Sentinel Christmas Carol

Part One: Seasons Cretins

By: Clarence P. Browne, Jr


    Jim and Blair assessed the situation sullenly. Some scumbag had bushwhacked a streetcorner Santa and caved his head in with a brick for what amounted to a few dollars in loose change. Nobody had lifted a finger to help him in all the milling throng of shoppers. The only real witness they had was some wino, and he gave his report with a rancid stink of cheap whiskey and body-odor.

    "Isha durn ssshame, swutitis," he stated blearily. "Shum fella come up an' sez, 'Lesh have da loot', an' Shanta sez 'Here, take it'... Ya know, cuz Shanta'sh a givin' type fella... But den the guy getsh all mad... Sez Shanta ain't got no real money like he'sh shuposeta... Shanta sez he jush got out dere, and hashn't had a lotta akshun, y'know...?"

    "Un huh," grimaced Jim, fighting the urge to retch as the drunk's pungence all but overwhelmed him. "Then what happened?"

    "Welp, the guy went off, y'know? Knocked Shaint Nick on his ash, an' then grabbed a brick an' clocked 'im while he wuz tryin' to get up. Shanta went down wit' his head split, an' the guy hit 'im a few more times until he didn't move no more... I sheen it, an' I sez 'Hey! Leave off Shanta, man!' an' the guy flips me the bird an' runs for it..." Then the old vagrant started crying.

    "What's the matter, man?" asked Blair.

    "Aw, man, the guy killed Shanta... We ain't gonna have no Chrishmish now. All thoshe l'il kidsh're gonna be sho shad... An' lookit me... Old Timmy shaw it. But I couldn't do nuthin' man... I couldn't help him. I couldn't reshcue Shanta!"

    "Don't be so hard on yourself, oldtimer," Jim said. "There wasn't anything you could do..."

    "No, man!" insisted Timmy through his tears. "I wuz a Marine! In NAM. I coulda done PLENTY! I jush couldn't... Couldn't get there in time... I jus' wasn't... fasht enuff..."

    "It's okay, Tim," Blair offered. "The real Santa's still hard at work at the North Pole, right? That poor guy was just... helping him out. Right, Big Guy?"

    James Ellison stared blankly at his partner.

    "Izzie right, buddy?" Timmy asked, scrubbing his tears away with a stained mitten. "Shanta'sh shtill okay? Chrishmish shtill on?"

    Blair nudged Jim in the ribs. "Uh, right..." Jim stumbled. "That guy was... just helping out... Uh... Santa's fine."

    Strangely, the old souse brightened. "Thank God," he said with a sigh of relief. "Thank God."

    "Okay, uh, Timmy," Ellison continued. "We'll need you to go down to the station and look at some pictures."

    "Great!" exclaimed the drunk. "It's cold as hell out here."

    Blair smiled, "I know, man. Now let's square you up, get that officer to give you a ride and we'll see you downtown. You take care, huh?"

    "You just get the dirty bastid that killed Shanta's buddy, awright? I'll do my part."
    
    Timmy was driven down to the station, and as they drove back into town (after buying a new air freshener) Jim glared at his partner and demanded, "What the fuck was all THAT?"

    "What?" Blair asked.

    "What kind of bullshit are you passing here? I thought you were JEWISH, and you're shovelling that Santa crap out. If that wasn't bad enough, you're getting ME to go along with you..."

    "Calm down, man," Blair replied. "It might have just been my mom's insistance that I had a multi-cultural childhood, but I kinda thought every kid knows the Santa routine. I was just trying to keep him from getting hysterical. If he believed what he did, that's cool. It doesn't hurt anyone..."

    "Yeah? What happens if he fingers a guy in the mugbook?"

    "Uh, we go get the guy?"

    "And after that? When it goes to trial? When we have to bring a fucked up old lush to the stand that believes in fucking SANTA? The public defender's office could send someone that walked PAST a law school and still get the guy off. And THAT's assuming our SOLE witness isn't dead in the gutter by the time we get to trial."

    "Geeze, Jim, relax a little, huh?" Blair stated nervously. "It's the holidays."

    "Fuck that. The holidays are a sham. We're supposed to march like lemmings to the mall every year because of some bullshit that MAY have happened a couple thousand years ago? Not me."

    "Come on, Big Guy, this season is more than just some semi-religous rituals and shopping."

    "True," replied Jim. "There's also all the suicides and robberies."

    "Geeze, what happened to your holiday spirit? Your good will toward men?"

