Sentinel Christmas Carol

Part Two: Humbugger with Cheese


Ellison drove on feeling strangely out-of-sorts.

Damn that neo-hippie and his meddling! This is supposed to be a free country, and if James J. Ellison doesn't want to bother with some stupid Jingle Bellery, so what? But, noooo, he has to get dragged over the coals because he's not following the crowd. Hmph!

Still, you may have overreacted a SMIDGE with throwing Sandburg out.

No! Where's your PRIDE? That silly bastard has gotten you into more shit than you'd find in a fertilizer factory, and it's time he learned that that goofy ass grin and shrug can't smooth over every scrape he bungles into.

That kid's gotten into a few scrapes BECAUSE of you, too, let's not forget... A few times his meddling has even saved your ass. Not that you'd ever ADMIT it...

Ever since that kid dropped himself into the middle of your life and started providing running commentary, you've never been able to get a moment's peace.  Shit, you always wondered why his MOM keeps on the move; and now you know. Free spirit, like hell... She's RUNNING.

Like YOU'RE all that easy to live with... How many ex-wives do you have anyway? How many ex-girlfriends? Even YOU can't be so stupid as to think it's all THEIR fault things don't work out, can you? Oh, wait, THERE'S your pride. Found it.

That isn't it at all! You can't tell me you're not tired of having to tread so light around everyone ELSE'S feelings, but never getting the same consideration in return. Is it so much to ask? You're the one that's so wrapped up in being FAIR, just ask yourself if THAT is and get back to me.

Oh yes, let's send out some invitations to the pity party. Poor old Jimmy Ellison is SUCH a misunderstood soul. All he wants is to be miserable, and maybe spread a little of it around. You should stop bitching about how unhappy you are and just do something about it. What can it hurt to mark out a little for some silly tree? How much could a couple little trinkets for your friends cost?  Maybe take some time off to try and enjoy life. Oh, wait, if you did that the whole WORLD would fall into chaos. Sorry, I forgot.

Now wait just a second! I've got nothing against giving to my friends. But it's got to be a two-way street! You've got to be out of your mind if you think I should just let myself be taken advantage of because it's a TRADITION.

Out of MY mind? Who's the one talking to themselves? You're the one that's bitching about people wanting to 'force' you to be happy, and look how hard YOU work making people around you miserable. What was that about a two-way street you were saying?

Dammit! How far out should I put myself? How responsible do -I- have to be for other people's welfare? And why the hell is it never far ENOUGH? Jim Ellison is NOBODY's damn custodian, and that's that.

You keep forgetting you're talking to a COP.

Fuck you.
    
Ellison grimly swung the truck into the parking lot of the McDonalds and planned out his evening. A quick couple of close-enough burgers, followed by some more good old fashioned WORK. What the hell did he care about this Santa Claus bullshit anyway? So WHAT if everyone else is being spoon fed that stuff to keep the economy going, they CAN because guys like HIM were around to protect Joe Consumer from from badguys who ALSO didn't take days off. And most importantly: What the fuck was he doing talking to himself? This goddamn Holiday Cheer was really starting to get on his nerves, and Jim silently determined not to bother with any more of this internal monologue stuff or anything else that could be an irritant in his current state of vexation.

Then why the hell are you going to go eat THIS crap?

Shut the fuck up, already! JESUS, I just got RID of ONE pain in the ass.

"I... I'm sorry, sir, but they MAKE us ask you that. Y'know, so we know what you want to eat?" said a voice to Jim's left.

"Oh, hell!" Jim hissed. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I wasn't talking to you... Uh, I'll have a Number Four Value Meal, No pickles and Super-size it, please?"

"Okay, then," chirped the voice from the speaker. "Drive up to the window, please..."

Jim complied, and out of habit listened to the workers - especially the one he unintentionally railed.

"Who does that guy think he IS, talking to me like that?" she said angrily.

"Calm down, Phoebe," someone else said. "Just give him the special sauce."

"Right," she said huffily. Then Jim heard a fairly ladylike spitting sound. He felt his ears heat with anger at this action. THIS was her Christmas present to a total stranger on Christmas Eve, and Sandburg had the NERVE to break his balls about mankind's good nature? The customer ahead of him got their order and drove on, and he slowly drove up to the window while his anger boiled his brain. He saw one of the girls, possibly Phoebe, goggle in shock as he came into view, so he tuned back in to their conspiring.

