text:
## P. J. Tracy

* * *

### RETURN OF THE MAGI

#### A Heartwarming Christmas Story

## Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Follow Penguin

## Prologue

Emil Rice was snuggled in the back seat of his mom's car under a fuzzy blanket printed with Marvel Comics superheroes, watching the dark countryside roll by through the frosty window. It was a clear, bitter night – the kind that made your ears and eyes and teeth hurt – but the moon was full in the sky, with freckles of bright stars scattered around its happy face, smiling an apology for the brittle temperature.

There weren't many houses on this stretch of the trip, so he knew every single one by heart – which had the biggest Christmas tree, which had the most lights, and which had the best display of holiday statuary. His favorite was the white farmhouse with the big red barn and a sign with a cow on it, because they had everything, including Santa, his sleigh and all eight reindeer, plus Rudolph – the most famous reindeer of all – perched on the roof. And this year they'd added even more things.

'Mom, mom, look!' He vaulted forward, sticking his head through the space between the two front seats while he pointed frantically toward the new, lighted snowman that squatted like a giant marshmallow on the farm's front lawn. 'A snowman! A big fat snowman, and it glows! That's so _coooool._ '

His mum slowed the car for a closer look, her deep, rhythmic chuckle reverberating in the darkness. 'My, oh, my, would you look at that? That's one fine fat snowman.'

'And they have candles in _all_ the windows this year, too! Do you see them?'

'I sure do. And you know what's coming up real soon, don't you?'

Emil nodded reverently. 'The star.'

He loved the star. It was big and beautiful and blue, perched on top of a silo his mom said farmers used to store food for the cows during winter. But at night you couldn't really see the silo. All you could see was the star, hanging in the air, like a giant firefly, lighting the way to Grandma and Grandpa's house. He gasped when it finally came into view and tried not to blink so he didn't miss a single second of looking at it.

'Isn't it beautiful, Emil?'

'Yeah,' he whispered. 'Do you think that's what the Star of Bethlehem looked like when the three wise men followed it?'

She made a soft, happy sound. 'Hard to say. All we really know is that it looked like something worth following.'

'We're just like the wise men! We're following a star, too, only to Gram and Gramps's.'

'That's right, Emil.'

Emil sagged back against the seat. 'But there were three wise men and there are only two of us.'

'That's okay. Two is better than one.'

'But isn't three better than two?'

'Not always. Why don't you take a nap, baby? That will make the time pass faster.'

Emil sighed. 'But I don't feel tired anymore. The star means we're close, right?'

'We still have an hour to go. Just lie down and we'll be there by the time you wake up, I promise.'

But he didn't think he could sleep because it felt like there were squirrels running around in his stomach, he was so excited. The trip always seemed to take forever once they left the city, and he always worried that if he fell asleep in the car, he might not wake up in time for the magical moment when Grandma Polly pulled a hot batch of gooey caramel cinnamon buns from the oven on their arrival, or when Grandpa Moses played 'Silent Night' on the organ, which was always decorated with fresh pine and candles and frosty little bells that peeped out a squeaky tune when you pushed a button on the back.

He frowned suddenly, pondering a grave worry that troubled his mind every Christmas Eve. 'How does Santa know to come to Gram and Gramps's house and not ours?'

'Because he's been doing it for all of your eight years on this earth, Emil. Santa knows everything, including who's been naughty and who's been nice. Isn't that right?'

Emil grinned at her in the rearview mirror. 'I've been nice. And good, too. Really good. I got all As on my report card.'

'Yes, you did.'

'Does that mean Santa will bring me the Lego I asked for?'

'He just might. As long as you save a cinnamon bun for him.'

'Yeah. And milk, he likes milk, too. He drinks it all every year, so I'll give him the _biggest_ glass ever tonight!'

His mom started coughing then, like she'd been doing on and off for a few weeks. It was a bad, rattling cough and sometimes she couldn't stop for a long time. 'Are you okay, Mom?'

She nodded, coughed a few more times into her sleeve, then popped a menthol drop into her mouth. 'It's just a little cold.'

'But you're a nurse. Nurses aren't supposed to get colds, are they?'

'Everybody gets colds. Especially nurses.'

Emil thought about that for a moment. 'Because you're around sick people all the time?'

'Could be, baby.'

'Do you think I'll catch your cold?'

'I forbid you to catch my cold, young man. How about that?'

He smiled. 'Okay.'

'Now try to go to sleep.'

'I'll _try_ ,' he finally said, in his best dramatic voice while making a great show of lying down, tucking in under his blanket, and arranging his pillow just so. 'It's not going to be easy.'

But after a few minutes, he felt the electricity in his arms and legs start to fade away, and he felt a smile build from the inside out. Christmas was just around the corner, an hour away, and he was suddenly content to breathe in the familiar smells of his mom's perfume, the coffee in her travel mug, and the peculiar scent of the Chevy's red vinyl seats. The car was old – much older than he was – and it creaked and groaned a lot, the way his grandpa did when he got up from his favorite chair. He knew those kinds of sounds made his mom nervous sometimes, both when the car and his grandpa made them, but to him they were soothing, and very soon he felt his eyelids droop.

When his eyes fluttered open again, the darkness outside the car window was now aflame with Christmas lights, flashing and winking at him, as if they were sharing a special secret. Icicles hung from the eaves of houses, and snow-covered pines wore sparkling necklaces of rainbow-colored gems. His mom had just pulled onto Main Street, a quick right at the only café in the little town where Grandma and Grandpa lived.

This was where Christmas really started.

His heart soared as they passed the old hotel on the corner that looked like a castle, then the brick school where his mom used to go, then over the tiny creek with the footbridge that was all but hidden from view by weeping willows that arched over it in a leafless, skeletal embrace.

He popped up in his seat when he saw the bright glow in the near distance that he waited for every year, as much as he waited for the star, as much as he waited to see Grandma and Grandpa. His mom smiled at him in the rearview mirror, her face blue from the dashboard lights. 'Almost there, baby. Do you want to stop and see the kings first?'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah!'

'I thought you would.' Her smile broadened as she pulled up to an empty curb in front of the big church that loomed proprietarily just on the edge of the neighborhood.

Once the car had stopped, Emil barreled out, still wrapped in his fuzzy blanket, and raced across the lawn, oblivious to the fact that he was wearing sneakers and they were filling up with snow.

He had his eyes on the prize – the magical, grand tableau on the church lawn that featured larger-than-life statues of the three wise men, guarding a crèche under the glare of bright spotlights that stayed on twenty-four hours a day during Advent. He stood there, shivering and captivated, barely hearing his mom crunch through the snow behind him.

'They've been putting this thing up every Christmas for as long as I can remember. I guess the magi need a paint job. What do you think?'

But Emil didn't notice the peeling paint or the general shabbiness of the display that was so evident once you were up close. He was too entranced by the colors, the grand scale, the theater of it all. He did notice, however, that Jesus looked small in the crèche, and that his blanket was way too thin for the weather.

There's one baby boy who has the world on his shoulders, he thought, suddenly feeling sorry for the plastic doll laid before him. As far as he knew, the baby Jesus had carried enough burden all of these years, and it just seemed wrong that, on top of it, he didn't even have a decent blanket to keep him warm.

'We should go, Emil,' his mom finally said, her voice shaky and thin.

He looked up at her, his forehead puckering with a deep frown. 'Why is your voice all wobbly, Mom?'

'I'm just cold, Emil, that's all.'

'Oh. Then let's go.'

They were already halfway to the car when Emil suddenly stopped in his tracks, turned around, and raced back to the crèche. He stripped off the blanket that had been draped over his shoulders and covered up the baby Jesus doll, careful to tuck the blanket tightly around him. And as he did, he felt the first flake of snow land on his cheek.

When he got back to the car, Christmas music was playing on the radio. Nat King Cole was singing 'Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas' and his mom was humming along.

'This is my favorite Christmas song,' she said.

'I like it, too.'

'You gave your blanket to baby Jesus.'

'He looked cold.'

'That was a fine thing to do. Sing with me, Emil. By the time the song is finished, we'll be there.'

For the next five blocks, they sang along with Nat. Finally they pulled into the driveway and Emil saw Grandma Polly and Grandpa Moses in his Santa Claus hat, waving at them through the front window.

## CHAPTER ONE

Las Vegas wasn't a subtle town by any stretch of the imagination. Nor had it ever aspired to be. You could see the multi-million megawatt glow of its famous Strip from outer space, and you could stay in a miniaturized replica of just about any iconic landmark you could think of, from the Pyramids of Giza to the Eiffel Tower.

Sweaty tourists clamored on the sun-baked streets and oxygenated casino floors twenty-four hours a day, dumping coin like they had IV hook-ups to Fort Knox, while the darker elements of society lurked on the periphery, opportunistically feasting on the endless human buffet of naivety and drunken carelessness.

It had always seemed strange to Emil Rice that the Foley Federal Building – beacon of law and justice and everything else good that Vegas generally wasn't – was situated smack in the middle of downtown, in the heart of the beast. Then again, maybe that was just exactly where it belonged.

He paused at the front entrance, shot his snow-white cuffs, and adjusted his tie. Well-dressed people of all colors and stripes were streaming in and out of the building, never giving a passing glance to the handsome young African American man in the fine suit, because such a thing wasn't a strange sight at all in this day and age, like it had been in Grandpa Moses' time.

Or maybe he was giving the human race too much credit: nobody paid much attention to anything beyond their smartphone worlds anymore. People were all just little planets now, orbiting their electronic suns – an absolutely fantastic cultural shift for a man like himself, whose stock in trade required invisibility.

His sharp, studied gaze followed the distracted foot traffic swirling and merging around him until he homed in on a harried-looking lady-who-lunches type heading his way. Her eyes were downcast to read her most recent text or tweet or email as she tried unsuccessfully to juggle her enormous purse and several bulging Neiman Marcus bags at the same time.

With a million-dollar smile, he gracefully swooped in to open the door for her. 'Allow me, ma'am. Emil Rice, attorney at law and at your service...'

And then she was gone, never even noticing the man who'd been holding the door for her, as if doors magically opened for her all the time. And maybe they did.

Emil hurried after her, his long stride easily overtaking hers, although he had to admit she was pretty quick for a short little thing in skyscraper stilettos. Now she was conferring with her phone as if it was a sentient being, muttering a laundry list of things to do, or things she'd already done, he couldn't guess which.

Emil politely merged into her space. 'You know, I just have to tell you how nice it is to see someone with so much holiday spirit.'

Her brisk pace faltered at the unwelcome interruption from the outside world, and she jerked her head toward him and shot him a withering glance. 'Yeah, right,' she snapped, picking up speed again.

Emil matched her pace and amped up the charm-meter. 'Oh, now, don't you try telling me you get big bags full of presents like the ones you're carrying without a heart just brimming with Christmas cheer.'

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned on him wild-eyed, like a cornered animal poised to bite at the slightest provocation. 'What do you want?'

'Nothing more than to share the joy of the season, ma'am. It's a wonderful time of the year, isn't it?'

She stared at him, dumbfounded, as if he'd just told her the earth really was flat. 'Look, I don't know what your problem is and I don't care, but if you don't back off...' Her eyes narrowed into malevolent crescents. 'Wait a minute. You said you were an attorney. Is this about that swimming-pool incident last year? Because if it is and you're chasing me around, I'll have you disbarred before the sun sets.'

Emil raised his hands in supplication. This was one angry woman and he knew better than to tangle with that kind of cat. 'I don't know about any swimming-pool incident, honestly, ma'am. I'm just trying to spread the good news.'

'What good news? There is no good news,' she spat, like a viper, then spun on her skinny heels and hurried away, leaving Emil slightly dazed in her wake.

He watched her disappear into the crowd, then found a secluded spot on a bench at the back of the lobby and surreptitiously started rifling through the very fine kidskin wallet he'd just lifted from her. There were a lot of credit cards, including an Amex Black, but no cash except for a five and some change. The credit cards were useless to him at this juncture in his life, so he pitched the wallet into a nearby trashcan and pocketed the five.

'Damn credit cards ruined the world,' he muttered, heading toward a bank of elevators, wondering how anybody who had an Amex Black could think there wasn't any good news in the world.

## CHAPTER TWO

Henry Foster was sitting at his desk in Probation, staring balefully at the straggly poinsettia on his cube mate's filing cabinet. The stupid things grew wild in Vegas, but people still went out and wasted thirty bucks on a plant you could dig out of any ditch, only to pitch it in the trash a couple of weeks later.

Since when had Christmas become a disposable holiday? People threw away their poinsettias; they threw out their tree and the strings of lights wrapped around it, because nobody had any expectations that they'd work the next year. Add to the trash bin the Christmas wrapping after it had been stripped off the presents, half of which got tossed too, plus all the cards that came in the mail. Not that Foster got Christmas cards anymore, but he knew a lot of people still did because they felt compelled to display their running tally of friends in public spaces, right next to their poinsettias and photos of their humiliated pets wearing Santa Claus hats and reindeer antlers.

Christmas had definitely changed since he'd last celebrated it a long, long time ago, before his daughter was grown with a kid and a life of her own; and before his marriage had crumbled, like the last dried-out sugar cookie at a holiday buffet. Christmas swag wasn't the only thing that was disposable now: so were lives, families and relationships. Maybe that was just the way things worked in this modern era, and he'd forgotten to keep up with the times.

'Hey, Foster, can I grab a couple minutes?'

Caleb Tucker, the newest addition to Probation, was standing in the entrance to the office cubicle, a troubled look on his baby face.

'Sure thing. What's up?'

He tossed a file onto the desk with an anxious sigh. 'I don't know what to do with this guy. Six months with him, no troubles. Today, he's a half-hour late and his phone's disconnected.'

'He's a no-show. Call it in.'

'If I call in the no-show, he goes right back for another two years.'

Foster flicked on a pair of reading glasses and opened the file folder. 'And that bothers you.'

'Yeah, it bothers me. Unlike some POs I could mention, I actually believe in probation.'

Foster grimaced. 'You're young yet, still plenty of time to get disillusioned.' He scanned the first couple of pages. 'Felony possession, theft, second-degree assault...'

'It was his first time in. Everybody deserves a second chance. Besides, I think he really turned around. He hasn't missed a day of work since he's been out.'

Foster closed the file and let out a world-weary sigh. 'He skipped, Tucker. And he's going to do crime. They all do. Number one clue is an out-of-service phone – remember that.'

Tucker hesitated. 'Maybe something happened to him. His car broke down, he got sick...'

'And he forgot to pay his phone bill because his mom's dying from eyelash cancer, his girlfriend stole his car, and his dog ate his wallet. I've heard it all. Get over it, Tucker, or you're not going to last the year in this job. Call the sheriff and activate the warrant.' He pushed speed-dial on his phone and handed over the receiver.

Tucker took it reluctantly. 'I don't want to throw back somebody if there's a legitimate reason. Especially this time of year.'

'Do it.'

'You got no heart, Foster. No trust, no humanity...' He paused, held up a finger and spoke into the phone. 'Good afternoon, Deputy, this is Caleb Tucker in Probation. I want to report a no-show on one Harlan Vestemeyer, doing five for two on assault and...' He listened for a minute. 'Oh. Okay. Thanks.' He hung up the phone and sagged into a chair next to the desk, his face a mess of betrayal and misery. Foster almost felt sorry for the poor kid – the first con was always the hardest con.

'They just picked him up on the Strip,' Tucker finally said. 'He rolled a Salvation Army Santa.'

Foster shook his head in commiseration. 'First offense, death penalty, that's my plan.'

'I trusted him. I believed in him.'

Foster eased back into his own memory, trying to recall if he'd ever possessed the same kind of cock-eyed optimism early in his career. Probably. But that was decades past now and long forgotten. 'Don't ever do that, Tucker. Just remember, cynicism is the first line of defense against faith in your fellow man.'

Tucker nodded and pushed himself up out of his seat like an old man, still unpracticed at carrying his new burden. 'I guess.'

'Listen, what do you say we grab a beer after we close this joint down? We can pontificate on the pitiable state of the human race.'

'Wish I could, but it's Christmas. Tons of family stuff going on, you know?'

'Sure, of course.'

'Sorry, any other time.'

Foster closed the Vestemeyer file and handed it back to Tucker. 'Hey, no problem. And sorry this one didn't end so well for you. I'm not going to say it'll get better, but I can tell you that it won't get worse. You just walked through your first fire. It won't burn so much the next time.'

Tucker looked around aimlessly, like he was searching for an anchor he could pluck out of thin air to stabilize his floundering idealism. 'So you're saying I'll get used to it, not that it will get better.'

'It's the job. You decide if it's the right one for you. It isn't for everybody.'

He nodded dolefully. 'Thanks, Foster. Have a good one. Catch you in the new year, yeah?'

'You got it. Take care. And merry Christmas.'

## CHAPTER THREE

Emil wended his way past an artificial tree and through a claustrophobic maze of tiny work cubicles in the most government-ugly office the Foley Federal Building offered up. Once he reached his destination in the back, he rapped on the only acoustic divider that didn't have some kid's crayon drawing of a Christmas tree pinned up on it. 'Foster, my man! Merry Christmas.'

Foster was the sorriest-looking haggard old coot Emil had ever laid eyes on, dragged down by droopy jowls and one bad attitude. He looked up from his desk with bleary blood-shot eyes and emitted a ragged, snuffling sound. 'Oh, God. Has it been six months already?'

Emil flashed a smile. 'You know it has, to the very day. Didn't they tell you I was coming?'

Foster rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, they told me. I've been trying to block it out.'

'So how you been, old friend? You're looking a little ripped up, you ask me. Whaddaya say we blow this place and get you over to the clinic for a B-12 shot, maybe plug some slots at the Bellagio, long as we're out and about?'

'You're banned from every casino in this town, you know that, so shut up, Emil, and sit down.' He jabbed a prematurely arthritic forefinger at a bent-up metal folding chair.

'Thanks, Foster, but I think I'd rather stand up. You get that thing out of a dungeon somewhere? I mean, who does the decorating around here? A little upholstery might be a nice touch.'

'I see your mouth is still running faster than your legs.' He gave Emil and his suit a quick once-over. 'You're going to be the best dressed worker at McDonald's.'

'Funny, Foster.'

'Not funny.'

'Are you serious? No way you can be serious. You're yanking my chain, right?'

Foster's mouth curled into a wicked Grinch smile.

'No wa-ay, man, McDonald's? Again? For real?'

'You know the routine. Halfway house and a really crappy job. You start tomorrow, five a.m. They don't even bother to call you in for orientation anymore, you've been there so many times, and they still have a uniform for you. Keep up this frequent-flyer crap and they'll probably embroider your name on it with French fries.'

Emil folded his arms across his chest with well-practiced indignation. 'A man cannot make a living flipping burgers and dropping fries. A man cannot support a family working at some –'

'Family?'

'Well, yeah. Fact is, I've been thinking about settling down.'

Foster's eyes narrowed. 'Yeah, right. The longest relationship you ever had in your life is with me.'

'I'll have you know I just met a fine lady downstairs, and I want to tell you she was very receptive.'

'What'd you take her for, Emil? Twenty? Fifty?'

'Foster, you're hurting my feelings. No reason to be so mean-spirited during such a blessed time of the year.'

He grunted. 'And you're breaking my heart. Park it.'

Emil sat down reluctantly, careful to smooth the back of his suit before he did. Foster pulled out a pair of reading glasses and squinted at the paperwork in front of him. 'Halfway house is over on Custer. You got a month to find your own place. Not that you're going to last a month.'

Emil decided it was time to change strategies. 'You don't see the changes, do you?' he asked, with quiet sincerity.

Foster cocked a brow at him. 'I see a nice new suit, and I suppose that means there's a man somewhere in this city walking around naked.'

'Hey, hey, now, back off, Foster. I'll be the first to admit that I've strayed from the path these past couple years –'

'Past couple years?'

'But I'm a whole new man now. You're looking at a brand new edition of Emil Rice. I had a lot of time to think during the past six months, you know what I'm saying? Time to look deep inside, regroup, reassess, rehabilitate. I saw my future in that cold, barren cell and, let me tell you, it gave me a new perspective.'

Foster laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound. 'Me and the cops, we got a pool going, how long it's going to take Emil Rice to screw up this time. I got the twenty-four-hour time slot.'

'Oh, that's nice, Foster, real nice. I'm here on my back, belly-up, sharing my rebirth, my renaissance as a human being –'

'Yeah, yeah, whatever. It's late, I'm tired, so listen up, buttkiss. Every Tuesday, five o'clock, right here. You're a minute late, I call a no-show and you go back and do the rest of your time. Got it? And when that happens, I'm going to set your very thick file on fire and dance around it in my birthday suit, because by the time you get out of the can, I'll be retired.'

Emil cringed at the prospect of Foster nude, even more than the prospect of more jail time. 'You are one unforgiving man, you know that? Yes, sir, one hard and unforgiving man.'

Foster shoved a piece of paper across the desk. 'Sign this. Conditions of your probation. Pick one. Violate it. Please.'

Emil sighed. 'Well, I guess you're just never going to believe a man can change until someone proves it to you. I'm going to do that, Foster. I'm going to restore your faith in humanity.'

'Be my guest. I'm just waiting for a Christmas miracle.'

## CHAPTER FOUR

The halfway house was maybe a half-step up from prison as far as creature comforts went, but at least there weren't any bars on the windows, so for now, Emil would take it. His new housemates were the usual motley crew of hard-luck losers and reforming psychos, whose personality disorders had found fervent new focus in trying to assimilate into society as opposed to destroying it. Fifty percent would make it to the next step. The other fifty would end up back in the system in less than a year.

Orientation was long and painfully boring, given by an earnest old ex-con, who was now a social worker, and a second-year seminary student. He called himself Brother Ray, called everybody else Brother this or that, and praised God at every opportunity. His face was scarred badly, probably the result of a few shanking incidents on the inside and a long-term diet of drugs. But he seemed like a decent, straight-up dude now, so Emil loitered in the orientation room after the meeting had adjourned and everybody else had scattered to ponder their new life beyond the bars.

Ray seemed grateful for the lingering company. 'Is there something more I can help you with, Brother Emil? We could go to the common area and have a cup of coffee, if you want to talk some more.'

'Thanks, Brother Ray, but I just wanted to tell you what an inspiring orientation that was. The point you made about us all needing shepherds to guide us on our life's journey really hit home with me.'

Ray's eyes lit up. 'Really?'

'Really. And it got me to thinking, why not start my new journey right away, maybe even tonight? You know, go to church, sing a few carols to celebrate the birth of our Lord, get into the whole fellowship thing. I've been walking alone most of my life, Brother Ray, and I believe now is the time for me to embrace those shepherds you were talking about.'

Ray nodded enthusiastically. 'Absolutely. The sooner the better. My church is just two blocks away, and they have Advent services every night at seven, if you're interested.'

Emil gave him a warm, heartfelt smile and folded his hands together, like a grateful supplicant. 'That sounds just perfect. And with a seven o'clock start time, I'll be able to get back here in plenty of time for curfew.'

Ray's smile faltered a little. 'I just wish I could take you there myself tonight, but I have a community outreach on the other side of town.'

'No kidding! You got yourself working community outreach? That's just fantastic.' Emil gave him a conspiratorial wink. 'So who's the shepherd now, Brother Ray?'

Ray bobbed his head modestly, and his smile returned to full beam. He grabbed his notes off the podium and scribbled down an address. 'Two blocks north, on the corner of Custer and Langley, you can't miss it. Pastor Leslie leads our flock and he gives powerful sermons. I don't think you'll be disappointed. Tell him I sent you, and make sure you get there early, because it's usually standing room only.'

'I'll make a point of it, Brother Ray.'

'Excellent. And don't forget, communal dinner is at five. I believe that breaking bread together every night is an important part of the experience here and helps form a healthy community bond.'

Emil wasn't too keen on forming a bond with anybody here, but he nodded enthusiastically to keep Brother Ray happy. 'Wouldn't miss it. So, what's on the menu tonight?'

'Cook's choice. Tonight it's Dom's turn to prepare the meal, and he's always full of surprises.'

Emil did _not_ like the sound of that. He also didn't like the sound of Dominic Beauchamp anywhere near the kitchen, because he'd been introduced to him earlier and he looked like a stone killer, a fried-chicken-with-a-side-of-cyanide kind of guy. 'You mean... you let them cook?'

'Don't forget you're one of "them" now, Brother Emil, and yes, we all take turns and do our part. Once you settle into your routine here, we'll ask you to do the same.'

Emil cleared his throat uncomfortably. 'Is this a mandatory thing?'

'Not mandatory, but I highly encourage it.'

'I hope everybody likes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.'

