SMALL PRICE TO PAY
DON BRUNS
The man started earlier every year with those damned holiday lights. Here it was barely October and he was up on the roof, two members of his construction crew helping string row after row of blinking colored lights. Oh, they weren’t blinking yet. That would be reserved for the “grand event” as his neighbor called it. They would blink after all the other lighted decorations were in place.
And every year there was something new. Not to replace, but to add to this menagerie, this massive collection of wired chaos. Casting a harsh, garish glow over the neighborhood, Glen Roberts’ creation would draw thousands of vehicles that slowly drove by his house, often parking on Kevin Cleary’s lawn. He’d mentioned that to Roberts a couple of times.
“Small price to pay for sharing the holiday spirit, Cleary.”
And there was always that toothy smile that accompanied the sentiment. Cleary would have liked to put his fist through that smile. Maybe a bullet. But this was Arborsville, and it was all about civility and brotherhood. Even the Arborsville Gazette agreed.
“Another Holiday Miracle at 188 Arbor Lane,” the paper announced. They may as well have announced that 185 Arbor Lane was right across the street and people should feel free to park on his lawn and enjoy the show. People should feel free to let their kids pee on his lawn, because several times, when Cleary looked out his window and saw the parade of cars, trucks and vans, there were little kids doing number one in his yard, obviously with the full support of their parents. He’d never seen a parent doing number one but he wouldn’t put it past them. And come spring there were always brown spots in the grass by the road.
He’d mentioned the brown spots and the little brats pissing on his property.
“Hey, Cleary, a little fertilizer, a little water, and it will all be green by summer. Small price to pay.”
He’d thought about throwing buckets of urine on his across-the-street neighbor’s yard, but he refrained. He’d thought about a lot of things he could do to his neighbor, but would always take a deep breath, and over the years he’d kept it in check. He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, and his wife finally suggested selling their house. All because of the asshole across the street and his holiday show.
For sixty-some mornings every year, he would stop his car at the end of the driveway, get out of the vehicle and put ten, twenty, thirty pieces of trash into a Glad bag. Drink cups, French fry containers, sandwich wrappers and the occasional diaper. One morning he’d found a used condom. People were utterly amazing. He considered putting spikes in his yard, dispensers of poison, but he took a deep breath and kept it in check.
For five years he’d mentioned the trash and the every-morning pick up that he did, and for five years Roberts had said through his toothy grin, “Small price to pay.” He wanted to destroy that grin. He was ready to take Glen Roberts down, and he quietly decided no one was going to stand in his way.
Cleary wasn’t the only one who was tired of the annual calamity. Very cautiously, two other neighbors had reached out and expressed their anger over the disruption of their normally quiet suburb. Cautiously, because it was politically incorrect to rag on the number one event of the year. USA Today proclaimed the Arborsville affair as one of the top ten private holiday happenings in the country. If you complained about the “light festival,” you were almost un-American. There was a rumor that the Today Show was coming this year to do a feature on the event. Now he’d have a national TV show giving even more credibility to the jackass across the street, and the traffic would be worse than ever. Something needed to be done.
And there was that God-awful music. Hooked up to a computer system, there was bass-heavy music that triggered all of the lights—the lights that wrapped around trees and bushes, the lights outlining the roof, the flashing lights around each window, the lights that streaked across Roberts’ front yard and up his garage door. His brick chimney was ablaze with those irritating, infuriating lights. And there was the light-up Santa with his sleigh and eight not-so-tiny reindeer. As the bass notes hammered the air, enough to rattle Cleary’s front door, the lights would change from green to red, orange to blue, yellow to purple, and the assembled crowd, hundreds of them every night, would often break into rowdy applause.
“Enough is enough,” Zeke Elliot said. “I mean, we’ve threatened before but something has to be done, Kevin.”
The three men sat around a felt, green-topped card table in Cleary’s basement man- cave, sipping beers and smoking cigars.
“I won’t sleep; the new baby is going to be crying all night, and it’s just not right,” said Bobby Gillian. “It’s only my second year here, boys, but I’ll be damned if that sumbitch is going to destroy my family for two and a half months.”
