The Elf Visitor
Martin Kane
Christmas is coming and the elves are busy.  Most of them.

Merry Christmas one and all!





Jeremy was an elf.  He was sat in his pokey little office, fretting over
production figures and projections.  It was a Sunday and late, but this close
to Christmas, the working week was 24-seven.  He ate, slept and shat in his
office.  (Not literally.  Well, only once, but that's an unpleasant story and
there's really no need to go into it here and now.)

A polite knock was followed by a hustle and bustle as two suits came fumbling
in, tripping over each other.

'Hello?'

Both elves were flustered and clearly disturbed.

'Sorry to trouble you,' one began,

'But we may have a problem,' the other finished for him.

They not only looked alike, (hell ALL suits looked alike to him,) but they even
sounded alike.  They were two halves of the same entity, though even with their
combined effort, had trouble finding enough personality to fill one post.

'Got problems of my own boys.  I've got two toy floors down, orders to fill and
time is ticking away faster than a chicken madras through a reindeer.'

'You know of a young brunette elf named Lucy?'

Jeremy swore to himself.  He bit back a cutting remark and offered them a seat, 
as though unaware of the fact that there was only one, and that it was piled 
high with boxes of purchase orders.

Did he know a brunette named Lucy?  Christ.  Did he know a big fat guy named 
Claus?

In fact, Jeremy had last seen Lucy just one week ago.  Right here in this very 
office.

                                     * * *

Lucy had trotted in as happy as you like.  Most people summoned to his office 
would be fretting, wondering what sort of trouble they were in.  She seemed 
totally oblivious even of the possibility of such.  But then, that was in 
keeping with her nature.  She didn't court trouble as such, it just seemed to 
follow her around.

She lifted the chair opposite his desk and tipped it over, spilling three 
lever-arch files of new designs across his corporate coloured carpet.

This wasn't an act of teen rebellion or tantrum throwing.  She wasn't even 
being aggressive or trying to get a rise out of him, she was merely clearing 
the chair is the simplest and most efficient manner and totally irrespective of 
other people.

She then spun it about, perched herself on the high back, tilting the chair 
precariously on two legs, her toes steadying the balancing act by resting on 
his desk.  She plonked her elbows on her knees, her legs unselfconsciously 
splayed despite the tightness of her purple leggings.

She slouched closer.

'Hey Jar,' she said affectionately.

Jeremy looked up from his paperwork only now paying her any notice.

'So, Ms Atkinson.'

'Call me Luce, everyone does.'

He compromised.

'Lucy.  What are we going to do with you?'

She didn't realise this was a rhetorical question.  She looked confused.  Then 
she smiled flirtatiously at him.  'Why?' she purred.  'What would you like to 
do with me?'

'It's a figure of speech,' he told her.

He began thumbing through a series of documents from a file.  She glanced over 
at it, seeing that her name was written on the front.  Some wit had drawn a
skull and crossbones beneath it.  That made her smile.

Jeremy picked out a complaint at random.

'Now understand,' he began in his teacherly manner, 'that no one is angry with 
you.'  Then added, a little more honestly, 'as such.'

Lucy snorted laughter.  'That'd be a first.'

'I think we can conclude that you're not quite suited for shopfloor work.'

'I get on OK,' she protested.

'How long have you been in the toy factory now?'

Her eyes skitted upward while she counted.  'Two weeks.'

Jeremy lifted the file and let it drop on the desk again, emphasising its 
tremendous weight.

'Two weeks.  And there's not a worker there who hasn't requested to be 
transferred to another department.'

'I believe work is more productive if you can have a laugh at the same time.'

Jeremy bit his lip.  He pulled out a sheaf.

'Have a laugh?  Let's see.  Mr McRoy.'

'Jimmy?  Pretty little Jimmy.'

'Yes.  Let's see, you strapped a "Fairy Tale Castle" turret to your groin and 
pretended it was a penis?'

'We were just playing.'

'You then pinned him down, ripped off his trousers and forcibly inserted it 
into him, shouting "who's the Daddy, who's the Daddy?"'

'He didn't complain at the time.'

'Wouldn't that be because you'd first wrapped a "Tonka Trawler" fishing net 
around his mouth as a gag?'

Lucy shrugged.  'Well, he let his... appreciation come gushing forth.'

'That's as maybe.  It was still non-consenting.  Not to mention abuse of the 
merchandise.  I appreciate that you were only being affectionate in your own 
very unique way, but raping a man to within an inch of his life could be viewed 
by some as a touch aggressive.'

'As I said, he was really pretty.  If you saw the guy, you'd understand.'

'Here's another one.  An incident with a crossbow set.  I appreciate that it's 
a child's toy but a crossbow is still a crossbow.'