Ray gave him a polite smile. 'The food isn't really the important part. The fellowship is. A lot of our residents find comfort in preparing meals and sharing with others. It brings them back to a happier time in their lives.'

Emil unconsciously twisted the gold band on his right ring finger.

'Of course, some have never even had a family meal before. Either way, it seems to be an affirmative experience.'

'Yeah. Yeah, I can imagine. One happy family, right?'

'Exactly! That's the spirit of it. And you'll be surprised by the quality of the food that comes out of our kitchen. Dom and many of the others you met today have found meaningful, rewarding jobs in the food-service industry and are quite skilled in the kitchen. Positive focus is the key to success on the outside, remember that.'

'I won't forget it, Brother Ray,' Emil mumbled painfully, reminded of his own meaningful, rewarding job in the food-service industry, which started at five a.m. tomorrow at McDonald's. There was just no way to put a positive spin on that.

Ray put a hand on his shoulder and smiled beneficently. 'I have a feeling you're going to be a shining star here, a role model for everybody. You're on the right path, I can tell you that. See you at dinner, Brother Emil.'

***

Emil learned that Dom was a Cajun from Louisiana and he turned out to be a great cook. He made gumbo, cornbread, sweet tea, and something called boudin. Real down-home stuff, the genuine article, which meant that at one point in Dom's life, he'd had a mother or father or some other relative who had taught him the family recipes. He still looked like a homicidal maniac to Emil, but as long as Dom didn't poison anybody, he thought he could get along with him okay.

Dinner wasn't exactly the affirmative group experience Ray had advertised. Nobody said much. A few grunted their approval as they shoveled food into their mouths, but mostly it was a gathering of sullen, withdrawn ex-cons whose minds were far away from the halfway house and communal dinner. Emil had a strong feeling that Social Skills 101 wasn't on the curriculum here, so he kept his mouth shut, too – standing out in a crowd like this could end badly.

Ray carried the conversation single-handedly, mostly trotting out generic inspirational chestnuts in an attempt to engage his unresponsive audience. Emil had to give him credit for patience and perseverance – he never stopped trying.

The one real horror of the evening was when Ray announced: 'Our newest member, Brother Emil, is attending Advent Services tonight at Our Lady of Perpetual Peace, and I encourage anyone who is able to join him in fellowship, please do so.' Et cetera. Emil cringed, he hoped not noticeably, because the last thing he wanted was company tonight.

_Sorry, Brother Ray, but I got my group therapy session tonight._

_Me, too._

_AA meeting._

_Narc Anonymous._

_Visitation with my kids._

The litany of valid excuses ended with Dom, who gave Emil a curious, steady look with flat, dead eyes. 'I'd come with you, but I have my anger-management class tonight.'

Emil felt a chill reverberate down his spine. Dom was definitely a killer and he was coming for him next.

Dom held his gaze for a moment, then let out a hearty laugh. 'Just messing with you. My anger management is playing accordion in a Zydeco band once a week. You should come see us sometime.'

Emil felt the blood slowly return to his face. 'I'll definitely do that, Dom. By the way, I just have to tell you that your boudin was one of the best things I've ever eaten. What is it?'

'Blood and guts stuffed in intestine.'

'Ha! That's a good one! You are one funny man.'

'I'm serious. It's sausage.'

Emil swallowed. 'Are we talking human or animal here?'

Dom let out another gut-buster and slapped Emil on the shoulder. 'Whatever's available at the time.'

## CHAPTER FIVE

Emil stood outside the very crowded Our Lady of Perpetual Peace, his head bobbing like a metronome as he listened to 'We Three Kings' waft out of the open doors and into the cool desert night. That was one big congregation in there, standing room only, as Ray had promised, and the parking lot was filled to overflowing, which was why he was so pleased with this recommended house of worship.

They also had one very badass Nativity scene on the lawn that reminded him of the one in the town where Gram and Gramps had lived. But this one was pure Vegas, larger than life and all lit up with multi-colored floods that made it look very nightclub, which Emil kind of liked. The three wise men mannequins were a foot taller than he was, wearing real velvet robes and pretty decent paint jobs on the parts that weren't covered with fabric and gold braiding. Mary and Joseph were there, too, and of course, baby Jesus in a manger, plus a camel, a donkey, and a few fleece-covered lambs for good measure.

It was pretty impressive theater, and if it hadn't been for the fake snow sprinkled all around, it would have been perfect. Why would you throw fake snow around a Nativity scene in Vegas? They were in the middle of a desert, which is exactly where this whole Jesus-wise-man thing supposedly happened in the first place. The wise men didn't follow the Star of Bethlehem on snowmobiles, now, did they?

He waited until the choir had finished their song, then turned around and proceeded to go Christmas shopping. His first stop was a late-model Cadillac and, man, oh, man, did he hit the jackpot. The backseat was piled with wrapped presents and the doors were unlocked. 'Oh, now, look at this,' he whispered. 'Conspicuous consumption is what this is.' He pulled out a folded garbage bag from the pocket of his suit and started to fill it. 'What's got into these people? They think you can just buy Christmas and wrap it in a box? Hell, there's no real Christmas spirit left in the world. Just gimme, gimme, gimme... Oh, now that is one fine iPhone.'

Once he'd cleaned out the Cadillac, he headed for a Mercedes, but as he got closer, he saw the flashing red light of an armed security system. Bunch of hypocrites, locking their car in a church lot. What kind of faith was that?

As it turned out, most of Brother Ray's fellow church-goers turned out to be hypocrites. Rich hypocrites. A locked car was no problem for him, as long as it didn't have bells-and-whistles security, but they all seemed to nowadays. That usually made churches a good mark – faith in God and faith in fellow man seemed to go hand in hand and, from his personally gathered statistics, fewer people sealed up their rides in God's parking lot. Then again, this was Vegas.

He eventually found a couple of old junkers sprinkled with all the fancy wheels, and their locks yielded easily to his slim jim, but all he got out of those were a few CDs and a stale stick of Juicy Fruit gum.

Ten minutes later, he'd finished his work in the parking lot and decided to hit the Nativity scene for good measure. He already had enough for a bus ticket to LA, but a man needed some pocket change to get started in a new city.

He frisked the wise men for loot, but apparently wise men didn't wear watches or jewelry. But baby Jesus had a thin blanket covering him, and he figured it was worth a look underneath.

_You gave your blanket to baby Jesus._

_He looked cold._

_That was a fine thing to do. Sing with me, Emil. By the time the song is finished, we'll be there._

Emil was suddenly paralyzed by memories that hadn't visited him in years. He willed his arm to lift the Wal-Mart version of swaddling clothes, but his muscles wouldn't cooperate. He was as frozen as the wise men mannequins that were staring at him, just as lights from a passing patrol car swept the churchyard.

***

Officer Sanchez turned the squad onto Custer Street and looked over at his partner. 'What are you doing, Myers? It's heads-up time. Make your list and check it twice when you're off the clock.'

Officer Myers folded the paper he was writing on and shoved it into his uniform pocket. 'There is not one Barbie Fashion Fever Fashionista Doll left within five hundred miles. Can you believe that? The "Sassy" one is totally sold out, and now this ten-buck piece of junk is going for a hundred bucks on eBay. Mattel is holding us all hostage.'

'What the hell is a Fashionista Doll?'

Myers grunted. 'A very sad piece of marketing genius. When you're at church on Christmas Eve, thank God you have all boys.'

'Oh, yeah? You know what a new Xbox costs? That's all they want, and it's half my paycheck. Back when I was a kid, the only thing I ever asked for was a bar of Ivory soap. Fifty cents. I was happy as a clam.'

Myers rolled his eyes. 'Come on, that's pathetic. I know you grew up in the barrio but, please, no kid in the history of the world ever asked for soap for Christmas.'

'No, I used to carve it. Birds, squirrels, little figurines, stuff like that. I was good at it, too. Every birthday, every Christmas, that's all I asked for.'

'Do you still carve?'

'A little, sometimes. I graduated to wood. But who has the time?'

Myers nodded solemnly. 'Nobody. I hate Barbie – WAIT! STOP!'

***

'Thank you, Jesus,' Emil breathed, as the patrol car passed him by. He was about to make tracks and get as far away as possible, as soon as possible, but then he spied a collection basket near the Nativity scene. 'For Those Less Fortunate', the sign read. Well, they had his name on that, and it would be downright ungrateful of him not to accept the charity of this fine congregation.

***

Sanchez turned the patrol car around. 'I didn't see anything.'

'Something moved in the Nativity scene. I saw it in the side mirror.'

'Great. Just what we need. A miracle.'

***

Emil had just about cleaned out the collection basket when a spotlight swept over him. He scrambled for the shadows, pausing to dump the contents of his bag in the manger, burying the baby Jesus.

'Hold it right there!' a cop yelled.

Emil stood calmly and empty-handed, smiling. 'Evening, Officer. Merry Christmas! Nice night, isn't it? Something I can do for you?'

As Sanchez got closer, he squinted, then dropped his hand from his holster with a groan. 'Emil, is that you? Dammit, I had forty-eight hours in the pool.'

'Officer Sanchez?'

'You got it.'

Emil forced a weak chuckle. 'Well, isn't this something, running into you here, of all places? You going in for the service, too? Pastor Leslie gives some very powerful sermons. You won't be disappointed. We could sit together, catch up on old times, haven't seen you since...'

'Since the last time I dragged your sorry butt in for felony theft. You think I don't know you dumped that stuff in the manger? Turn around.'

Emil submitted to a frisk. 'Dump? Hey, man, can't you see that sign? I brought those gifts for the poor.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Fine thing when a man gets abused by the law for donating to charity.'

Sanchez peered into the manger. 'Brought baby Jesus an iPhone, did you, Emil? And a... slim jim?'

'Oh, well, now, that manger was crammed with stuff by the time I got here. And I don't know anything about what a slim jim is, never even heard of it, unless you're talking about those snack-things.'

Sanchez gave him a broad smile. 'So we aren't going to find your prints on anything, am I right?'

'Well, I may have touched some stuff when I laid my presents for the Lord in there. Doesn't prove anything. Never hold up in a court of law. So I think I'll just be on my way now...'

'Emil.'

'What?'

'Shut up and get in the car.'

## CHAPTER SIX

The female officer in charge of Emil's intake and booking was the best thing that had happened to him all day. She had dark, almond-shaped eyes set above a cute little nose, shiny black hair pulled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, and a strong but petite physique that made her seem more ingénue than enforcer. She was soft-spoken and professional but there was also a little edge to her, like somebody who went skydiving or base-jumping on the weekends.

For a brief moment, he imagined taking her out for a nice dinner, sharing a bottle of wine, checking out a Cirque du Soleil show. Maybe even a few perfunctory tries at the slots afterwards before they caught the dancing fountains at the Bellagio.

His eyes drifted down to her nameplate for future reference – Ramos, it read, but apparently that had been a big mistake, because her face darkened and she abruptly leaned over the desk between them.

'You don't think I get all kinds of scum staring at my breasts all day long?'

Emil recoiled. He was right about one thing – she did have an edge. 'I – I wasn't. I was just looking at your nameplate, Officer Ramos. So I could address you with the proper respect.'

'Uh-huh. You're smooth, aren't you? Well, take a look around and check your reality. You're in the Clark County Detention Center. This isn't a debutante ball.'

Emil cleared his throat politely and smiled. 'No reason a booking can't be a more cordial experience than what you're probably used to.'

She didn't respond to his smile, just shook her head as she shuffled through the paperwork in front of her. 'More to the point, what _you_ 're used to. You've got almost as much experience here as I do. I don't like frequent flyers. And it looks like tonight you got another chance and you blew it. Again. What's your problem?'

Officer Ramos's sweet physical appearance was definitely not synching with her personality and Emil's previous vision of a night on the town with her disintegrated. And what had he been thinking anyhow? That dating a cop was a viable option?

'You don't know?' she pressed. 'I'm sure you have a story. Maybe you'd like to share it.'

Emil held up his hands. 'Listen, Officer Ramos, I'm just trying to be pleasant here. I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe we should just finish up this booking and get me stashed for the night.'

She narrowed her eyes and tipped her head, like a predator assessing quarry. For whatever reason, she eventually backed down, her demon side receding to allow the by-the-books police officer to return and inhabit the corporeal form of Officer Ramos. 'In order to keep our population as safe as possible, I have to ask you some questions.'

Emil nodded woodenly. He'd answered these questions before. Multiple times. 'I'll save you some breath, Officer Ramos. Any current gang affiliations? No. Any past gang affiliations? No. Any associates or friends or family associated with gangs? No. Any reason you should be put in protective custody or isolation? No.'

She didn't smile exactly, but there was a slight shift in her expression. 'Thank you, Mr Rice.' She stood and gathered her paperwork. 'A deputy will be in shortly to escort you to Holding. Your cellmate shouldn't bother you. He's another frequent flyer, but he's too drunk to know you're even there. You'll probably be in court before he wakes up. Sweet dreams.'

Emil forced an anemic smile. 'Thank you, Officer Ramos.'

She turned back just as she was about to exit the room. Emil imagined her eyes flashing just a little, telling him that, yeah, maybe she did want to have dinner with him and see the latest Cirque du Soleil show and pull some slots before watching the fountains. 'You don't remember me.'

'Oh, no, ma'am, I don't think we've met. I would definitely remember you.'

'I didn't process you, but I was here the last two times they hauled you in.'

Emil's thoughts scrambled to remember a dark-eyed beauty witnessing his humiliation from the wings. The problem was, when you'd been on the wrong side of the law for as long as he had, you didn't see faces anymore, just uniforms. 'I pretty much keep my eyes down when I'm in this situation, so I guess I missed you. I'm sorry about that.'

She waved him off. 'I get it. I don't remember half the people who walk through those doors. But I remember you.'

'Is that good or bad?' Emil ventured.

She shrugged ambivalently. 'You stand out. You didn't belong here then and you don't belong here now.'

'I couldn't agree with you more. In fact, this whole thing is one big mistake. I was just trying to go to church and exercise my right to worship...'

She let out a long-suffering sigh and he snapped his mouth shut. 'Use your head for a change and keep it straight. If I run into you again, I don't want to see you wearing orange, you got it?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

He thought she actually smiled this time, showing off nice white teeth with one pegged incisor that confirmed they belonged to her, not to some cosmetic dentist. Of course, the way things had been going, she was probably baring her teeth, getting ready to strike. 'Good.'

Emil started fidgeting with his ring. Twirl to the right, twirl to the left, then back to the right again. 'Can I ask you a question, Officer Ramos?'

'Ask all you want, but don't expect an answer.'

'Have you ever seen a Cirque du Soleil show?'

She scoffed: 'Are you kidding? Do you know what tickets cost?'

'I haven't seen one either, but I'd like to.'

'Good luck to you. Keep your butt out of this dump, get a job that pays more than minimum wage, and maybe it'll happen.'

***

Emil lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. His cellmate was choking out jagged snores that were unraveling his nerves and splintering his thoughts.

What vexed him even more than the snoring drunk on the other side of the room was that he couldn't get a bead on Officer Ramos. He prided himself on his uncanny ability to assess people with laser accuracy. He could read facial expressions and body language in a split second, and 99 per cent of the time he knew what was in their hearts and on their minds, what motivated them and what could distract them. But she'd messed with his radar. And it wasn't just because she was a straight-up looker. There was something else at play – the edge he'd picked up on from the get-go.

_I'm sure you have a story. Maybe you'd like to share it._

Sure, he had a story, but she did, too, and he wondered what it was.

## CHAPTER SEVEN

Emil had never appeared in front of Judge Addison before, but he looked a little like Grandpa Moses without the extra melanin; the kind of guy who read his grandkids bedtime stories when they had an overnight and made chocolate-chip pancakes for them the next morning. He had white hair and an amiable face, which was creased with smile lines that hinted at kindness and compassion.

But Emil had learned that looks could be deceiving, so he didn't nurture any budding hope for a good outcome this morning. He'd totally screwed the pooch, and for the first time in his unsuccessful career as a criminal, he wondered why he'd tried to clean out a church parking lot at Christmas time, a few hours after he'd been released.

Foster, on the other hand, did not look amiable or compassionate this morning: he looked like he'd just eaten crushed glass for breakfast with a side of battery acid. 'You are so going down,' he hissed in Emil's ear, then stood and approached the bench at the judge's request. Emil decided now might be a great time to shrink down in his chair at the defense table and look repentant.

'Good morning, Mr Foster,' Judge Addison said, his eyes downcast as he scanned the thick stack of paperwork before him.

'Good morning, Your Honor.'

The judge finally looked up and patted the cover page of Emil's file. 'Your client has a rather lengthy record. I assume you have a recommendation for this case, and I'd like to hear it before I make a judgment.'

Foster cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. 'Thank you for the opportunity, Your Honor. As you can see, in addition to Mr Rice's prior convictions, we have multiple charges from last night's victims. No question there was felony theft, along with a probation violation. In my opinion, Emil Rice is not suited for life outside prison walls at this juncture. I respectfully ask that he be remanded to jail to serve his remaining time.'

Judge Addison kept his expression impassive. 'You're not advocating leniency, then?'

'Absolutely not.'

The judge nodded. 'You may be seated, Mr Foster. Mr Rice, do you have anything to say for yourself, since you've waived your right to a court-appointed attorney?'

Emil stood and bowed his head, mainly so he didn't have to look at Foster's smug smile as he returned from the bench. There were two ways to handle this particular situation – deny the charges and start spinning some yarn about his Robin Hood complex and how he'd just been reassigning gifts to those less fortunate, or suck it up. Given Foster's unpleasant demeanor this morning, and the fact that this judge probably hadn't just fallen off the turnip truck, he decided on the latter.

'Your Honor, sir, I accept responsibility for my lapse in judgment last night. I've made a lot of bad choices, for a lot of my life, and I would like another chance to turn that around.'

Foster snorted. 'How many chances do you think you should get, Emil?'

Judge Addison held up his hand, silencing him. 'Mr Rice, Mr Foster seems to think that you are beyond rehabilitation. And after reviewing your file, one can certainly understand that assessment. You are an extremely misguided young man.'

Emil looked down at the floor and started fidgeting with his gold band. It was a common nervous tic, but he also thought of the ring as a talisman. 'Yes, sir, Your Honor.'

'You've been arrested for petty theft...' the judge glanced back down at the file '... over twenty times? Can that be right?'

'Felony theft last two times, Your Honor,' Foster hastened to add.

'Twenty-odd arrests, Mr Rice. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you're just not very good at this?'

'I... uh...' Emil started twisting the gold band on his finger more aggressively as he scrambled for a suitable angle and a corresponding countenance. Confused seemed like a good choice. 'Well, as a matter of fact, Your Honor, it has crossed my mind, and more than once lately. And I've been trying to figure it out, but sometimes this bad thing just comes over me and I feel this compulsion. Like a switch goes off in my head and I can't stop myself, you know? It's like a sickness, something bad inside just bubbling up.'

He wanted to shoot Foster a nasty look when he heard his snicker behind him, but he decided to ignore him and keep a humble, remorseful focus on Judge Addison.

'Are you suggesting you might be suffering from some form of mental illness, Mr Rice?'

'Yes, sir, mental illness, that's right. I'm thinking that maybe I should be evaluated. It wouldn't be right to put a man back in jail when he's fighting his internal demons, now, would it?'

The judge shuffled through more papers and tapped a finger on his lip thoughtfully. 'No, it most certainly wouldn't be right. But when a probation officer of Mr Foster's experience requests revocation of probation, it is customary for the court to honor that request.'

Foster nodded graciously and Emil shrank down even further in his chair.

'But it appears you have an advocate in Mr Ray Kroft, your supervisor at the halfway house. He seems to believe you have some very promising, perhaps even redeeming qualities, which I'm also taking into consideration along with Mr Foster's recommendation.'

'Brother Ray?' Emil whispered.

'Yes. And I also hold his opinion in some esteem. He's been working with offenders for a very long time and I always find his initial evaluations noteworthy.'

Emil nodded earnestly. 'Brother Ray is a very positive influence.'

Judge Addison gave him a stern look and Emil snapped his mouth shut. 'Mr Rice, I don't think you're mentally ill.'

'No? Well, there's some good news...'

'I think you're a con artist and a hustler, and quite possibly a pathological liar, but that doesn't mean there isn't a path for you, so I've decided to make an exception in your case.'

Foster gasped audibly while Emil looked up hopefully. 'Really, Your Honor, sir?'

'From what I've read in your files, you have an IQ off the charts, Mr Rice. An intellect that could, if redirected, benefit society rather than harm it. And since there is absolutely no hint of violence in your history, no drugs and no gang affiliation, I've decided to give you another chance.'

'Uh, Your Honor?' Foster sputtered. 'That would be his twenty-third chance.'

The judge nodded. 'Noted. Now, Mr Rice, you have a choice. Either return to jail and finish the last two years of your original sentence, or enroll in a little pet project of mine.'

Foster dragged a hand down his face.

'One year on-site supervised community service in the facility of my choice, and I think I have the perfect fit for you. If you complete your service to Mr Foster's and your on-site supervisor's satisfaction, you will be a free man, and, hopefully, a better one, in twelve months.'

'No jail?' Emil squeaked.

'Your Honor,' Foster interjected, his voice sounding a little panicky. 'This man is a flight risk. He won't last a day anywhere you put him unless it's jail.'

Judge Addison smiled. 'I don't think that will be a problem, Mr Foster.'

## CHAPTER EIGHT

The thing about Vegas was that, once you got outside the city, there was nothing but sand and rocks, some cactus, and a lot of nasty, poisonous critters, like scorpions and snakes and Gila monsters. And the further Foster drove, the more nervous Emil got. 'Where is this place?' he finally asked.

'Over the river and through the woods.'

'Come on, Foster. You can't just drag me out into the middle of nowhere without telling me where you're taking me.'

'Watch me.'

Emil let out a sharp puff of frustrated air. 'Man, you got one bad attitude. What do you have to be upset about, anyhow? You won the pool, didn't you?'

He got a nasty look for his trouble. Foster had two moods, bad and worse, and Emil had been on the far end of worse since that morning.

'I won a stinking hundred bucks, Emil, and now I have to haul you five miles out into the desert for some stupid program. I should just dump you right here and let the coyotes eat you.'

Emil looked out of the correction van's window, thought about roasting during the day and freezing to death at night while coyotes ate him alive. 'You can't do that, man.'

'Oh, yeah? Who's going to miss you?'

'Now that was just plain mean. Just plain mean. What is your problem, anyhow? You won your hundred bucks, plus you get to enjoy some scenery on the state's dime instead of hunching over your ghetto desk in your ghetto cubicle.'

Foster let out a battle-weary sigh. 'I'm just sick of your face, Emil. And now I have to look at it once a week for another year because you got Judge Santa Claus.'

'Hey, now, don't you be dissin' Judge Addison. He is one fine man, a compassionate man, and he looked inside me and saw I was worth another chance... Oh, I get it now.' Emil folded his arms across his chest and shot Foster a revelatory smile. 'I know what your problem is. Deep in your heart you were pulling for me, weren't you, Foster? Didn't want me to mess up. Hoped I'd work three jobs and go to night school and buy myself some Izod shirts and be a doctor so I could do all the bypasses you're going to need because you are so stressed, man.'

'Yep. I'm a gambling man, and I always put my money on twenty-three-time losers. Give your jaw a rest, Emil. You're going to need it to try to con yourself out of this place.' He slowed the van and pointed to a sign that said 'Clark County Extended Care Facility'. 'Welcome home.'

'What's an extended care facility?' Emil asked, his eyes busy as Foster turned down a drive that seemed inordinately long and a little spooky, especially since it terminated at an institutional-looking brick building surrounded by a high fence.

When Foster declined to answer, Emil pressed on: 'Come on, man, what is this place? An old folks' home?'

'Get out of the van.'

As they approached the front doors, Emil noted two elaborate keypads with card swipers, which meant you needed a code or a card to enter, and possibly to exit. There were also a lot of security cameras positioned all over the place. Seriously restricted access in and out, and not what he'd been expecting. Or what he'd been hoping for. 'Uh... this is kind of serious security for an old folks' home, isn't it?' he finally said.

'Don't even think about it. You could break out of Folsom easier than this place.'

'Break out? Did I say anything about breaking out? Now why would I go and do a fool thing like that?... You know there's no handle on this door? Has the fire marshal seen this?'

Foster ignored him and pushed a buzzer, then held up his state ID to one of the cameras.

'Nope, this doesn't look like any old folks' home I ever saw,' Emil rambled on nervously. 'Old folks' homes, they got porches and rocking chairs and walkers everywhere. It's rehab, isn't it?'

'Nope.' The door opened automatically with a harsh warning buzz and Foster made a grand gesture with his arm. 'After you.'

