Page 31 of The Santa Claus Con

Hawk nods his head toward us. “These two got what we needed out in Los Angeles. An entire winter wardrobe. Ten pieces of clothing.”

“This job… I haven’t heard of it,” Arnold says, still watching us.

“Exactly,” Hawk says.

Arnold steps closer to me. As he does, his sidekicks come around to where Lewis and I are standing. “If you’re Norman’s friend, you’re my friend, too.” He wraps his arm around me and offers a gap-toothed smile. “You can get what I need?”

“Just name it,” I say, returning the smile. Facial expressions—and first impressions—are critical. Right now, the smartest thing I can do is mirror Arnold to build rapport.

Arnold says more in French to his sidekicks while Scarlett continues to translate.

“They want to test you with a smaller job here in the city,” Scarlett says, her tone calm and steady despite how rapidly the three men are talking. “They want you to get them diamonds and rubies.”

Diamonds and rubies? As loose pieces? As necklaces? Bracelets?

We must be nearing midnight because a chorus of voices shout, “Ten!”

Arnold turns back to us. “We like you. We could use your help acquiring gloves and hats.”

“Nine!”

Gloves and hats.

“Sure thing, no problem,” Lewis says.

“Eight!”

Necklaces and bracelets.

“Seven!”

I nod.

“Six!”

“You think you can deliver the accessories next week?” Arnold asks.

“Five!”

“We’ll have your diamonds,” I say, the word slipping off my tongue.

“Four.”

My blood turns to ice. Maybe everyone else’s, too, because they also freeze in place. Just for a second. Just long enough to realize my colossal, sloppy mistake.

“Three, two…”

I hate learning lessons I already know. I just came from the drug world where bricks of cocaine were called “diamonds.” But now we’re talking about real diamonds and not, in fact, winter wear. It was a momentary lapse in language. A potentially deadly one.

“One.”

The cold steel of a gun barrel is pressed up against my temple.

Click.

Boom!

Fireworks explode overhead, and I’m no longer sure what’s up, what’s down, if the gun was cocked, or if there’s even one still on me.