“I understand,” Cleary said. “At least you guys are a couple houses down the road. Those lights blind me from 6 p.m. until 2 a.m. I can’t watch TV, can’t even hear my TV, and hell, I can’t enjoy an evening meal. Libby almost demands we go out to eat every night, and stay out as late as possible, and as far as hooking-up with her for two months, forget it.” He took a long swallow from the tall glass and tapped his cigar, the ash falling into a ceramic ashtray.
“So,” Bobby Gillian looked at both of his co-conspirators, “what do we do?”
“Roberts owns a construction company,” Kevin said. “His crew sets up about ninety percent of the show.”
“And?” Zeke Elliot threw his hands up. “Are we going to kill the construction workers?”
“No,” Cleary said. “I own an electronics firm. As you two know, my company designs custom security and surveillance systems for companies all over the country. We solve problems.”
“We’ve got a problem,” Gillian nodded. “You got the solution?”
“Maybe. Let me finish. He uses his workers; I’ll use mine. Here’s my plan, boys. I’ve given this a lot of thought. A company in Michigan came to us last year. They had a problem with break-ins. It was up in Detroit, and in a bad part of town.”
“Isn’t every part of Detroit a bad part of town?” Zeke asked.
Cleary nodded. “They wanted something to deter vandals. Vandals that were costing them thousands of dollars every year. So we came up with a trigger system.”
“Trigger system?” Gillian looked confused.
“After hours, there were four triggers. If someone walked onto the property, they tripped a trigger. A voice would blare through some heavy-duty speakers telling them to back off. The voice warned of guard dogs and armed security guards.”
“Wow,” Zeke leaned back. “Serious stuff.”
“There were no dogs, no security guards. The company couldn’t afford anything like that. But if the intruder advanced, we had a second trigger. The vandal would step through an invisible beam and trip another audio device. Dogs would bark and growl, coming from multiple speakers.”
“All for effect.” Zeke smiled. “I can’t imagine they came any closer.”
“Oh, some did,” Cleary said. “After all, this was a bad neighborhood. Dogs didn’t necessarily scare them. So we had a third trigger. You two will appreciate this. It was the light show.”
“Not like our esteemed neighbor,” Gillian said.
“Not unlike our neighbor. If you, the intruder, ignored the warning voice, if you ignored the yapping mutts, then we had another surprise. Blinding spot lights highlighting every square inch of the property. These lights could blind you. It was enough to scare off almost everyone. And the vandalism stopped.”
“But you said there were four triggers,” Zeke pointed out. “If the vandalism stopped, why did you need a fourth trigger?”
“Ah, yes. Four. Now understand the owner of this company was beside himself. Broken windows, damaged machinery, stolen computers and the cops didn’t want to come near the place. It was just a dangerous situation.”
“Should have moved the company,” Gillian said.
“Too expensive He basically told us he didn’t care what we had to do. He was willing to do anything to stop the problem. And he emphasized the word anything.” Cleary wore an almost maniacal grin, getting up and refilling his beer from the tap at the bar. “Anybody else?”
They both held their glasses up and he filled them to the brim with the amber liquid.
“Four triggers,” Zeke said. “I assume this story is going to lead to our solution?”
“It is. Patience, Zeke.”
They all took a sip and Cleary continued. “If someone got through the warning, then the dogs barking, then the piercing lights, there was one more trigger. Another couple of steps past the light beam brought you to within ten feet of the building itself. My team developed a very shallow underground mesh that surrounded the structure. We buried the narrow mesh in a trench that encircled the business.”
“Kind of like that invisible fence for dogs?” Gillian asked.
“Very good, Bobby. It was somewhat like the Invisible Fence.”
“So it shocked them and they wouldn’t go any further.” Zeke nodded. “But I still don’t see how that works with Roberts across the street.”
“Oh, we weren’t sure a shock would stop them,” Cleary said, “so we increased the shock. The Invisible Fence requires the dogs to wear a collar. We triggered the system with a light beam and there was no need for a collar. If you crossed that beam the shock system activated.”
