Page 33 of The Santa Claus Con

Is that… drunk Scarlett? She hardly looks like herself.

Arnold looks irritated by Scarlett’s interruption. Another firework explodes overhead, and Scarlett giggles. She trips forward to keep up her act and says, “I love the booms!”

This, Arnold seems to relate to. “Those cracks and whistles? Music to my ears,” he says, visibly relaxing, maybe realizing that this woman isn’t a threat. How wrong he’d be.

The pressure of the gun is gone. The sidekick has lowered it. Arnold isn’t fast enough, though, and Scarlett spins toward him and grabs his shoulder. “Oh my god, your prop looks so real!” she says, leaning closer to the gun.

Arnold doesn’t respond but he does smile, drawn in by the woman in front of him. Even in full Elvis disguise, Scarlett’s magnetic. He tucks his gun into the waistband behind his back, and just like that, the entire mood has shifted. It’s like I wasn’t just about to see the credits on my life rolling.

As soon as that threat’s been neutralized—for now—Scarlett pretends to realize she’s walked in on something. She waves at us and says, “Are these your friends? Hi!”

The guy next to Arnold looks at his wrist, where there is a real watch, and says, “Plane’s leaving in forty-five minutes. Gotta go.”

Scarlett makes a surprised face. “Go? So soon? Well, Happy New Year, Happy New Year very much!”

“Nous vous contacterons,” Arnold says to Hawk. He gives me one last glare before the three men leave the way they came, with Arnold leading the pack.

Back in the FBI van, excuses pour out of Lewis and Hawk. Getting involved would’ve escalated the situation or gotten us all shot faster. I wave them off. We can only make decisions in the moment. And if I’m following Scarlett’s line of thinking, sometimes they’re right-ish, sometimes they’re wrong-ish.

Scarlett finds me sitting behind a tree getting some air, out of sight from partygoers. I scoot over for her, and she sits down next to me, neither of us saying anything at first. Then she brushes her thumb across her chin.

It takes me a second to remember. Then I make the same gesture.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks. “That was a lot.”

Emotions I was holding back flood me. If something had happened to her…

“I can’t believe you did that,” I say.

She flinches at my too-harsh tone. “What? Defused a tense situation? Saved your life?”

“You don’t think they would’ve shot you instead?”

“They didn’t.”

I shake my head. “You’re too trusting.”

She looks more like herself now. She’s taken off her wig and is wearing a long winter coat over her costume.

“I know you’re just mad that I outsmarted you in how to get out of a literal life-or-death situation, but one of these days, a thank-you would suffice.” She says it sternly but there’s a smirk on her face.

A piece of confetti from someone’s party popper floats over and lands on her hair. We hold eye contact for a few seconds before I surrender and reach slowly to lift it off.

“Here,” I say, offering her the thin, silver square. “You saved my life. I owe you.”

Her eyes widen. “Is this a marker?”

“A what?”

“You know, in John Wick? Physical tokens that guarantee a favor?” She rubs the square between her fingers. “It’s a blood oath. An unbreakable vow. I did something for you, and now you owe me.”

A huff comes out. “So you weren’t saving my life out of the kindness of your heart?”

“Remember, I’m only nice-ish.” She bumps my arm with hers.

“Okay, a marker, then,” I say, grabbing her hand and holding it tight. “Thank you. Seriously.” I hate that I fucked up and forced her to get involved.

“I didn’t want you to die like that.” She squeezes my hand back. “I always thought I’d be the one to end you.”