Tom pushed his plate away and wiped his lips with a napkin, making sure to be thorough. Tomato soup was a no-go during his Santa days, for fear of spilling some onto his white beard. It wouldn’t do well to greet a child warmly, only to be met with a horrified expression when their small little mind mistook soup for blood. Zombie Santa was not a good look.
Now that he wasn’t bound with the chains of St. Nick, and with the cold weather zeroing in on his old bones, he could do whatever he liked, and that included having two bowls of forbidden soup at lunch if he wanted.
He smiled to himself and pulled the paper closer, though there wasn’t much going on in the town. A few drink driving offenders were being made an example of in the run up to Christmas, which he saw as a good thing. Aside from that, the only thing that interested him was that Stonebridge FC had lost to local rivals (again) in football, and the manager was bullish about the prospects of being fired in his press conference.
The sooner he left, the better, Tom thought.
And then, all thoughts deserted him as two familiar faces walked into his little slice of sanctuary. He lifted the paper high, covering his face, in the hope that he hadn’t been spotted.
Adam and Colin closed the door behind them, keeping the cold breeze locked out. They’d watched Tom enter the café about twenty minutes ago and hoped to catch him on the way out, make it seem like it was a chance encounter.
Unfortunately, Adam had to get back to work, and thus Father Time had forced them to act.
They slipped into the chairs opposite and Tom lowered the paper, resignation plastered across his face.
‘I assume this isn’t a coincidence?’ he asked, setting the paper aside.
‘Correct,’ Colin said. ‘We thought another little chat might be useful. You see, we’ve heard whispers about you.’
Tom looked genuinely confused.
‘Not here, lads. Too many ears,’ he said. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’
Tom left them and approached the counter, paying his bill and putting on a jolly show for two small children who were sat near the till. He may not be the official Baldwin’s Santa, but he was still the closest thing Stonebridge had. As he walked away, the children were positively vibrating in their seats and their mother had a huge grin plastered across her face.
‘Shall we?’ he asked, when he’d wrapped himself up.
They left the café, and the shrill bite of the wind was most unwelcome as they stepped out onto the bustling street.
‘Last time you told us you had no beef with Gerald,’ Colin said. ‘That you hadn’t been to see him.’
‘Beef?’
‘You know, no problems, no ill-feeling.’
‘Ah. Why beef?’
‘I don’t know,’ Adam shrugged.
‘So, why were you visiting him?’ Colin said, hoping not to get bogged down in the origin of slang.
‘I wasn’t. I hadn’t,’ Tom spluttered.
‘It might look, to the police, let’s say,’ Colin shrugged, ‘that you claiming you hadn’t been anywhere near him and evidence emerging that you in fact had been to see him, as troublesome.’
‘Evidence?’
‘Eye-witness. Saw you a couple of times.’
‘Okay, okay. I went to see him a few weeks after he’d been announced, but it wasn’t on Santa business. It was to do with…’ He looked around to make sure no one was nearby and listening in. ‘…Drugs.’
‘Drugs?’
‘I’ve got terrible glaucoma. I’ve been on all sorts of medication, and none of it is helping. I can feel my eyesight going, and it’s a scary feeling—I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. One of the young boys in work was telling me that, in America, medical marijuana is prescribed for it. So, I thought I’d go and see him.’
‘But he thought you were trying to frame him. Buy the drugs and then go grass him up.’
‘And why would I do that?’
‘Don’t be naïve,’ Colin laughed. ‘You dob him in, he loses the job and the money, and you get your throne back.’
‘Money?’
‘Yeah, the money for being Santa.’
Tom laughed. ‘Boys, I’ve been the big man for many years and I’ve not received a penny for my troubles. It’s more of a pride thing.’
‘But Gerald was getting paid for it. That’s what we were told.’
‘And look where it got him,’ Tom sighed. ‘And now, if there really is nothing else, I hope I don’t see you two again in the near future.’
They watched him walk away towards his place of temporary work, and Adam pulled his coat sleeve up to check the time.
‘Balls,’ he said. ‘I’m going to be late if I don’t get a wiggle on.’
‘No worries,’ Colin said. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
Colin headed back towards the café they’d been in with Tom, his stomach rumbling at the thought of a big lunch. He sat down at the same table, which had now been cleared, and perused the menu.
When the waitress came, he ordered a Christmas dinner with all the trimmings, and then pulled his phone out.
He went to the messages and composed a new missive to Lauren. It took him a while to word it correctly, not wanting to come across as too keen or too aloof, and when he was happy, he re-read it a couple more times to make sure it was actually okay.
Before he could chicken out, he pressed send and then put his phone back in his pocket. He couldn’t stand glancing at it every couple of seconds to see if the message had been read, or if there was a reply.
Instead, he picked up the paper and skimmed it. The smell of food wafting from the open kitchen was mouth-watering, and he wished it would hurry up, though upon flicking through a few more pages, the smell of meat and potatoes cooking was suddenly the last thing on his mind.
Buried deep within the paper was a mention of Stu Finnegan. There was no photo, but there were some details. Apparently, he had been caught beating up a student at Stonebridge University’s campus. Stu claimed the guy owed him money, which turned out to be less than £20. The guy who owed the money was in hospital with a fractured eye-socket, though was also in trouble for buying drugs in the first place.
Talk about adding insult to injury.
Colin took a photo of the story and closed the paper.
Stu Finnegan had told Adam that he never needed to resort to violence, or something to that effect. He had definitely said he was in no way involved with what had happened to Gerald. Mick had backed that up, but had also been slurping from a giant bottle of cheap cider, so could they take his words as gospel?
Surely if Stu was willing to batter someone for the sake of seventeen pounds, he’d be more than ready to engage in physical violence with someone who was undercutting him and muscling in on his empire.
Colin didn’t fancy broaching the subject with the maniac drug dealer, and hoped that the police might get a confession out of him while they were holding him in the cells.
His phone buzzed and what appeared on screen knocked all thoughts of Gerald, Stu and fractured bones out of his head.
He had a message from Lauren and it ended with two kisses.