'Testing the products is a part of my job,' she protested.

'But not on your colleagues!'

'He agreed to play.'

'And did he know what "William Tell" would entail before you tied him up?'

She shrugged evasively.  'I'm sure I mentioned it.  Anyway, I'd never have done 
that if I wasn't totally confident in my aim.  And I hit, dead centre, first 
shot.'

Jeremy sighed shaking his head.  'William Tell put the apple on his son's 
head,' he said in a wearied tone.  'Not in his mouth.'

Lucy shrugged again.  'Details.'

He plucked out another file.  'Here's another one.  I suppose you were just 
testing the horse-riding set too.'

An awkward pause.  'Yeah.'

'By strapping it to a man's back and then forcing him to gallop up and down 
while you rode him.'

'Hey, I gave him a turn afterwards.'

'Yes.  You tied the poor fellow to your back, then bungie-jumped off the top 
balcony overlooking the factory floor.'

'Hey, I know what you're gonna say next and that wasn't my fault.  I checked 
first, and that gurney of packing crates wasn't there before I tied the rope 
on.  That was just bad timing.'

'A good job you have a tough head, I suppose.  But those crates aren't cheap.'

She was quieter now.  She knew she'd bent a couple of rules.  It wasn't that 
she sought out trouble, it's just that it always seemed to find her.

'And as for your abuse of the toys.  These products are gifts to children 
remember.'

'I was asked to try some of them out.  Test them.  You know kids, they bash 
things about, smash them into walls.  I was trying them for durability.'

'Playing baseball with a chess set?'

'Testing two games at once.'

'And what you did with the bat after that!  Impressive no doubt but surely you 
can see how it might be considered a little indecent by some.'

'Hey, that wasn't my fault.  Stevie dared me to do it.  It's not like I didn't 
wash it afterwards.'

'And the film?'

'I didn't know he was filming it.'

'You were doing it for the camera, posing in extreme close-up.'

'What are you supposed to do if someone pokes a camera in your face while 
you're busily engaged with...'

'OK.  And I agree it's not your fault it was broadcast around the whole 
internal computer system.'

'Never had a problem getting a date since,' she grinned, 'no matter what my 
reputation.'

Jeremy sat back in his chair, pressing his fingertips together.  'Yes.  And 
about your reputation.  Playing cards in the lunch break?'

'Lots of people do that.'

'Gambling?'

'It's not illegal.'

'What were you playing for?  Money?  Cigarettes?'

She hung her head at this point.

He continued, 'Sexual favours?'

'Always between consenting adults,' she insisted.

'Did the plant manager know what was going on?  He let it happen?'

'Well, yeah.  Actually the bastard still owes me three blow jobs and a 
buggering.'

Look, I'm no prude but your general attitude seems to unsettle a lot of people.

She shrugged again.  'I was brought up around gnomes, and you know, they're a 
lot more open about these things.'

'On your first day - before your shift had finished even - you'd already had 
some degree of sexual liaison with all but four of your shop team.'

'And I still made my toy quota,' she reminded him.

'No one's doubting your productivity.  I'm sorry, but I have to ask, why the 
exclusions?'

Lucy grinned before telling him, knowing that he really wanted to know.  He was 
as fascinated by her as everyone else.  And, she had to admit, he was kind of 
cute.  Well, maybe not cute, but certainly sweet.

'Two were girls who weren't either gay or curious,' she told him.  'One was a 
guy who was gay.'

'And the forth?'

'Yes,' she said slowly, that evil grin playing its way across her face.  'He 
learnt that I was brought up by gnomes.  He figured I was an easy lay and so he 
made a bet with some of the others that he could sleep with me.'

Jeremy nodded, putting the pieces together.  'Ah,' he said, 'this would be 
Nathan Hayes, the gentleman you stripped naked, tied to the flag pole and then 
hauled up to the top just before the morning shift arrived.'

'That would be him.'

'Incidentally, how did you know?'

'About the bet?'

'Yes.'

'I asked his friend.'

'Asked?' Jeremy repeated, his eyes boring into her.

She smirked a little, unable to resist that look.

'We came to a mutual agreement.  He agreed to tell me and I agreed to take my 
hand off his head.'  His gaze bore in on her and she added, 'which was face 
down in a compost pile of reindeer shit at the time.'

'And what about your habit of getting co-workers into trouble also?'

'I can't be held responsible for the actions of other people,' she stated.

'The redesign of the Barbie Doll for instance.'

She shrugged.

'A day's worth of production before anyone noticed.  Though I doubt that's 
actually true.  I'm sure people noticed, they were just too scared of you to do 
anything about it.  How can anyone fail to notice that the Barbie Doll suddenly 
makes the Actionman look like an anorexic wimp?  And the fact that your design 
required almost twice as much plastic.'

