Colored paper torn and crumbled into balls, barren spaces beneath the trees save for the fallen pine needles scattered on the skirt, the string of lights faded and flickering to black, the ornaments drooped like tears on the branches, the tarnished star at the top falling to the left and less majestic: these are no the fallen moments of Christmas.

You didn’t give enought and you got even less. Some of you got nothing. Some have never received one thing in all your lives; or maybe this holiday has never been one you observed. Still, there are others of you who had once known perhaps a little childhood joy from the warmth of a peppermint or a pair of socks, but have received nothing for so long since then that you no longer care. You no longer care what you get because you know you’ve got nothing to give. These are the fallen moments of Christmas.

But then, you don’t care about that either. You think there are no moments to fall...what the hell kind of moments you talkin’ bout...

What the hell, do like everyone else and shrug off your hangover on this cold morning and go to Starvin’ Marvin’s. You have to be starving for something, maybe solitude in a booth or conversation along the counter. You have to crave the post-inebriation recuperative greasy breakfast of eggs, bacon and hashed browns. You have to be dragging around the streets of Jinx the day after Christmas when nothing else is open (not because the other establishments are officially closed---Starvin’ Marvin’s happens to be the only joint in Jinx not run by heavy drinkers who don’t gain cognizance until 3:00pm). Only go if you have an appetite.

Along the counter sit several weary people tapping cigarettes into ash trays and gazing off, either into a plate of half-eaten eggs or over the counter where the short-order chefs flip wavey strips of bacon on the grill.

"You look like shit, Gertrude."

Gertrude scratches the stump of her phantom left forearm and then picks up a glowing cigarette from the glass tray.
"Merry Christmas to you too, Roy. Why do you always have to be so honest? You’ll never get the chicks that way."

Roy pushed his fork into the limp slivers of hashbrowns, guiding them around the oval plate.
"Who says I want chicks?"

Gertrude rubs her dark puffy eyes.
"Oh, so you’ve been going for tail with the Ashram boys now? Who would’ve thought."

"Hush up. Just cause a man ain’t chasin’ tween don’t mean he goin’ the other way."
"Well...how was Christmas?"

"Fine. My sister sent me some books. That’s alright. You?"

"Hank had the kids this year. Gets lonely, you know? What’s Christmas without giddy kids antsy for gifts? I love seeing their faces when they open their gifts. For all I know, Hank probably threw out the presents from me."
Gertrude pauses, looking at her tepid coffee.
"So, you know, I hit the spirits for Christmas."

"Yeah. I know it, I know it. I been there."

"Everything okay here?" asks a slim young man dressed in tan slacks and blue knit shirt with a black name tag pinned above the breast pocket---Jerry in red letters.

Roy nods.
Gertrude says,"Yeah. Thanks, kiddo."

Jerry puts his hands together.
"Great. Just holler if you need anything."
He walks down a green-carpeted aisle between the tables and stops at a booth where a man in a dark wool over-coat sits almost frozen. The man has pepper-colored hair, a hardened face written with grooved lines---a face that has seen too much of the wrong thing. The menu lay folded on the table.

"Have you decided what you’d like for breakfast this morning, sir?"

The man looks up, the lines in his face reassembling into a pattern of lesser torment.

"Coffee. Black."

"You sure you don’t want one of the specials? How about the Jinx cake combo with Grace grits and Harverst ham? It’ll only put you out 99 cents."

The man seems annoyed looking at Jerry eager to write something more on his order pad.

"Price is not the issue. Just bring a coffee."

"Black, right?" Jerry smiles.

The man says nothing but slides the menu towards Jerry. Jerry picks up the syrup-sticky menu and tucks it under his arm.

"Okay. One coffee. Black. Coming up."
He returns to the end of the counter where and opening leads into the kitchen.

At the counter Roy asks the man beside him, "Hey, you done reading this?"