“How many volts of electricity?” Gillian was leaning in, intrigued with the story.
“It’s not the volts, Bobby. Without boring you with details, it is the current transferred, the actual amount of electricity transferred. Lethal current is about 20 mill. amperes. So you could have a million volts, but only say a 0.00001 mill. amperes and it wouldn’t kill you. On the other hand you might have 20 volts at 1 ampere. That would kill you.”
“Kill?” Zeke asked, taking another swallow of his beer. “Kill?”
“Kill,” Cleary nodded.
“You killed people?”
“Only two. We basically fried them.”
“Jesus.” Gillian drained his drink.
“It was enough to stop the problem. The owner always came in an hour early. He’d shut off the trigger system, survey the property, and when he found a burned body, a grotesque charred human form, he buried it on the grounds.”
“Oh. My. God.” Zeke’s mouth hung open and he stared into Cleary’s eyes. “Why are you telling us this?”
“Sometimes the end justifies the means. These two were a menace to society. They were thugs who only knew how to destroy things. We eliminated them and the world is a better place.”
“Kevin, your system killed them.”
“There’s justification, Zeke. This is not for the squeamish. You can leave right now and pretend you never heard this conversation.”
“Again,” Gillian swallowed more of his drink, “why are you telling us this?”
“Because I’ve had enough. I can’t take any more. I want an end to his giant extravaganza and the idea I have for our friend at 188 Arbor Lane is pretty severe. If you two don’t mind some casualties, I have a plan to rid us of our problem.
*
The debate raged, fueled by more beer, then whiskey.
“Why don’t we just firebomb the place?” Zeke asked.
“Where’s the fun in that? I want the bastard to pay for five years of torment.”
“Burning up his house isn’t payment?”
“And if somebody dies,” Gillian said, “I mean, damn, Kevin. What happens to us?”
“It will all appear as an accident.”
“You’re sure that this is foolproof, and that we’ll get rid of that sumbitch forever?”
“First of all, when this takes place I think the Fire Marshal, the Chief of Police, the Mayor and every other civic leader will ban anyone who wants to build a holiday extravaganza. The events will be deemed hazardous. Second of all…”
“Kevin, is there a way we can do this and not have dead bodies?”
“No guarantees, Bobby. Let me explain what I have in mind.”
*
The explanation took half an hour exactly. The bleary-eyed audience was hypnotized and only asked a couple of questions at the end.
“Genius,” Gillian said.
“Oh, almost genius.” Cleary smiled. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Your team can make this?” Zeke asked.
“They will have no idea what they’re building and I’m dummying up a contract for a place in Illinois. We’re telling them that the main piece is going to a holiday display in Danville.”
“I still don’t know if I can deal with casualties. Dead bodies? It just seems so... okay, how much?” Zeke drummed his fingers on the green felt.
“Well, let’s see how serious you two are.”
They both anted up. Five thousand dollars apiece and Cleary picked up the rest. It was a strong debate, but in the end the three of them agreed that if there was, possibly, maybe, remotely, an outside chance that someone got killed, they could live with that. After all, the neighborhood, the community, the city and the state would be quietly, eternally grateful. What was one or two deaths when an entire population would be rid of this major nuisance? And beyond stopping the immediate problem, they were stopping dozens of copiers, stopping those interlopers who would be tempted to duplicate the light show, the extravaganza, stopping that self-centered group of folks who would seek the adulation of the locals and hope for the cover of national magazines and to be featured on morning network news. After another three beers, they had agreed.
*
And so it began. KC Industries started working on the main ingredient. A giant sleigh. A sleigh that could hold up to a dozen people, although no one would actually ride in it. Just a giant stuffed Santa in a plush velvet red suit. A Santa with almost Satan eyes, who would stare laser beams through anyone, even through his large goggles. A Santa that looked exactly like Kevin Cleary. He was proud of that addition. If he stared at the face it would look like gazing into a gigantic mirror.
And this was a sleigh that ran on steel tracks, tracks that would bend and rise to rooftop level. And every fifteen minutes the glittering sled would glide across the track, and take off for the sky. Then, slowly it would slide back down and reset at the other end of the house.