'I just found it offensive, all these little girls, being conditioned from such 
an early age as to what a woman should look like - giving them an unattainable 
image which will haunt them the rest of their lives.'

'So you bullied a technician to hack in and alter the design?'

She didn't actually verbally admit to this, instead sticking to her point.

'Do you know what damage that kind of negative reinforcement does?'

'It's not your decision to make.  The design has been put back but as it 
happens the ones produced are being shipped out anyway.'

This was news.  Lucy's face lit up.

'You're kidding.  I thought they'd be melted down for scrap.'

'Mrs C stepped in and overruled the distribution manager.  She's gonna short 
list the lucky few herself.'

'Wow.'  Lucy's grin became irrepressible.  She glanced upwards, to the top 
floors.  'Nice one Mrs C.'

'But that's beside the point.  Not to mention the poor tech you forced to 
actually do it.  He's been in fear of his job ever since.'

'Didn't he just blame me?'

'He's too scared to even mention you.'

Lucy pulled an embarrassed expression at this, actually feeling a little guilty 
for inspiring such terror.  She never actually meant any harm to anyone.

'He's probably scared I'll fuck him.'

'Huh?'

She looked up.  'Figure of speech,' she said.

Jeremy sighed.  'OK.  We tried you in Maintenance.  I must admit, I really did 
think that would suit you.  All that physical work.'

'I enjoyed it,' she assured him.

'Just a pity all those mechanics were so scared of you.'

'Can't think why, they all had a rough and macho sense of humour, I was just 
trying to fit in.'

'These are the most thuggish brutes I've ever met, and you had them too scared 
to come to work!'

'OK, so I'm out of here,' Lucy said.  'I get that.  I can give you a dozen 
reasons that aren't even on the file.  Yet.  No need to rub it in.  Cut to the 
quick Jar, what are you gonna do with me?'

'Well we've tried you in some of the more physical jobs.  We thought you'd get 
on well with that kind of work, given your obvious advantage.  You're certainly 
suited to the rough and tumble attitude of maintenance.  Unfortunately you 
turned out to be a little too suitable.  I've never seen such a scary group of 
men so humiliated.

'Factory work hasn't suited you.  As for enforcement services.  Well, we learnt 
the hard way about that.'

'Back in school, my teacher always said I had a problem with authority 
figures,' Lucy admitted.  How is Sergeant Henrick these days?'

'He's fine,' Jeremy told her carefully.  'Still in teaching.'  Then had to 
admit.  'He works in the city kindergarten.'

Lucy tried not to smirk at this.  She didn't want to appear proud of any of her 
misdeeds, though some, she felt, were fully justifiable.

'So what you got for me?' she asked.

'Administration.'

It took her a few seconds.

'What?  Grey suits?  Is that like a penance?'

'We just feel your particular talents might be best suited to another line of 
work.'

Lucy was less than impressed.  'Pen pushing?  I'll show you where to push a 
pen.  I'll shove it so far up your arse I can write my name on your tonsils.'

Jeremy wasn't put out by this sudden burst of hostility.  He was however glad 
that his pens were kept in his drawer rather than within easy reach on his desk.

'Try it.  That's all we ask.  In truth, we're hoping that your own unique brand 
of exuberance will keep the admin offices buzzing.  Don't get me wrong, they're 
not slack in their duties.  In fact, they do a difficult and stressful job very 
well.

'Stressful?'

'You have no idea the kind of volume they're dealing with this time of year.  
In fact, you honestly can't conceive of the kind of volume they deal with this 
time of year.'

She shrugged, as though saying, "I suppose."

'But it's the nature of the work that can often be the problem.  It gets to 
people after a while.  Even those to whom you would assume suited best for that 
kind of work.  In fact, often they're the ones to watch closest.  That's why 
they have to use plastic cutlery in the canteen instead of metal.  Just in 
case.'

'And you want me to join them?'

'We feel that perhaps someone of your character can help to keep morale up.  
Which is important after all.  The work itself is well within your capacities.  
Your intelligence and skill has never been in doubt.  I think you tend to get 
bored a little too quickly.  And when you let off steam... well, that's when 
people tend to get... bruised.'

Lucy shrugged again: "Shit happens."

'Plus there is a lot of physical work involved.  Boxes and boxes of paperwork 
constantly being moved.  The warehouse that deals with the current projects 
alone takes up the same amount of space as Mr Cs Air Sleigh Hanger.  Most 
administration staff are not known for their physicality.  Someone of your 
impressive physique would doubtless be handy.'