***

Emil's eyes were busy and sharp as he scanned the deserted lobby for possible exits he could utilize in the future. Unfortunately, the décor was Eastern Bloc gulag and, short of having an RPG to blow out a cinderblock wall, he was getting the sinking feeling that this was a place he might have to stay for a while before he could figure something out. 'Oh, darn, doesn't look like anybody's home, Foster. Guess they changed their minds about me. What do you say we just saddle back up and head out? I'm sure Judge Addison has some other programs for me to try.'

'LOOK! EDITH, LOOK!' somebody squealed above them.

Foster and Emil's heads jerked up toward the source of the sound, standing on an open balcony one floor up.

Emil's jaw dropped. 'Foster,' he hissed. 'There are two crazy old women up there wearing some weird-ass bathrobes.'

'Settle down, Emil,' Foster said, his voice silky with vindication. He called up to the two women. 'We're looking for Dr Harold.'

They didn't seem to hear him, just kept running their own dialogue. 'I see, Gloria, but don't get too excited...'

'Is it? Oh, dear God, is it?'

'Hush, dear.'

But this Gloria character apparently didn't want to hush: she just wanted to start waving her arms like a psycho windmill and dance all over the place, like her feet were on fire. 'Glory be to God in the Highest, and on earth, peace, goodwill toward men!' she shrieked, and Emil shrank back.

'Damn, Foster, this is a loony bin, isn't it?'

Foster smiled, like a big fat Cheshire cat. 'Welcome home.'

'Oh, now, this is just bullshit! You can't put me in a place like this for a whole year!'

'Hey, you're the one who told Judge Addison you were struggling with internal demons and mental illness.'

'That was supposed to be a metaphor!'

Foster chuckled wickedly. 'Some switch just goes off inside, does it, Emil? Something bad just bubbles up and you can't stop it?'

'Yoo-hoo!' Gloria called down, waving her arms even more wildly.

'These people are running around loose in here!' Emil panicked. 'That's not right!'

'Gloria, calm down,' the other crazy lady soothed her friend. 'He's a man, and that's not a part of the plan.'

'But look at the color of his skin, Edith! It's perfect!'

'He's still a man. We've discussed this extensively.'

Emil glowered up at them. 'Are you dissin' me?' He looked at Foster. 'They're dissin' me. They can't do that.'

'So go up there and explain politically correct to a couple of insane old women, see how that goes. Besides, they're the least of your worries.' Foster nodded to a rigidly postured man with a steel-gray buzz-cut, striding briskly toward them with military precision. 'That's Dr Harold. US Navy, retired. He's a shrink now, but he started out as a SEAL. If I were you, I'd keep my nose clean while you're in here, because he's your supervisor for the next year.'

Emil glowered at Foster, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

Dr Harold snapped to a halt in front of them, offered a hand to Foster in acknowledgment, then gave Emil a quick once-over. 'Good morning, Mr Foster. I take it this is my new recruit.'

'No, this is your new pain in the butt, Emil Rice.'

Emil jerked his head up as the two old ladies tittered on the balcony. 'Uh... Doc? Shouldn't those two be in a padded cell somewhere?'

'Not on my watch, son. Confinement is a last resort. Besides, most of our residents are non-violent.'

'Most? Most? What kind of ratio are we talking about here?'

Dr Harold nodded at Foster. 'You have the paperwork on this man?'

Foster thrust a stack into his hand.

'Judge Addison said he's a thief.'

Foster snuffled at the understatement. 'A week with this guy, you'll be looking for your underwear. You just bought yourself a world of hurt.'

'I didn't volunteer for this duty, Mr Foster. I was called, and I answered. I take it you don't approve of the Community Service Rehabilitation Initiative.'

'Pansy-ass, bleeding-heart, leftist load of crap is what it is.'

Emil decided to take an exploratory expedition of the lobby while Foster and Harold were distracted, his eyes and trajectory fixed on the exit door. Upstairs, Edith and Gloria were watching him with rapt attention.

Dr Harold nodded at Foster. 'Well, in most cases, I would agree with you. Never saw how scooping dog crap out of a park all day could turn a man around, but we don't have any dog crap here, and we don't have any parks. I've got other plans for your man.' Dr Harold's eyes tracked Emil. 'You touch that door, son, you're going to think an F-16 just buzzed you at Mach two.'

Emil tore his eyes off the exit sign and frowned at him, confused.

'There's an alarm. A loud one.'

'Oh.'

Dr Harold returned his attention to the paperwork and Foster. 'I see he's a repeat offender.'

Foster nodded. 'That would be an understatement.'

'Thirty years in the service, I never once saw a repeat offender. Maybe the civilian sector should let the US Navy handle the courts for a while.'

'Yeah, I hear you.'

There was sudden movement in the adjacent hallway, some weird shuffling noise, and some low, clipped voices echoing against all the tile. Emil watched google-eyed as he saw a group of orderlies herd patients from the hall into the lobby. Scary patients, some dressed in hospital gowns, some dressed normally, and a handful of others in weirder costumes. There was even a lady dressed in a black gown with a violin at her chin, bow frozen over the strings, like she was a wax figure at Madame Tussaud's. They all looked like zombies from some horror movie. He retreated back a few steps and tried to make himself invisible. 'Oh, hey, this is _Night of the Living Dead_ ,' he whispered, looking at Foster and Dr Harold with genuine desperation. 'You gotta lock those people up, man.'

The rag-tag assemblage of patients suddenly caught sight of Emil and, like a single organism, headed toward him.

Foster smiled. 'Hey, Emil, check that out. Looks like you've got yourself some new BFFs.'

Emil wanted to run, but even if there had been a place to run to, it wouldn't have done any good because his legs were frozen. A sweet-looking young woman approached, stopped in front of him, and just stared. Nobody home. 'Uh... you know, Foster, I had kind of a different vision of what this community-service thing was all about.'

She suddenly opened her mouth wide and started screaming, sending Emil scrambling away, like a terrified crab, and the rest of the patients into full-on bedlam. 'Damn, Foster, you gotta get me out of here!'

Gloria screamed from the stairs, 'No, don't take him away!'

Dr Harold shook his head and pushed his face into Emil's. His eyes were stern but his voice was soft. 'No profanity here. And no sudden movements or loud noises. Ever. Is that understood?'

'Hey, she was the one who screamed at me!'

'Understood?'

Emil nodded and swallowed hard.

'Good man.' He turned to the orderlies. 'Line 'em up, move 'em out, get everybody under control and back to their rooms.'

Emil grabbed Foster's arm. 'Foster, man, you can't do this to me! This is wrong!'

'Emil, you mess this up, I'm on the phone to the judge before your next breath and you go straight up to State. I got his number on speed-dial.'

Dr Harold returned his attention to his two visitors, and took Emil's arm. 'Mr Foster, I'll be in touch. Mr Rice, you come with me.'

'Come on, Foster! Can't we just talk about this?' Emil shouted, over his shoulder.

Foster just smiled as he watched Harold half drag Emil down the hall.

## CHAPTER NINE

Dr Harold unlocked the door to his office and gestured Emil to a pretty decent-looking chair next to his desk – way better than the metal folding thing in Foster's cubicle. But higher-quality office furniture didn't have a direct correlation to a better-quality penal experience, as Emil was realizing.

'Have a seat, Mr Rice.'

Emil obeyed, his eyes doing a quick scan of the room as he tried to get a bead on his new nemesis, because this guy was not the kind of personality he was used to dealing with. Worse yet, he was a shrink, so he was probably going to be a little tricky to handle.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much to see – there was no hint of his military past displayed in the room, no family photos or personal items, pretty much nothing but books and some framed diplomas hanging on the wall. Not exactly compelling talking points that might give him some leverage for future exploitation.

As the doc took his seat and flipped through the paperwork Foster had given him, Emil cleared his throat nervously, spinning his ring. 'Uh... so maybe we could chat about what exactly this community-service thing is all about? Because I'm not sure I'm the best fit for your organization. You might want to look at some other candidates, if you know what I'm saying.'

'So you think prison is a better fit for you?' Dr Harold asked, his eyes never leaving the page he was reading.

Emil held up his hands in surrender. 'No, sir, no, sir, that's not what I'm saying at all. But I'm sure there are some alternatives for me in the program. Cleaning up ditches or parks, like you were saying earlier. I could do that.'

Dr Harold finally looked up. 'Prison or here, your choice. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. From your file, it looks like you favor the hard way.'

'No, sir, I'm easy as pie...'

'Stealing is easy. Not getting caught doing it isn't. You haven't figured that out by now?'

Emil squirmed in his chair. 'It's just that dealing with a bunch of crazy people doesn't seem like my kind of thing. I'd be horrible at it. In fact, I'd probably inadvertently bring harm to this fine institution –'

'You won't be interacting with our patients on a substantive level,' Dr Harold interrupted. 'But you will be in the general population. You will provide services to the patients in accordance with my orders, and your interaction with them is discretionary, but should be kept to a minimum, for their safety as well as yours. We have varying levels of impairment here, so it's best for you to remain quiet, disengaged and neutral. First rule is to remain calm at all times. Never agitate our patients. Is that understood?'

Emil thought about the zombie mob that had attacked him just a few minutes ago, and nodded enthusiastically. 'Oh, yeah, I got that part of it down. What's the second rule?'

'There is no second rule. No second chances, either. If I make the determination that you are in dereliction of your duty or intentionally sabotaging this facility in order to be reassigned, you will go straight back to jail. Do you understand?'

Emil came to the sudden horrifying realization that he was now entirely at the mercy of a tyrant and his future hung in the balance of one man's opinion. 'I... Yes, sir.'

'Good.' Dr Harold stood abruptly. 'Let's get you set up.'

'There's – there's no orientation or anything?'

'I just gave you the orientation. We have rules and you follow them. I'll let you know how you're doing. Don't overthink this, Mr Rice.'

'But you're a shr– a psychiatrist,' he quickly corrected himself. 'Aren't you supposed to ask me questions and give me some guidance, stuff like that?'

'You are not here as a patient. You are here as a healthy and capable individual, who has been given an opportunity to improve your situation and hopefully excel in the future. I recommend you take advantage of it. Follow me.'

Reluctantly Emil trailed Dr Harold down a hall that reeked of industrial-strength pine cleaner to a supply room, where puke-green scrubs were stacked on a counter.

'Here's your uniform. Feel free to change as often as necessary. This can be a dirty job.'

Emil recoiled as the doc shoved one into his hands. 'Are these pajamas?'

'This is what all of our orderlies and support staff wear. I think you'll find them quite comfortable.'

'What do you mean by "dirty"?'

'That will become evident in time. I'll show you to your room.' He strode briskly to an elevator and pushed the 'up' button.

The elevator pinged and, to Emil's deep distress, the doors slid open on the two crazy old ladies in the weird bathrobes. On closer inspection, the robes looked more like costumes. Actually, they looked a lot like the costumes on the wise men mannequins at Our Lady of Perpetual Peace, made of velvet and brocade and trimmed with gold braiding. It piqued his curiosity a little, but he wasn't about to ask.

'Hello, Emil,' they chirped in unison. 'I'm Edith, and this is my sister Gloria.'

Emil balked. 'How do you know my name?'

'We were watching you from the balcony when you arrived, remember?'

'We know things,' Gloria said mysteriously.

'Coming out, ladies?' Dr Harold asked.

'No, we're just riding,' Gloria said, in a sing-song voice.

'Up and down,' Edith continued, making room for the two new passengers, ever mindful of the full skirts of her bathrobe or costume or whatever it was.

Emil followed Dr Harold into the elevator, pressing himself against the wall furthest from Edith and Gloria, carefully avoiding eye contact with anything but the floor. He felt a brief moment of panic when the elevator doors closed, because nothing good could come out of being confined in a small space with two nut-jobs.

Gloria inched her way toward Emil, then reached out with one finger and touched his face.

Emil jerked his head up and back, trying to disappear into the elevator wall. 'Stop that! What are you doing? What do you want?'

'I want to touch your skin.'

Emil looked at Dr Harold in desperation. 'Get her away from me. What's the matter with her?'

'Paranoid schizophrenic.'

'Delusional paranoid schizophrenic,' Edith corrected him, turning to Emil. 'Don't you want to know what's wrong with him?'

Dr Harold just smiled tolerantly.

'Dissociative obsessive neurosis,' Gloria said, with a firm nod.

Edith frowned. 'I still don't think that's quite right, Gloria. You can't just negate episodic mania. It's pervasive.'

Emil looked at Dr Harold. 'What are they talking about?'

He just shook his head with a sigh.

'If it's pervasive, then we're dealing with psychosis, not neurosis,' Gloria said.

Edith tipped her head thoughtfully. 'I suppose it's possible. But I, for one, do not wish to entertain even the possibility of residing in a mental institution managed by a psychotic.'

'It wouldn't be the first time, dear.'

The elevator finally stopped and the doors slid open. 'Third floor, lingerie, notions, cosmetics and schizophrenics,' Edith said sweetly, and Emil bolted out into the hall.

'Is everybody in this joint as wacked out as those two sisters?' he whispered to Dr Harold, when the doors had closed on Edith and Gloria.

'As I mentioned before, we have varying degrees of impairment at this facility. Edith and Gloria are actually extremely high-functioning.'

'High-functioning?' Emil asked, his voice creeping up the panic scale. 'So what does low-functioning look like?'

'You'll find out soon enough, Mr Rice.'

_Not if I can help it._ 'This may sound like a stupid question, considering where we're at, but why are they dressed like that?'

'We had our annual Christmas pageant this morning. Edith and Gloria wait for it all year.'

'Oh, I get it. They're supposed to be the wise men.'

'Yes.'

Emil thought they looked more like old drag queens, but he kept that opinion to himself. 'So, Doc, we never really got into any details about the kind of work I'm supposed to do here.'

'There are no small jobs, Mr Rice. Remember that.'

## CHAPTER TEN

Edith and Gloria were in their private room, still dressed in their magi regalia. The room's furnishings were institutional, but the décor looked as if it had been conjured by a little girl. Stuffed animals were heaped on top of the two metal-framed beds, which had been adorned with lacy bed-skirts and flowered chenille throws. The curtains were white and frilled, if a bit yellowed, and on a small side table sat old music boxes, arranged to entertain an audience of porcelain dolls, whose complexions had ivoried with age.

Gloria was seated primly on her bed, stroking the threadbare head of a stuffed kitten that had once been plush, many, many years ago. She watched intently as her sister straightened an old calendar picture of the three wise men on the wall, their likenesses encircled by gold-paper stars.

Edith stepped back and examined the picture thoughtfully before poking a finger at the king named Balthazar. 'I'll admit, Emil does bear some resemblance. But I was so sure it would be a woman. Three men the first time, three women this time.'

Gloria cocked her head and exchanged the kitten for a sock monkey. 'Perhaps we're placing too much importance on gender, Edith.'

Edith took one long last look, then sat down on her own bed. 'You could be right about that, Gloria. God has, after all, been a bit sexist for a very long time. You can't just change that overnight.'

Gloria beamed at her. 'You're absolutely right. And two out of three isn't bad.'

'How many years have we been waiting?'

'Two thousand, at least.'

'No, not the world. Us. How many years have we been waiting?'

Gloria frowned down at her sock monkey. 'Oh. I'm not certain. Do you know?'

Edith sighed and stood up again, pacing a tight circle between their beds. 'Not precisely. Fifty, I think. Maybe sixty. But it doesn't matter, I suppose. The point is that, in all that time, not one dark-skinned person has been admitted to this facility until today.'

'That's interesting, isn't it? One could almost extrapolate that the Caucasian genetic structure contains the link to mental aberrations.'

Edith stopped pacing and gave her sister a gentle smile. 'You're drifting, dear.'

'Sorry.'

'So, I suppose the admission of Emil is so unusual, it simply cannot be construed as mere coincidence, in spite of his gender.'

Gloria looked up at her sister in wondering awe, her body quivering on the brink of ecstasy. 'Then... he's the one?'

Edith nodded decisively. 'I believe he is.'

Gloria gasped and put a hand over her mouth. 'Oh, my. Oh, my. If it's so, then we have so much to do! Everything must be perfect! We must be perfect!' She rushed into the bathroom and stared at her reflection in the small, dull mirror and wasn't entirely pleased with what she saw. The costume was magnificent, of course, stitched of gold and blue velvet that flowed like water when she moved, and the billowing sleeves fell to her fingertips. But somehow it didn't look quite as flattering as it had in Christmases past.

Probably the hair, she thought, teasing a frizzy curl behind her ear. The beauty-school students who came once a month to practice on the residents were for the most part sweet and well-meaning but, on the whole, utterly incompetent. The girl who had worked on her last week had put a blue rinse in her thinning hair, then a permanent that had left it in tight, hysterical curls. 'Edith, please bring my headdress!'

Edith entered the bathroom, magnificent in her own red brocade costume, and Gloria spun in place, her face screwed up in misery. 'Oh, Edith, I don't look dignified at all – I look like a Smurf!' she whimpered.

'Nonsense. You look like a king. A magi.'

'The magi do not have blue hair. Not one of them.'

'Calm down, dear.' Edith smiled and placed an elaborate crown on Gloria's head. 'There. You look beautiful. Resplendent, in fact. This mirror just doesn't do you justice.'

Gloria sighed in consternation and continued to fuss with her crown, which kept tilting to one side. 'Of course it doesn't. Why can't we get a proper mirror? How many times have we complained to the management about this?'

Edith took a step back, regarded the position of her sister's crown, then began to make adjustments. 'You need to wear the chin strap, dear. That's why we put it there.'

Gloria gave her a horrified look. 'Kings do not have blue hair and they most certainly do not wear chin straps. I never used to wear one, and this crown never used to be so wobbly. Do you think my head is getting smaller?'

Edith frowned while she thought about that. 'Maybe a little. That's the real trouble with aging, isn't it? Some things get smaller and other things get bigger.'

***

Emil was staring aghast at a barren room with nothing but a thin mattress on a metal bed frame, cinderblock walls, and a nightstand bolted to the wall.

'These are your quarters for the duration of your stay,' Dr Harold said.

'You've got to be kidding me.'

'We don't joke here.'

'There are bars on the windows.'

'Safety precaution for our patients, and this is a patient room. Only lodging available here.'

Emil looked around despondently, completely empathizing with anybody who would jump three stories to get out of this place. He suddenly got wistful about the halfway house where there were no bars on the windows, no ex-SEAL dictator, and some semblance of a real house and a real life. For the second time in a few hours, he was seriously questioning his judgment. 'This is just like jail.'

'Were you expecting the Four Seasons?'

'No, but...'

Dr Harold opened an interior door onto a small bathroom. 'Your towels, bed linens and some personal hygiene items are in here. Are things looking better, Mr Rice?'

Emil thought about the communal bathrooms at the halfway house. 'This seems just fine, Dr Harold. Actually, it's great.'

'There are three meals a day in the cafeteria on the lower level, served at oh eight hundred, noon, and seventeen hundred sharp. No exceptions. You start work immediately after breakfast every day except Saturday and Sunday – those are your free days. You can't leave the campus, but you can choose any activities available to our staff and patients. For instance, Gloria and Edith like to play cribbage,' he said, with a wry smile. 'Chores will be assigned as needed, and you will perform whatever is asked of you, starting right now. You have five minutes to get yourself into uniform. I'll be waiting outside.'

He closed the door behind him, leaving Emil standing in stunned silence, his mouth gaping open and shut, like a landed carp's. He was in uncharted territory and this was way too much to process. He was under the thumb of a despot – benevolent or malevolent remained to be seen – but he had his own private bathroom. He was surrounded by lunatics and had two insane old ladies obsessing over him, but at least they weren't criminals who might shank him in the shower. He had to work a forty-hour week, doing God knew what, but at least he had a little more leeway here than in jail. And leeway meant opportunities to exploit in the future. This wasn't good, but maybe it wasn't so bad, either.

After the five minutes had expired, Emil emerged, still dressed in his suit. He stuck out his jaw and held his ground. It maybe wasn't the smartest move, but if he was going to start testing the waters with Dr Harold, now was the time to do it.

'Listen, Doc, I know you have rules and all that, and I'm going to follow every single one of them, do everything you tell me to do, but can you please just give a man some dignity? It's about the only thing I've got right now, and I'm going to lose it if I have to wear puke-green pajamas all day.' He cringed inwardly, watching as the doc regarded him shrewdly. He fully expected a drill-sergeant dressing-down, then maybe electro-shock, but Dr Harold just shrugged.

'Seems like a reasonable request for the time being. Besides, hard lessons are the best teachers.'

Emil frowned, confused. 'Uh... what exactly does that mean?'

Dr Harold smiled. 'You'll see. Follow me. You're on the job now.'

***

A half-hour later, Emil was still defiantly, ridiculously, dressed in his suit, sullenly mopping the hallway while he muttered to himself, 'Can't kid me. This is a racial thing. See a black man, stick a mop in his hand. That's what this is. Don't see anybody else mopping. Don't see any white people mopping.'

He was making a determined effort not to glance into any of the rooms, but sometimes he couldn't help himself. He saw the violin lady lying flat on her back in bed with that fiddle still stuck to her chin, and other patients in various states of sanity and health, some strapped to their beds, some talking non-stop, some making noises he wished he couldn't hear. The end of the hallway opened up onto a dayroom with chairs and sofas and a TV. There was a handful of patients sitting around watching a nature show and, one by one, they craned their necks to stare at him.

Emil put his head down and mopped faster.

Just up the hall, Edith and Gloria glided out of their room, still in their magi costumes, but now Gloria was wearing her crown fastened with a chin strap and Edith's red turban was decorated with a rhinestone pin. They stood there watching Emil as he drew closer with his mop and bucket.

'You're doing a lovely job with that mop,' Gloria hummed.

Emil jerked his head up, saw the two crazy ladies, and extended his mop like a sword to hold them at bay. 'Now, you two stay away from me!'

Edith smiled at him. 'I suspect that you do everything you set your mind to equally well.'

'Right. That's how I got this job over all the other applicants.'

Edith and Gloria started closing in on him. Emil lowered his mop and took a step back. 'I'm telling you, stay away from me. I'm a criminal. I've been in prison.'

Edith looked genuinely pleased. 'Really? How fascinating. We've never seen a prison.'

'Never.' Gloria shook her head. 'We've read about them, of course. _The Count of Monte Cristo_.'

'Is it like that?' Edith asked. 'Dank and dark, with water dripping down the stone walls and rats everywhere?'

'Did you eat the rats?'

Emil looked at Gloria in horror. 'Hell, no, I didn't eat any rats! They didn't have any rats.'

'Would you care to see our room, Emil?' Edith asked.

'I don't think so.'

'We've never invited anyone to see our room before. The staff come in all the time, of course, but not at our invitation. You would be our first guest.'

'Well, I can't do that. It's in the rules. No substantive interaction. That's what the doc told me. In fact, I'm not even supposed to look at you.'

'Oh, Emil, don't be ridiculous.' Edith took his arm and dragged him into their room.

Emil looked around uncertainly at the little-girl décor that was totally incongruous with the two old ladies who lived there. Then again, they were crazy, so all bets were off as far as interior design went.

'Do you like it?' Gloria asked hopefully.

'Well, it's not really my style, but if it works for you...' Emil started backing out of the room, then saw the calendar page on the wall. He studied it, then looked back at Gloria and Edith's costumes. Whoever had made them had done a pretty good job of replicating the ones in the picture, right down to the headdresses, which they hadn't been wearing before. 'Hey, you kinda look like these guys.'

'Of course we do. It's our destiny.' Edith pointed to Balthazar. 'Look familiar?'

Emil shrugged. 'Sure. I guess. I remember him from when I was a kid because he was the only brother, which I thought was cool.'

Gloria's eyes grew wide. 'He's your brother?'

'No, no, no, that's just an expression... never mind.'

'His name is Balthazar," Edith explained. 'So you knew all along.'

'Knew what?'

' _Your_ destiny.'

'Yep. I knew all along I was destined to push a mop around in a loony bin for a year. Couldn't wait for it to finally happen. I guess dreams come true after all.'

'Yes, they do,' Gloria said, blotting tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her costume. 'Let me show you something.' She darted to a closet and pulled out a transparent dry-cleaning bag, which held a purple velvet robe with silver and gold embroidery. 'This is your raiment.'

The clothes inside the bag looked exactly like the third wise-man costume in the calendar picture. 'Uh-huh. That's nice. Well, I've got a lot more mopping to do...'

Gloria took a quick step, blocking his exit, and looked at Edith. 'I think it's all right if we speak about this now. I don't think that would seriously affect anything.'

'He may not know.'