"Sure. Go ahead. A bunch of pansies for editors, always putting a fancy twists on things. No regard for facts. Aliento needs a real paper; this is kitty litter box lining."

Roy thanks the man for the paper. The man grunts and leaves. Roy picks up the ratty pages of the Gallery Gazette.

Gertrude pulls a five dollar bill from her purse and lays it in on the counter.
"I’ll see you Roy."

"Leaving already?"

"I have to stock the bar, get the club ready before the girls show up."

"Nice talking with you. Try not to wear yourself down. Life will find enough ways to run you down without you going and doing it yourself."

Gertrude smiles wearily and leaves. She exits the glass door, and a man comes enters. He stands by the sign please wait to be seated

Roy, reading an article about sub-standard living conditions of the migrant workers in the Harvest quarter, senses something like the scent of sour onions hanging in the air. The skin tingles in the back of his neck, and he turns around.

The man by the door scans the room. He has a soft, innocent face, curious eyes of brown, not as dark as his slicked back hair. He wears a bomber jacket, jeans, black shoes.

Roy tries to return to reading the paper. It sounds like crisp leaves in his hands. His bones begin to shake, a vibration building into sound, a humming sizzle, like insect wings, and he can no longer hear the words of the story he tries to read. His own thoughts are washed out.

He turns to look; no one stands by the door. A loud white sound, shot through with black holes scattering, the sound of swarming seizes him. The slick-haired man walks down the aisle between the tables, his hand reaching inside his jacket. Roy knows...

...Shoh, you keep yo’ hands offa Roy’s plate. When you boys gonna stop fussin?
That’s right, you boys listen to Mamma.
She ain’t my Mamma.
Shush up now, Shoh, and eat yo’ dinna lest you wanna starve. You wanna grow tall, don’t you?
Pa, something happen today.
What is it, Roy?
All these boys was messin with a dog--
An dey kilt it dead!
Shush up, Shoh, and let yo’ cousin talk. Go on, son.
They had them some sticks and was poking and hitting the dog, dog growling and all. Then I heard the noise, something loud, felt it all inside me...
I didn’t hear nuthin! Roy crazy!
Quiet, Shoh,. I don’t wanna have to tell you again. Go on, son.

So I heard the sound gettin louder, hurting real bad. Then I seen the dog jump and get a boy in the leg. The dog won’t let go, biting and shaking. That boy screaming, blood all on his pants. The other boys started beating on the dog. One had him a bat and mashed up the dog in the head. Mamma, Pa, I’m scared...cause I knew...I could tell something was gonna happen...I could hear it, something bad...I knew.

That be the swarm. Yo’ Uncle Thaddeus had it. They was things he knowd was gonna happen. That’s how he called it, the swarm. Long time back when that lynch mob come round for Thaddeus an me, he knowd befo it happen. He warned me but even that blessed sense couldn’t save him none in the end. Roy, you got a gift.

I hate it, Pa. I don’t want it. I even member befo I could talk, I could tell you an Mamma was fightin. How come I gotta be the one knowing these things.

Cause maybe, son, you can do it some good.

I wished it would go away...

....Knowing. Everything freezes into wedges of color and shapes in a background, the motion he makes stirs the air, like stone tossed into still waters. And the thoughts the man thinks point like head lights in the direction he will take. A droaning light falls on a booth where a tense gray-haired man sits; his is a young energy stifled by demons of many ill-willed actions. He doesn’t move or turn to see the slick-haired man approaching from behind.

A hand goes into a jacket. Another hand slides onto the counter. One grips metal, the other ceramic. A steady hand raises a gun, barell stretching to the gray-haired man. A steady hand snaps a plate through the air. A finger pulls the trigger. The edge of the plate strikes the back of a slick head. Ceramic rings on resonant bone, but all explodes at the barell’s end.