'So I give it a try?' she asked.  'That's all.  If I don't like it I can quit 
and try something else?'

'That's all we ask.  Honestly Lucy, we want to find a position that suits you.'  
He couldn't resist adding, 'Preferably one that doesn't result in casualties.'

She thought about it.  'OK,' she finally agreed.

Jeremy cleared his throat.  He still had something to say and she could tell 
that he was actually a little embarrassed about it.

'What?' she prompted.  'Don't go all shy on me, Jar.'

'There is one thing Ive wondered about,' he began.  'Understand that I don't 
follow celebrity gossip, and what any individual does in their private lives is 
none of my business.'

She smiled.  Proud after all of her fifteen minutes of fame.

'I know all these rumours and stories tend to follow you around anyway.'

'I pride myself in the fact that of the ones I've heard, most are true.'

'The Ducal heir Gregory Craye and his fianc� Estella DeMount.  It's been said 
that you were responsible for their break-up.'

'Not true,' she insisted.  'But I was involved.  I met Estella at a nightclub 
in the Latin quarter.  I was introduced to Gregory.  We were all pretty fucked 
at this point, the finest drinks and drugs on offer.  I was invited into their 
bed and I accepted.  I can't be held responsible for what happened 
subsequently.'

Jeremy nodded.  'Agreed.  In fact, probably better that she found out now 
rather than later.'

'The funny thing is, it was his idea.  She only went along with it to please 
him.  I guess it's a case of be careful what you wish for.'

'I take it she wasn't left with any doubts as to her orientation once you were 
done?'

Lucy grinned her familiar smug smirk.

'Is it also true he saw you after that in another nightclub and slapped you?'

'No, he only tried to slap me.'

'Ah.  That would be why his arm was in a sling at the Royal gala?'

She shrugged, modestly.  'Coincidence?'

Jeremy nodded.

'So, anything else?'

'One more thing.'  He took a photo-album from his desk draw and handed it to 
her.  'If you're going to use company facilities for personal projects, try not 
to leave the finished product lying around where anyone can find it.  
Especially considering the nature of the content.'

'Oh thanks, I wondered where I left that.  It's for half a Christmas present.'

'And I'm sure it'll be well received.  Very flexible.'

'Oh yeah, well I mean, it is for a girl.'

'No I mean the poses are flexible.  Very supple.'

'Thanks.'

He had to ask, he couldn't help himself.  'Half a Christmas present?'

'Yeah, the other half is when I re-enact the photos.'

'Lucy.  I do wish you well.  If there's ever anything I can do, please come and 
see me.'

'Will do, Jar.  You know, I don't care what anyone says about you, you're an 
alright guy.'

He smiled.  She was being genuine, as ever.  And in truth it was all she was 
ever capable of being.  'Thank you, Lucy.'

                                     * * *

Jeremy looked down at the list and swore.

'Why come to me with this?' he demanded.

'You know her better than anyone,' one suit said.

'Can you think of any reason she'd need that list?' the other asked.

'Any other reason you mean?' Jeremy amended.  'No.  Thing about Lucy is she's 
very simple, very straight forward.'

He picked up his phone and dialled an internal number.  'Yeah, I need a 
trackdown on an Earth-tripper, pronto.  And get a door-well set up for me, I'm 
going after her.'

A pause and then he recited from memory.  This was one personnel code he'd 
encountered all too many times.  'Lucy Atkinson, Elf: JX-d/485709-4775 third 
class.'  Then he added.  'Oh and Emma?  Have a cleaning crew and damage control 
unit prepped and ready to follow too, just in case.'

'You going after her yourself?' one suit asked.

'You want the honour?'

He backed up at this.  'No, that's OK.  I'm happy to trust you.'

'How much damage could she have done?  I mean, one little girl.  She's only 
been gone a while.'

The other suit turned to his reflection.  'Are you mad?  Didn't you read her 
file?'

'Didn't get time.'

'You've heard of Napalm?  An elf in seventh sector.  You've heard the stories 
I'm sure.  One time he was arrested for being drunken and disorderly but wasn't 
taken in because none of the forceful enforcement force were willing to get 
close enough to cuff him.  He was sitting there in the snow, picking strings of 
reindeer meat out of his teeth with a broken whiskey bottle.  Reindeer wasn't 
actually on the menu that night so he'd trashed the restaurant in disgust, 
staggered into the street and noticed Santa's personal sleigh team in a nearby 
field.  He scaled the fence and carved himself a slab of Rudolph, making a 
bonfire right in the middle of the street.'

'What's that got to do with Lucy?'

'She was working two days with this guy on the maintenance team and he put in a 
charge of assault against her.  He was demanding to be transferred and claiming 
the right to give silent testimony.'