'But it's so obvious.' Gloria gestured at the calendar page. 'Their skin color is almost a perfect match. He really could be your brother, Emil. Are you sure he's not?'

Emil got a little huffy. 'Okay, now listen, you got to stop harping on my skin.'

'I like your skin very much. It's quite unusual.'

Emil looked to the ceiling for forbearance. 'Oh, yeah, us African Americans, we're rarer than unicorns.'

Edith gasped. 'Oh, my dear Lord. You're from Africa?'

'No, no... Well, not exactly. Not recently...'

'You're from Africa.' Gloria pointed triumphantly to Balthazar. 'And he's from Africa! What more proof do you need?'

Emil backed out of the room, watching them warily, then beat feet down the hall.

## CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was mid-afternoon by the time Foster got back to the eerily deserted probation office. Even the poinsettias and Christmas cards were missing from the bleak landscape, no doubt packed up in boxes by harried colleagues who'd already evacuated in force for the holiday break.

He sagged wearily into his chair and stared down at his desk calendar, which reminded him there were only three more days until Christmas. Next to his calendar was a manila folder with his copy of Emil's paperwork. Gleefully, he chucked it into his bottom desk drawer and clicked the lock. If things went the way he knew they would, he could throw away the key after the new year.

Officer Sanchez suddenly appeared in the doorway of Foster's cubicle, smiling. 'Hey, _mijo_ , how was your road trip with our favorite felon?'

'Oh, hey, Sanchez. It was fantastic. Body dump in the middle of the desert.'

'Oh, yeah? Where'd the judge send him?'

Foster leaned back and laced his hands over his belly, smug satisfaction lifting his dour, hang-dog face. 'Clark County Extended Care.'

Sanchez gaped at him. 'No way, man. Doc Harold?'

'Oh, yeah. I wasn't happy about that little weasel getting put into Judge Addison's stupid program, but once I found out what the destination was, it turned out to be the best Christmas present I ever got.'

Sanchez chuckled. 'No kidding. So, you want to do another pool?'

'Sure, why not?' Foster pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, flipped it open, and pulled out the hundred he'd already won, courtesy of Emil Rice. 'Christmas Eve he's out of there.'

'You sure? They've got pretty high security.'

'He'll find a way, mark my words.'

Sanchez pulled out his own wallet. 'I'll put twenty down for New Year's Eve. It'll take him that long to find a way out.'

'Twenty? Are you serious? That's chump change.'

'Hey, it's Christmas, man! I got three kids who think Santa is a rich uncle and a wife who wants me to pick up a ninety-dollar organic turkey on my way home tonight.'

'Just as well, because you're going to lose, Sanchez. Hey, are you off duty?'

'Yeah. I was just dropping off the last paperwork for the day.'

Foster brightened. 'I'm about to make tracks out of here myself. You want to grab a quick drink at McNally's on the way home?'

'I'd love to, but I'm on my way to the airport to pick up my folks so I can spend the next three days listening to my mom tell my gringo wife her tamales suck.' Sanchez checked his watch. 'I'm already late. Gotta run, but have a merry Christmas, Foster.'

'Yeah. Merry Christmas to you, too, Sanchez.'

***

Foster did a drive-by of McNally's on his way home, but saw only a sparse population of depressed barflies through the street-side picture windows. He gunned his handicapped Chevy Malibu past the door and headed straight for the comfort of his own home, where there was always plenty of beer in the fridge, a nice flat-screen TV, and a ratty sofa that cuddled him like he was a baby.

As he was making the turn down his side street, he suddenly saw a flash of metal in front of him – a shopping cart and some raggedy homeless idiot pushing it through the intersection, totally oblivious to the fact that he'd almost gotten turned into oatmeal. He closed his eyes, stepped hard on the brake and leaned on the horn.

When Foster finally opened his eyes, the homeless man was standing right next to his window, looking in at him impassively, which infuriated him. He rolled down his window and barked, 'You want to end up dead? Watch what you're doing, and get the hell off the streets! There are shelters, you know!'

The man pulled something out of his cart. 'I have this for you.' He passed a package of Christmas lights through the open window.

'Great. Thanks. Now get out of here.'

'You got something for me now?'

Foster gave him an unpleasant smile and pulled Dr Harold's card out of his wallet. 'I got something for you right here – a real nice place where you can sit around with friends. Just dropped a buddy of mine off there today. If you know what a phone is, call this number, tell them Foster sent you. I'm pretty sure my buddy would love a roommate.'

The homeless man snatched the card from Foster with grimy hands and looked down at it curiously. 'This isn't money.'

'Help's better than money, pal, and you can redeem this card for three squares and a cot at an asylum near you. Now scram.'

When the man had disappeared into the darkness, his rickety cart rattling on the concrete, Foster tossed the package of lights onto the passenger seat. Not that he'd ever use them, but no sense in littering.

Once inside his minuscule apartment lobby, he keyed open his mailbox and pulled out a single envelope that looked and felt like a Christmas card. He opened it on the spot, and it was indeed a Christmas card – from the plumbing company he called on occasionally to deal with the temperamental old pipes in his second-floor walk-up.

He threw the card and the Christmas lights into the garbage bin by the stairwell, then slogged up to his decrepit sofa, a six-pack of beer and the TV remote.

As it turned out, three days before Christmas every bloody channel was playing worn-out, hackneyed Christmas specials with saccharine storylines and moist-eyed children discovering something magical as fake snow filtered down from a studio ceiling.

'Every. Damn. Channel,' Foster mumbled to himself, as he clicked, clicked, clicked through his DirectTV listing repertoire. Praise the Lord, he finally found a hockey game, which merited a celebratory beer to chase down his first two.

He watched the Los Angeles Kings rough up the Montréal Canadiens through a fourth beer, and just when things were getting good and scrappy and blood was turning the ice in LA pink, he heard the refrain of 'We Three Kings' wafting in from the hallway. It was getting louder by the second.

He got up, yanked his door open and saw a bunch of carolers, dressed like Dickens characters, moving toward his neighbor's apartment across the hall. 'Keep it down!' He slammed the door, clicked the deadbolt, went back to the sofa and cranked the TV volume on high.

## CHAPTER TWELVE

Emil had never been so bone-tired in his life. His arms and shoulders and back were screaming and his nose burned from the bleach he'd been slopping on the floors all day. Cruel and unusual punishment was what this was, and there was no way he could keep it up for a whole year. No way. But two more years in jail wasn't an option either. He had to get creative.

As he dumped his dirty bucket into a utility sink in the supply room, he heard soft voices in the hallway. He crept to the door and peered out. It was the two crazy sisters and, thank God, they were facing the opposite direction and didn't see him. He ducked back into the supply room, but as their monotone voices continued some kind of recitation, curiosity got the better of him. He stuck his head out of the door again and strained to hear what they were saying. For all he knew, they were witches casting some kind of a spell on him, and if that was the case, he'd have to put a stop to it.

He recognized Edith's voice. 'Now, when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem.'

Gloria stretched out her arms and took up where her sister had left off. 'Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east and have come to worship him.'

'And Herod sent them to Bethlehem and said, "Go and search diligently for the young child, and when you have found him, bring me word again." '

Gloria tittered. 'We can do that.'

'Focus, Gloria, please. Stick to the script.'

'I'm sorry. Where were we?'

'The part where we go find the child.'

Emil receded back into the shadows undetected. He remembered what Dr Harold had said about the Christmas pageant and how Gloria and Edith waited for it all year. Maybe the sisters were old actresses and, somewhere along the way, they'd gone totally bonkers. Showbiz could do that to you – it happened all the time.

***

'I think practice went extremely well,' Edith said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Gloria's ear.

'Yes, I agree. We were at our most regal.'

'That's an important quality to have as a king.'

Gloria frowned down at her lap and began worrying the worn velvet skirt of her costume. 'But I'm not certain why we're rehearsing already. The next pageant isn't for another year.'

'Remember, dear? This time it's real, and we must be ready for our journey to Bethlehem.'

Gloria clasped Edith's hands. 'Oh, yes, of course! I guess I still can't believe it's finally happening.'

'That's perfectly understandable. Sometimes I can't believe it myself. But our faith is finally being rewarded.'

'Do you think we should go to the chapel and pray?'

Edith tapped a finger on her lip. 'Well, it certainly couldn't hurt.'

Gloria's eyes rose to look above Edith's shoulder and a bright smile lifted her face. 'Look, Edith, it's Nurse Griffin!'

An older woman approached them with a genuinely fond smile. 'How was the pageant, ladies?'

Edith tucked her hands into the big bell sleeves of her robe. 'Oh, it was so lovely, Nurse Griffin. We wish you could have been there. Reverend DeMestrel did a wonderful job officiating and Alice played a stirring rendition of "Silent Night" on her violin.'

'I wish I could have been there, too.'

'But Ralph was rather disruptive. He kept interrupting us,' Gloria complained.

'I'm sorry. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm.'

'I hate Ralph. I think he should be electrocuted, don't you?'

Nurse Griffin ignored her comment. 'The cafeteria opens soon. You must be hungry. I understand it's been a busy day for you.'

Edith nodded. 'Oh, yes, we've been very busy today. We made a new friend. His name is Emil, but we don't think he knows who he is yet.'

'Who do you think he is?'

'Balthazar, of course. Once you meet him, it will become obvious. Nurse Griffin, do you think you could unlock the chapel so we can pray before dinner?'

***

Edith sat in a chair at the front of the chapel and felt the comfort of Gloria's hand clutching hers while they prayed. This wasn't at all like the church she remembered from years ago and occasionally had dreams about: this one had a tile floor instead of a wooden one and folding chairs instead of pews. There were no poinsettias sitting on the sills of stained-glass windows, no candles, no garlands of evergreen draped across the pulpit.

She frowned a little at the hazy memory of that church. It had all been so beautiful, so golden and warm, but then something very bad had happened. She couldn't quite remember what. She tipped her head, trying to gather the wisps of memories together, but then she heard Nurse Griffin's voice, snapping her back to the present.

'I'm sorry, ladies, but I have to lock the chapel now. The second floor will be coming down for dinner soon and that's my busy time.'

Gloria gasped and jumped out of her chair, pulling Edith up with her. 'We have to get to the cafeteria before the second floor comes. They're all such reprobates and Ralph will be there. I don't think I can see him again without punching him in the face.'

## CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was a huge effort for Emil to drag his aching, concrete feet down the hall to his nasty little room but, in truth, he couldn't wait to get there. The bed had to be better than the flimsy, sprung-out pancake he'd slept on in jail.

As he approached the nurse's station on his floor, he stopped dead. There was Dr Evil himself, consulting with an older nurse. If he'd had the energy, he would have turned tail and run, even though there was nowhere to run to. At least for now.

Dr Harold looked up and nodded a greeting. 'Mr Rice. How did you find your first day on the job?'

Emil sighed. 'Oh, it was top notch. Nothing like bending over a mop all day, getting assaulted by inmates.'

'Patients,' Harold corrected him. 'So, by the way you're dragging your tail, I take it you're not used to physical labor.'

Emil thought about that for a moment, and felt a little bad. Grandpa Moses had been a janitor at the Loebel furniture factory, and Emil had never once heard him complain about it. As a matter of fact, he hadn't complained much about anything. 'No, sir. Only exercise I'm used to is running from the cops.'

Dr Harold and the nurse shared a bemused glance. 'Emil Rice, meet Nurse Griffin. She's been here a lot longer than I have, and she runs the show. You do what she says, and it'll make your stay here a lot easier.'

Emil gave her the brightest smile he could muster in his current condition and shook her hand. 'It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma'am.'

She had a warm face, with soft wrinkles around her eyes that made her look sweet and grandmotherly, but there was something sharp behind that, and Emil knew instantly Nurse Griffin wasn't the type to suffer fools.

'It's nice to meet you, Emil, and there's no need for "ma'am". Just call me Nurse Griffin. I'll be here all night if you have any questions or need anything.'

What Emil needed was a massage and a steak dinner after choking down the unidentifiable pile of brown stuff from the cafeteria, but he decided it was a little too soon to start his sass. 'Thank you, ma'am – uh, Nurse Griffin. I appreciate it.'

'We'll see you in the a.m., then,' Dr Harold said. 'Oh eight hundred sharp.'

'Yessir.'

'Dismissed. Carry on, Mr Rice.'

' "Dismissed, Carry on," ' Emil muttered, as he let himself into his room. The place looked just as bad as it had earlier in the day, but the bed possessed new-found charm, institutional metal frame and all, so Emil closed the door behind him and tried to lock it. Trouble was, he didn't see any lock. He fiddled around with the door's hardware for a few minutes, then gave up and walked back out into the hall and down to the nurse's station. Fortunately, Dr Harold was already gone, and Nurse Griffin was alone, typing away on her computer keyboard.

'Uh, Nurse Griffin? Sorry to interrupt, but there's no lock on my door. Just thought I'd bring that to your attention.'

She looked up from her monitor. 'The doors only lock from the outside.'

Emil gaped at her. 'You're serious?'

She nodded.

'Oh, well, that's just great. One of these walking head cases can just boogie in and slash my bones, then shove my body down the incinerator chute. What do you mean, they only lock from the outside? How am I supposed to protect myself?' He looked around, then leaned across the desk to whisper a great secret. 'I've got stalkers, you know. No telling what they might do.'

Nurse Griffin clamped down a smile. 'Stalkers.'

'Oh, yes, ma'am. Those two old sisters?'

'Edith and Gloria.'

'Yeah, right. They're so far gone they've never been here.'

'They like you.'

Emil sighed in frustration. 'Maybe that's what you think, but you find an empty pod by my bed in the morning, check under their skirts. You hear what I'm saying?'

'Do you want me to lock you in?'

'No! No, uh-uh. I think I'll just take my chances.'

Nurse Griffin watched curiously as Emil raced back to his room and slammed the door behind him. The next few days were going to be very interesting.

She got up and walked softly down the hall to Edith and Gloria's room. The door was ajar, and the two sisters were already dressed in their night clothes. Edith was sitting on her bed, carefully brushing out her long, silver hair, and Gloria was cuddled up in hers, reading the Bible. It was the same routine they'd had for the fifteen years she'd worked here, which gave her some comfort. Emil Rice hadn't caused any problems with the residents this afternoon, but any change in personnel or in the patients' routine had the potential to be disastrous if it wasn't managed properly and, for whatever reason, Edith and Gloria had fixated on him.

Edith lifted her head, set down her brush and smiled. 'Nurse Griffin, have you come to tuck us in?'

'Of course. Don't I always?'

'Yes, come to think of it, you do.'

Gloria jerked up in bed, like a marionette with an inexperienced puppeteer at the strings. 'It's been a very exciting day, hasn't it, Nurse Griffin?'

She nodded. 'It has been, which means you two should get some rest. You even missed your naps today.'

Edith crawled under the covers. 'We had to entertain Emil. He was a guest in our room.'

Nurse Griffin arranged the comforter around Edith, then Gloria, and gave them both gentle pats on the cheek. 'You two have taken quite a shine to that young man.'

'He's very special,' Gloria pointed out seriously. 'We're not quite certain he understands how special he is yet, but all will be revealed soon.'

'I'm sure it will be. Lights on or off, ladies?'

Edith retrieved her own Bible from her nightstand. 'On, please. We'll read for a bit.'

Nurse Griffin nodded, further reassured by the consistency of the sisters' long-term routine. 'You two must know that book inside and out by now.'

'We do,' Gloria said enthusiastically. 'But it never hurts to brush up on things, especially now, since it's almost Christmas Eve.'

Nurse Griffin smiled and backed out of the room. 'I'll leave the door cracked open, in case you need something. Goodnight, ladies.'

'Goodnight, Nurse Griffin.'

Edith waited for a long time after Nurse Griffin had left before she got out of bed and went to sit on the edge of Gloria's. 'It's more important than ever now that we memorize our instructions, Gloria,' she whispered.

'Absolutely correct. That's just what I've been doing.'

'I wonder if Emil has a book.'

'Somehow I doubt it. I think you were right, Edith. Emil doesn't know who he is. You'd think he would have been informed of something so important.'

'Moses didn't know who he was either, remember? He had to be persuaded.'

Gloria sighed. 'Things would be so much easier if God were just a little more forthcoming with His chosen ones.'

## CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Emil was examining the structural integrity of the grate on his window. He gave it a test pull, but it was a no-go – it was bolted in. Now, if he could get his hands on a wrench that might change the game.

He squinted out into the darkness. There were no stars tonight, no lights from any nearby buildings, because there weren't any nearby buildings, but the glow of Vegas lit up the distant horizon like a beacon. It wasn't that far away. As the crow flew, he figured he'd have a good chance of making it there before anybody even knew he was gone.

He climbed into bed, and felt the day settle deep into his weary bones. Five minutes later, he was dozing off peacefully, with visions of sugar plums and escape dancing in his head. Suddenly his door creaked open and a sliver of light illuminated his face.

'Emil?'

His eyes flew open and he vaulted up in bed. Edith and Gloria were standing in his doorway. 'Dang! Dang! What is it with you two, creeping around like ghouls? I could have had a heart attack!'

Gloria and Edith entered, carrying a teddy bear and a Bible. 'It's a good place to have one. You're in a health-care facility.'

Emil shrank back in his bed as they approached him, his eyes wide and wary. 'What do you want? What are you doing in here?'

They sat on his bed and Emil yanked the covers up around his neck. 'Hey, this isn't a coed dorm room, you got that?' He gasped when they started touching his face, and slapped their hands away. 'Leave me alone!'

'Does brown skin hurt when you touch it?' Edith asked.

'No, it doesn't. I just don't want you pawing at me! Now you get out of here! Shoo, shoo, shoo!' He flapped his arms, but the sisters didn't budge. 'Nurse? Nurse! Is anybody out there?!'

Gloria folded her hands in her lap. 'Nurse Griffin is very busy right now. Ralph is causing a ruckus.'

'Gloria, please, no vernacular. It's vulgar.'

Gloria leaned forward and whispered confidentially, 'He was pissing in the corridor again.'

Emil grimaced. 'Oh, Jeez... Aw... Just get out of here, will you?'

Edith laid a Bible on his chest. 'We brought you the book.'

Emil pushed it away. 'I don't want any book. I want

to go to sleep!' He sighed in exasperation when the two continued sitting on his bed, looking as content as cats in the sun. 'Are you going to sit here all night?'

Edith pointed to the distant glow of Las Vegas out of the window. 'Do you know what that is, Emil?'

He rolled his eyes. 'Oh, for God's sake, yes, I know what it is. Lights from the city.'

'Do you know how to get there?' Gloria whispered.

Emil frowned. 'Sure. Why?'

Edith finally stood up. 'Well, one of us should know how to get there. Gloria and I certainly don't.' She patted his arm affectionately, and that was when Emil noticed some seriously nasty scars on her hands.

'Oh, man, what happened to your hands?'

Edith looked down at them in bafflement. 'My goodness. Gloria, do you know how I got these?'

'It's that soap they use here. I told you it was full of chemicals, Edith.' She turned to Emil. 'You didn't use the soap, did you?'

'Uh...'

'Well, don't use it again.'

Edith nodded. 'We use our own soap. Ivory. We'll give you a bar. Ninety-nine point four percent pure.' She tucked the covers around Emil, just like Nurse Griffin did for her and Gloria every night.

Gloria put the teddy bear by his head and pressed the Bible into his hands. 'Read Matthew chapter two, verses one through eleven. Don't bother to read John. We think he might have been just a little psychotic.'

Edith gave him a winsome smile. 'We love you, dear.'

'So much,' Gloria cooed.

They both turned and left, closing the door gently behind them.

Emil stared at it for a few moments in lingering disbelief, then jumped out of bed, dragged the chair across the room and propped it under the doorknob.

## CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Foster dragged himself out of bed later than usual, his head throbbing, his tongue as fuzzy as an autumn caterpillar. He grabbed three aspirins from the bathroom medicine cabinet, rinsed out his mouth with Listerine, then went to the kitchen to dose himself up with a few cups of caffeine.

He faltered when he saw the empty Folger's can on the counter. It reminded him that he'd planned to stop at the store on the way home yesterday. But Emil Rice, the little punk, along with the unexpected road trip to Clark County Extended Care, had blasted those plans right out of his mind. His only consolation was the strong conviction that Emil was suffering right now, even more than he was.

He banged around in the kitchen, like an angry bear, hoping he had some more coffee stashed somewhere he'd forgotten about, but that was just foolish, wishful thinking. Foster intentionally didn't keep a surplus of anything in the apartment – even though he'd been in the bachelor dump ever since his divorce four years ago, he couldn't bear to think of it as anything other than a temporary pit stop on the way to something better. The only trouble was, he didn't have a vision of what better was anymore.

He regarded the remains of yesterday morning's coffee, still languishing in the carafe, then finally dumped it into a mug and tossed it into the microwave.

While his coffee radiated into sludge, he opened the door to grab the morning paper and saw his neighbor, Arnold, huffing and puffing as he struggled to drag an enormous Christmas tree down the hallway.

Foster smiled smugly. 'Table-top tree, Arnie. That's the ticket.'

Arnold paused to catch his breath. 'Yeah? Try telling that to the wife and kids. God, why do holidays have to be so much work? I'm supposed to be on vacation, and instead I'm dragging a ten-foot spruce up two flights of stairs.'

'I can commiserate with you there, buddy. My ex was the same way. Had to have the biggest bloody tree on the lot every year, even though we ended up cutting half of it off so it would fit in the house. Put my back out on the last one and missed two weeks of work. Then she got mad because we couldn't pay the Christmas bills.'

Arnold shook his head morosely. 'It's totally out of hand. And it's the women that do it, you ever notice that?'

'The women?'

'Yeah. I mean, look at the first Christmas. The way I figure it that was the last one men had anything to do with, and was that such a big deal? They had a couple people over, that's it. Some shepherds and a few kings. No food, no tree, no shopping... That's all the stuff women threw in later, you know?'

'Good point.'

'So what about you, Foster? You got any big plans?'

'Yeah. I'm going to sit on my butt and watch football all day.'

'You see? No women, no problems. You don't know how good you got it.'

'Luckiest guy in Vegas...' Foster's phone started ringing. 'Hey, I'd give you a hand, but that's my phone. I should get it. I've got a real problem case I'm dealing with right now.'

Arnold smirked at him. 'Yeah, right. Merry Christmas, Foster.'

Foster hurried back into his apartment and tossed the place for his cell, which he finally found stuck between the sofa cushions, nestled in old popcorn detritus and a pile of pocket change. 'Foster here.'

'Daddy?'

He dropped down onto the sofa, like a boulder, stunned by the unexpected voice – how long had it been? Six months? Eight? 'Annie, honey? Is that you?'

'Of course it's me,' she said, a smile coloring her voice all the way from Boston.

'Hi! Wow! What a surprise! Uh – a great surprise! How are you, sweetheart?'

'Good. We're all good. How are you, Daddy?'

Foster got up and started pacing nervously, a kaleidoscope of emotions suddenly painting his world all kinds of crazy colors. Was there appropriate etiquette on how to act when you took an out-of-the-blue call from your semi-estranged offspring? Did you pretend that an ugly divorce hadn't polluted the waters and forced a sweet, innocent soul to pick sides? Did you act like nothing had ever happened, hoping that denial would eventually repair the damage and erase the guilt? Did you forget all about the unreturned phone calls at both ends and start over?

He didn't know. He'd never known, which was probably why he and Annie had lost touch since the divorce. So he went with his gut and answered her question honestly, as a father, all the history and baggage be damned. 'I'm great now, honey. It's so good to hear your voice.'

'I'm sorry it's been a while.'

'No, no, don't be sorry! Just tell me all about what you've been up to, besides giving me a new grandbaby. I was hoping we could get together... sometime.'

'Mark and I were thinking the very same thing.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Do you have any Christmas plans?'

'Me? No. None at all.'

'So, are you up for a visit?'

Foster froze for a moment, then started scurrying around his bachelor-hell apartment, suddenly seeing the thick dust on the window sills, the dirty dishes piled in the sink, the teetering stacks of paperwork consuming every flat surface. 'Are you serious? Of course I am! When can you come?'

'We can be there Christmas morning. We could stay just a couple days because Mark has some business in Reno.'

'That's terrific! Just great!'

'Good. I'll call you with the details tomorrow, okay?'

'Looking forward to it. I love you, honey.'

'You, too, Daddy.'

When Foster hung up, he just stared at the phone for the longest time, almost afraid to let himself believe the call had been real.

## CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Emil was used to the klaxon call over the PA that wakened prisoners at precisely six in the morning. Klaxons he could handle. The gentle knock on his door scared him to death.

