusing.” Seeing Zeke’s glare, he added, “Come on. Don’t tell me you never rearranged the letters
in ‘Santa.’”
“That’s too obvious even for you. I figured you’d hate this time of year.”
The Devil laughed. “I love it. So much potential for mischief and damnation! Gluttony, greed, avarice, waste,
all celebrated. Lust under the mistletoe is practically a given. And the hypocrisy.” He smiled. “It lends a delightful chill even here in sunny California.” He pointed to a well-dressed man who ignored a sleeping vagrant two benches over. “He’ll drop two dollars in a Salvation Army kettle later today and feel smug in his caring for his fellow man. His company laid off over a hundred people last year, poisoned thousands of gallons of water, and cleared endless acres of rainforest. But he gave at the office.”
He pointed at the woman with a dozen shopping bags. “She hates her husband’s kids, but every present in there is for them. Clothing that won’t suit them and won’t fit. Goods that are too expensive for their lifestyles. Hypocrisy at its best.”
Zeke ignored him and sucked on his shake.
“You had better get on with it, Ezekiel. Christmas is coming, you know. And I know someone who is being very naughty.”
Zeke was alone on the bench. He watched the mall crew. He’d felt the tingling in his markings since he’d arrived and traced it to them. One of the decorators, the one directing the others, was this year’s mall santa. He even had a natural beard.
Zeke focused on the skinny, nervous guy high in the cherry picker who was now gluing enormous fake chocolate bars to repair a gingerbread house. His air of a hunted rabbit resonated on Zeke’s skin.
The little guy kept looking around, as if being watched, and Santa below tried his best to keep his patience as the Rabbit bungled job after job. The gingerbread house had been vandalized by a pair of rival gangs during Santa’s lunch break, and the crews had been working at it all afternoon.
Finally, the cherry-picker was lowered and the Rabbit slipped out of it with a sigh of relief. He made for the exit, but Zeke caught up with him.
“In a hurry?” Stone had mastered sounding both causal and menacing well before he died.
“Look, mister, if Louie sent you, I’m on my way. I said I’d have his money and I do.”
“Louie didn’t send me. But someone else did.”
“Not Big Jake! He said I had until the 20th. That’s when my next paycheck comes. Look, mister, I really gotta go see Louie. Otherwise, his goons will break my arm, and I won’t be able to work to pay your boss.”
Stone let him go. The man was purely human. No trace of brimstone in the copious sweat that had poured off him to mark him as one of the damned. Just a little guy in over his head to a bunch of loan sharks. “Hey.”
The little guy turned around. Stone handed him the twenty from his wallet. “Merry Christmas.”
“Thanks, mister. Thanks a lot.” The Rabbit hurried off into the gathering December gloom.
Zeke went back to his bench and watched the crew. The spot just below his shoulderblade itched and burned. In his head, he ignored the Devil’s voice taunting him with “Feeling virtuous, Ezekiel?”
The speaker announced the Mall was closing. Zeke mingled with the work-crew, getting close enough to look in their eyes and smell them. All human, smelling of human sweat.
He saw Santa slipping off to his dressing room to get out of the red pants and boots. A flash in the eyes took Stone by surprise. That was his target. Santa snarled at him, recognizing the Hellfire in Stone’s eyes.
The dressing room was empty by the time he got there, and Stone swore. He walked out of the mall, pausing to catch the news on the TV at the foodcourt.
“Our top story: Christmas killer still at large. A family was found slain today in their home at 212 South Street. Two adults and three teenagers were stabbed and decapitated. The only clue is a note in the killer’s handwriting that says ‘naughty.’ Robbery is not the apparent motive, although a recently-purchased television was missing. In a related story, an expectant Heights couple found a new crib and highchair as well as a sizeable amount of cash sitting in their living room. A note that said ‘nice’ was attached to the money.”
Zeke stopped listening. He made his way back to his room, and lay down to think.
***
It was never-ending. He saw it all from his throne in the Mall. He saw the greedy ones, the ones who whined for moremoremore, the disobedient ones, the slutty ones who disported themselves with men and women alike. But there was hope. There were the poor ones who looked and sighed, who received with gladness even the smallest things. He saw the demanding monsters of children who wanted for nothing yet demanded everything. He saw the cherubs, who--so very timid and blushing--asked only for a doll or a truck, but more importantly something for a sibling, or a job for daddy or a daddy for mommy. He did what he could. It was little enough. Punishment for the naughty and gifts for the nice.