'Strange that such a macho individual would show no embarrassment or reluctance 
to admit he was assaulted by a girl.'

'He said that anyone who thought it was a sign of weakness should tell that to 
Lucy herself and then see how they end up.'

There was fear in his face now.  'And this chick's working for us now?'

Jeremy was trying not to laugh at all this.  He was familiar with the case and 
it always interested him how stories got blown up through rumour.  Even though 
that wasn't so on this occasion.  

'She doesn't actually mean to commit assault,' Jeremy assured them with a 
benevolent smile, 'she just likes to play a little rough is all.'

This was far from comforting.  And nor did he intend it to be.  His phone rang.  
'Hello?'  He listened intently.  'Great, thank you.  I'll be ready.'

                                     * * *

Henry pushed his way home through the snow.  The buses only ran one an hour 
this time of night.  It'd take him as long to walk as to wait for the next.  
The idea of standing stock still at a bus shelter, the cruel winds sluicing 
through to his very bones, did not appeal.  At least walking might keep him a 
little warm.  Anyway, these days it was the only exercise he got.

He patted his breast pocket as a reassurance of the heavy brown envelope 
within.  Heavy?  No, not heavy.  And even less than it had been thanks to his 
stopping at the Roasted Stag after work.

He'd only meant to have the one.  But that had become two, become three.  And 
then he couldn't leave without one for the road, and then a tot of the good 
stuff to keep out the cold.

Hence the late hour.  Hence he'd doubtless receive another overdue letter from 
the council tax.  Bastards.  Still, given the choice between paying a bill and 
getting a few drinks in him, in good company, he knew which he'd prefer. He'd 
pay them next week, he really would.

This was the one time of the year he could pretty much guarantee to stay in 
employment, all the stores taking on so much extra staff.  And what happened?  
His benefits were ripped to shit.  And then he'd be laid off again straight 
after Christmas.

The snow was coming down in flurries and Henry held his coat tight about him.  
His feet were wet and his toes numb.  His fingers poked through his gloves.  He 
held them in his armpits to help keep them warm.

He finally got home but dropped his keys in front of the door.  He swore and 
shuddered as he dipped his hands into the freezing slush to retrieve them.  He 
fumbled with the lock and then made his way into the hallway.

Henry lived in a bed-sit.  His mail was sitting on the table along with the 
normal junk-mail crap that no one had bothered to chuck.  He saw the red though 
the official window envelope.  He swore.

He made his way up the stairs, knowing through experience that the timed light 
would click off before he had time to get to the top.  It did so and he fumbled 
in the darkness for the button at the top of the stairs.  With the dingy light 
restored, he unlocked his door and let himself into the single room in which he 
lived.

He tossed the carrier bag on his bed and switched on the TV and the radiator.  
It was on high, but it was old and decrepit; even when it got going, it would 
barely produce any real heat.

He was about to start stripping off the wet clothes when the door to his room 
swung slowly open.

His first thought was that it can't have been shut properly.  Like everything 
else in this building, it was hanging together by a thread.  Then he saw the 
dark shadow move across the doorway.

'Henry Slough?'

Henry was too stunned to respond.

'I want to talk to you Henry Slough.'

'Who are you?' he finally managed.

The dark shadow moved a little.  It was big - filling his doorway, its head 
just below the frame.  It moved forward and closed the door behind it.  Then it 
pulled its hood down and amongst the swamping darkness of its cloak, Henry saw 
the most unexpected of sights: a pretty young woman.

The voice had been dark and threatening, but now he came to think of it, 
feminine.  But this face before him was one of sweetness and delicacy.  High 
cheekbones, small pixie eyes, pretty little nose, pale skin and ruby cheeks, 
small bright lips, sharp, smooth chin.  An expanse of forehead as her raven 
hair was tied back behind her head in a pretty ponytail.

A model's beauty with a model's severity - coolly aloof.  That same haughty 
arrogance apparent just in the stance.  The same outrageous height - six three?

'What?'

It was a fair question but her answer left him none the wiser.

'You are in direct violation of code seven, section two, sub-paragraph three in 
that you have dressed and acted as Santa Claus with the direct intention of 
convincing children that you were in fact Santa Claus.  Also contravening 
copyright legislation and committing character defamation.  Plus the
distribution  of gifts in an indiscriminate manner without a licence.'

'What?'

'Do you deny it?  I can see your costume, its on your bed.'

The Santa costume had spilled out of the plastic bag.  Henry looked at it then 
back to his visitor.

'Who are you?  What's this all about.'

'Never mind who I am,' the girl hissed.  'What this is about is you breaking 
the rules.  I'm here to stop you.'