'What? What?' He jumped out of bed and stood there in his skivvies with his bare toes curling on the cold linoleum floor, wondering what kind of a nut-job was going to break into his room now. If the old sisters had the run of the place, probably the other patients did too, and who knew what level of crazy lived within these walls?

He grabbed a blanket off the bed, wrapped it around his shoulders and tiptoed over to the door. 'Who's out there? What do you want from me?'

A little-girl voice came through the closed door while the knob jiggled. Damn. It was like a horror movie. 'It's Nurse Thompson, Mr Rice, and it's seven o'clock and a beautiful day. Time to rise and shine and have some breakfast.'

Oh, man, she was just too chipper, and everybody knew chipper people were weird. Emil felt goosebumps rising on his arms. 'I don't know no Nurse Thompson. What happened to Nurse Griffin?'

'Her shift doesn't start until four. I'm the day nurse. There seems to be something wrong with this door.'

'What's wrong with this door is that I've got it blocked so no more crazies break in here while I'm lying asleep and defenseless.'

There was a soft giggle, which sounded pretty harmless, and then the knob stopped jiggling. 'Sorry to frighten you, Mr Rice. Take your time. I just didn't want you to miss breakfast.'

Emil bent from the waist to look through the crack under the door, just in case the alleged Nurse Thompson had scales on her feet and claws on her toes, but all he saw was a pair of white nurse's shoes. He straightened, feeling a little silly. 'Oh. Well... thank you for the wake-up call. You beat a klaxon call any day.'

'A klaxon call?'

'Never mind. I'll be down directly, ma'am.' He tried to sound respectful and cooperative.

'That's wonderful, Mr Rice. Have a lovely day.'

Actually, the day didn't start out too badly. He'd had an extra hour of sleep and a really hot private shower for the first time in six months. The bar soap in the bathroom worried him a little after seeing Edith's scarred hands, so he used shampoo instead. Then a leisurely shave and tooth-brushing in front of a reflective stainless-steel mirror, just like the ones in jail. All that was missing were some tunes and a cup of coffee.

He was humming as he went to retrieve his suit from the closet, then gasped when he saw the yellow-white splash marks all over it. Bleach from the mop bucket, he suddenly realized. He'd totally trashed his only suit and now there was just one wardrobe alternative. 'This is just great,' he hissed, pulling a set of stupid puke-green pajamas off a stack in his closet. His humiliation was complete.

Once he'd dressed, he gave himself a once-over. Actually, the whole effect wasn't too bad – he could pass himself off as a hospital employee, no problem, wearing something like this. If he could just lift a stethoscope or an ID from somebody, he'd have himself some fine props for a convincing con. Besides, it beat an orange jumpsuit any day.

He skipped the elevator and took the service stairwell down to the cafeteria, hoping to avoid the two sisters. Those old gals were twenty kinds of nuts squared, and it didn't take a genius to know they had him in their sights.

When Emil hit the steel door that opened onto the first floor, he cracked it open just a hair and did a quick visual recon. No people around, just the faint sound of knives and forks and plates clanging together, and the intoxicating aroma of bacon and pancakes.

He ventured out into the hallway cautiously, keeping himself pressed against the wall as he slunk toward the open cafeteria doors, then peered in. There were just a few patients scattered around the tables, eating their breakfast. Most seemed like they were handling the job okay on their own, but some orderlies were spoon-feeding a few. All in all, it looked pretty tame in there, and Edith and Gloria were nowhere to be seen, so he strolled in with a powerful growl in his belly and a spring in his step.

'Morning. Morning, loonies, one and all,' he greeted everyone, as he walked up to the buffet where a tattooed monster with a murderous expression was dishing up the goods. He got a few nasty glances from the staff, who obviously didn't appreciate his sense of humor. 'And good morning to you, my man,' he said to the cook. 'I'll have a side of bacon, make that crisp, two eggs, no, make that three, over so easy they just kiss the griddle. And a rack of toast with strawberry jam.'

The cook gave Emil a sociopath stare, then dipped a big spoon into a pot of gray gruel, plopped it into a bowl, and shoved it across the pass.

Emil stared down at the gunk in dismay, then looked back up at the cook to assess his mass and his potential mental instability. 'You know, I think I'll skip the oatmeal. I'm a working man, and I need a working man's breakfast, if you know what I'm saying.'

The cook added another spoonful of slop to his bowl.

'Or today's special is just fine. Mmm, mmm, thank you, sir.'

On his way to the table, he passed the violin lady, who was sitting alone, staring mindlessly. A succulent Danish lay untouched on her plate. Emil stopped and put on a smile. 'Well, good morning, ma'am. Wow, that's a mighty fine pastry you've got sitting there. Mind if I ask where you got it?'

She continued to stare. She didn't even know he was there.

'Uh... hello? Oh. What's that you said? No kidding? You really don't want it? You sure you want me to have it? Well, thanks!' Emil snatched the Danish and ate it as he walked across the room to an empty table. It was gone before he sat down and looked morosely at his bowl of gruel. 'O-kay. How hungry am I?'

He had his first spoonful halfway to his mouth when he heard two sing-song voices call out in unison, 'Good morning, Emil!'

He winced and turned in his seat to see Edith and Gloria making a beeline for his table. Too late to run. At least they were wearing little-old-lady dresses today instead of those weird costumes. They looked almost normal, which was really scary when you knew they were both flat-out out of their minds.

He gave the sisters a sick little smile as they sat down opposite him. 'Uh... somebody else was going to sit there.'

'Did you read the book we gave you last night?' Edith asked.

'They'll be here any minute.'

'You have to read the book, Emily. It explains everything.'

'Emily?'

Edith looked confused. 'Who's Emily?'

'I don't know. You just called me Emily. My name's Emil. _Emil_ , E-M-I-L, no Y.'

'Of course it is.'

'Oh, man.' He dipped his spoon into the gruel.

Edith shot up from her chair. 'No, no, no. Emil, don't eat that. We think it might have a laxative in it.' She left abruptly and headed for the service counter.

Gloria stayed at the table, her chin cradled in her hands, smiling at him. It was a creepy smile. He gave the ring on his finger a workout. 'What? What are you looking at?'

'It's just so good to see you, dear. You can't imagine. But it might take me a bit of time to get used to the way you look now.'

Emil plucked at his scrubs. 'I had to wear this. My suit got ruined yesterday.'

'I didn't mean your clothes. I meant...' Gloria leaned toward him and whispered '... we were just so certain you would be a woman.'

Emil stared insanity in the face. 'You know what? I'm just going to sit over at that table there, okay?'

'Certainly.'

Instead of staying put, Gloria trotted after him to his new table and sat down.

'No, no, no, no. You're not getting it. I don't want you hanging with me, comprende? I want to be alone. So I'm just going to take my little bowl of slop here and go to my room.'

As he got up to leave, Edith returned with coffee, orange juice, a plate of bacon and eggs, and another Danish. She set it down in front of him. He sank back into his chair, staring at the food, then risked an upward glance at Edith. 'Wow. Thank you, Edith.'

'You're most welcome.'

They looked on in amazement as Emil polished off his breakfast in minutes. 'You were very hungry,' Edith commented.

'Starving.' He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his full belly. 'Now all I need is a little nap.'

Edith's eyes suddenly shifted upward and she smiled sweetly. 'Good morning, Dr Harold.'

'Good morning, ladies, Mr Rice.'

Emil jumped and spun in his chair. 'Morning, Dr Harold.'

He glanced at Emil's scrubs with an impassive expression. 'Did you sleep well, Mr Rice?'

'He slept wonderfully well,' Gloria said cheerfully. 'We gave him a teddy bear.'

Dr Harold smiled in amusement. 'That was very kind of you. Mr Rice, in my office in five for your morning briefing. Yesterday was your training-in period to get you familiarized with our facility, but today you'll have a full schedule. You've got a lot of work to do, and I want you on the clock by oh eight hundred sharp.'

Emil shrank a little. 'Gee, Doc, I'm not so sure a man should jump right into work on a full stomach.'

'You've got _four_ minutes now, Mr Rice.' Dr Harold did a crisp drill turn and clipped away.

He flinched when Edith covered his hand with hers. 'It will be okay, Emil. Dr Harold is firm but fair.'

Gloria nodded. 'We hate to let you go, Emil, but you should follow Dr Harold to his office now. He appreciates punctuality, but he appreciates it even more if you're early.' She smiled mischievously and spoke in a deep, theatrical voice, mimicking Dr Harold: ' "Ten minutes early for an appointment is on time. Five minutes early for an appointment is late." '

'We think he also has obsessive compulsive disorder,' Edith commented gravely. 'But we all have our issues, don't we?'

## CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

'Come in, Mr Rice. Have a seat.'

Emil's butt hadn't even hit the chair before Dr Harold handed him a thick sheaf of papers. 'What's this?'

'Your manual. For your stay here, think of it as your Bible. The first page is a list of the daily duties you're expected to perform. The rest is supplementary material you may find helpful.'

'The sisters gave me a Bible already.'

'Along with a teddy bear.'

'Yeah. That was weird.'

Dr Harold assessed him curiously. 'You keep referring to them as "the sisters". You're reluctant to use their names.'

'Yeah, I'm reluctant. I don't even know them and you told me not to connect with any patients, so I'm just following orders.'

'But they've connected with you.'

'That's _exactly_ the way to put it. They connected with me, not the other way around. I swear, Doc, I haven't been trying to play them, they just won't leave me alone. I don't know what to do.'

'I appreciate you being forthright, but for the time being, you're doing just fine. Let me know if you have any questions. You'll be on the second floor for part of the day, and that can sometimes be challenging.'

'Challenging? Like, how?'

Dr Harold stood and looked at his watch. 'It's oh eight hundred, Mr Rice. Time to go to work.'

***

Initially, Emil thought the second floor was fantastic – most of the ambulatory loonies were already downstairs eating breakfast or weaving baskets or whatever they did when they weren't in their rooms. But then he got to the first horrifying item on his day's duty list.

He sullenly pushed the metal cart with its big rubber wheels down the hallway, stopped at each of the rooms Dr Harold had listed, then emerged holding his breath with a bedpan at arm's length. It was official: there would be no getting out of this dump with any shred of dignity.

'This is a damn conspiracy is what it is,' he mumbled. 'Nobody said nothing about any mopping. Nobody said nothing about sewer patrol –' He stopped dead in his tracks as it dawned on him that crazy people talked to themselves all the time – he'd seen it with his own eyes. Could something like that get you locked up in this snake pit? Was Foster lurking around the corner with a tape recorder, architect of the ultimate diabolical plan to get him quarantined to a loony bin?

Intellectually, Emil understood that it was a crazy notion, but then again, you just couldn't put anything past a man who had a constitution nastier than a Komodo dragon's.

He paused, took a deep breath and clamped his mouth shut. He wouldn't be doing any more talking, no, sir, at least not to himself. It was heads-down time. Empty bedpans, work hard, be Emil Rice, the best ex-con ever employed. And definitely not crazy. Nope, not one bit crazy.

The last room on his second-floor list belonged to some dude named Ralph Flowers. He was a big guy, built like a linebacker gone to fat, and he was standing by his bed, wearing a Yankees baseball cap and a look of utter misery.

'Hey, what's up, Ralph? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be downstairs?'

'I can't. I have a doodle.'

'What? What doodle? What are you talking about?'

Ralph looked down at the floor, obviously heartsick. 'I have a doodle in my pants.'

Emil closed his eyes. 'Aw, no, man, that's disgusting.'

'Can you help me?'

'Who, me? Are you kidding? I'm what you call a maintenance engineer, and maintenance engineers don't do diapers. Just hang on a minute, okay?'

Emil rushed out of the room and looked frantically up and down the hall for a nurse, an orderly, anyone. No joy. Suddenly, a voice blared over the PA system. 'Emil Rice to the dayroom. Emil Rice to the dayroom.'

'Yeah, yeah, in a minute.' He grimaced and moped back into Ralph's room with his head down.

Ralph was fighting tears now, and Emil screwed up his face, took his arm and led him into the bathroom. 'You need to take off your pants, dude, okay? All of them, even your short clothes, you got it?'

Ralph sniffled and nodded. 'I need new ones if I take these off.'

'Course you do. I'll take care of it. Just get yourself cleaned up – you can handle that on your own, right?' Emil asked hopefully.

Ralph cocked his head, clearly having an internal conversation with himself. Or maybe with several selves, Emil would never know.

'I think so,' he finally said decisively. 'Soap and water.'

'Thank you, Jesus,' Emil breathed, with a relieved smile, giving Ralph an encouraging pat on the shoulder. 'That's right, buddy, soap and water. Let me give you a little privacy. I'll just go get you some new wearables.' He dashed out of the bathroom as fast as his legs would take him and closed the door behind him, pondering his options.

Option one was to bolt down to the dayroom where he'd been called and leave some poor schmuck with crap in his pants and send up a nurse to take care of it. Option two was to handle the situation and maybe get some bonus points while he was at it.

He puffed out a resigned sigh and went to the dresser bolted onto the wall across from Ralph's bed. As he successfully raided the drawers for fresh clothes, his eyes slid up to the top where there was an elaborately inlaid wooden box. After a quick visual check of the room and hall beyond the open door, he lifted the lid and started exploring.

'You doing okay, Ralph?' he called out, utilizing his thief's sonar. It was one of the best tricks of the trade – if you were tossing somebody's stuff while they were in the general vicinity, you maintained a dialogue to keep a continual bead on their location.

'Soap and water. I need clothes. What's your name?'

Yep, Ralph was definitely still in the bathroom: he could hear his voice echoing off the tiles. 'My name is Emil, and I've got you covered, my friend. Just sit tight, I'll be right in...' Emil worked fast but, so far, there was nothing except old ticket stubs from Yankees games and Broadway playbills in the box, which gave him pause. Maybe Ralph was another washed-up actor who'd gone crazy, just like the sisters. For sure, he'd had another life before this place, and if he was going to Yankees' games and Broadway shows, it probably hadn't been a bad one.

'Uh... Ralph?'

'Yes, I'm Ralph,' he called, still safely in the bathroom.

'Yeah, you're Ralph, I'm Emil. So, you like baseball?'

'I love baseball! Go, Yankees!'

'And you like music?'

'I love music! "We three kings of Orient are," ' he tried to croon.

Emil finally got to the bottom of the box, and was stunned to find an old Rolex watch. He knew the fakes, he knew all the tricks, and this wasn't a fake. It was the real deal. He fingered it longingly for a brief moment, hesitating, then slid it high up onto his arm, beneath his sleeve and out of sight. 'I've got some fresh gear for you, Ralph. I'm coming in, is that okay?'

'It's okay. Emil.'

Emil swallowed hard and went back to the bathroom with a change of clothes, an odd nausea suddenly grumbling in his stomach. Maybe those old sisters were right about laxatives in the food.

## CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Foster was whistling 'Frosty The Snowman' as he huffed and puffed his way up the stairs to his apartment, dragging an eight-foot Frasier fir behind him. As he struggled past Arnie's door, he heard the deadbolt unlatch.

'Table-top tree, huh?' Arnie popped his head out, looking the Frasier up and down.

Foster shrugged sheepishly. 'Daughter called. They'll be here Christmas morning.'

'Oh, yeah? I thought Annie always spent Christmas with your ex.'

'Not this year. She's bringing the new grandkid, too, so I figured I should do a little something.'

'About eight feet of little, huh?'

Foster tried to glower, but his glowering button was apparently broken, so he kept dragging the tree toward his door. 'I'm too old for this crap. You want to give me a hand?'

Arnie smiled mischievously. 'I'd love to, but I think I hear my phone ringing. See you later, Foster.'

'Nice one,' Foster mumbled, hoping he sounded grumpy, but the truth was he didn't feel grumpy. In fact, a silly grin kept breaking onto his face. He gave the tree a final big push and shoved it through his door, wincing when he heard a snap. 'Oh, no.'

Fifteen minutes later, Foster was standing back, admiring his handiwork. The post-mortem on the tree hadn't been as bad as he'd feared – the top had snapped off, but it was nothing a little duct tape hadn't been able to fix. In fact, the tape was kind of festive-looking, all silvery and shiny. Maybe he'd go with a silver and blue theme to match it.

Foster gave the tree a big drink of water, then suddenly remembered the package of lights he'd tossed in the downstairs garbage last night. He dashed down the stairs and dug past banana peels, a couple of browning apple cores, a bunch of junk mail, and was rewarded.

The fact that the light string the homeless guy had given him actually worked was nothing short of a Christmas miracle. Better yet, the lights were blue, which solidified his color scheme. He only had to get about ten more packages to finish the job.

He sat down on the sofa and breathed in the crisp scent of pine, a tangy hit of nostalgia that smelled like good times and not at all like the air freshener that hung from his car's rearview mirror. He was tempted to grab a beer and enjoy the moment, but he had a lot of shopping to do, and only a couple days to do it.

***

Foster muscled his over-burdened shopping cart through Toy City, trying to find the checkout stations in a place bigger than a commercial airline hangar. Did people really buy so many toys that you had to dedicate a city block to a single store?

He glanced down at his cart and smiled sheepishly, answering his own question, then flagged down a young guy in a red and green Toy City uniform, who was standing around in a center aisle, directing shoppers and answering questions.

'Where do I pay for this?'

'Straight ahead, take a left at aisle sixty. Our elves will get you checked out in ten minutes or less, or Toy City will give you fifteen percent off your purchase.'

'Elves, huh?'

'Yessir. Santa sends some of his elves to help at Toy City for the holiday season every year. I hope you had a pleasant experience shopping with us today.'

'And I hope you're not a drama student.'

The kid suddenly broke character, looking absolutely miserable. 'Corporate makes us do this every Christmas. But the kids like it. Some of the kids actually believe it.'

Foster folded his arms across his chest. 'I guess there's no harm in that, is there?'

The kid shrugged. 'No. It gets old after a while, but it's kind of neat, too, especially when you see a face light up.'

Foster looked around at the little gap-toothed terrorists yanking toys off shelves and shrieking selfless, charitable things to their beleaguered parents, like 'I WANT THIS! I NEED THIS!' 'So how often do you see a face light up?'

'Not often. But it happens.'

'I'm glad.' Without any deliberation, Foster spontaneously pulled a ten out of his wallet and pressed it into the Toy City guy's hand, feeling like an alien had taken over his body. 'Merry Christmas. If I had to do your job, I would have hung myself a long time ago.'

'Uh, thanks. I think?'

Foster reluctantly pondered his uncharacteristic charity as he roamed aisle sixty and finally found the checkout stations about five miles beyond the horizon line. As advertised, he got a clerk in under ten minutes. She was a sullen Goth girl, who obviously didn't believe in eye contact, but she seemed to know how to run the scanner, so Foster didn't really care about her lack of communication skills. He started unloading baseball mitts, crib toys, blocks, action figures and board games.

'You must have a litter at home,' she mumbled, as she laconically dragged Foster's cache across the scanner and dropped the items into big plastic bags.

'New grandkid. Haven't seen him yet, but this year, the whole family is coming from Boston to visit.'

Miss Congeniality ignored him, so he ignored her and watched the toys roll down into bags. It reminded him of shopping for Annie's first Christmas almost thirty years ago. The gifts had been as plentiful, but the store had been the size of his current apartment, and there had been no elves, no scanners and no conveyors. 'Truth is, I haven't seen my daughter in a while, either,' he confessed, more to himself than to the automaton behind the register. 'We never had what you'd call a real tight bond. Messy divorce, and all that.'

The clerk let out an ennui-filled sigh, making it clear she couldn't have cared less. 'Uh-huh.'

Foster lifted a bicycle onto the conveyor, which finally gave the Goth zombie pause. 'How many grandkids do you have?'

'Just the one.'

'So all this stuff is for one kid?'

Foster shrugged. 'Well, yeah.'

'How old?'

'Uh... I'm not sure exactly. Couple months, I think.'

The clerk shook her head as she watched her computer display tally the total. 'Four eighty-nine even. You can swipe your card now.'

Foster gaped at her. 'Four hundred and eighty-nine _dollars_?'

'Yeah.'

'But I just got a couple things... well, maybe more than that, but that's insane!'

Goth Clerk finally made eye contact, and it wasn't pleasant. 'Bribes are expensive, but I'm sure this will make up for everything.'

'Who peed in your oatmeal this morning?'

'Everybody I ever met.' She whipped a piece of card from under the register and shoved it toward him. 'Here's a customer service comment card.'

He stared down at it incredulously. 'You must really want to get fired because I've had better customer service at the government center getting my driver's license renewed.'

'Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.'

'So stop torturing customers and just quit if you hate your job so much.'

'If I quit, I won't be eligible for unemployment. Please swipe your card or insert it into the chip reader to complete your purchase.'

Foster gave her a sour look and swiped his card. 'Nice attitude. And nice try, Einstein, but you're not eligible for unemployment if you get fired, either.'

The clerk's black-lacquered lips curled up smugly. 'Toy City doesn't like to officially fire employees because it means frivolous lawsuits and bad employee-satisfaction ratings. Laying off problem employees is the path of least resistance. I did my research before I applied.'

'You're a lazy idiot,' Foster said in disgust, flinging away the comment card and snatching his bags.

It took Foster a while to offload his towering shopping cart into the trunk of his car, and when he finally trudged back, like a good citizen, to return the empty cart to the outdoor corral near the entrance, he noticed Goth Clerk shivering outside, choking down a cigarette. Against his better judgment, he approached her.

'What do you want?' she sneered.

'To wish you a merry Christmas, even though I'm pretty sure you'll find a way to make it as miserable as possible.' Foster stomped back to his car, suddenly feeling lightness in his heart despite the bitch with the bad attitude. He had the high ground now. He was going to have a real Christmas this year, and he was finally letting himself feel good about it.

Foster was just about to pull out of his parking space when he heard a sharp rap on his window that sent him airborne in his seat. It was Goth Clerk, looking either contrite or homicidal, he wasn't sure which.

He rolled down his window a crack. 'Jesus! What?'

She shrugged. 'Thank you.'

'For what?'

'For wishing me a merry Christmas.'

'But I called you a lazy idiot!'

'I am a lazy idiot. And you're an asshole. But it sounds like you're going to have fun with your family this year, so merry Christmas to you, too.'

Foster leaned back in his seat and stared down at his odometer, barely visible beneath the filmy, scratched plastic shield of his dashboard console – almost ninety thousand miles on this junker he'd driven for ten years. He could have gone around the world a few times on that mileage. But he hadn't. He'd just gone around and around in the same circles, in the same town, in the same life.

When he finally ventured a look upward, the clerk was gone.

## CHAPTER NINETEEN

Emil had seen the dayroom yesterday from the hall, but actually being in it was about as depressing as it could get – there was steel mesh on the windows, an ancient TV on a wall-mounted rack, and ugly airport chairs bolted to the floor. From his very limited experience, the patients mostly sat around here watching news or nature shows while they drooled on themselves, but this was a whole new scene, pure mayhem, and he didn't like it one bit.

A throng of patients was clamoring in high-intensity excitement around a fake Christmas tree that was still partially wrapped in plastic, chattering among themselves like a pack of gossipy old church ladies on angel dust. And for some reason Doc Harold was just chilling in a corner, watching calmly while a bunch of crazy people escalated themselves into a psychotic foam. Worse yet, the two old sisters were there, sitting primly in the vinyl chairs like they were watching a tennis match.

Edith and Gloria caught sight of him and waved. 'Hello, Emil! Please come and watch with us. This is the biggest day of the year, you know, when we put up the tree.'

'Ye-eah, I can see that.'

Dr Harold strode over, nodding politely at Edith and Gloria. 'Sorry, ladies, but Mr Rice is busy.'

'I am?'

'He's going to help us put up the tree.'

Gloria gave the doctor a pout. 'So he can't sit with us while we watch Ralph ruin everything?'

Edith looked around the room, frowning. 'Ralph's not here. That's odd.'

'Maybe he was _finally_ electrocuted.' Gloria sighed happily.

'Ralph is still up in his room,' Emil said, his eyes wary and distracted as he watched patients trying to string suicide-proof paper tinsel on the prone plastic-wrapped tree. 'Uh... Doc? Isn't this getting a little out of hand?'

'Why is Mr Flowers still in his room?' Dr Harold asked sharply. 'He's supposed to be down here with the general population.'

Emil sighed. 'He had a doodle. In his pants. His words, not mine.'

Doc Harold's eyebrows drifted upward slightly. 'Did you take care of it?'

'Of course I did. Can't leave a man in a compromising situation like that, now, can you?'

'Good job, son. Now get that tree up.'

'I hate Ralph,' Gloria said amiably.

Emil felt a hard hit from behind and big arms encircling his torso, nearly knocking the wind clean out of him. He squawked and spun around to see a jubilant Ralph prancing about like a show pony. 'It's the tree day, Emil! The tree day! Soap and water!'