Screams and scurrying supercede the instant silencing of the swarm. Roys sees the slick-haired man sprawled out on the floor, the gray-haired man in a dark wool already standing over him. The gray-haired man steps on slick man’s hand. He squats down, takes the gun and grabs slickman by the back of the jacket collar. He pulls the dazed slickman to his feet and points the gun into his face. People leave plates of food and cups of steaming coffee and sprint for the door.

Gray man presses the barell against slickman’s forehead.

"I didn’t think anyone followed me. But then I was hardly paying attention when I found this town. You nearly got me too. Not bad."

Slickman is still groggy. Jerry calls out from the counter. "What is this?"

Roy turns to Jerry. "Shut up, kid. Go in the kitchen."

"Is he a cop?"

Gray man, pressing the gun into Slickman’s face, looks at Jerry and Roy.
"That’s right. I’m a cop. I need you to stay out of my way while I take this slick boy out of here."

He moves behind slickman.
His voice is low."You’ll get it in the back if you try anything. Now go to the door."

"I don’t think he’s a cop. That’s not how you do it."

Gray man back grabs slick by the back of the neck and casts a quick glance at Jerry.
"You never brought my coffee."

They move past Roy and towards the door. Gray man then pushes slick to the door. They exit.

Roy turns to Jerry. "Stay put." He goes to the door.

In the parking lot, gray man points the gun at slick, who is reluctantly undressing.

"You’re fair. But if you were really any good, I’d be dead."

"I had you, Balthazar. But somebody hit me from behind." Slick has on only striped boxers.

"That’s what I mean. If you were really any good, you’d have seen all possibilites, all situations and delt with them to get the job done. So how do know my name? Who sent you?"

"Figure it out. You can’t run out on a job, taking somebody’s money. I heard you were good. But when I saw you sitting there like a duck, I figured it’d be easy."

"Your stupidity makes me angry. Whoever takes me down has to be good. Take that off too."

"My boxers? I’m going into hypothermia as it is."

"Off!"

Slick stands completely naked. Roy approaches the parking lot, moving slowly so Balthazar can see him.
"What you gonna do, man? This ain’t a good time to drop someone. Ain’t the best place neither."

"I agree. That’s why I’m going to ask you to shut up while I help slick boy understand his stupidity."

Balthazar releases the clip from the gun. He tosses the gun to slick. He then pulls out his own gun from the inside of his coat and points it at slick man.

"Now stick the barell up your ass."

"What?"

Balthazar strides over and shoves his gun into Slick’s temple.
"It’s going to hurt a lot more of I have to do it."

The air is cold, but that is not why Slick shivers. His body breaks out into a heavy sweat. Balthazar steps back, his eyes tense, body relaxed. "Do it now."

"You’re sick." Slick reaches the pistol behind and parts his legs.
Balthazar backs away slowly and reaches a car. "This is yours?"

Slick’s face writhes, his body tense and shaking. He manages a nod.

"You always leave your car unlocked?"
Balthazar quickly opens the door. While watching Slick and Roy, he opens the glove compartment, reaches in and finds nothing. He feels beneath the seat, finding another hand gun and several clips. He puts the gun and clips in his coat pocket and walks back to Slick, who squeezes his knees together.

"The thing is, even if you got me, you wouldn’t have found the money. Didn’t that occur to you? I’d be dead, but you’d go back empty handed."

Slick speaks through clenched teeth. "If you’re gonna waste me, do it now, Balthazar."
A little blood trickles down his thigh.

"No, you want to live. You’re willing to screw yourself for that." Balthazar points the gun to the pile of clothes . "Get your keys."

Slick starts to reach behind to remove the gun.

"No, that stays there."

"It hurts."

"It should. Get your keys, leave the pants, get in your car and go away."

Slick meekly obeys. Balthazar’s gun is aimed carefully the entire time. The car starts. Slick yells out the window, "You’ll pay. There’ll be others."

"And they’ll be better than you."

The car speeds away.

Roy walks up to Balthazar. "You a pro? I know some people who could use you if you looking for work."

Balthazar scowls at Roy and goes to his car, gets in and drives away.