"Omigod! Gail, give me back that Number Four!"

"What's the matter?"

"That dude that was cursing at me, he's on the security cam..."

"Uh huh... And?"

"He's GORGEOUS. I just CAN'T do it to him. Quick, get Jake to do another one and I'll stall him..."


Jim kept his face the picture of serenity as Phoebe opened the window to speak to him. "Problem?" he asked innocently. She was a very pretty young woman, Jim appraised. The kind of double-stacked young thing Sandburg usually turns upside down over on sight. Reddish blonde, busty enough to notice - but not OVERLY so like you'd see if she was a cut-up, twenty-two at the latest. And she thought HE was gorgeous. She must love Connery flicks, too, he'd wager.

"Uh, well, we're sorry, sir, but it's going to be a little bit longer for your order," Phoebe said.

"Oh? Out of special sauce, are we?"

Phoebe's eyes widened. "Uh, no, it's just... Uh..."

"Shall I come inside? Perhaps talk to the manager?"

"Uh.... Well..."

"Listen, I used to work this sort of thing," Jim said, letting her off the hook. "I know the usual treatment someone that doesn't mind their language gets, especially this time of year. It's okay. I was having a bit of a rough patch with someone over the cellphone, and I guess I didn't know how loud I was being. I'm sorry, okay?"

"YOU'RE apologizing?" Phoebe asked completely poleaxed. "Wow... Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? I mean, GEEZE, what I was going to do! I'm DYING here."

"Wellllll," Jim said wryly. "You COULD tell me what made you decide not to go through with it..?"

Phoebe blushed, "I... Just didn't want to do something like that to anyone on Christmas Eve..."

"I see," Jim smiled. "So any other day and I would've gotten the special sauce, eh?"

"NO!" Phoebe said, aghast. "Uh... I just thought... That is... Well, actually, I guess I -WASN'T- thinking. I'm really sorry, mister."

"Jim," he said. "And don't worry about it, okay? Just remember we all have off days - especially this time of year. Right?"

"Right," Phoebe said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Say, listen, I don't usually do this, but I get out of here in ten minutes, and I was wondering... Y'know, if you're not busy...?"

Jim looked to the empty seat, spying once again the tickets to that Holiday thing at the college. "Welll, I'm not one for impulse moves, either, but I have these tickets to a big party at the college tonight..."

"The Holiday Festival?" Phoebe bubbled. "That'd be AWESOME."

"Well, hang on to the Number Four and I'll be right in to get it, okay?"

"You bet, Jim! See ya in two shakes!"


Ah, this was beginning to look like the start of something beautiful, Jim thought to himself as he parked the truck. Sure, it was a stange encounter, but not much stranger than some of the ones he'd met. He smirked as he realized he'd given new meaning to the terms 'Pick-up Window' AND 'Pickup Truck'. He strolled to the entrance and started to walk into the restaurant.

Then something caught his eye... A beat up black Chevy Nova was in the parking lot eight places over from his with the motor running. Normally, not much to worry about, as folks frequently send one of their friends into the store to pickup the order because they'd rather not deal with the hassle of fast food service. He'd sent Blair in a few times, himself. No, that wouldn't be cause for concern at all... if anyone were IN the car.

"Shit me a Yule log," he grimaced, noting the license plate - probably taken from some lot since there was only one screw holding it onto the car. He zeroed in again on the restaurant, checking his hunch.


"Okay, people, let's get this done," said a male voice. "Keep your cool, and nobody's got to get hurt."

"We just want the money in the till, and a couple of burgers," said a second male voice. "Let's cooperate, and we'll leave nice and clean so you can have a happy holiday. No trouble."

"Fuck," Ellison pronounced as he pulled his radio. "This is Detective James Ellison," he stated. "I'm at the McDonald's at Seventeenth and Larchemont, and there's a robbery in progress... Send backup. I'm going in."

"Officers are en route, Detective," said the radio operator. "Radio advises you secure the area and await backup. E.T.A. seventy seconds."

Jim yanked the keys from the Nova and then pulled his pistol. "They'll be gone by then," he told himself. "Time to make the donuts..." He went in. "Police officer! FREEZE!"

The two robbers smiled as they raised their hands, and Jim saw Phoebe looking wild-eyed straight at him. Shit, there was another one! Jim turned slightly and got a REAL close look at the butt of a nice Remington shotgun before the lights went out.


Chapter 3