He jimmied the lock of the house, and took the presents he had acquired from his pack. A dolly for the little girl. A truck for the little boy. A nice bathrobe for the dad. A pretty dress for the mom. He stashed a turkey and a ham in the refrigerator, noting the bareness of it, and the WIC approved cereal sitting atop it. A stack of cash that would see them through the whole year, if they were as frugal with it as they were with everything else. He noted the extra layer of cloth over the curtains, and the furniture that
had been new two owners ago. He left a note saying “Nice” before stealing away to the next house, where naughty, slutty teens ruled the roost.
***
“You know you don’t need to sleep, Ezekiel.”
The voice in his ear was seductive and sardonic. Zeke brushed his tormentor away, without bothering to open his eyes.
“Clears my head.”
The soft brush of lips upon his made him open his eyes. A sprig of mistletoe dangled just over his face, and before he could think he was being kissed again. This time it was no soft brush, but open and full of passion.
“You’re the one who gripes about me wasting time.” Zeke rolled out of bed and dressed. “The mall opens in an hour. I know who my target is.”
“Oh really?”
“Max looked him up. Seems he was a Macy’s Santa about fifty years ago. He had a breakdown and decided he was Santa, and on his off hours, started doling out justice to the naughty and presents to the nice. When he took his psychosis to work and stabbed the first naughty child who sat on his lap, he was locked up. He rode the lightening a year or so later.”
“Bravo, Ezekiel. I knew you were the right man for the job.” The Devil waggled the mistletoe in farewell and vanished.
Stone staked out the mall. He tried to blend in with the holiday shopping throng, but kept circling back to Santa’s gingerbread house. The line of waiting children grew longer and longer.
Santa himself chuckled and smiled and blessed each child with a coloring book on the way out. There were the usual scared infants, and the usual grade schoolers who were too old to believe. Stone watched a pair of perky cheerleaders sit on Santa’s lap to the amusement of their football playing boyfriends. Finally, 1 PM came. Santa’s helper announced that Santa “needed a milk and cookie break” and roped off the gingerbread house.
The crowd pretty much dissipated. Zeke, carrying a bag of cookies from Famous Amos for legitimacy, walked brazenly up to the gingerbread house and barged in. Santa--Nick Claudius, erstwhile Macy’s employee, one-time inmate and former inhabitant of Hell--was sitting at the table working on a list.
“Checking it twice?” Zeke asked.
“Oh, Detective Stone. I’ve been expecting you. But-hohoho-I’m afraid you’ve been very naughty.” Santa hurled the sharp pen at Stone’s eyes.
“Not as naughty as you, Nick.” Stone squeezed off a silenced round and took Nick Claudius in the left eye. The second round sent Nick screaming back to Hell. Stone hissed as the name on his skin consumed itself. “Hope they have a substitute Santa.” He slipped out the back way before the helper could check out the odd noise.
***
“Happy holidays, Stone.”
Of all the sights he expected to see when opening his door, Max sharing a cup of eggnog with his employer was not one. Nor was the little tree with red lights all over it. No ornaments or crèèche, of course, just a tacky little tree. And mistletoe. The red Santa hat was back, with mistletoe on the brim.
“I invited the lovely Maxine up for cookies and eggnog. I hope you don’t mind, Ezekiel.”
“Your boyfriend here was just telling me about how exciting your life is and how he’s getting ready to move out here for good, once you get settled.” Max looked at him and saw the glare Zeke was sending at the Devil. “I’m sorry, is boyfriend the wrong word? Cause I just figured--"
“It’s longer term than that, dear Maxine. We’re practically soulmates.” The Devil smiled at her, ignoring the murder writ large on Zeke’s face.
“Oh, well, in that case, you’ll want Christmas together, without a desk clerk.” Max excused herself, and shut the door behind her.
“Well, now, Ezekiel?”
Zeke bit the head off one of the gingerbread santas on the cookie plate. “Tomorrow’s a federal holiday, do I get it off?”
“Hell doesn’t recognize the US government’s holidays. But, since you just traumatized an elf and eight kids by shooting Santa Claus, I think I could be persuaded. They could see through the window of the house, you know.”
“To hell with persuasion.” Zeke finished the cookie and took advantage of the mistletoe.
Brimstone Christmas fic for sidewinder, Dec 2004
TV-14 rating. Violence, slash.
“Not your best look.” Zeke took another long pull on the straw of his eggnog shake. It was appallingly
bad, but he’d been in the mood for something sweet and had never tried one. He was sitting on a bench,
watching the mall crew shingle a house with giant peppermints.
