The Sleigh (A Nail Biting Supernatural Suspense Thriller): It's Christmas Eve. Pray he doesn't come down your chimney. by Max Hawthorne

Author:Max Hawthorne [Hawthorne, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Far From The Tree Press, LLC
Published: 2022-10-31T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

“—fucked up shit!” Janus bellowed.

Ilsa and Andy were sitting front and center in the captain’s office, their faces drawn and eyes lowered. The shouting had started five minutes earlier, and since then no one had dared say a word. Even the hungry wolf fish which, upon hearing its master’s voice, emerged from its hiding place, had tucked tail and hid.

The only ones who seemed at all comfortable were Detectives Ramirez and Tokaido. The two were seated in the back, and neither moved nor spoke. The latter had a troubled-yet-tranquil expression on his face, like someone nursing a drink while watching a hurricane unfold on television. Ramirez, on the other hand, wore a sadistic smirk.

Given his track record, Ilsa figured he was relishing her and Andy’s turn on the hotseat. Probably turned him on. In fact, she thought, while suppressing a shudder, if she spun in her seat, she’d probably clock the loathsome toad sporting an erection.

Gross. I bet I’d have to squint really hard to see that roll of quarters. Nah, too generous. Make that a pack of ‘Certs’. A partly-used one . . .

On the surface, Ilsa remained impassive. But inwardly she was cackling.

Sadly, her attempt to distract herself was waylaid by a loud bang, as a furious Captain Janus slammed their report down on his desk. He snorted angrily, then snatched up a remote and unmuted his office’s television set.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he snarled. “And now I have to deal with this?”

It was a news broadcast from one of the regional networks. They were showing footage of the damage done to the building where she and Andy confronted the creature. The piles of debris the news anchors kept focusing on made it look as if the place had suffered a full-fledged artillery barrage, and sound bites collected from its traumatized witnesses made it seem like they’d barely survived one.

Ilsa inhaled deeply then let it out slow.

If they only knew . . .

Janus froze the image and sent the remote clattering back onto his desk. Then he turned back and thrust a thick finger in her face.

“What the fuck, Dunbar?” he demanded. “You used to be solid. Then ‘Pretty Boy LA’, here, shows up, and you turn into, what . . . Dirty Harriet?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ilsa saw Andy shift. His lips parted, but then his gaze flicked to the money jar on the captain’s desk and he clammed up.

A wise move. Now was not the time to roll the dice.

Still foaming at the mouth, Janus took a step back and started gesticulating wildly. “You put a family in protective custody, trashed half the building, and shot up the place to boot! People were hurt, vehicles damaged; we’re looking at--”

He hesitated as Ilsa held up a crisp Ulysses S. Grant. “. . . what is it, Dunbar?”

Janus’s eyes lit up as she rose, added her “donation”, and then returned to her seat. “We saved their lives, sir,” she said. “The stakeout worked. Our perp--”

“Yes, it worked.

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