“It’s our present,” Cleary said. “There is no question when I show him this he’ll go ballistic. And we’re offering it to him as a gift in gratitude for his giving our neighborhood, our town, the notoriety we’ve received.”
“Damn,” Zeke said as they walked through the bustling factory. “That thing is impressive. Obviously it will be the hit of his collection.”
“That’s what we’re hoping for. And I’ve got someone working on the Claus figure.” He didn’t mention the uncanny resemblance to his face. “It’s going to be a night to remember.”
“The Today Show is coming in four weeks,” Gillian said, watching a crew gluing lights on the vehicle. “Can it be ready by then?”
“Plenty of time,” Cleary walked up to the sleigh, putting his hand on the shiny red aluminum. “We still have to install the electronics, but over there,” he pointed across the concrete floor, “Marty and his team are almost done with the system. We are about to give The Today Show and the entire country the performance of a lifetime.”
Zeke and Gillian nodded.
“I still think we need to reconsider the casualty issue,” Zeke said.
Cleary smiled. “What has to happen will happen, my friend. My customer in Detroit... no more vandalism.” He chuckled.
Two weeks later Cleary invited his co-conspirators back to the workshop. The decorated sleigh, minus the large Santa with the Satan eyes, was mounted on the tracks. The steel rails that ran flat for forty feet then bent upwards, the slope rising to a forty-five-degree angle, were temporarily bolted to the concrete.
“Anybody want to ride along on the test drive?” Cleary asked.
There was a shaking of heads.
Cleary pulled a canvas cover off of an item on the floor, and the three of them were looking into the gleaming eyes of the giant Santa Claus.
“That face, damn, it’s yours. Hell, it looks exactly like you, Kevin, and that is just plain creepy.” Gillian stepped back.
Goggles were strapped over the piercing orbs, but those eyes seemed to stare into each of their souls.
“This is the guy who will ride in the show.”
“Scary,” Zeke said. “Those eyes, your eyes, they give me the willies.”
“Santa Claus,” Gillian said, staring at the figure. “He knows all, sees all. Very scary, Kevin.”
“Okay, Johnny, put her in gear.”
Lights flashed and the sleigh started its journey, gliding smoothly along the ground. It moved slowly, almost as if preening, showing off its curved body, the brass rails that ran along the sides and the candy-apple-coated exterior covered with brilliantly colored lights.
And then, as if by magic, the sleigh started its climb. Twenty-eight feet up. The same height as the peak of the two story home that Glen Roberts owned.
“Wow,” Zeke said. “That’s amazing.”
“It’s going to do a lot more than that, Zeke. That sleigh will do more than you can possibly imagine. There are even rockets in the side panels that will shoot off like fireworks. They’re just a little stronger than a bottle rocket. I can only demonstrate the tracks and the climb. That will be what attracts people. The rest will have to come later.”
*
After reaching the apex, the sleigh started its slow descent back to the ground. The fifteen minute trip was magical as The Beach Boys sang Little Saint Nick the story of a hotrod, souped-up sleigh that could take on all the other street rods.
“What you’ve told us is amazing,” Gillian said. “I understand that you can’t put her through her paces right now. This is a one-time event.”
“We’ve tested it all, Bob. This baby is going to blow people’s minds.”
“And we’ve got the ideal showcase,” Zeke laughed.
“Al Roker is doing the segment,” Cleary said. “I believe he is going to get the highest ratings in history when this runs.”
“If it delivers.” Gillian watched the giant vehicle back down the incline and glide into home base.
“Oh, I guarantee delivery,” Cleary said. “Don’t doubt me, boys. I did the final work on the system myself. This will be the biggest show of the Christmas season. But remember, there may be collateral damage. You’ve got to be able to accept that. You’re on board with that, right?”
They looked at each other, then reluctantly nodded.