It was strange.  The woman was so pretty and delicate, and yet her voice was 
powerful and menacing.  If he hadn't been looking up into those beautiful dark 
eyes, he'd swear the voice came from some gangster's moll - hard and fearless.  
The contradiction sent his addled mind into even further confusion.

'I don't understand,' he stuttered.

'God, do they put something in the water here or what,' she huffed.  She had 
the air of someone having a bad night.

She swept forward in one blink of motion.  Two iron gloves seemed to ram into 
his chest and Henry hit the ground so hard he thought he would break, despite 
the cushion of alcohol.

She was over him in a second, the iron gloves were in fact her hands, smooth 
and frighteningly strong.  She clutched him viciously tight and held him up 
beneath her.  Suddenly the pretty face was no longer particularly sweet.  The 
dark eyes - though beautiful - held something far more sinister than a 
supermodel's haughty arrogance.

She held him without apparent effort, drawing his face close to her own, 
letting him read the murderous promise in her expression.

Henry lay suspended in her grip, wondered hazily what was going on.  Was this 
madness finally?  Was his sad and pathetic situation not amusement enough for 
the cruel Gods that they now felt they needed to add schizophrenia to his CV?

The girl realised Henry was slipping from her and, apparently not one for 
subtleties, head-butted him, awakening him to the reality of his situation by 
squashing his nose.

Pain shot through to the back of his skull.  His eyes blasted water, his nose 
gushed blood.

'Wakey, wakey Mr Slough.  You'll miss the moral.'

He found himself hauled up into the air, higher even than she.  He didn't have 
time to wonder at her strength though, his head banged the ceiling hard and her 
fingers simply released their hold, dropping him in a painful heap at her feet.

He looked up the silky length of the robe, fluttering like gentle waves on an 
inky black sea.  A hand descended towards him.  It was clutching a pair of 
industrial pliers.  Henry realised that far from being over, his ordeal had 
only just begun.

The pliers slotted easily into his still bleeding nostrils, taking a good hold 
of the broken nose.  She dragged his head up and across, Henry fighting to stay 
with her all the way, as was the point of the tool.

His head was pointed at the plastic carrier bag containing the Santa Suit.

'Pick it up,' she told him.

She made him stand, being reasonably smooth with her actions, letting him stay 
relatively pain-free, as long as he was quick and obedient.

'Good.  Now follow me.'

As if he had any choice.

He was led to the door.  She gave it a hefty kick to open it.  The catch, he 
knew, was weak as shit and would give with a healthy shove, but it was the door 
that gave this time, shattering into splinters before her blow.

She led him down the stairs, his face trailing her hand.  He had to bend over 
which was uncomfortable, but trying to fight her was infinitely worse.

They journey left a trail of blood which would, along with the two doors cause 
an argument the following day, despite Henry's assurance that he'd pay for all 
the damages.  The argument would result in Henry telling his landlord to shove 
his fucking flat up his fucking arse.  Take the security deposit and shove that 
up his arse.  Take his nagging petty complaints and shove those up his arse.  
And should they be a problem with space, even with his colossal arse, he should 
start by taking his head out of his arse first.

But that was in the future, right now he was too concerned with the huge metal 
pinchers threatening to tear his face and the front of his skull off, to even 
notice.

He was led to the back door.  His captor opened it with a similar wood 
shattering kick.  She hauled him outside before finally removing the pliers.

Henry grabbed his face in relief.  Such was his gratitude at being released 
again that he didnt even notice the biting cold.

Neither did the girl.  She watched and waited as Henry spat lumps of blood onto 
the grotty white ground.

He took a lump of dirty snow and buried his sore face in it.

Whatever his drink or shock addled state had been - he was cold and sober now.

He looked up at the psychotic giant standing in her shimmering black cloak.

'What the fuck?' he insisted.  Or at least, that's what "wadda fug?" was meant 
to mean.

'You.  Santa.  No more.  Comprenda?'

'Don't dress as Santa?  Why?'

She punched the wall besides her, shattering brickwork in a small explosion 
around her fist.  The hole in the wall was a hollow rather then going right 
through but it was a close thing.  It must have been six inches deep.

'Coz I say so.  Good enough?'

Henry shuddered.  'Good enough,' he assured her.

She had brought him out back for a reason.  She lifted a lid off one of the 
dustbins that were out there.

Henry lifted the carrier bag with the Santa suit inside.  A silent question.  
She nodded.  He was finally getting it.

Henry wanted to protest about the cost of the thing, the amount the shop would 
charge him for losing it.  Looking at the tall woman he doubted she'd take 
kindly to that.  He could always sneak down tomorrow and retrieve it before the 
bins were emptied.  If he dared.