The Devil tossed the white fur pompom at the end of the red velvet hat over his shoulder. “Really? I thought
it was amusing.” Seeing Zeke’s glare, he added, “Come on. Don’t tell me you never rearranged the letters
in ‘Santa.’”
“That’s too obvious even for you. I figured you’d hate this time of year.”
The Devil laughed. “I love it. So much potential for mischief and damnation! Gluttony, greed, avarice, waste,
all celebrated. Lust under the mistletoe is practically a given. And the hypocrisy.” He smiled. “It lends a delightful chill even here in sunny California.” He pointed to a well-dressed man who ignored a sleeping vagrant two benches over. “He’ll drop two dollars in a Salvation Army kettle later today and feel smug in his caring for his fellow man. His company laid off over a hundred people last year, poisoned thousands of gallons of water, and cleared endless acres of rainforest. But he gave at the office.”
He pointed at the woman with a dozen shopping bags. “She hates her husband’s kids, but every present in there is for them. Clothing that won’t suit them and won’t fit. Goods that are too expensive for their lifestyles. Hypocrisy at its best.”
Zeke ignored him and sucked on his shake.
“You had better get on with it, Ezekiel. Christmas is coming, you know. And I know someone who is being very naughty.”
Zeke was alone on the bench. He watched the mall crew. He’d felt the tingling in his markings since he’d arrived and traced it to them. One of the decorators, the one directing the others, was this year’s mall santa. He even had a natural beard.
Zeke focused on the skinny, nervous guy high in the cherry picker who was now gluing enormous fake chocolate bars to repair a gingerbread house. His air of a hunted rabbit resonated on Zeke’s skin.
The little guy kept looking around, as if being watched, and Santa below tried his best to keep his patience as the Rabbit bungled job after job. The gingerbread house had been vandalized by a pair of rival gangs during Santa’s lunch break, and the crews had been working at it all afternoon.
Finally, the cherry-picker was lowered and the Rabbit slipped out of it with a sigh of relief. He made for the exit, but Zeke caught up with him.
“In a hurry?” Stone had mastered sounding both causal and menacing well before he died.
“Look, mister, if Louie sent you, I’m on my way. I said I’d have his money and I do.”
“Louie didn’t send me. But someone else did.”
“Not Big Jake! He said I had until the 20th. That’s when my next paycheck comes. Look, mister, I really gotta go see Louie. Otherwise, his goons will break my arm, and I won’t be able to work to pay your boss.”
Stone let him go. The man was purely human. No trace of brimstone in the copious sweat that had poured off him to mark him as one of the damned. Just a little guy in over his head to a bunch of loan sharks. “Hey.”
The little guy turned around. Stone handed him the twenty from his wallet. “Merry Christmas.”
“Thanks, mister. Thanks a lot.” The Rabbit hurried off into the gathering December gloom.
Zeke went back to his bench and watched the crew. The spot just below his shoulderblade itched and burned. In his head, he ignored the Devil’s voice taunting him with “Feeling virtuous, Ezekiel?”
The speaker announced the Mall was closing. Zeke mingled with the work-crew, getting close enough to look in their eyes and smell them. All human, smelling of human sweat.
He saw Santa slipping off to his dressing room to get out of the red pants and boots. A flash in the eyes took Stone by surprise. That was his target. Santa snarled at him, recognizing the Hellfire in Stone’s eyes.
The dressing room was empty by the time he got there, and Stone swore. He walked out of the mall, pausing to catch the news on the TV at the foodcourt.
“Our top story: Christmas killer still at large. A family was found slain today in their home at 212 South Street. Two adults and three teenagers were stabbed and decapitated. The only clue is a note in the killer’s handwriting that says ‘naughty.’ Robbery is not the apparent motive, although a recently-purchased television was missing. In a related story, an expectant Heights couple found a new crib and highchair as well as a sizeable amount of cash sitting in their living room. A note that said ‘nice’ was attached to the money.”
Zeke stopped listening. He made his way back to his room, and lay down to think.
***
It was never-ending. He saw it all from his throne in the Mall. He saw the greedy ones, the ones who whined for moremoremore, the disobedient ones, the slutty ones who disported themselves with men and women alike. But there was hope. There were the poor ones who looked and sighed, who received with gladness even the smallest things. He saw the demanding monsters of children who wanted for nothing yet demanded everything. He saw the cherubs, who--so very timid and blushing--asked only for a doll or a truck, but more importantly something for a sibling, or a job for daddy or a daddy for mommy. He did what he could. It was little enough. Punishment for the naughty and gifts for the nice.