*
The days dragged on. Work across the street seemed tedious as countless numbers of workmen dug holes, planted artificial trees, strung thousands of lights along the gutters and designed lighted patterns on the grass. Then they moved in the real stars of the show. They placed a life-size stable and manger, complete with animated mooing cows, baying donkeys, and groaning goats. There were angels seemingly floating in mid-air and a smaller version of Santa and his reindeer, shimmering in the dark, but never moving.
The entire Peanuts gang was featured with Snoopy on his doghouse and Schroeder playing his piano, all outlined in blinking lights. Twelve six-feet-tall nutcrackers lined the driveway and there were at least another dozen tin soldiers standing guard around the yard. Cleary started wondering if there would be any room for his track and sleigh. He was sure his neighbor would find room somewhere.
And two weeks before the show was to begin, traffic was lining up every night to see how far along the extravaganza had progressed. And even though Roberts turned the installed lights on, the best was yet to come.
One week before the anticipated opening, before Al Roker and The Today Show crew were to arrive, Cleary and company, fortified with copious amounts of alcohol, walked across the street, and knocked on Glen Roberts’ door. His lovely wife Gloria answered, looking extremely suspicious of their motives.
“Hey, Glo, we’ve got something we’d like to run by you and Glen.”
She called to her husband, and the two of them stood in the doorway, never inviting the trio into their spacious home.
“I know in the past we haven’t always shown a lot of support for your light show,” Cleary said, “but this year, I think we’ve made up for it.”
“How is that, bro?” Roberts asked.
“Well, if you’ll look outside, you’ll see a huge sleigh and a track.”
He pointed to the front of their house where two flatbed trucks were parked.
“What the hell is that?”
“That, my friend, is a custom built sleigh that will rival any holiday display in the country. In the world.”
Roberts and his wife stood there, their mouths wide open.
“It’s beautiful,” he finally stated.
“Every fifteen minutes it travels those tracks and climbs up to the top of your roof.”
“Oh, my God. But wait,” he paused. “Is this because you want recognition on The Today Show?”
“Absolutely not,” Cleary said. “Am I right, guys?”
Zeke and Bob nodded.
“This has nothing to do with us. We all chipped in to build this, and there’s a stuffed Santa in the cab of that truck that will ride in the sleigh. This is all about you and your display. What do you think?”
“Magnificent.” Roberts’ eyes were sparkling. “Kevin, Bob, Zeke, I don’t know what to say.”
“Just being able to watch it perform will be thanks enough,” Cleary said.
The crew stepped out of the trucks and started the installation. Everything was working like a charm, just as he knew it would. Cleary and his two partners stayed, talking to Glen and Gloria in their yard while the track was assembled.
“Damn big sleigh,” Roberts said. “Must have cost a pretty penny.”
“Small price to pay, Glen. Small price to pay.”
A handful of cars pulled over to watch the crew set up the contraption, three actually parking in Cleary’s front yard. When they pulled away he walked over and picked up two fast-food bags and a French fry box, smiling at Roberts the whole time.
And a week before opening night, that very evening, he pushed the switch on the new display and the sleigh slowly glided across the carefully assembled tracks, and climbed twenty-eight feet into the air, as the Beach Boys sang praises to The Little St. Nick. “He’s got to wear his goggles cause the snow really flies, cruisin’ every pad with a little surprise.” As it paused at its highest point, Cleary admired the work. Sleek, elegant, the shiny red coating reflecting the array of green, gold and blue lights molded around the body. Then the sled made its graceful pause and started its slide back down, Roberts actually clapping his hands together and screaming like a small child.
“It’s marvelous,” he squealed. “And the giant Santa is so real.” Smiling he said, “He looks like you, Kevin. The eyes behind the goggles. Like he’s watching everyone. He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake. What a great idea.”
As the neighborhood, the town, the entire Northeast corner of the state got ready for The Today Show, Roberts added more and more lights. There was talk of power outages across the city due to the current that the house drew. And dozens of Roberts’ construction crew climbed over the house, up trees, up a flag pole and into his empty swimming pool until almost every square inch of the man’s property was covered in some lighted decoration.