'OK.  That's good,' the woman told him.  'Tell me what have you learnt from 
this?'

What had he learnt?  Get better fucking locks.  Never underestimate chicks, no 
matter how pretty they may be.

'I shouldn't pretend to be Santa,' he recited obediently.  He still had no idea 
what this was about but he was gonna play ball and worry about that later.

She nodded, satisfied.  She made to turn and leave him then.  She changed her 
mind however, a question flickering onto her face.

'I just got to ask though.  Why do you do it?  I mean, what's the actual 
point?'

Henry cowered down, scared this was another trick.  Surely the abuse was over?  
But her expression was one of genuine curiosity.

'No point.  It's just a job,' he told her.  'That's all.  A stupid job.  The 
only one I could get.'

'A job?'  This reason seemed a little perplexing to her, but she seemed willing 
enough to accept it.

'The money's shit but anythings better then being on the dole.'

'Money,' she repeated, nodding to herself.  'Yeah, I've heard that a lot 
tonight.  It's a strange world you live in, it really is.'

She reached into her cloak and pulled out a large black leather wallet.  It was 
a man's wallet but it still seemed to suit her somehow.  It had the legend "Bad 
Motherfucker" written on the side.  This too seemed to suit her.

She scooped a hand into it, apparently emptying it.  A very thick bundle of 
paper indeed.  She tossed it to him and he caught it instinctively.

'For your troubles,' she told him.  She held out a wagging finger.  'Remember - 
no more Santa impressions.'  Henry was too shocked to answer her.

She turned on her heel, spinning her cape about impressively, and disappeared 
into the shadows.

Henry Slough looked down at the heavy brick in his hand.  The top note was a 
twenty, new and crisp.  Flicking through the three inches of paper, he saw that 
the others were too.  The wad was bundled together with a silver band, blazoned 
with a smiling old face in red hat and beard.  "Claus & Claus Ltd".

Despite the aches and pains, Henry started to feel that it may well be a Merry 
Christmas after all.  Money may not be able to buy happiness, but it certainly 
helped removed the obstacles that often got in the way of it.

                                     * * *

Lucy checked the name Henry Slough off her list and began writing out the next 
access pass, pushing hard so the writing would be legible on all the carbons.  
God, a week into the job and she was already thinking like an admin clerk.
There were two youths on the opposite side of the road to where she was stood, 
clipboard in hand, breath smoking out before her.  She had assessed them 
already, as was her habit, seeing they were your typical bozo thugs, but she 
paid them no mind until they actually crossed over the road to approach her.  
The lead was carrying a baseball bat.

She sighed and folded her clipboard up, tucking it into a pocket of her cloak.

'It's late,' the first thug told her when he arrived.  He brandished his bat in 
an obviously threatening manner.  The guy behind him sniggered.

Lucy shook her head sadly.  What was wrong with this place?  These two were 
technically still kids, they actually qualified for Mr Cs list.  Doubtless 
they'd fail to score a "good" mark however.

'What the fuck you smirking at, bitch?'

Lucy's eyes were upon the bat.  'You are really going to regret bringing that 
out with you tonight,' she promised him.

                                     * * *

Lucy had left the two men in the back street where she'd found them.  She'd 
taken their riches, doubtless ill gotten gains, and left them only with a 
mobile phone.  They'd need to call for an ambulance after all.

A man approached her though the dark night.  He was another elf, she could tell 
by his manner.  Nothing particularly strange, this time of year there was a lot 
of work to be done across the planet.  Research, checking their lists were up-
to-date and of course the current standards of morality/sociological 
impressionability and culpability against which to measure the all important 
Good/Bad scale.  It was only as he got close that she recognised who it was.

Jar?

She grinned like an idiot and ran up to hug him.

His manner was less amenable however.  'Lucy.  Could I possibly have a word?'

'Well I'm kinda busy actually.  What is it?'  Then, given his body language and 
face.  'What's wrong?'

                                     * * *

'So what made you think you had to stop all the Santas?'

'It says so, in black and white.  You know what suits are like - sticklers for 
paperwork, everything to the letter of the law.  I was just trying to make a 
good impression.'

'Well you certainly made an impression,' he agreed.  'Technically you are 
correct but a lot of things have changed since that rulebook was written.  
Maybe next time you should consult your supervisor before setting off on a 
project like that.'

'I suppose,' she agreed.

They were sat in a pub.  It was loud and raucous, a live band kicked rock music 
through to the rafters.  It had been standing room only but Lucy had persuaded 
a group of guys to offer them their table.

Jeremy hadn't asked how and was more than willing to overlook any impropriety 
on this occasion.

