Not Your Average Christmas Domestic
A Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster
From Police Files
We were working the late shift, December 24th. My partner, Detective Sean O’Malley and I were discussing a couple of cases (Sean found a Molson’s Ex T-shirt in his case) when a call came in from headquarters. There was a domestic at 1297 Shady Lady Lane. Shady Lady Lane is one of the new streets out by Wal-Mart, one of the wealthier subdivisions in town. The folks who live there have lots of bucks. They are all lawyers, doctors and newspaper columnists.
“We have to go, Marie.” I called. “Give us two medium blacks to go. And throw in a dozen Tim Bits and a couple of apple fritters, this may be an all-nighter.”
It was a typical 911 call. Four cruisers, a fire truck and an ambulance were already there. Red, yellow and blue lights were whirling and flashing off every wall and window for blocks. Cops and volunteer fire fighters mingled with the gathering crowd drinking coffee, telling jokes and re-living the last time they had all been together, which was about an hour before actually. The Mayor’s cat had been stuck in a tree.
Pushing my way through the mob, I climbed over the hoses running through the half-open door. It was bedlam. I could barely hear myself think over the crashing of furniture. The fire- fighters were breaking chairs and tables with axes and smashing holes in the walls in case a fire broke out.
A young boy stood quietly in the hallway peering fearfully at the carnage in the living room. The little tyke was wearing yellow flannel pajamas with big furry feet and little Elmer Fudds with shotguns chasing Bugs Bunnies up and down the legs. I could see the lad was frightened and had been crying. I put my hand on his trembling shoulder and tried to reassure the little fellow that we would look after things — just as soon as we finished our coffee.
“Hi there, I’m Sgt. Sharpe and this is my partner, Sean. We’ve come to help. And what’s your name, young fellow?”
‘Billy, sir! Billy Barnsmell.”
“You look like a bright lad. How old are you, Billy?”
“42.”
“Do you want to tell us what happened?”
“Yes, sir! I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus.”
“Where?”
“On the lips.”
“No. I mean where were they?”
“Oh, underneath the mistletoe, Mr. Sharpe.”
“Did they know you were watching, Billy?”
“No, sir. They didn’t see me creep down the stairs to have a peek. They thought that I was upstairs in my bedroom fast asleep. I thought I heard moaning in the living room so I snucked around the corner.”
“What did you see?”
“Well, at first not much of anything. I was face to face with a reindeer’s bum – or I was bum to bum with a reindeer’s – no, I guess I was right the first time. So I moved over a bit and there they were – smooching. Mommy had quite a lip-lock on the old geezer.”
“That must have been quite a shock for you, Billy. Then what?”
“She was just starting to tickle him under his beard so snowy white, when it happened.”
“What happened? Old Santa got a little frisky did he?”
“No, officer, my old man came in. It was awful. My mom got all flustered and said, ‘Bert, you’re home!’ and my dad said, ‘Aha! I finally caught you!” and Santa said, ‘Ho Ho – Oh oh!’ and hid behind the Christmas tree. Then my dad chased after him and started to whack him on the head with a frozen Butterball turkey. Old Santa’s eyes started twinkling and his nose swelled up like a cherry. Actually I guess it was more like a turnip by the time my dad got finished with him. That’s when I ran to the phone and called 911.”
I could see the boy was still upset, so I gave him a Tim Bit and sat him on the stairs while Sean and I entered the crime scene.
The place was a mess. There was a miniature sleigh parked with one runner on what was left of the coffee table. Eight of the seediest reindeer I’d ever seen were hiding behind the couch. The tree had been ripped apart. Broken branches, pine needles and the shattered remains of Christmas ornaments were trampled and strewn all over the place. The stockings that had once been hung o’er the chimney with care had been torn down in the fracas and had fallen into the fireplace. They would likely have been smoking but the fire captain had turned a high-pressure hose on them. A thousand gallons of ice cold water had hit the wall like a tidal wave and blasted the stockings, smouldering logs and hundreds of soggy cards and Christmas presents, plus an astonishing number of reindeer droppings across the soot-covered rug and down the basement stairs.
Mrs. Barnsmell was huddled in a corner sobbing. Santa was cowering behind two big cops who were trying to beat off her irate husband with their night sticks.
To get their attention, I fired off a couple of shots into the ceiling. In retrospect, I wish now that I hadn’t done that. I had been under the chandelier at the time and the sparks and flying crystal did nothing to help the situation. You don’t always have time to think during a crisis.
Finally, everyone calmed down. While Sean went to the kitchen to see if they had any donuts, I approached Mrs. Barnsmell, who suddenly realized she was wearing a sheer silk night-gown and 13 firemen and a dozen cops were nudging each other and giggling.
“Mrs. Barnsmell?”
“Brandy.”
“Brandy Barnsmell?”
“No. I want a drink. My name is Chastity.”
“I can just imagine. Now, Chastity, I’m Sgt. Sharpe. I know this is a difficult time for you, but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you a few questions. By the way, you should have that mole on your bottom looked at. Now, can you tell me what happened?”
“Well, I was lying down resting, officer. My husband, Bill Sr., had gone to the store to pick up a few things. We always have his folks over for Christmas dinner and – Damn, damn! That’s today and the house is a mess. His old lady will never stop talking about it. Anyway, with the pressures of Christmas I had somehow forgotten that all we had in the fridge was 24 beers and a bowl of leftover chili, so I sent Bill to Zehrs. I guess that must have been somewhere around 10:00 o’clock. I was just drifting off when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up on the sash. While I was cleaning that mess up I could hear a noise coming from the roof. It sounded like someone yelling, ‘Whoa! Whoa! Whoa goddamn it, Whoa!’ Then I heard a crash, followed by a thump in the living room, then a slapping sound. You know what I mean, the noise you hear right after a person sits on a barbecue and his pants catch fire.”