The night before the big event, Cleary went to his basement and pulled out a metal box, about two feet by three feet wide. The apparatus looked like a sound mixer, with dials, levers and slides. He wanted to try it so bad, but of course he couldn’t. It was designed to work for one performance only, when the filming started. Tomorrow night, while Al Roker’s team was filming for the next morning’s show. If all worked well, and it should, he would flip on his box and take control. And all of the levers and dials and slides would do their thing.
His wife had decided to vacate the premises, choosing to spend the evening playing mah jongg with her strange group of friends. He’d invited the boys over to see the finale. By the time it was finished, the sleigh would be destroyed. He would dispose of the remote control box, and there would be no evidence that the destruction hadn’t just been a terrible accident. Maybe faulty wiring, maybe a system error. When you custom build systems, things can go wrong. Like a space shot that explodes, killing astronauts, or one of the early electric cars that blew up with no explanation, killing the driver. When you custom designed systems, things didn’t always go as planned. Take for instance that mesh grid up in Detroit. Two people died. Burned to death. Two scum bags. Oh well, back to the drawing board… Or not.
The next morning two big trucks with satellite dishes pulled up out front. Since there was no space in Roberts’ driveway, and by parking them in front of Roberts’ house it would block the camera shots, they of course pulled up in front of Cleary’s house, half on and half off of his lawn. News vans converged with their satellite dishes, not just to cover the spectacle itself, but also to cover the coverage of the spectacle. He overheard a newslady out front talking into a microphone saying, “Brad, it’s amazing. The Today Show will be here to cover the event. Other news programs are here to cover The Today Show, and we’re here to cover the organizations that are covering... I’m very confused as to why we are here at all.”
He wanted to tell them it was going to be one hell of a show, but he didn’t say a word. The proof would be in tomorrow night’s performance.
The day dragged on, and finally it was six o’clock. The sun was down and it was time for Glen Roberts to pull the switch. He’d been out front almost all day and been interviewed maybe thirty times. Roker himself had talked to him for ten or fifteen minutes, and Glen had walked him around to the various displays.
“Over here is the five piece choir,” he’d said, showing off five angels who were in choir robes, outlined in a heavenly aura of white lights. “And of course Alvin and the Chipmunks over here, and...”
Cleary had walked over to watch some of the festivities. After all, he was a major contributor to the event.
Hundreds of cars, pickups, SUVs and vans were parked all over the street and in neighbors’ yards. All day long there had been three police squad cars running up and down the avenue. Now, close to launch time he counted six of them. Half the entire police force was here to make sure everyone behaved themselves. They could possibly control the crowd, but controlling this sprawling display might be a little difficult.
A loud speaker, or a bullhorn, blared loud and clear.
“Ladies, gentlemen, we are about to launch the extravaganza. If you are filming this, you might want to start at the large sleigh with Santa. It’s an impressive sight. We hope you all tell your friends and enjoy the show.”
Gillian, Zeke and Cleary sipped scotch on Cleary’s front porch.
“You can’t just diddle with that box right here where everyone can see,” Zeke said.
“Zeke,” Cleary laughed, “do you seriously think one person is watching us? Come on, man. No one is paying any attention, and if they did, it has nothing to do with what’s happening across the street. Every eye, my friend, is watching that display.”
“If I can have your attention again for a brief second,” the voice paused, waiting for the din to quiet. “You all know that The Today Show is filming our opening sequence. You see the lights they’ve set up. If you could all applaud, yell, squeal, and shout when we give the signal, it would be greatly appreciated. We have the opportunity to make Arborsville a celebrity tonight. Let’s do our community proud.”
And then just seconds later, the voice shouted out, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s welcome The Today Show to Arborsville.”
There was a swell of voices, applause and cheers and Cleary smiled.
“Affirmation,” he said to his two sidekicks. “They love the fact that a national TV show has shown us their support.”
“Kevin,” Gillian touched his shoulder. “You have the remote control to the Trojan sleigh.”
“Right here, Bob. You know I do.”
“You can minimize damage.”
“What?”
“We’ve been talking,” Zeke said. “We don’t want to be responsible for murdering someone.”
“Guys,” he said. “I don’t plan on killing anyone, but this has been a big part of our conversation. There may be collateral damage, and you agreed that you could deal with that.”