Most people would have a problem with holding a conversation in such an 
environment but elves have talented ears and can pick one individual sound from 
a thousand played simultaneously.

'I'll get you a drink,' he offered.

'No, let me.  I've got an expense account now.  Can you believe that?'

He smiled.  She was like a child with a new toy.  'Sure.  Get me a beer.  
Whatever lager they've got on tap would be fine.'

She took out her wallet and opened it.  Inside there was a note and a pile of 
loose coins.  She emptied it into her hand, knowing it was precisely the amount 
she would require.

'Didn't they have any girls' purses?' Jeremy asked her.

She looked confused a moment.  'Of course they did,' she told him and put her 
wallet away again.

She came back with the drinks remarkable quickly considering how busy the bar 
was.  He smiled.  It would appear she was really happy in her new position.
She saw he was looking at her strangely as she drank.  'What?'

'Didn't you read the guide on remaining inconspicuous?'

'Of course,' she hedged.  In truth she'd skimmed it and then blagged the 
interview to get her pass stamped.  'What,' she insisted.  She held up the 
glass for him to see.  'It's just whiskey.  Girls drink whiskey here.'

'Yes,' he agreed.  'But not normally by the pint.'

She regarded the glass then shrugged and took another long draft.

'It's not as good as the real stuff anyway,' she muttered.

'Just tell me something,' Jeremy said.

'Sure.'

'How far did you get through the list?'

'You've got a copy,' she said.  'I was going through it systematically.  Top to 
bottom.'

'I've just got the original data.  I don't know how you sorted it.'
'Alphabetically.  By country first.'

His face crinkled a little.  'By country?  And we're here in the UK?'

'England,' she assured him.

He shrugged.  Could have been worse.

'The access pass is great, I can go anywhere I want on Earth.'

'It's a great reasonability,' he told her.

'Yeah, of course,' she agreed.

'How are you finding the work generally?'

'Oh OK, you know.  Some of the history is really interesting.  I was sending 
out these press packs and I stopped to read through it all.  It's actually 
really fascinating.  Did you know how Santa got all his money in the first 
place?  He owns the patent on the colour mauve.  He won it in a poker game 
years ago.  It was the same poker game he won November 1438 from one of the 
Merlins.  That's when he first got his idea about the toys.'

'I didn't know that, that is interesting,' Jeremy agreed.

'He was going with this farmer's daughter back then.  She ran away with him 
after pissing off a bunch of elves in a bet.  She'd defeated this gnome in an 
arm wrestling match and made him look stupid in front of his mates.  How the 
elves were involved I don't know.'

'I've always meant to read more history,' Jeremy said.  'I've just never gotten 
around to it.'

'You should do, it's great.'

A man walked into the bar, kicking snow off his boots.  He ordered a drink and 
began to unwrap.  He had on a dark blue sweater, blue denim jeans.

Lucy watched him a few moments and suddenly asked, 'You only came to stop me 
giving out warnings, right?  I mean I'm not in any trouble?'

'No more than normal,' he assured her.

'So I mean, I'm not expected to come back with you now?  I could hang around a 
little longer if I needed to, say, check something out or something?'

Jeremy followed her gaze, fixing upon the sweatered guy.  He had thick dark 
hair and a rugged look about him.  Not a pretty boy as such but he had a 
certain outdoorsy appeal.  Not Lucy's normal type but then, he'd long since 
given up trying to predict her taste or whims.

'Hey, I'm just here on a random check-up, make sure you're happy in your new
job.  That's what goes down on my paperwork.  The fact that there's a minor 
misunderstanding on your first project, and during your probationary period as 
well, no one's gonna hold that against you.'

'So I could go introduce myself to someone, ask what they want for Christmas.'

'That's a good chat-up line actually,' he said.  'Go for it.'

'Thanks.'  Then, with a slightly confused expression.  'What's a chat-up line?'

'Figure of speech,' he assured her.  'Go on.  Go give him one for me.'

That expression flickered across her face again.

'And so is that,' he told her before she could ask.

She winked at him, tossed back her drink then stood and headed over to the man.

He had just been served a beer and he took a long draft from it.

Jeremy watched as Lucy bounded up to him like an excitable puppy.

He was tall and she barely had to lean down to speak into his ear.

Jeremy saw the man's expression change.  Look up at Lucy, clearly shocked, and 
watched in disbelief as her hand slid down inside his jeans.  She leant down 
again and said something else.

Lucy turned to Jeremy and gave him the "OK" sign, then headed out the bar, 
trailing the disbelieving man behind her, her hand still down the front of his 
pants.

Merry Christmas, Jeremy thought to himself, sipping his beer.  Goodwill to all 
men.  And women.