    "Hey, I give to Good Will. But the rest of this shit is just a con. What, it gets a little cold and all of a sudden the world's supposed to stop being a bunch of bastards and buy stuff? I can't swallow that."

    "Oh, come ON. This is the time of year that it's not considered a bad thing to still have a sense of wonder, or a belief in the inherent goodness of people. It's okay to let down your defenses and enjoy the warmth of good cheer."

    "You keep forgetting you're talking to a COP, Sandburg. If that shit was so, even on the surface, I'd spend alot of my time standing around. But we both know it's not, the only difference is I accept it."

    "Aw, man," Blair sighed. "I can't believe you were worked over that bad as a kid that you're afraid to give a damn about anything."

    Jim seized Blair by the shoulders and spun him around to face him. "First off," he growled, "what I went through as a kid is none of your fucking BUSINESS. Second, I am not afraid of a GOD DAMNED THING. And third, you are the LAST person on EARTH that has any right to judge me about not getting into something YOU don't even believe in. If Christ wasn't the Messiah, then why get all bubbly about his fucking BIRTHDAY? At least I have the COURAGE to STAND by what -I- believe in, even if it's NOT what everybody else is doing. Try it sometime, huh?"

    "That's not fair," Blair said softly. "This season is used as a giving time by nearly every faith! Judaism, Islam, Christianity, Wicca, and others all converge at this time of year - and each with their own customs and gift rituals. I can get into the season and not betray my beliefs, man. And you know something, at least I HAVE belief in something that's beyond what I can touch or see. You're so wrapped up in your cynicism and misery over the past that you can't even handle the POSSIBILITY of there being something more - and that's just pitiful."

    "You think I want YOUR pity? YOU? Think -I'M- pitiful because I don't light a few candles or chop down a tree? Fuck you. Fuck your nonsense about how good mankind is this time of year that you chant like a mantra. I've got a stack of paperwork on my desk that says you're full of shit, and you know what? That stack's gonna get BIGGER. THAT'S the inherent goodness of mankind for you, Sandburg - and you're welcome TO it. Mankind is out for itself. Dog eat dog. No holidays. If they DO help someone, it's so they can hold it over their head. Not that HELPING anyone does any good. Take our pal Timmy. Living on the street, eating out of trashcans, blinding himself to the world with booze. If this season brought out the good in folks, why wasn't he in a shelter out of the cold?"

    "Alot of guys like him have too much pride, man. They'd rather die than take a handout..."

    "Well they oughta die, then, and get it over with. Makes room for others that have SENSE enough to come in out the cold; plus there'll be more to go around without them in the system."

    "There's just no talking to you when you get like this," Blair pronounced. "I was gonna give you this later, but there's no time like the present..." He held out a small envelope to Jim.

    "What the hell is that?"

    "It's a ticket to this Holiday party we're having at the college. Everyone's welcome..."

    "Then why have tickets? More to the point, why give it to me? Isn't there some co-ed you'd rather take along?"

    Blair shrugged. "Well, there's going to be plenty there as it is, man. No, I just figured you could use some holiday cheer when I got it for you, and you make me more sure of it by the second."

    "This is for the twenty-fourth... That's tonight."

    "Your point being?"

    "I'm working tonight..."

    "No, you're not. I already bounced this off Simon, and he seems to agree that eight Christmases in a row is enough for even you..."

    "What the hell are you doing going behind my back like that?"

    Blair's jaw dropped in shock, "I.. I thought you'd be happy to not have to work tonight..."

    "Something ELSE you're on the money about. Hey, you're batting a thousand! Look how fucking HAPPY I am! Wheee!"

    Sandburg sat there a moment fighting back tears as he asked, "Are you through?"

    Jim pulled over and stopped the truck. "No," he replied. "But you are."

    "W-what do you mean?"

    "Get out of the truck. Not now, but RIGHT now."

    Blair numbly complied.

    "I've got another six hours on this shift," Jim said flatly. "That should be enough time for you to get back to the apartment, get your gear and hit the bricks. Toss your key back under the door when you leave."

    "B-but... What about...?"

    "You should have enough to do that damn book report you've been ruining my life to write by now. If not, too bad. You and me are DONE."

    "B-b-but... What about me..? Where do I go?"

    Jim pulled the door to the truck closed as he replied, "You'll be fine. Mankind's inherent goodness will take care of you from now on. I'm officially OUT of THAT racket."

    Tears flowed freely from Sandburg as Ellison drove away.


Chapter 2