Gloria smiled smugly at Edith. 'One of the many reasons I hate Ralph. He so rarely makes sense.'

Emil backed away, hands up. 'Hey, hey, hey, Ralph, chill out, dude. We'll get the tree up, okay?'

Ralph smiled gleefully and chanted, 'Get it up, get it up, get the damn thing up!'

As Ralph raced toward the tree, snatching a handful of tinsel along the way, Emil gave Dr Harold a long-suffering glance. 'Really?'

'Really. But if it makes you feel any better, you seem to have a natural rapport with the mentally ill. Now get that tree up and decorated, then report back to my office.'

'A natural rapport with the mentally ill? Oh, now, that's just great. Something a man can really hang his hat on.'

Dr Harold smiled at him, but it was a mild smile; maybe even sincere. 'It _is_ something to hang your hat on, Mr Rice. Carry on.'

Emil sighed miserably and looked at Edith and Gloria, who were actually starting to emerge as the most normal people in a really abnormal place, even though they were admittedly stark raving mad. 'So how do you do this every year? What's the program? Because, from what I'm seeing, that tree is going to be shredded in about five minutes.'

Edith tapped a finger on her lips as she thought carefully. 'Well, the first challenge is to get the tree upright and stable. But, from past experience, I think you'll need some wire to keep it fastened to the wall while some of the more overzealous patients decorate it.'

'Yeah. That makes sense. But no way we're going to find any wire in a place like this. There's not even any real tinsel.'

'Nobody knows about the wire but us,' Gloria whispered confidentially. 'We know about lots of things nobody else does.'

Emil regarded her curiously. 'Oh, yeah? So where's this wire?'

She stood and linked her arm in Emil's. 'Come along, dear.'

'Where to?'

'To the basement, of course.'

Emil balked, digging his feet into the tiled floor. 'Oh, no. I don't think so. Basements are bad. Basements are where Alfred Hitchcock characters dump –'

Edith rolled her eyes. 'Relax, Emil. This isn't _Psycho_. We're just going to show you where the wire is.'

'You know about _Psycho_?'

'It's one of our favorite movies.'

'Well, that makes me feel _so_ much better.'

'It was well done, don't you think, Emil?' Gloria asked. 'The script was a bit hackneyed, but the cinematography and soundtrack were both very impressive. And the directing, of course. Hitchcock was a genius.'

'You two were actresses, weren't you?'

'Yes, we were!' Edith seemed pleased. 'Of course, those days are over, but it's a fond memory. At least, I think it is.' She took his other arm. 'Shall we?'

Emil deliberated briefly, then decided if there really was wire in the basement, there might just be some wire-cutters and maybe some other tools that could help his cause in the future. Besides, he figured he could probably take a couple old gals if they jumped him with a hatchet. As he let them escort him down the hall to the elevator, he turned to address the other patients, who were now brutalizing the tree, tearing off the plastic and shoving spongy ornaments into the branches. 'Listen up, loonies! Now don't you touch that tree until I get back, you hear what I'm saying? And then, you want to decorate it, I'll let you... but you got to make a donation to the Christmas fund, got it? Jewelry is good, cash is better.'

As Gloria and Edith led Emil to the elevator, Gloria cocked her head. 'We have a Christmas fund?'

'Sure we do. You think trees like that one in the dayroom grow on trees? Somebody's gotta pay for this stuff, you know.'

'Oh, of course. That makes perfect sense.'

## CHAPTER TWENTY

Emil was sweating as he entered the elevator with Edith and Gloria, still seriously questioning the wisdom of following two schizophrenics, or whatever they were, to a basement in search of wire. He was spinning various scenarios in his mind, and none of them were good.

'This is the secret panel, Emil,' Edith explained, pulling a bobby pin out of her hair and picking the lock on the metal emergency door beneath the elevator's controller.

Emil looked at her with new-found respect. 'Hey, that's pretty good. Where'd you get chops like that?'

Edith ignored him and continued, 'You can hit "B" for basement on the main pad all you want but you'll never actually get there unless you know the code. So open this little door, press the override button, and enter one-two-two-five here.' She demonstrated, the elevator doors closed, and the mechanicals started churning, bringing them down, down, down.

Emil squinted at the control panel. 'So how do you know about this stuff?'

Gloria giggled. 'I told you before. We know things nobody else does.'

'But don't forget the code, Emil,' Edith said sternly. 'This is important. For us, and for the world.'

'Right.' Emil nodded obediently. 'I won't forget.'

'Please recite it back to me.'

'One-two-two-five. Easy to remember.'

Gloria pressed her hands together excitedly. 'That's the numerical abbreviation for Christmas Day, Emil. When we found out what the code was, that was the first time we _knew_.'

Emil took a couple of steps back. 'Uh-huh, got it.'

The elevator finally ground to a halt and the doors opened onto a dimly lit space – a spooky space – very basement, and very Hitchcock, no matter what the sisters said.

'So this is it?' Emil asked, increasingly nervous.

'Yes, dear, this is the basement. Let us take you on a tour,' Edith said, gesturing around and commenting like a museum guide. 'Cobwebs here, utilities and tools there. Feel free to explore and enjoy the experience.'

'Oh, yeah, I'm just loving this. When do I get to see the coal chute?'

Gloria spun and beamed at him. 'You already know about the coal chute?'

Emil cringed, ruing the second he'd brought up Hitchcock to a couple of crazy, unexpected cinema freaks. 'Hey, what do you say we find that wire, then get back upstairs ASAP to decorate the tree? How does that sound?'

'That's a lovely idea,' Gloria said, with a pleasant smile. 'Emil, do you put up a tree at your house?'

Emil scoffed. 'Yeah, right.'

Edith frowned, looking genuinely distressed. 'Your family doesn't celebrate Christmas?'

'He could be Jewish, Edith. Or even Muslim. None of us were Christian the first time around, remember?'

'Oh. Of course, you're absolutely right, Gloria. Emil, what kind of home did you grow up in? Jewish? Muslim? Buddhist?'

'Foster.'

'Foster?' Edith asked incredulously. 'The man who brought you here? He has his own religion?'

Emil snorted. 'Definitely not. No, nothing to do with him, I'm talking foster _homes_ , small _f_.'

Gloria seemed confounded. 'Oh? What is a foster home?'

'It's when they pay people to let you live with them if no one else wants you.'

Gloria nodded in understanding. 'I see. Sort of like this place.'

Emil thought about that for a minute. 'Yeah, I guess.'

'What happened to your real family?'

'My mom died of cancer when I was a kid. After that, I lived with my grandparents until they died, too.'

'What happened then?'

'I was in and out of different places. There were some bad circumstances, so I finally took off on my own.'

'And that's when you decided to become a criminal and eat rats?'

'I told you, I didn't eat any rats! And, no, it wasn't like that. I just did what I had to. To survive, you know?'

Edith touched his arm tenderly. 'We're so sorry, Emil. But we're your family now. You'll never be alone again.'

'That's kind of what I'm afraid of.' He watched Edith open up a storage closet filled with junk, then start rummaging in a deep metal box. He turned back to Gloria. 'So... what are you two in here for, anyway?' he asked tentatively.

'We're schizophrenic. _We_ told _you_.'

'Statistically, the most intelligent of all mental aberrants,' Edith added, rising from her task and handing him a roll of wire and a pair of wire-cutters.

'Yeah, but what does that mean?' Emil asked, staring down in disbelief at his good fortune.

'Well, in layman's terms, schizophrenia is a mental disorder characterized by a loss of contact with the real world, among other things.'

'Oh.'

'As if the real world were all there was,' Gloria added.

'But... you both seem kind of with it, like you know what's going down most of the time.'

Edith nodded. 'Quite right, dear, and very perceptive. We function within normal parameters on many levels.'

'But you're still nuts?'

'Oh, yes. Definitely.'

## CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Foster was standing in the middle of his living room with a cold beer in his hand and a satisfied grin on his face, admiring his day's work. The tree was decorated and lit up like Times Square and the duct tape was still doing a decent job of holding it together. The kitchen was cleaner than it had ever been, and there were fresh vacuum tracks on the carpet for the first time since he'd moved in. He'd even scored a holiday bouquet of red and white flowers at the SuperMart Gas & More on his way home, which looked pretty good on the kitchen table, even though it was currently residing in the empty Folger's coffee can.

The only thing that bothered him now was the mountain of really badly wrapped presents under the tree, but he figured his new grandkid would give him a pass on that.

Now all he had to do was figure out the Christmas ham. The meat guy at Kroger's had reassured him that nobody could screw up a spiral-sliced ham, just heat and eat, but Foster had his doubts. The most complicated thing he'd ever made in his life had been an unburned piece of toast, and he needed tomorrow's meal to be epic. He retreated to the kitchen to study the directions on the label.

He turned the radio on as he made his way to the fridge, and Gene Autry filled the room with his cowboy version of _'_ Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer.' Foster sang along off-key as he muscled the massive ham onto the counter and squinted at the directions. Just as he was getting a bead on oven temperature and time per pound, there was an unexpected knock on his door, followed by Arnie's muffled voice: 'You there, Foster?'

'Yeah, sure, come on in. I'm in the kitchen.'

Arnie stepped in, holding a plate of colorfully decorated cookies, which he almost dropped once he'd gotten past the door jamb and let his eyes roam the room. 'You've gotta be kidding me. Where am I?'

Foster beamed at him from across the room. 'Not too shabby, right?'

'Well, yeah. It looks like somebody actually lives here now. The duct tape is a nice touch.' He walked into the open kitchen where Foster was battling with the ham and offered his plate. 'Kate just made these today with the grandkids. I told her about Annie coming, and she wanted you to have something homemade for your company.'

Foster took the plate and stared down at the cookies as if he'd never seen a sugary snowman with green and red frosting before. 'That's really nice, Arnie. Thank Kate for me. I never even thought about cookies.'

'That's what she figured. And, trust me, there's more if you run out. Stop by tomorrow if you want.'

'Likewise. I've got this big-ass ham that probably feeds a thousand people. Course, I have no clue how to cook it.'

'You can't screw up a ham, Foster. Put it in a pan, cover it with foil and cook it. No-brainer.'

'So I heard.'

'You'll do fine. Look, I've got to get back to the family, but have a merry Christmas.'

'Hang on, Arnie.' Foster dashed to the gas station bouquet on his kitchen table and yanked it out of its Folger's vase. 'Give these to Kate. And merry Christmas.'

Arnie looked up with a surprised smile. 'Thanks, Foster.'

## CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

It had taken Emil hours and all his energy to deal with the dayroom tree and the pack of jackals he'd had to wrangle constantly out of chaos as they'd tried to decorate it. But it was finished now, and even though it looked like Martha Stewart's worst nightmare, the patients were enraptured, staring silently at it, like it was a television, which was probably the best Christmas gift he was going to get this year.

Emil collapsed into one of the hard plastic chairs and closed his eyes, soaking up the peace and quiet while he could because he knew it wouldn't last long. Those sisters could slide in like spooks with more of their craziness any time now, and there was no telling when Doc Harold would come marching back in, barking out orders to clean all the grout with a toothbrush or build a new addition by morning.

A few minutes later, he sensed a presence next to him, along with the scent of perfume, but not the violet-lavender stuff the sisters wore. He opened his eyes and looked up at Nurse Griffin. She was smiling at him. 'You did a nice job with the tree, Emil.'

He gave her an exhausted smile back. 'Looks pretty messed up to me, Nurse Griffin, but thanks anyway.'

'Nonsense. This is one of the most difficult tasks we do all year. Initially the patients get very excited but, as you can see, it has quite a calming effect in the end.'

'Oh, yeah, I got a real snapshot of the whole excited-patient thing today, let me tell you. Maybe you ought to think about leaving the tree up all year.'

'Then it wouldn't be an event. It would just become part of the scenery. Everybody needs something to look forward to.'

Emil glanced back at the loonies, sitting all passive on the floor around the tree. 'Yeah. I guess.'

Nurse Griffin followed his gaze. 'Where are Edith and Gloria?'

'I don't know. They hung out for a while and watched. They even helped me out a little, but then they ditched. Those gals don't seem much into the whole tree thing, but...'

'But what?'

Emil shrugged uncomfortably. 'I don't know. They were asking me all about whether or not my family had a tree and what my religion was, like it meant something to them. And last night they gave me a Bible and told me to read a bunch of stuff. It was weird. Are they super-religious or something?'

Nurse Griffin pondered his question for a while. 'Probably not in the devotional way you're thinking. The mentally ill have different perceptions of common concepts, as you're probably learning.'

'Yes, ma'am. I figured that out pretty quick.'

'But religion certainly plays an important role in the sisters' routine, for whatever reasons.'

Emil leaned in and whispered, 'Well, they told me straight up that they were high-functioning nuts, and I appreciate the honesty, so I'm not passing any judgment or anything, just to get that right out in the open. But I'm pretty sure Edith and Gloria think they're wise men for real. And I get the feeling they think I'm the third guy because I'm black and they've got this old calendar in their room with a black wise man. You got any pointers on how to deal with that? Do I play along or what? Doc Harold said I should keep my contact with the patients to a minimum, but those old gals are dogging me, like a pair of bluetick coonhounds on a scent.'

She gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. 'It's hard to know what the right thing is in this business, Emil. Every case is different. But it seems to me that you're doing just fine so far. Edith and Gloria are happier than I've ever seen them. Use your best judgment –' A sudden beep sounded on Nurse Griffin's hip. She pulled her pager from its holster, read the screen, then stood abruptly. 'I have to go, Emil. Have a good night.'

Emil put his chin into his hands and stared at the tree. 'Use your best judgment. Right. Great advice,' he mumbled. Nurse Griffin obviously hadn't read his rap sheet.

After a few minutes of glazed semi-dozing in his chair, he got to his feet and dragged himself toward the chow hall, which was set to open in half an hour. Doc Harold hadn't tracked him down yet, and moving targets were harder to hit.

As he rounded a corner, he saw Edith and Gloria coming toward him from the opposite direction. Just as he pivoted to run the other way, they caught sight of him and waved.

'Emil! We were just bringing you a little pick-me-up before dinner. You've been working so hard.' Gloria hustled down the hall in her old-lady shoes, brandishing a plate of animal-shaped cookies.

'Ah... gee. Thanks, but I think I have some clean-up to do. I was just talking to Nurse Griffin, and she got an emergency page. Lit out like a Ferrari, so it seemed pretty serious.'

Edith approached more slowly, with a knowing smile. 'False alarm from Mrs Cassidy in the Memory Unit. She has dementia and hits the emergency button at the same time every evening.'

'Oh, yeah? Okay, but then Doc Harold said something about a meeting. Oops, I think I'm late already!'

'Dr Harold is in his office doing paperwork, Emil,' Gloria informed him. 'He never interrupts his paperwork.' She gestured toward a bench by the cafeteria door. 'Please sit down. One should never eat standing up. It's bad for the digestion.'

Emil sighed wearily and sank onto the bench in resignation, accepting that he was going to have company for a while. Dang, these two knew everything that was going down here. It was like hanging with a couple of gossip columnists who were a few volts short of a full charge.

The two sisters end-capped him on the bench, and Gloria plopped the plate of cookies on his lap. 'Eat every one, Emil. You have to keep up your strength for the journey, you know. Unless you don't want the hippopotamus. I could eat that one, if you like.'

Emil passed the hippo cookie to her. 'Only journey I'm going on is in to dinner, then straight to bed. I'm whipped.'

'There's no time for that,' Edith explained calmly. 'Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Are you ready?'

'Sure, I'm ready. Tree's up, presents are wrapped, turkey's in the oven...'

'Be serious, dear. We have to leave tonight.'

'Uh-huh.' Emil was eyeing a weird-looking cookie suspiciously. 'What's this supposed to be?'

Gloria leaned over and examined it. 'That's a duck. We can't leave until it's dark, of course.'

Emil held up the cookie. 'This is not a duck.'

Edith took his arm gently. 'Emil, listen to me carefully. You have to meet us in the basement at ten o'clock.'

'Oh. We're going on a journey to the basement. You know, I've already been there.'

Gloria stood abruptly and raised her arms to the ceiling. 'And from there we three kings shall cross the desert and find the Christ child!'

Emil sagged against the wall. 'Great. I get to be a king. I knew it.'

'You _are_ a king,' Edith whispered, her eyes tracking Dr Harold, who was striding down the hall toward them.

'Mr Rice. Front and center.'

Emil glanced at Edith as he pulled himself up to attention. 'Does he know I'm a king?'

'Mr Rice, you're needed in therapy room two. There's been a mishap.'

'A mishap?'

'Take your mop and bucket and follow me.' Dr Harold smiled pleasantly at Gloria and Edith. 'Good evening, ladies. Did you have a nice day?'

'Just wonderful,' Gloria said, clasping her hands together in excitement. 'We were planning our pilgrimage to find the Christ child in the City of David.'

'Really? That's nice.'

'Yes, it is. We're the magi, you know. I'm sure you've seen our costumes.'

'Of course. Carry on, ladies.'

'We certainly will.'

Emil trudged after Dr Harold, dragging his janitor set-up behind him. 'So, what kind of mishap are we looking at, Doc?'

'Nothing serious. Exceptional job with the tree today.'

'Thanks.'

Dr Harold keyed open the door to therapy room two. 'Edith and Gloria have become quite attached to you in a very short time, Mr Rice.'

'Not my choice,' Emil muttered miserably. 'I'm trying to stay away, like you said, but they keep finding me.'

'Nurse Griffin told me about your ongoing concerns.'

'She did?'

'Yes.'

'So... what do you think?'

'I agree with Nurse Griffin's assessment for the time being – no harm done. But I'll address this issue with them when they have their therapy sessions tomorrow.'

Emil let out a relieved sigh.

'You know, Mr Rice, I had my worries when Mr Foster deployed you to our facility yesterday, but it appears to me that you've thus far taken to your mission extremely well.'

Emil blinked at him.

'In fact,' he continued, 'we have some very happy patients because of your short tenure here, including Ralph Flowers.'

Emil stared down guiltily at his formerly nice dress shoes, badly in need of a polish. 'Ralph's not so bad.'

'Ralph has never made a connection with anybody, and yet it seems he's made one with you. You do have a gift. Don't squander it.'

'I... I...'

Dr Harold pointed to a small mess on the floor of dubious origin. 'Take care of this, eat dinner and get to bed. Tomorrow's going to be another busy day.'

## CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Foster was lounging in front of the television, watching another hockey game, sugar cookie crumbs falling into his lap as he ate a couple of his neighbors' reindeer. Kate and Arnie had been particularly generous with the Christmas cookies so he'd decided a sampling of the goods wouldn't be noticed by his guests. Besides, what kind of a host would he be if he didn't give the goods a test run, just to make sure they were okay to serve?

On a commercial break, he flipped to the news and watched a manic meteorologist gushing about a nor'-easter that was capping the east coast with ice and record snowfall. Flights were grounded everywhere, and holiday traffic was at a standstill. When his phone rang a few minutes later and he looked at the caller ID, he knew what was coming and his heart seized. He thought briefly about not answering because he didn't want to hear the inevitable, but he eventually picked up before it went to voicemail.

'Hi, honey.'

'Hi, Daddy. Are you watching the news?'

'Yeah, I just saw the weather report from out east. Crazy. Are you going to be okay out there?'

'We'll be fine, even if the power goes out. Mark bought a generator.'

'That's good to hear.'

'But there are no flights coming in or going out, and they don't know how long this is going to last. I called the airline and tried to reschedule, but they're not even doing that now. I'm really sorry.'

'It's not your fault, honey. Nobody should be traveling anywhere in that mess.'

Annie was quiet for a moment. 'We were really looking forward to coming.'

'And I was really looking forward to seeing you. But now that we're back in touch...' Foster cringed, trying to figure out what to say next, and how pathetic was that? He couldn't even have a natural conversation with his own daughter. 'Let's try for spring, Annie, what do you say? You could come here or I could come there.'

'That sounds nice. March might be good.'

'Okay, it's done. Listen, I'm going to ship your gifts so keep an eye out for them.'

'You didn't have to buy gifts!'

'I wanted to buy gifts. Kiss the kid for me, will you?'

'Sure. Have a merry Christmas, Daddy.'

'Merry Christmas to you, too, Annie.'

Foster clicked off and stared at his silly tree, the presents stacked along its green skirt of branches, and felt all the happiness leaking out of him.

## CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Gloria and Edith were back in their magi costumes, primping nervously in front of their small bathroom mirror. 'What do you think, Edith?' Gloria whispered, eyeing herself critically.

'You look perfect, dear, but let's not worry about that now. The most important thing is to make sure we have everything we need for our journey.'

'Oh, yes. Of course.' Gloria hurried out of the bathroom and went to her bed, where a bulging backpack sat. She upended it and began to take inventory, starting with the cache of protein drinks she'd been pilfering from the cafeteria. 'Ten cans of Ensure. Do you think that will be enough?'

'I should think so.'

Gloria then began to make separate stacks of the remaining contents: individually packaged soup crackers, personal-sized hand-lotion bottles and bars of soap. 'It's all here.' She nodded affirmatively.

Edith tapped a finger on her lips. 'I think we need a few extra bars of soap. We just don't know what kind of hygiene products they have available in the City of David.'

'Excellent idea.' Gloria scurried to the bathroom for more soap, then quickly repacked the bag and slung it over her shoulder while Edith opened the closet door and pulled out the third magi costume.

***

Nurse Griffin looked up from the paperwork she was filling out at the nurse's station when she heard the soft click of hard-soled shoes coming down the hallway. 'Emil – I thought you were in bed already. It's almost ten o'clock.'

'Yeah, I know. I fell asleep in the cafeteria. That scary-looking dude who mans the slop line had to shake me awake, and let me tell you that is not a face you want to see when you first open your eyes.'

She covered a smile with her hand. 'Brian. He's actually a very nice man.'

'You could have fooled me. What's he in for, anyhow? Mass murder?'

'He volunteers in his spare time.'

Emil cocked a brow. 'For real? You mean, he's got a day job or something?'

'He actually teaches kindergarten.'

Emil's jaw dropped. 'You're kidding, right?'

Nurse Griffin shook her head in amusement. 'I'm not kidding.'

'So he's probably not going to kill me. That's great news.' Emil yawned, stretched his arms, and glanced toward the sisters' closed door down the hall. 'Are Edith and Gloria asleep? They didn't even show for dinner.'

'They took dinner in their room and I tucked them in early so they could get some rest. It's been an exhausting time for them.'

'Trust me, I feel their pain. Well, at least they won't be knocking on my door tonight.'

'No, I'm sure they won't be bothering you.'

Emil blew out a sigh of relief, happy a medical professional had confirmed his fondest hope. 'How long have those two been in here, anyway?'

'They were long-timers when I started working here, and that was fifteen years ago. Came in as girls, I think.'

Emil gaped in horror. 'They lock kids up in here?'

'Back then they did. It was a long time ago.'

'Do you know what sent them off the deep end?'

'Their old records are either incomplete or missing entirely. All we know is they lost their sister in a fire.'

Emil thought about the scars on Edith's hands. Burn scars, not soap.

'But it isn't that simple,' Nurse Griffin continued. 'Mental illness isn't usually caused by a single event or even a set of circumstances. External factors can precipitate a decline, but the root cause is physiological.'

'So you're saying they were born that way?'

'In a manner of speaking.'

'Man. I thought you were supposed to cure people in places like this.'

Nurse Griffin sighed. 'We're what you call a maintenance facility, Emil. Most of the people here aren't ever going to get better.'

'You mean the sisters will never get to go home?'

'This is their home. They've been here almost all their lives. They're happy.'

Emil tried to wrap his head around being stuck in a place like this for a lifetime. At least with jail you got out eventually. 'That's depressing.'

'Not for our patients.' Nurse Griffin tipped her head and looked at him curiously. 'Emil? Have you ever thought about training to do this kind of work professionally?'

'Janitor? Oh, yeah, I thought about it a lot. That's why I turned to a life of crime.'

Nurse Griffin leveled a serious gaze at him. 'I was thinking about nursing.'

Emil laughed, then clamped it when he realized she wasn't fooling. 'My mom was a nurse.'

'See? It runs in the family.'

'So does janitorial work, but I don't think either of those things are my kind of –'

A buzzer suddenly sounded from the call board and Nurse Griffin stood up. 'It's Mrs Briefstein. This might take a while. Goodnight, Emil. See you tomorrow.'