“And you went to investigate.”
“Yes, I did. At first I thought it was Bill and I quickly slipped into my negligee to give him his Christmas present early. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be Mr. Claus here, all dressed in fur from his head to his foot. Naturally, I offered him a drink. After all it was Christmas Eve and I thought the old gentleman would like a sip of hot cocoa to help ward off the cold night air. Instead the old boozer spoke not a word and wolfed down the 14 ounces of grain alcohol we were saving for the punch. I didn’t mind really; he seemed like a jolly old elf — kind of cute in a way. Of course he was covered in ashes and soot and it was obvious he had been drinking, but I’ve gone out with a lot worse. Besides Mr. Claus looked kind of sexy; a broad face and a little round belly, the kind you like to snuggle up to on a cold winter’s night. You know what I mean.”
“Not really.”
“You know for a moment I thought I could almost go for a man like that — until he stuck his finger up his nose.”
She paused for a moment.
“Sorry, Officer,” She whispered sadly, “I guess I was daydreaming. Bill and I haven’t been getting along in the romance department for the last couple of years. I think he’s I-M-P-O-T-E-N-T, if you catch my drift. By the way, what time are you off, big boy? Maybe we could meet someplace for a drink.”
About this time I began to notice that Claus was starting to get a little fidgety. He kept checking his watch and looking out the window towards the east. It was nearly morning and I knew old Santa had a long way to go. I certainly didn’t want to hold him up. His good and bad book was open at the ‘Shaft to Shaver page and next to a G. Sharpe was noted – A very good boy – Scarlett Johansson Inflatable Doll.
“We can talk later, Chastity. Well, Claus, by the way that is your real name isn’t it?”
“I go by Claus, but my real name is Trudeau and I wouldn’t want anyone to… you know how it is.”
“I understand. We’ll just make that C-L-A-U-S, shall we? … aah given name?”
“Nicholas really, but Nick will be fine thank you, Mr. Sharpe.”
I was starting to like the old gaffer and began to think that he was probably innocent in all this – especially since Chastity Barnsmell now had Sean up against the wall and was asking him if he had any etchings at home. If the truth were known, Sean didn’t have any etchings or a home either. He was living in the back seat of our squad car and would be for some time – unless his wife’s lawyer sued for that too.
“So Nick, tell me your story?”
“Well to be honest, Mr. Sharpe, I’m not sure if I know what happened. Let me see – I remember coming down the chimney. It’s a very nice one by the way, a straight shaft with none of those curves and right angles in it. You have no idea the pounding I take some years with all these fancy new houses with their gas fireplaces and shiny stovepipes. Do you know I was once trapped in a chimney for 5 hours? If it hadn’t have been for CAA, I’d still be there and all my little girls and boys would be some ugly with old Santa.”
“So you didn’t make any moves on her then Nick?”
“Moves? Ho Ho Ho, Officer Sharpe, I never would do a thing like that. Why I have perfectly nice wife back at the North Pole who loves me dearly. Granted she’s been acting a little cool to old Santa lately and every Christmas Eve when I get home all tired and sleepy from delivering all my toys and goodies I see that Jack Frost fellow sneaking out our bedroom window. But Sandy, that’s my missus, always says, ‘Jack Frost? Why Nicky, do you think I would fool around with Jack Frost just because he’s 300 years younger than you and can go all night. Nicholas Claus, I’m surprised at you. Now you go and have a nice hot bath while I change the sheets.’
No everything is fine at home, Officer. Besides, Mrs. Barnsmell is much too young for me. To be honest, I never even noticed the girl in her silky pink negligee with the neckline that plunges all the way down to her dainty pink toes. As for the kissing part, we weren’t. She was just sniffing my new after-shave. The elves gave it to me.”
I could see that poor Nick was embarrassed by all this sexy talk. His face was suddenly all sweaty and beet-red. The old codger couldn’t stand any longer and finally had to sit down with his legs crossed.
“Well, Billy, me lad,” I turned to Barnsmell who was being held down by two cops and had a reindeer parked on his chest. “What do you have to say about all this?”
“It’s crap, officer, pure crap. Surely you don’t believe the two of them? This has been going on for years. Every year she sends me to the damn store and every year when I get home, she says, ‘You’ll never guess who dropped by for a drink.’ Or ‘Look what Nicky brought me!’ Last year it was a mink coat.
The year before it was a Lincoln. Have you ever heard of Santa leaving a Lincoln for a good little girl? Not on your life, flatfoot. I’m a good boy and what does the old geezer leave me? Socks! Not even Argyles socks, just those cheap white sweat socks that come in a plastic bag and don’t even have a heel in them. If you don’t believe there is something going on, officer, take a good look at young Billy.”
I turned and took another gander at little Billy Barnsmell. Now that he mentioned it, the boy did look a little strange. Nothing that was all that noticeable, just, you know, strange.
His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow and the beard on his – odd, I never noticed the beard before.
“Well, Claus, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“Not much, Officer Sharpe.”
Then sticking his finger up his nose and giving a nod up the chimney he rose. And I heard Chastity say, as he rode out of sight,
“Same time next year, Nicky?”
“You bet, sweetheart. You be a bad girl now. Merry Christmas, Mr. Sharpe!”
(Image Supplied)