He jimmied the lock of the house, and took the presents he had acquired from his pack. A dolly for the little girl. A truck for the little boy. A nice bathrobe for the dad. A pretty dress for the mom. He stashed a turkey and a ham in the refrigerator, noting the bareness of it, and the WIC approved cereal sitting atop it. A stack of cash that would see them through the whole year, if they were as frugal with it as they were with everything else. He noted the extra layer of cloth over the curtains, and the furniture that
had been new two owners ago. He left a note saying “Nice” before stealing away to the next house, where naughty, slutty teens ruled the roost.
***
“You know you don’t need to sleep, Ezekiel.”
The voice in his ear was seductive and sardonic. Zeke brushed his tormentor away, without bothering to open his eyes.
“Clears my head.”
The soft brush of lips upon his made him open his eyes. A sprig of mistletoe dangled just over his face, and before he could think he was being kissed again. This time it was no soft brush, but open and full of passion.
“You’re the one who gripes about me wasting time.” Zeke rolled out of bed and dressed. “The mall opens in an hour. I know who my target is.”
“Oh really?”
“Max looked him up. Seems he was a Macy’s Santa about fifty years ago. He had a breakdown and decided he was Santa, and on his off hours, started doling out justice to the naughty and presents to the nice. When he took his psychosis to work and stabbed the first naughty child who sat on his lap, he was locked up. He rode the lightening a year or so later.”
“Bravo, Ezekiel. I knew you were the right man for the job.” The Devil waggled the mistletoe in farewell and vanished.
Stone staked out the mall. He tried to blend in with the holiday shopping throng, but kept circling back to Santa’s gingerbread house. The line of waiting children grew longer and longer.
Santa himself chuckled and smiled and blessed each child with a coloring book on the way out. There were the usual scared infants, and the usual grade schoolers who were too old to believe. Stone watched a pair of perky cheerleaders sit on Santa’s lap to the amusement of their football playing boyfriends. Finally, 1 PM came. Santa’s helper announced that Santa “needed a milk and cookie break” and roped off the gingerbread house.
The crowd pretty much dissipated. Zeke, carrying a bag of cookies from Famous Amos for legitimacy, walked brazenly up to the gingerbread house and barged in. Santa--Nick Claudius, erstwhile Macy’s employee, one-time inmate and former inhabitant of Hell--was sitting at the table working on a list.
“Checking it twice?” Zeke asked.
“Oh, Detective Stone. I’ve been expecting you. But-hohoho-I’m afraid you’ve been very naughty.” Santa hurled the sharp pen at Stone’s eyes.
“Not as naughty as you, Nick.” Stone squeezed off a silenced round and took Nick Claudius in the left eye. The second round sent Nick screaming back to Hell. Stone hissed as the name on his skin consumed itself. “Hope they have a substitute Santa.” He slipped out the back way before the helper could check out the odd noise.
***
“Happy holidays, Stone.”
Of all the sights he expected to see when opening his door, Max sharing a cup of eggnog with his employer was not one. Nor was the little tree with red lights all over it. No ornaments or crèèche, of course, just a tacky little tree. And mistletoe. The red Santa hat was back, with mistletoe on the brim.
“I invited the lovely Maxine up for cookies and eggnog. I hope you don’t mind, Ezekiel.”
“Your boyfriend here was just telling me about how exciting your life is and how he’s getting ready to move out here for good, once you get settled.” Max looked at him and saw the glare Zeke was sending at the Devil. “I’m sorry, is boyfriend the wrong word? Cause I just figured--"
“It’s longer term than that, dear Maxine. We’re practically soulmates.” The Devil smiled at her, ignoring the murder writ large on Zeke’s face.
“Oh, well, in that case, you’ll want Christmas together, without a desk clerk.” Max excused herself, and shut the door behind her.
“Well, now, Ezekiel?”
Zeke bit the head off one of the gingerbread santas on the cookie plate. “Tomorrow’s a federal holiday, do I get it off?”
“Hell doesn’t recognize the US government’s holidays. But, since you just traumatized an elf and eight kids by shooting Santa Claus, I think I could be persuaded. They could see through the window of the house, you know.”
“To hell with persuasion.” Zeke finished the cookie and took advantage of the mistletoe.