“We changed our minds.”
“Come on, man,” Gillian took a swallow of scotch. “We’ve been going along with this as if it was a game. We can’t just kill someone because—”
“Because he ruins our lives for three months every year? Because he’s destroyed our small community, destroyed the quiet, idyllic village that we call home?”
“But if someone is killed...”
Cleary glared at them and slammed his drink on the table, the liquid splashing onto his remote control. “You both put up five thousand dollars to build the contraption. You are co-conspirators and I have you both on tape.”
“You what?” Zeke almost choked on his scotch.
“I recorded our conversations in the basement. They’re not exactly on ‘tape’ but if you want the digital recordings, come with me.”
They all stood up and walked inside, down the stairs to the card table.
“Kevin,” Zeke shook his head. “Don’t do this, man. We’ll say we thought you were kidding.”
“I’ve got it recorded, boys.” He stared at them with that maniacal grin. “You both put up five thousand dollars. Here, let me play these for you.” He reached into a drawer built into the bar and pulled out a Walther PPK. “Seriously, guys, I thought we had a pact. I’ve planned this for a year and you are not getting in my way now. Sorry.”
He aimed at Zeke and pulled the trigger. At that close distance, the shot was between the eyes. Brains splattered on the wall as the man crumpled to the ground. Startled by the blast, Gillian jerked, turned and sprinted for the stairs.
“Bobby” Cleary shouted his name and Gillian turned, fear in his wide opened eyes. “You agreed, Bobby. You had no problem with somebody dying.”
“My God, Kevin,” he stared at Zekes body on the floor, “You’ve lost your mind. Please, don’t shoot me. Please.” He was crying, hysterical sobs. “My child, my wife...”
“I’ve planned this for a long time, Bobby. I’ve lived across the street from this madman for years and I need to finish him off. You can’t get in my way.”
“Please, Kevin.” He was hysterical. “Do what you have to do. Just please, please, please, don’t shoot me. I have a family, Kevin. Please?”
Cleary pulled the trigger and Gillian spun around, grabbing his shoulder. He looked at Cleary, panic spread on his face.
Cleary fired again, this time taking out the right side of Gillian’s mouth. The man dropped to his knees.
“Pleash, Kevn. Pleash.” The words were mushy, uttered through blood, broken teeth and raw tissue.
“I wanted conspirators, Bobby. Just some friendly supporters. Do you see what I mean?” Stepping up to the sniveling man he jammed the barrel of the gun into his left eye socket, smiling as he felt the orb pop. He pulled the trigger. “I guess you can’t see.” He glanced at the two bodies on the floor, blood draining from the wounds. Damn,” Cleary said. “I hate it when there’s collateral damage.”
He walked back up the stairs, the pistol still clutched in his hand. As he reached the porch he saw they had just activated the sleigh. It had moved possibly five feet and was still thirteen minutes from reaching the roof. Thirteen minutes if the speed maintained. But that wasn’t the idea.
Sitting down, he picked up his glass. Most of his drink had splashed onto the remote control, so he drained Zeke’s scotch, then pulled Gillian’s glass to him and studied it. Half full. He’d need that for later.
Flipping a switch, he saw a green light flash on the console. Contact. He pushed a button on the lower left and saw the lights shut down on the sleigh. A laser-sharp headlight flashed on as the sleigh picked up speed.
Cleary laughed out loud. The slides on his metal box were slick with the remains of his drink but he pushed the first one up and the sleigh moved faster and faster, the music playing from the speakers was no longer Beach Boy fun but grinding strings and percussion as if from the bowels of Hell. The volume increased and he could hear the large crowd oohing and ahhing. They had no idea what to expect, but Glen Roberts must have been having a heart attack.
