The Big Lie

It was 11 AM on a Saturday morning and the sky as gray and drab as the asphalt at the Boulevard at Sunset. I wanted to case the area earlier in the week but Jefferson Elementary hadn't let out until Friday. I had to deal with teeming masses, the scrambling Christmas Eve shoppers, as I tailed the fat man in red through a deluge of faceless adults and sniffling kids.

He took a turn down a narrow hallway past mall security that led to an unmarked door. He took off his red hat and glanced around with beady eyes. The white carcass of a wig atop his head slightly askew, he pushed through with a grunt. I removed the stale bubblegum from my mouth and flicked into the black abyss of a nearby receptacle. I followed.

The sparseness of the backside of the mall contrasted with the decorated façade out front. I scanned the area for the fat man, but all I saw were the dirty snow piles that towered over me. Everything seemed as dull as my third grade teacher.

I cursed as I reached into my jacket to pull out a bottle of chocolate milk. It was too early for the hard stuff but I didn't care anymore. As I made ready to take a healthy swig, a white blur at the corner of my eye caused me to duck, the plastic bottle clattering to the ground in a geyser of milky brown. A snowball exploded against the wall where my head had just been. I pulled out my slingshot, the bullet nestled in the pocket.

I saw nothing but the piles of snow, no sign of the fat man.

It didn't matter. He was just a little lie to the big lie. The message would get to the real Santa. He would come tonight. Just like I wanted.

I sat in the recliner before the crackling fireplace. My pellet gun, black and shiny and loaded, waited on the end table next to me. The place had all the accoutrements of the Christmas Conspiracy: the stockings, the tree, the baubles and little baby Jesus in the manger. It never enticed him to drop by the past, but now he knew I was on to him.

"Whatcha doin'?" asked a high-pitched nasally voice.

My younger brother Ritchie, his nose running and pajamas frumpy, stood there looking as bright as a burnt out streetlight in a lonely cul-de-sac. "Go to bed, Ritchie," I said.

"Mommy's gonna wake up," he said.

I laughed a short, harsh bark. The old dame had traded sugarplums for sleeping pills a long time ago. She'd be out cold until the morning. "Go to bed, Ritchie," I repeated. "Else the fat man won't show. And it'll be your fault."

"What about you?" he pestered.

"Listen, kid. Me and him, we got an understanding." I cracked my knuckles. "Now, do you and I have an understanding?" He knew better than to push his luck. He sulked back toward his bedroom. Poor kid would soon find out that life isn't all kindergarten. I just didn't want him to find out tonight. Some hurts needed their proper time, the spiritual equivalent of wine and cheese.

I waited for hours. The hands struck midnight and then rudely kept going. I started to have my doubts as my head turned fuzzy with the lack of sleep and too much chocolate milk. The fat man should have paid a visit by now.

"Merry Christmas," boomed a voice behind.

I jumped out of my chair, my hand on the gun. I swung around and saw a large, rotund man dressed in red. He touched the side of his nose just before I squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.

"I've disabled your gun," he said with a wink. "You don't know how many times someone's pulled a piece on me, even though I've been invited."

I sized him up. Besides outweighing me by a linebacker, the fat man moved with a grace of a puma. "Nice of you to show," I said.

"You wanted the truth, so that's why I'm here."

"The big lie," I said.

"Not a lie," he replied. He hadn't moved, but I had the strangest feeling of him crowding in on me. It was his eyes, blue like the Pacific. "Rather, misconceptions perpetuated." He grabbed a cookie from the plate set aside for him. "Listen, there are no Illuminati. There is no conspiracy to instill mind control on future generations."

"So it isn't a lie that you visit each house in one night, something that's physically impossible?" I asked.

"The original concept, my young friend," he said, "is that I visit those truly in need. And you happen to be one of them."

"Too easy," I said. "My greatest desire is to learn the truth. Even Ritchie could figure that one out. If you know so much, what's my second most desired thing?"

"Let's not play games," he said.

I smiled, a thin, sharp line. "You scared, fat man?"

His eyes darkened. "You want a Nurse Barbie doll," he replied.

I felt like a mule had kicked me in the gut. "I have a thing for blondes and long legs," I muttered. "What about the snowball?"

"Oh, that was the Santa at the mall," he said. "He thought you were going to snitch on him for taking a drink while on break. He's not affiliated with me."

I'm not one to argue with logic. It all made sense. He wasn't a bad egg after all. "I guess I owe you a Merry Christmas," I said, my smile genuine this time.

He laughed deep and loud. He did seem like a bowl full of jelly. I couldn't help but laugh with him.

"Goodnight, Mr. Marlowe," he said. He touched the side of his nose once more and, just like that, he vanished.

"Goodnight, Santa," I said as I turned out the lights.

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