'Night, Nurse Griffin.' Emil trailed after her and glanced into Mrs Briefstein's room on his way past. The poor old lady was sobbing, and Nurse Griffin was sitting on the edge of her bed, trying to soothe her. He watched for a few moments, wondering what kind of demons Mrs Briefstein was carrying around that were making her cry so hard, and whether or not they were real or the conjured fantasy of a sick mind. In the end he decided it probably didn't matter – people cried when they were sad, crazy or sane.

He looked away, and hurried toward his room. But as he passed Edith and Gloria's closed door, he slowed a little while a really stupid thought sprinted through his mind. The sisters had been talking and acting a little jiggy all day.

_You're in an insane asylum, what do you expect?_ the rational part of his brain chided him. But another part of his brain, the part that had been sharply honed to analyze human behavior and take advantage of anomalies and weaknesses for his own financial gain, told him something else. People always followed a pattern, and it was right up front, whether they realized it or not. And when the pattern broke, there was either opportunity... or trouble.

He took a few more steps, looked around furtively to make sure nobody else was in the hall, then went back to the sisters' room. With a deft and quiet hand, he slowly turned the knob, then pushed the door open an inch and cupped his hand to his ear. No sound, so he pushed the door a little wider and peered in.

It was mostly dark, but a nightlight by the beds confirmed his fear – nobody home. 'Damn,' he breathed, flicking on the overhead, just to make sure.

## CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Emil spun his gold ring nervously as he rode the elevator down and finally landed at basement level. When the doors slid open, Edith and Gloria were right there, waiting for him. They were back in their magi regalia, brandishing the dry-cleaning bag with the third costume.

'We've been waiting for you. What took you so long?' Gloria whispered anxiously, thrusting the costume toward him.

Edith put a hand on her sister's arm to hold her back and calm her. 'We knew you'd come eventually, Emil.'

Emil slashed his hand through the air and tried to keep his voice low. 'No! Now stop it, you two! I can't believe you actually snuck down here. What do you think you're doing? Nurse Griffin is up there, and she thinks we're all asleep. Now get in this elevator right away.'

'We have to leave, Emil,' Gloria implored. 'It's so important.'

'Oh, come on, not that again. Let's just all of us go back upstairs. Nobody's going to get into any trouble, we'll get a good night's sleep and –'

'We can't wait.' Edith stepped forward with scary authority. 'If we don't leave now, we'll never make it in time to see the Christ child.'

Emil finally stepped out of the elevator. 'Okay, I'll play along. Where is he? Over there, in that little room with the cobwebs and wire? Behind the furnace? Come on, tell me where the Christ child is, we'll go see him, then go to bed.'

Edith shook her head in exasperation. 'Emil, the child isn't here, he's in the City of David, and you have to show us the way. You're our only hope.'

Gloria nodded. 'You're the only hope for the world.'

'Well, nobody's ever accused me of that before.'

Emil backed up a little when Gloria descended on him to look him square in the eye. She seemed calm, and looked almost sane, which scared him to death.

'You've been chosen, Emil. The staff of God has cast the light of salvation upon you, and you shall spread that light throughout the world.'

'It's time you accepted your destiny, Emil. Now come along,' Edith whispered, taking him by the arm and pulling him.

He balked like a mule, and shook off her grip. 'Seriously, ladies, let's just stop this right now. We're not going anywhere except upstairs.'

Gloria smiled charmingly. 'So you don't want to see the coal chute?'

'There's no coal chute, that's _Psycho_ , and you two have to drop that whole thing.'

Gloria and Edith both gave him smug smiles, and walked toward the monster furnace in the corner and pointed behind it. 'There it is. Come see for yourself.'

Emil eyed them suspiciously. 'You're messing with me. And if you're thinking of going all Hansel and Gretel on me, you've got another think coming.'

'Come here, Emil.'

He lowered his head with a frustrated sigh and stalked over to the furnace – the path of least resistance seemed like a wise choice at this point. 'Okay, okay, show me...' His voice trailed off when he peered behind the furnace and saw a large metal door with a padlock. 'What's that?'

'The _coal chute_ we've been trying to tell you about,' Gloria said wearily.

Emil narrowed his eyes. 'So there really is a coal chute?'

'Of course there is. Do you think we'd make something like that up?'

Emil decided it was probably best not to answer that. 'Yeah, so? There's the coal chute. It's locked.'

Gloria slithered behind the furnace and yanked on the padlock, which fell wide open. At that moment Emil swore he heard a choir of angels singing. 'It's been broken for years. If you keep it closed, no one notices.'

'Whoa. Let me take a look.' Emil squeezed behind the furnace, opened the creaky door, and poked his head up inside. The chute was blacker than the coal it had once fed to a long-ago boiler, but at the very top, he caught a glimpse of moonlight glancing off the old tin. They'd never blocked it off. Ticket to Paradise. 'I'll be damned,' he muttered.

'Hardly,' Edith said.

Emil pulled his head out of the chute. 'It looks pretty steep.'

Edith nodded. 'It's difficult, but not impossible.'

'You've actually been up there?'

Gloria clasped her hands together joyfully. 'Oh, yes, many times. We had to be certain we would be ready when the time came.'

'And, of course, we had to clean it,' Edith added.

'You cleaned the coal chute?'

'Spick and span. It's still stained black, but the black doesn't come off. We certainly couldn't risk soiling our raiment, could we?'

Emil felt a smile break on his face while his thoughts did happy cartwheels. 'I can just walk out of here,' he whispered incredulously. 'Right now. Cross the desert tonight, put my thumb out in Vegas by morning, be in LA by nightfall...' He looked at the sisters. 'Do you know what this means? No jail. No nuthouse. No mop and no bedpans, hallelujah!'

'Yes, hallelujah,' Gloria said, shoving the third magi costume at him. 'Now put this on.'

Emil stepped out from behind the furnace. 'What? What are you talking about? I'm not putting that thing on.'

'You have to wear it,' Edith said firmly.

'Uh-uh, no way. I don't do drag, especially not in Vegas, which is going to be stop number one.'

Edith eyed his scrubs critically, and Emil suddenly got it. 'Oh, right. This is supposed to be a disguise, huh? Way better than what I'm wearing now. Good thinking.' He tore the dry-cleaning plastic off the costume and was hit by the smell of mothballs, which reminded him of his Grandpa Moses' closet. And, just like that, he took a trip back in time.

He was six years old, sitting on the floor of that closet, smelling mothballs, the lingering remnants of cologne from the clothes that hung above him, and polish wafting off the single pair of dress shoes with fancy little perforations all over the leather, arranged neatly in a metal rack on the floor, as if they were a couple of diamonds in jeweler's velvet. The shoes were obviously special, because Grandpa only wore them to church on Sundays, and Emil vowed he would own a pair one day, maybe even two pairs, and he'd take care of them just as well.

'Emil?' Edith asked worriedly.

'Yeah? Sorry.' He started slipping on the gown, but it had obviously been made for a more petite figure because he couldn't force it over his clothes. 'Turn around, ladies, I need to strip down.'

Edith and Gloria turned obediently in a full circle to face him again.

Emil lowered his head in exasperation and clamped his aching temples, trying to coax out some patience on this very important night of his exodus to freedom. 'Oh, man, you two are something. Don't turn all the way around, just halfway. Show me your backs, okay?'

Gloria wrinkled her nose in irritation, but both the sisters complied, and Emil stripped down to his boxers fast. He panicked a little when he saw the glint of gold from Ralph's Rolex on his upper arm, and put on the costume even faster.

There was a fez in the bag, too – purple velvet to match the gown, with a gold tassel and a veil attached. He was going to look like the biggest jackass in Vegas. 'Do I have to wear the hat, too?'

'That's the most important part,' Edith said solemnly. 'It's your crown. It connotes your royalty.'

Emil shoved it on his head, thankful there wasn't a mirror down there. Of all the indignities he'd suffered in the past twenty-four hours, this took the cake. 'Okay, I think we're good. You can turn back around,' he said, trying to figure out how to negotiate the voluminous skirt of the costume. 'I might need a little help with the hat, though.'

Gloria and Edith turned and gasped in unison. They stepped back, utterly transfixed.

'What? I look stupid, don't I?'

'You look like a king,' Edith said, her eyes welling with tears.

'Yeah? All this purple, I was thinking I probably looked more like Prince.'

'Oh, no, Emil, you're not a prince, you're a _king_.'

'I meant... Never mind.'

Edith started fussing with his veil, arranging it so it draped beneath his chin. She stepped back and smiled, blotting her eyes. 'It's time now. Time for us all to fulfill our purpose on this earth.'

Emil started hiking up his skirts. 'Yep, just what I was thinking. Time for me to boogie is what it's time for – Wait! Gloria!' He watched as she scrambled up into the coal chute. 'Hey, wait a minute!'

Edith was right behind her. He ran over and tried to grab her leg, but she was already out of reach. 'What do you think you're doing? You're not going. I'm going!'

'We're all going. That's what the book says.' Edith's voice echoed down.

'Oh, no, hell, no. This kind of trouble I don't need. If you think I'm going to drag two old ladies across the desert in the middle of the night –'

'Too late, Emil. We're almost out. Come on, there isn't much time.'

'Stop it! Get back down here – I'm serious! It's cold out there – there's coyotes and snakes and poisonous lizards, stuff you two can't handle!'

Edith paused and looked down at him. 'That's why we must be three. We'll take care of each other. Besides, we've packed supplies.'

'Oh, great. You got a tent under that outfit so we don't all die of hypothermia?'

'We'll be safe, Emil. Have a little faith.' Edith turned away and continued climbing.

Emil sagged against the wall and put his head into his hands, having a serious one-on-one with his conscience. The way he figured, he had two choices: the first was to act responsibly and do the right thing.

_Use your best judgment,_ Nurse Griffin's voice taunted him. Yep, the right thing was to call Nurse Griffin and make sure the ladies got out of that coal chute and back into their room. The unfortunate part of that plan was how the story would end: his only truly viable escape route out of this place would be permanently shut down before he could use it. Which meant another 363 days in this dump.

'Are you coming, Emil?' Edith called down. 'Or are you going to let two mentally disturbed old women die in the desert?'

Emil started scrambling up the coal chute. He couldn't let that happen, could he?

## CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Emil was leading his little tribe single-file across a dark wasteland of sand and rock, helped only by a full moon and the lights of Vegas in the distance. He figured if you threw in a few camels, they'd all look like a Christmas card with their costumes silhouetted against the moonlight.

As ridiculous as the costumes were, they were probably saving their lives right about now. The fabric was heavy enough to keep out the night chill, and the headdresses preserved their body heat. It would be a different story when the sun came up, though. What protected them tonight might cook them in their skins tomorrow.

For the first hour of their trek, the sisters had clipped right along, as anxious to find the baby Jesus as he was to disappear into the Vegas crowds, but now they seemed to be walking in slow motion. At this rate, they'd be lucky to get to the city before the next millennium. He stopped and turned. 'You two got to kick things up a notch.'

'I beg your pardon?' Edith asked.

'Shake those booties. We've got to _move_. If they catch me this time, they are going to fry my ass until there's nothing left but a pile of cinders. I got to get myself in a car and westward-ho – and I've gotta get you two someplace safe. Can't you walk any faster?'

Gloria shook her head. 'No. We're old.'

'Then we're going to have to part company real soon, you hear me?'

'Emil, you can't leave us until we find the Christ child in the City of David. We have to be three,' Edith begged.

Emil felt his patience unraveling and threw up his hands in frustration. 'FYI, the Christ child would be about two thousand years old by now and no way a child.' He jabbed a finger toward the lights of Vegas. 'And that is _not_ the City of David. That's Vegas and, trust me, that is the last place anybody in their right mind would go looking for baby Jesus... Oh, man, what am I saying?'

Edith folded her arms across her chest and gave him a stern look. 'Then why did you come out here?'

'Because I'm escaping! I'm an escaped convict, don't you get it?'

Gloria tipped her head thoughtfully. 'John was a convict. And Peter. And Paul.'

'Yeah, and what happened to them?'

'Let's see. John was beheaded, Peter was executed upside down –'

'Exactly!' Emil sputtered. 'That's my point!'

'Nothing bad is going to happen.'

'Of course it won't,' Gloria seconded. 'And we're certainly not going to let anybody behead you.'

'Well, that's a load off my mind.' Emil took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down. 'Okay. Okay. Let's just take a little rest. Maybe that'll help. You got something to drink in that bag?'

'We brought Ensure.'

'Great. You two drink some Ensure, we'll rest a few minutes, but then we have to keep moving. People are going to come after us when they figure out we're gone and they're not going to care about any Christ child.'

***

In retrospect – and too late to do anything about it – Emil figured the point of no return had been about three hours into their journey. By then they were closer to Vegas than they were to the loony bin, and that was just about the time the sisters' stamina had really gone south. They were dragging big-time now, and in the pre-dawn light, their lips even looked a little blue. Just what he needed – a couple of manslaughter charges to add to his sheet.

'The sun's starting to rise, Emil,' Gloria said, her voice weak and shaky.

'Yeah, I see that. Listen, you two don't look so good. We've gotta find some shelter, warm up.'

Edith didn't seem to hear him. 'It's getting light, Gloria. I can't see the star anymore.'

'Well, I never could see the star. What if we're going the wrong way?'

'Silly. It doesn't look like a star when you're this close. All you can see is the glow.'

'They didn't say anything about that in the book. It doesn't say the wise men followed a glow. It says they followed a star.'

Emil cleared his throat. 'Uh, ladies, we need to find a place –'

'They couldn't put every little detail in the book.' Edith continued her conversation with Gloria. 'It's condensed, like the _Reader's Digest_. Are you all right, dear? You look a little peaked.'

'Yeah, Gloria, you look a little peaked.' Emil tried to sound calm and rational.

'Well, I'm very tired,' Gloria confessed. 'And I think I have a blister. Emil, we need to rest for a bit.'

Emil wiped his hands down his face. 'That's what I've been trying to tell you. But we can't rest until we find some cover, okay?' He pointed to a rock overhang in the near distance. 'Think you can make it to those rocks up there?'

Gloria and Edith both squinted in the direction his finger was pointing. 'Yes, I think so,' Edith said.

'Fantastic. Now, once we stop, we're going to have to stay put until dark because they're going to have eyes all over this sky.'

Edith and Gloria blinked at him.

'Choppers. You know. Helicopters. Airplanes.'

Edith's eyes widened in sudden understanding. 'Of course! They'll certainly be looking for us by now. How clever you are to think of that, Emil! Whatever would we do without you?'

Gloria reached over and patted his cheek. 'Such a blessing. Off we go!'

As they trudged toward the rocks, Emil was finding it difficult to quell his growing panic. What had he been thinking? Sure, just jog across the desert with a couple of old crazy ladies, no worries, no problem. But the thing was, they _were_ old. Those two had no business being out here.

Up ahead, he watched Gloria stumble and dropped his head. This was absolutely without question the dumbest thing he'd ever done in his life, which was really saying something. 'Are you okay, Gloria?'

'Yes, dear, I'm fine,' she said weakly.

'Look, we're almost there. I'm just gonna jog on ahead and check things out, make sure it's up to snuff for three kings.'

Edith and Gloria both smiled, which was a relief. Keep the mood light: don't mention that scorpions and lizards and rattlesnakes probably loved rock overhangs just as much as three fugitives.

'That's very nice of you, Emil.'

Emil wasn't so thrilled with the accommodations, but at least there was soft sand to sit on amid all the sharp rocks, and the sun was already warming things up nicely. He found a gnarled piece of sagebrush and started poking around to flush out any potential enemies.

'What are you doing, Emil?'

'Just making sure we don't have company. Okay, we're good. Just settle in right here and take a load off, you two.'

Edith and Gloria sagged down to the sand in relief, and Emil squatted near the entrance, his eyes constantly moving, watching for search parties or coyotes, not sure which of the two was scarier. He took Gloria's knapsack off his back and placed it in the sand between them. 'Anything else in here besides Ensure?'

Edith nodded.

'So let's take a look.'

'Be our guest.'

Emil started unloading the contents. There were eight cans of Ensure left and some packets of oyster crackers. The rest was just useless lotion and bars of Ivory soap.

He handed Gloria and Edith each a can. 'Drink some more of this.'

'That's a wonderful idea, and you should have one, too, Emil, to keep up your strength.'

Emil's eyes brushed over the remaining inventory and he shook his head. 'Nah, I'm good for now.' He passed out the oyster crackers. 'Eat these, and you'll feel better.' He closed the backpack and watched nervously as the sisters devoured their sad little meal.

'That was just delicious,' Edith said, reclining in the sand. Gloria followed suit. 'We should all sleep for a bit now.'

'That's exactly what we should do.' Emil forced enthusiasm into his voice. 'We'll have a good snooze, and when it starts getting dark, we can get back on the road to the City of David...'

Edith and Gloria were already snoring, and Emil collapsed in relief. He needed a plan, and fast. He squinted eastward and thought he saw the faint shapes of buildings in the far distance. If it wasn't a mirage or wishful thinking, they were close. He could probably make it there on his own in an hour, call for help, then disappear. The sisters would be sleeping for a long time and wouldn't even know he was gone.

_And what if they just happened to wake up and saw you were missing, Emil? They'd flip their lids, panic, run out into the desert and roast alive in their stupid costumes or have heart attacks or both, and their blood would be on your hands. Kidnapping, manslaughter. You want to die in prison?_

## CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The rising sun was just beginning to tinge the desert horizon pink and Nurse Griffin could hear the faint morning stirs of the less medicated patients, whose internal clocks were calibrated perfectly to the rhythm of day and night. It was time to do the morning bed checks and turn things over to Nurse Thompson.

She stuffed her last-minute Christmas Eve grocery list into her purse, grabbed her clipboard and moved slowly down the hall, feeling the pain and exhaustion of a twelve-hour shift deep in the small of her back. She was getting too old for this.

When she finally got to Edith and Gloria's room and saw the empty beds, she was no longer exhausted.

***

Dr Harold paced tight circles in his office while he waited for Sheriff Clancy to arrive. Head down, hands behind his back, one-two-one-two. In all his years as a commander, he'd never once had a deserter. Now he had three. Three lives on the line, and this fell squarely on his shoulders. He'd failed in his duties, and he'd also sorely underestimated his charges.

He had had no doubt that Emil Rice would take any opportunity to escape, but he was also fairly certain that Gloria and Edith had spear-headed this entire plan without Emil's prior knowledge. They knew this place better than anyone, including any possible escape route that had been overlooked, and they had a clear mission.

_We were just planning our pilgrimage to find the Christ child in the City of David._

He stopped pacing, lowered his head and massaged his throbbing temples. All the parties involved had been completely honest with him all along, even Emil Rice. He just hadn't put the pieces together until now.

He looked up when he heard a sharp rap on his door. 'Come.'

Sheriff Rob Clancy strode in. He was a tall, sun-cured man with a slightly bulging mid-section that hinted at desk work and middle age. He offered his hand. 'Dr Harold.'

'Thank you for your prompt response, Sheriff.'

Clancy nodded and pulled out a notebook and pen. 'We're setting up a staging area outside for the search parties now. Is there anything else we need to know, besides what we talked about on the phone?'

Dr Harold started pacing again. 'The ETD of our three AWOLs is between twenty-two hundred and oh seven hundred hours. Based on that, I broke the off-duty staff and volunteers into three teams, spread them out on an east-south-east heading, fanning at ten degrees on a course to Las Vegas, but we don't have enough people out there.' He glanced nervously at his watch. 'Those two women are elderly and have a regimented medication schedule. They've already missed their morning doses.'

'We have two choppers en route, and I've called in everyone I could to assist in the ground search. But it's a big desert, Dr Harold. Just out of curiosity, where'd you get the east-south-east heading toward Vegas?'

'My two patients believe fervently that they are the two of the three wise men. They've got to head east. They're looking for the baby Jesus in the City of David.'

Sheriff Clancy looked up and raised an eyebrow. 'Vegas? The City of David?'

'In their minds, yes, that's an affirmative.'

'Oh, boy.' The sheriff shook his head in disbelief and checked his notes. 'The two women are mentally ill. What if they changed their minds and headed in a different direction?'

'They won't. Schizophrenics at their level of impairment won't break character. Their delusions are so strongly ingrained, they can't. They're going to the light, trust me. And the light is Vegas.'

Sheriff Clancy closed his notebook and tucked it into his shirt pocket. 'What about this Rice character? Any idea where he might be headed?'

Dr Harold nodded. 'He's going to Vegas with the women.'

The sheriff snorted. 'With all due respect, Dr Harold, I pulled the rap sheet on this guy and my printer ran out of paper. There's no way he's still with those two women. They'll slow him down, and if he gets caught this time, he's looking at federal charges for kidnapping. And, depending on how things go out in the desert, possibly manslaughter. He'll never see the light of day again.'

Dr Harold shook his head. 'No. Emil won't leave Gloria and Edith alone – at least, not until they get to Vegas.'

'I hope you're right about that, but I've never seen a lifelong criminal turn around in two days.'

Dr Harold looked out of the window at the yard, where volunteers and law enforcement were gathering. It looked like a war zone. 'Neither have I.'

## CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Foster returned his toothbrush to the rack, spit out a mouthful of Crest Tartar Control foam, and gazed up into the bathroom mirror, meeting his own haggard visage head on.

Funny when you didn't recognize yourself anymore – when the creases and wrinkles and worry lines have finally got to the point where they distort your face into a stranger's mask; when the receding hairline and the morning stubble of beard were more gray than brown; when that extra-large T-shirt you slept in was suddenly stretched thin around your inflated gut while the rest of your body was deflating into flaps of flesh that had once held a shape.

He turned away from the mirror and slipped on a bathrobe to cover some of the untidy tracks life had left on him, then dragged himself toward the kitchen to make his morning coffee.

On the way from the bathroom to the kitchen, he paused in front of his Christmas tree and glared at it for a moment. The duct tape that was holding the top of the tree together had loosened, and now the broken tip canted drunkenly to one side. 'You look like crap. Pull yourself together. It's Christmas Eve, for God's sake.' He reached up and tightened the tape, wondering if other people talked to their trees. For some reason, he couldn't see his neighbor Arnie having a conversation with a conifer.

He opened the fridge to pull out a jug of orange juice and a bag of coffee and came face to face with the ten-pound ham, just sitting there, all pink and sassy in its plastic sheath. What the hell was he going to do with a ten-pound ham now? He didn't even like ham. The only reason he'd gotten it was because it was supposedly idiot-proof.

While he waited for the coffee to brew, he clicked on the television and flipped through a never-ending stream of church services, choir concerts, Christmas specials, and weather geeks standing outside, freezing their onions off while they droned on about the biggest blizzard the eastern seaboard had seen in twenty years. Maybe there were worse jobs than his.

He thought about Annie stuck in that blizzard with the grandchild and son-in-law he'd never met because he hadn't been invited to the wedding. It pained him mightily to admit it, but if he had to go head-to-head with Emil Rice on screw-ups, Emil would probably come out on top. And he still had a full life ahead of him, if he finally figured out a way to play his cards right. Foster had only impending retirement and a crappy one-bedroom apartment in a dumpy walk-up where he'd eventually die alone with empty beer cans on the coffee-table and a hockey game on TV. The only hope he had was to reconnect with Annie. It seemed like a big mountain to climb, but she'd reached out and he wasn't going to let that slip away, not this time.

His phone chirped on the end table beside him, and he frowned down at the local area code showing on his caller ID. 'Yeah?' he answered.

Foster listened for a minute, then felt a smile curl his mouth into a wicked bow. 'No kidding? That little shit.' He listened for a few more seconds, and the smile got bigger. 'No, I don't want to come help with the search. You signed for him, Harold. He's your problem now.'

He snapped his cell shut. 'Dammit, Emil, you idiot.'

## CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Emil nervously manned his lookout post near the entrance to the shallow cave under the rocks, sipping a can of Ensure, which was just about the most god-awful thing that had ever passed his lips. Even jail food was more palatable than this crap. Still, it was better than nothing. He was starving and parched, and the desert sun was heating things up to the point where he could feel trickles of sweat running down the hollow of his spine and beading on his forehead. And if he was feeling this roughed-up, it was probably a thousand times worse for the sisters, who had about fifty years on him.

_There is going to be a special place in Hell for you, Emil Rice._

He glanced back at Edith and Gloria. They were still sound asleep, lying side by side on their backs with their hands folded on their stomachs. They looked like a couple of magi corpses, which churned up Emil's panic all over again. He was running out of time and choices.

He had to get them out of here. He had to get to Vegas, call Nurse Griffin, then get a ride out of town. Happy endings all around.

'Yeah, right,' he muttered to himself, stepping out into the sunlight. He could see the buildings better in full daylight and they seemed closer than they had at dawn. He risked a few more steps outside their shelter, then heard a faint thumping – the rotor noise of an approaching helicopter. He froze for a moment, then spun around in a plume of sand and scuttled back under the overhang into the shadows. 'Oh, they'll be coming now. Emil, you are a _dead_ man.'

