Page 30 of The Santa Claus Con

It isn’t posed as a question, because it isn’t one. I’ll never forget New Year’s Eve.

I resist the urge to make a face. “New Year’s Eve didn’t go wrong because of lack of prep.”

“I was introduced too early. We weren’t ready,” he says. Just like now, he doesn’t include.

“Your cover almost got blown because of word choice,” I remind him. “That’s why your Santa language needs to be on point.”

Nathan scans the room again, always keeping an eye out. “You can’t actually believe we were ready, though,” he says, lingering on that night. This time, he’s the one grinding a candy cane into dust with his teeth.

“No. I don’t,” I admit. Nothing could’ve prepared us for what happened three years ago.

Chapter 10

NATHAN

Three years ago, New Year’s Eve

New York City

It’s just an introduction,” Hawk reminds me. With twenty-two minutes to midnight, we move into position on a street behind Grand Central Terminal. Something movies didn’t prepare me for in this line of work: meeting spots for shady players aren’t in covert, dark corners, but out in the open. The place you’d least expect them to be. Like where we are now. There’s light traffic, everyone migrating west toward Times Square for the ball drop.

It’s one of the first undercover operations where I’m playing a bigger role, but we didn’t get nearly enough time for backstopping. It’s supposed to be a simple meet and greet. But meet and greets with people whose day-to-day activities involve armed robberies, money laundering, and the occasional murder are anything but simple.

After arresting Hawk in the alleyway behind the kitchen in Chicago, he agreed to be our informant and help us get to the top of the organization in exchange for reduced charges. With his reputation and ins, he’d be a good vouch. We could work our way up to the boss and dismantle the entire thing.

We’re joined by Special Agent Lewis. After his undercover stint in Chicago with a drug-trafficking organization, Lewis learned that selling drugs was the way the Durand crime family funds other illicit activities, specifically of the jewelry variety. Lewis was embedded in this arm of the Durands a year ago. Special Agent Hall was reassigned to a different unit, which left a spot open for a new person to join in on the fun. I transferred from the Seattle office to Chicago to be more involved.

Hopefully Hawk’s intel will pay off tonight when we meet his contacts before they fly out of the country in a few hours. They decided yesterday that they wanted to celebrate in the city, so Lewis and I scrambled to get a cover together in time.

“These guys, New Year’s is their favorite,” Hawk says to us. “Filled with traditions, you understand? They have an appreciation for things like that.”

I slacken my shoulders and crack my neck, my New Year’s head boppers swinging side to side. I’m trying to look like a guy who’s just hanging out with friends. Lewis is sharing some made-up story about how he spent his holidays going to a Santa brunch with the family—Lewis is single—and put out cookies with oat milk this year. (Don’t get him started on alternative milks.)

I’m feigning interest in what he’s saying when I hear her voice.

“It’s like a cult, isn’t it?” Scarlett asks in my earpiece. Lewis doesn’t skip a beat, and Hawk looks unfazed, so this comms must be just for me. “Santa this, Santa that. You’re being watched, and you have to be good all year or you’re labeled ‘naughty.’ As though people are just bad or just good, and there’s no in-between. It’s not a binary. We live in shades of gray. Where’s the Naughty-ish List? Or the one for Nice-ish people? I’m a Nice-ish person!”

This isn’t a two-way comms setup, so Scarlett knows I can’t respond, but Lewis and I are both wearing live wires and hidden cameras in the lapels of our jackets. So I smile like I’m interested in what Lewis is talking about, but a part of me knows I’m smiling for her. Even though I don’t know what she’s doing here to begin with. She must be in the FBI van parked outside of the New York Public Library.

Then, into all our earpieces, Special Agent Isaac Davis, the case agent on this operation, says, “Behind you. Here we go.”

Three men wearing Happy New Year paper top hats amble over to us. They nod to Hawk in recognition. We shake hands and trade names. Tonight, I’m just Nate, not straying too far from reality to help keep the story straight.

Arnold Rossetti is the only one who speaks, showing us who’s in charge. He reminds me of Paul Giamatti in his villain roles. The two men standing beside him are clearly just here as his muscles. I expect Arnold to explain what services he’s looking for, and I’m prepared to talk about how I can be of use.

But then Arnold starts speaking in French.

“Il risque de neiger ce soir,” he says, looking up at the night sky, where Times Square’s lights reach. “Il fait très froid.”

A second later, Scarlett’s voice is back in my ear, translating for me. “It might snow tonight. Very cold.”

“Oui,” Hawk says. “Ces gars-là peuvent vous procurer des vestes, des chapeaux, et des gants.”

Scarlett speaks low, articulating each word. “These guys can get you jackets, hats, and gloves.”

Arnold grabs Hawk by his shoulder. “You both come highly recommended from our friend here,” he says, switching to English without a trace of an accent.

“As we should be,” Lewis says, maintaining his tough-guy tone and exterior. We’re playing roles, and we’re supposed to be bad guys. Or bad-ish guys?