Pushing switch number two he watched just over the satellite trucks as two panels slid open on the sides of the sleigh and immediately he pushed the third slide up. There was a loud scream, like the sound of a rotary saw grinding through hard wood, and from the openings there was a flash of fire and four rockets shot out, whistling through the air. Two rockets exploded into trees, sending hundreds of red hot embers into the crowd as those lights went dark. Another rocket powered its way through a news van in front of Cleary’s house, and the vehicle burst into flame. People were screaming and running in all directions. Some bodies hit the ground, and he wasn’t sure if they’d succumbed to the shrapnel or were taking precautions. Four more rockets flashed through the night, taking out a picture window in Roberts’ house, the glass shattering into fragments. Snoopy and gang were blindsided and the display was blown apart, shards of fiberglass shooting off in all directions.
Preparing for the final assault, he pushed the speed lever. Nothing. The sleigh continued its ascent, but the main event wasn’t happening. He pushed another slide and again, nothing. What could have gone wrong? And then it hit him. The scotch. The liquid had gotten into the metal box, destroying the electronics. He pushed, pulled, jabbed at levers, buttons and lifts. And as he threw his hands up in despair, sparks leaped from his metal controller. He threw it to the ground, standing up and leaping back.
The throng was screaming at a fever pitch, cars clogging the road in front of him trying to escape, their horns blaring. People scrambled to get as far away as possible. The sound of rocket-fire echoed down the street. And in horror, he saw the track, his steel marvel, break apart as in slow motion. As the metal separated, the candy-apple-red sleigh slid off the rails and, oh my God, turned directly toward his house. Firing two more rockets, taking out a family van and the occupants, leaping flames scorched the vehicle and burning them alive. The sleigh moved faster and faster, mowing down brightly lit choir boys, running over fake trees, lights shattering. And that noise: dissonant chords and percussion from some other dimension blasted at ear splitting levels. He was almost blinded by the laser light on the front of the rogue sled and he stared into the eyes of the oversized, overweight Santa. Those frightening demonic eyes that could pierce through a human’s soul. Eyes from the devil. His eyes. His face. The demon getting closer and closer was him. The stuffed hellion could see him. Cleary knew the giant Claus was aware he wasn’t sleeping; he knew he was awake. The larger than life object plowed across the street, crushing another news van, flattening a satellite and smashing an SUV, leaving the four bodies inside crushed in their seats in a hideous gruesome tableau.
Louder and louder the grinding sounds filled the air, screeching above the screams from the scrambling crowd. The devil’s own music. Satan’s laugh. Cleary jumped, trying to leap the porch railing and run from the impending doom. His right foot caught on the top rail and for a second he dangled between the house and the ground, screaming his own hellish sound. The red sleigh crashed into his porch with such force the front of the house buckled. The blaring crazy music stopped abruptly, and except for wailing sirens and people wailing, there was silence. For one, two, three seconds. Then the sleigh exploded. There was a mighty boom and in less than a moment, a massive fireball engulfed his entire home. In the next second, his body was engulfed in flame, his skin blistering and bubbling in the heat. He shrieked, his pathetic voice lost in the roar of the fire. In the fifth second… he was toast.
*
The Today Show got number one ratings the next morning. They reported that two bystanders were seriously injured by shrapnel from the sleigh, a family of three were incinerated in a van, an operator for JVN News was killed when a rocket hit him in the chest, exploding his internal organs. Four bodies were found in the shell of an SUV, crisp reminders of the power of fire. And remains of three people were found in the house across the street. It took forensics several days to find that two of them had been shot to death. The third person, the owner of the home, Kevin Cleary, had been burned almost beyond recognition. A paramedic on the scene said it appeared he might have died from extreme fright. His eyes had been boiled, but the sockets were wide open and his mouth frozen in a horrific grin. The coroner said it was like the Joker from a Batman movie.
After a thorough inspection of the light show, it was shown that everything seemed to be safe. Tourists from surrounding states poured in, intrigued by the ghoulish aftermath. Within days, Glen Roberts and his construction crew had most of the display up and glowing again. It would take years, however, for the insurance claims to be settled.
“Look at the people, Glo,” Roberts smiled at his wife as they watched from their new picture window. “Hundreds, maybe thousands every night. We’re making a lot of people very happy.”
“It’s too bad we had that catastrophe,” she said, holding his hand.
“Small price to pay, Glo. Small price to pay.”