He moved further back into the cave, where Gloria was still enjoying a solid slumber, but as the rotor noise got louder, Edith started to twitch and mutter.

***

It had been a long time since Edith had had this particular dream – or any dream, for that matter – but in the early days it had made every night a torment. The funny thing was that, even in her sleep, she was conscious of what was coming, but powerless to stop it.

She was in a movie theater, strapped into a seat, her wrists bound to the arms of the chair. The horsehair fabric irritated her hands and forearms.

On the big screen before her, she watched her dream play out, like a movie, unreeling slowly at first, but then gradually speeding up with her heartbeat until it was real time with real sound and the muscles in her neck didn't work because she couldn't turn away, couldn't even close her eyes. And the worst part of the whole dream was that she and Gloria and their little sister Emily were all stars of the horrible show.

_Edith, Gloria and Emily huddled excitedly backstage at the Christmas pageant, waiting to make their entrance. It was so very dark at the back of the church, and their faces looked delightfully spooky in the glow of the lanterns they were carrying._

_Edith felt the gentle hand of the minister on her shoulder, which was her cue, so she took a deep breath and began to speak. 'And as the shepherds fell to their knees in worship, there came three wise men from the east...'_

_Emily looked back at her and grinned, then began to lead them onstage. But after a few steps, she stumbled, then fell, and her lantern broke, spilling oil over the skirt of her magi costume, which ignited with a loud whooshing sound._

_'EMILY!' Edith screamed, falling on the flames, oblivious to the fact that the sleeves of her own costume were now engulfed in fire, burning her arms and hands. 'GLORIA, HELP ME!'_

_Suddenly the shadows of adults appeared, throwing down blankets to extinguish the flames that were getting louder and louder and louder..._

Edith and Gloria suddenly bolted awake at the same time, screaming like banshees, and Emil jumped up, terrified. He dropped his can of Ensure and rushed over to them. 'IT'S OKAY, IT'S OKAY! WHAT'S WRONG? JESUS, WHAT'S WRONG?'

The women stopped screaming immediately and focused on him. In the sudden silence, the noise of the helicopter's rotor blades diminished.

'Don't worry, don't worry – don't freak out, okay?' Emil's voice was shaking so badly he could barely speak. 'Is that what set you off? The chopper? Because they can't see us as long as we stay under here. We're perfectly safe, got it? No need to panic now. They're leaving, listen. The chopper's going away. Everything's all right, yes indeedy – we're all good here and we're all calm. You're calm, right?'

Edith smiled at him. 'Of course we are, dear. Did we nap long?'

Emil let out a stuttering breath. 'Not long enough.'

Gloria frowned down into her lap, then lifted her head with a revelatory smile. 'Of course we didn't sleep long enough. We haven't had our pills yet today and they help us rest.'

Emil swallowed hard and refrained from smacking his forehead. Of course the sisters were medicated – probably _heavily_ medicated. Everybody at Clark County was: he'd seen plenty of those paper pill cups getting gurneyed around all day and night in his short time there. And Edith and Gloria's freak-out was probably just the beginning of the fallout and – Oh, sweet Jesus, what was going to happen next? It could only get worse from here. 'Pills?' he asked meekly.

'Yes. I get a green and a yellow one, and Edith gets two pink ones.'

Edith nodded. 'Twice a day. Could we have our pills now, Emil?'

Emil just stood there, speechless.

Edith frowned. 'You did bring our pills, didn't you?'

Oh, man, this had the potential to go really bad really fast. He cleared his throat, then started digging through the backpack with the lotion and soap, vamping for time. 'Sure I brought your pills. They're right here. Sorry I didn't think of it earlier.'

Emil was extremely skeptical that diversionary tactics and placebos would work on anybody who relied on chemical adjustments for sanity, but he had no choice at this point: he had to go with theater versus pharmaceuticals, and hope to God it worked, even if just a little bit.

There were five cans of Ensure left, so he opened two, then turned his back and made a great show of pretending to doctor them. 'I hate taking pills, don't you? They scratch my throat.'

'That's so true,' Gloria chirped.

'Well, I've got a treat for you. I just whipped those nasty pills into a real delight. It's a special technique I have.' He spun around and offered his false promises. 'All the medication you need is right in those cans. You'll never even know you're taking a pill.'

Edith took a healthy swig, then smiled. 'Oh, my. This is so much easier than swallowing pills. Gloria, you must try it.'

Emil closed his eyes in relief and hoped for the best.

***

Edith and Gloria slept straight through the afternoon in the relative safety of the hollow in the cave. Maybe because they actually believed they'd swallowed the non-existent pills in the Ensure, or maybe because they were just plain exhausted.

Emil had dozed off a couple of times, only to jerk awake to confront the pervasive fear of what they would be like when they woke up again. How long did medication for schizophrenics last? Did it linger in their systems? Could you miss one dose, but not two? What if they woke up barking crazy and tried to eat their feet or something?

The helicopters had made a few more passes over their patch of desert, but further away each time. There had been vehicle traffic too, but nowhere near their little hideout, just dots on the horizon so distant he could barely hear the engines. They obviously had some kind of search pattern going, and the wise course of action would be to beat feet before they headed back this way.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin.

'I'm sorry, Emil.' Edith took a quick step backward. 'I forgot you didn't like to be touched. I was just smoothing your robe. It's a bit wrinkled and so full of sand.'

Emil waited a second until his heart slowed down. 'It's okay. I just didn't hear you coming, that's all. You shouldn't creep up on people like that.'

'I wasn't creeping, dear. I just didn't want to wake Gloria.'

'Too late,' a perky voice chirped, and then Gloria was next to him too, closing in on one side, Edith on the other. He was sandwiched between a couple of slices of fruitcake.

'I haven't heard a chopper in over an hour. I think it's safe for us to start moving.'

Edith pursed her lips into pleats. 'I thought you said we had to wait until it was dark.'

'Yeah, well, things change, and we gotta adapt to this new situation. The sooner we get to Vegas, the better.'

Worry lines creased Gloria's brow. 'Edith and I have never been very good at adapting to new situations.'

'You could have fooled me,' Emil said nervously. 'You're doing a great job. You've been real troopers, marching through the desert and all.'

'Why, thank you, Emil.'

'Uh... how are you two feeling?'

Edith looked at Gloria. 'I'm feeling quite refreshed. How about you?'

'Much better, thank you.'

Emil let out a sigh of relief that almost emptied his lungs. 'Great. That's great.'

'But I am a bit thirsty.'

'Oh, yeah, of course – you've been sleeping all afternoon.' He grabbed two of the three remaining cans of Ensure and gave them to the sisters. 'Drink this all down and then we roll.'

'How much further to the city, Emil?'

'A mile, maybe two. But when we get there, I'm gone, you understand? I have to disappear.'

'After we visit the child,' Edith said firmly.

'Listen, try to understand this. If I get caught, I go back to jail for two more years. Maybe worse. Probably worse. You'll never see me again. Nobody will.'

Gloria flapped her hand. 'Oh, Emil, stop worrying. God won't let that happen.'

'You want to tell me why God let it happen the last twenty-three times I was busted? Listen to me. This is the deal. I get you to Vegas, make a call, then we split up.'

'Fine. After the child.'

Emil dragged his hands down his face and felt the grit of sand scratching his skin. 'Come on, let's get back on the road. We've got to move as fast as we can, you got it? This is important.'

Edith smiled serenely. 'Of course it is. It's Christmas Eve and the Christ child is waiting for us.'

## CHAPTER THIRTY

On any given night the Las Vegas Strip was a nightmare to negotiate in any vehicle, even a squad car. But tonight's traffic was the worst Sanchez had ever seen, and he'd been cruising these streets for a long time. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, watching the light a block ahead change from green to red for the fifth time. They'd barely moved an inch.

He looked over at Myers in the passenger seat, his face reflecting the rainbow colors of all the pulsing casino lights that defined Vegas and drove Sanchez crazy. The tourists loved them, but they didn't have to look at them day in and day out. 'Crowd control on Christmas Eve. Do you believe it? I never should have answered the phone.'

Myers sighed. 'Yeah, I know.' He reached toward the console, flicked off the chattering police radio, and cranked up Burl Ives singing 'Holly Jolly Christmas' for the billionth time that season.

'Give me a break, Myers.'

'What? We have one very specific assignment tonight, we don't need to listen to Dispatch rolling out a whole list of sorrows.'

'I'm going to give you thirty seconds to shut that off, or I'm going to shoot you in the head.'

'Come on, Sanchez. It's Christmas Eve.'

'Yeah, and my kids are home opening presents without me.' He eased the squad up another car length. 'Speaking of presents, did you ever find that Barbie thing you were looking for?'

'The Fashionista doll? You bet I found it. Two hundred and fifty bucks from some fat sow in the parking lot at Toy City. I should have arrested her for racketeering.'

Sanchez chuckled, then stuck his head out of the window, assessing the traffic jam. 'We're never going to get there at this rate. The whole town is headed to where we're going. Hang on.' He flipped on the lights and siren.

***

Emil was riding a razor's edge as he and the sisters trudged ever closer toward their very different ideas of a desert oasis. Not only was he on high alert for search parties at all altitudes, he had to pay attention to the barren lunarscape they were passing through, ever mindful of malevolent wildlife.

He rewound to all those nature shows he'd seen in jail, trying to remember if there was anything in the desert that wasn't poisonous. Probably those cute little cactus owls were okay, and the jackrabbits for sure. Everything else was pretty much sudden death waiting to happen.

He looked up and saw an orange and lavender sunset fading from the sky, punctuated by a distant circling cluster of vultures, which he did not take as a good omen. Then again, at this point in time, vultures weren't nearly as scary as low-flying aircraft. They'd gotten lucky earlier with the overhang, but the small, sheltering spine of rocks had disappeared behind them long ago. If those choppers came around now, there was no place to ditch, no place to hide, and three magi would be pretty hard to miss in the middle of an empty desert.

For his third trick, he also had to keep an eye on Edith and Gloria and watch for any signs of dehydration or psychosis. Not that he had any plans on how to deal with either of those things if they happened – he didn't see any pharmacies or spare strait-jackets lying around, and definitely no drinking fountains. By any calculation, his luck was on borrowed time, and so was he.

'How are you ladies doing?' he asked hopefully, over his shoulder, elated to see Edith and Gloria not only still upright but keeping a decent pace and gazing around with great interest, admiring things like tumbleweeds, sagebrush and the spikes of a lone saguaro cactus.

'We're just fine, thank you,' Edith said brightly.

'Yes,' Gloria affirmed. 'We're enjoying our journey. It's quite beautiful out here.'

'That's great news. Better yet, do you see what I'm seeing?' He pointed ahead, where the outskirts of Vegas were finally coming into clear view. 'We're getting close.'

Gloria grabbed her sister's arm in excitement. 'Look, Edith!'

They both stopped and stared in awe. 'The City of David,' Edith whispered reverently. 'I never thought we'd make it.'

'Well, we're not there yet, so we gotta keep trucking,' Emil reminded them. 'We've got maybe another half-mile to go, then we can –'

Gloria gasped and clutched her heart, a stricken look on her face, and Emil felt the paralysis of a sudden certainty that she was going to croak right here and now, and he would be sitting on Death Row by next week.

'What? What's wrong?' Emil was fluttering around Gloria, trying to get a read on her condition.

'The gifts, Emil! We didn't bring any gifts for the child! Oh, Edith, how could we have forgotten the most important part of the book?'

Edith was now equally distressed. 'Oh, no. You're so right, Gloria, and this is all my fault. I totally left that out of my preparations. Whatever will we do?'

Emil stepped back. He gave them both a little space and a hastily manufactured reassuring smile. He didn't have a lot of practical skills, but the one thing he could do was think fast on his feet. 'Hey, you two, relax, okay? We're walking straight into a shopping mecca – we can pick up a few things along the way. Whatever you want, no problem, I've got you covered.'

Gloria seemed to calm down a little, but she was still doubtful. 'We're supposed to bring gold, frankincense and myrrh.'

Emil nodded confidently. 'Tons of gold and frankincense and myrrh where we're going. It's all over the place. They probably even have vending machines on the street that sell it.'

'Really?' Edith asked.

'Oh, yeah, for sure.'

Gloria sighed and looked heavenward. 'Well, that's a relief.'

'Yeah,' Emil said, his voice a little shaky from his near-brush with disaster. 'That is a relief.'

## CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

It was fully dark by the time Emil, Edith and Gloria finally reached Las Vegas. Unfortunately, they came into the city on the seedy side of town off the old Strip. Then again, they looked pretty seedy themselves after a night and a day in the desert, so maybe this was exactly the right way to enter Sin City. Or the City of David, depending on your point of view.

Emil looked around at the low-rent casinos and strip clubs, the triple-X dives that sold rooms in fifteen-minute increments, and the desperate, last-chance gamblers crowding the narrow sidewalks as they moved from one establishment to another, hoping they'd find the one slot machine that was just a pull away from the next big pay-off. No way he could leave the sisters alone out here while he ducked into one of those places to use a phone, and he wasn't about to drag them into a flesh show.

Edith was looking around in awe, like a little kid at her first carnival. 'I never imagined the City of David would have so many lights.'

Emil wondered what they would think of the swanky new Strip with the palatial casinos, gardens right out of Babylon, the dancing fountains at the Bellagio. He almost wished he could show them. 'It gets a lot better than this. We came in on the wrong side of town.' He looked back at Gloria, who was lagging again, stopping every few feet. 'Come on, Gloria, pick it up. We've got a ways to go.'

Gloria gave him a glassy look. 'What? Oh. Sorry. I don't know why I'm so tired.'

Edith linked arms with Gloria. 'You're tired because we're walking too fast. Emil, you have to slow down.'

'Yeah, well, we can't slow down. The bus station's another few blocks and I've got to find a pawnshop on the way.'

Gloria tipped her head, confused. 'We have to take a bus to find the child?'

'You're not taking anything anywhere. You're going to sit on a bench while I call Nurse Griffin and have her pick you up... Edith? Where do you think you're going?'

He watched in horror as she dragged Gloria with her toward a sleazy motel where a skinny meth-head-looking guy was standing at the door smoking a cigarette. He sized up Edith and Gloria menacingly as they approached him. 'What do you want?'

'Is the child here?' Edith asked.

'No kids allowed.' He looked askance at their dirty, disheveled costumes. 'You look like you spent the night in the desert.'

'As a matter of fact, we did,' Edith said, with great importance as she shook sand off her robe. 'It was a small sacrifice for the reward that awaits us.'

'Yeah? Well, your reward isn't here, so keep walking. There's no room. We're all booked up.'

Gloria lifted her chin imperiously. 'We know that. It's in the book.'

Emil jogged up from behind and pulled them back, redirecting their course. 'Come on, come on, we've got to keep moving. This guy can't help us.'

Gloria was wringing her hands. 'But how are we going to find the child? The glow is everywhere.'

Edith took her sister's hands and patted them gently. 'Don't worry, dear. We will be shown the way.'

Emil dropped his head and pressed his temples, trying to ease the headache that was drilling him right between the eyes. 'Yeah, we will be shown the way, so just keep those feet moving, okay, Gloria?'

After walking a couple of relatively uneventful blocks, Emil's tattered nerves were starting to settle. The sisters were passively following him and the bus station was getting closer with every step. On the downside, Gloria was moving more slowly by the minute, but they'd be resting soon enough.

But on the next block, his feeble Utopia crumbled as they ran into another obstacle – some raggedy homeless dude with long, straggly hair and a filthy overcoat that dragged on the ground. He was pushing a grocery cart while he swilled from a bottle of wine.

The man stopped in his tracks when he noticed the magi costumes and pointed at them. 'Hey, you look like someone I know.'

'Can you tell us where the child is?' Edith asked hopefully.

He tipped his head curiously, drained the bottle and tossed it into his shopping cart. 'Okay. Yeah. Sure I can. You got something for me?'

Emil put himself between the sisters and the homeless guy. 'Now wait a minute, you two. This character doesn't know where any child is. He just wants a handout.'

'I do too know where the child is.'

Emil sneered at him. 'Oh, yeah? What child?'

'The one they're looking for.'

'Oh, you're really slick.'

Edith touched his arm. 'Emil, don't be rude.' She turned back to the homeless man. 'What can we give you?'

'You got something to drink?'

'Of course!' Before Emil could react, Edith had shoved her hand into the backpack Emil was carrying for them, pulled out the last can of Ensure and handed it over.

The man regarded the can skeptically. 'That's all you got?'

'Yes, that's all we got,' Emil snapped, but Edith was too quick.

She pulled the backpack off his shoulder and turned it over to the bum, who snatched it up greedily and started digging through the meager contents. 'We don't have anything else. Will you tell us where the child is now?'

He opened the Ensure can with grimy fingers and took a swig. 'Down that way about ten blocks, you can't miss it... Man, this stuff is disgusting.' He turned and ambled away, his cart clattering on the sidewalk.

Emil threw up his hands in frustration. 'Oh, this is just great. Are you happy now? You gave everything you had to some drunk and what did you get for it?' He turned to face the women, and felt his stomach bind up in panicky knots. Gloria was suddenly sagging against Edith, trying to stay upright. 'Hey, you don't look so good, Gloria.'

'Emil's right, dear. You need to rest.'

'No. We have to press on.' She stumbled forward, Edith supporting her.

Emil watched in complete exasperation as the sisters continued walking. After a few seconds, he chased after them, the long skirt of his costume tripping him. 'Would you two be reasonable? Listen to me! Gloria, you're going to kill yourself. Edith, look at her! You can't let her do this!'

'We have to do it, Emil. It wasn't easy for the first wise men, either.'

Gloria nodded weakly. 'No, it wasn't. Of course, they had camels.'

In disbelief, Emil watched the sisters walk away. 'Okay. Okay. You want to kill yourselves, fine. You want to drop dead in Vegas, fine. I got my own problems...' He winced when he saw Gloria stumble and drop to one knee. Edith pulled her up and they kept struggling forward.

'Oh, for God's sake,' he muttered, racing after them. 'You two, stop, stand right here, and don't you move one muscle!' He looked around desperately, then jumped into the street and flagged a passing taxi.

The cabbie rolled down his window, eyeing Emil's costume with mild interest. 'Where to?'

'I got a real sick woman here! An elderly woman! Can you take her to the hospital?'

'Sure. Show me the money.'

Emil's jaw dropped. 'What? What? I'm telling you I got a sick elderly woman dying on the street and you want to see the money before you take her to the hospital? It's Christmas Eve – what kind of a man are you?'

'Five fifty to the hospital. Without tip.'

Emil was shifting on his feet frantically. 'Listen, I don't exactly have cash...'

The cabbie shook his head and put the taxi into gear.

'WAIT! WAIT!' Emil yanked the gold band off his finger and handed it over. 'Eighteen carat gold. That worth a ride to the hospital, you cheap bastard?'

The cabbie examined the ring for a few moments, then squinted at the engraving on the inside, frowning. 'Is this on a hot sheet somewhere? Because I am not going to be trying to pawn something on a hot sheet and end up with that kind of trouble.'

Emil glowered at him. 'It's not on a hot sheet.'

'So who's Moses Rice?'

Emil looked back at the sisters. Gloria's knees were buckling again and Edith was trying to prop her up. 'He was my grandpa. Are you going to take us to the hospital or not?'

The cabbie followed Emil's gaze. 'Yeah, okay. Get the old ladies in here.'

He let out a shaky breath. 'Thanks. And don't mention the hospital, okay? They think they're going somewhere else.'

'Whatever. Hurry up. I don't have all night.'

'Who does?' Emil snapped, as he draped Gloria's arm over his shoulder, lifted her by the waist, and carried her to the cab. She was a wispy little thing, a hundred and five pounds at most. Emil had thrown iron around in prison a lot heavier than her.

Once he got her settled in the backseat, he crawled in next to her and felt her forehead. 'How are you doing, Gloria?'

'Much better now that I'm off my feet. But I am a bit cold.'

Emil caught the cabbie's eye in the rearview mirror. 'Can you turn up the heat, man?'

He nodded and adjusted the vents. 'She's pretty sick, huh?'

'That's what I've been trying to tell you. You got any water up there? I think she's dehydrated.'

'No.'

'Anything to drink or eat?'

'This is a cab, not a food truck.'

Edith crawled into the cab, leaned across Emil, and stroked her sister's cheek. 'Everything's going to be all right, dear. Just rest.'

Gloria smiled weakly.

Emil jerked his head up when the cabbie slid the Plexiglas safety divider open and passed back a bottle of Gatorade and a Snickers bar. 'This was supposed to be my dinner,' he complained.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

To Emil's incalculable relief, Gloria made an astonishing recovery once she had some food and liquid inside her. She'd shared part of the treasure with Edith and, by all appearances, the sisters seemed pretty much their old selves, carrying on a running commentary about the lights and sights outside the window. They were tough old gals, tougher than they looked.

Emil took off his fez and wiped his brow. Their heavy costumes had been great out in the cool night air, but with the heat cranked, he felt like a lobster in a pot. To make matters worse, the sisters started fussing and brushing at their robes, stirring up a dust storm.

Emil sneezed into his sleeve. 'Can you two just wait five minutes and do that outside?'

'Emil, we can't possibly visit the child looking like this. We're a fright.' Edith started on his robe now, dislodging even more sand in the closed cab.

He stilled her hand, feeling the ropy burn scars against his palm. For a brief moment, she wasn't Edith anymore, she was just a little girl caught in a fire, watching her sister burn to death. He tried to shake off the disturbing image, but it lingered on the fringes of his consciousness. 'We'll get fluffed and buffed once we get there, okay?'

Edith gave him a distraught look, and when she spoke, her voice was a pitch or two higher than it normally was. 'But we won't have time, Emil. The child is _waiting_ for us.'

Emil felt another nasty knot of panic form in his stomach. Oh, man, he was in it deep. Up until now, their delusions had been an abstract concept to him, a harmless idiosyncrasy that was mildly amusing. But he was beginning to understand that it was their absolute, incontestable reality, sure as he knew the sky was blue. And what was going to happen when they realized there wasn't a child and their delusions shattered?

'We'll have plenty of time, Edith,' he reassured her, hoping he sounded convincing. 'We're not going to be able to see the child right away anyhow.'

'But why not? We're dignitaries. They can't possibly keep us waiting.'

'Well... uh... first of all, there's going to be a lot of red tape. There's a lot more of it now than there was two thousand years ago. Regulations, stuff like that. It could take a while.'

Edith nodded. 'I never thought of that. I suppose you're right.'

'So just sit tight, okay? Be patient.'

'Yes, we can do that.'

Emil sagged back in the seat and closed his eyes. This was maybe going to work out, after all. He'd get to the hospital fast, drop the ladies off at ER, call Nurse Griffin, then pawn Ralph's Rolex for some road money.

They'd made good time for the first five minutes, but once they turned onto the main drag, traffic was crawling. Emil cracked open his window and sucked in the exhaust fumes they were idling in, which was just slightly better than breathing sand. At least Gloria still looked good and alert.

'Are you feeling better, dear?' Edith asked her.

'Much better. This is so nice.' She leaned forward and patted the cabbie's shoulder. 'Bless you, young man, for driving us. I don't think I could have walked another step.'

Emil snorted. 'Oh, right, he's the Good Samaritan is what he is.'

'I'm Gloria, and this is my sister Edith, and you've already met Emil, of course. He takes care of us.'

'He takes _wonderful_ care of us,' Edith agreed.

The cabbie gave Emil a dubious look in the rearview mirror.

'I just can't imagine what we would have done without him,' Gloria prattled on, making Emil nervous.

'Gloria, settle down, you're getting all red in the face. Hey, man, why aren't we moving? What's all the traffic about?'

'Everybody in town's lining up for that kid.'

Gloria smiled and clasped her hands to her heart. 'Oh, of course!'

Emil's heart skipped a few beats. 'Kid?'

The cabbie turned a corner and nosed up to the curb. Emil leaned forward to get a better look out of the windshield. His eyes widened and his mouth sagged open. Just ahead, there were police cars with lights flashing, roadblocks, television news crews, and hundreds of people in a long line outside the hospital.

He ducked down fast in the seat and covered his eyes. Oh, man, oh, man, this couldn't be happening. Sure, he figured a couple of escaped loonies and an ex-con had made the news, but this was serious overkill. Cops made sense, the roadblocks and TV cameras made sense, but what were all the other people doing here? Waiting to lay him low for kidnapping two sick elderly women?

He put his head into his lap and squeezed his eyes shut tight, waiting for a billy club to rap on the window.

'What's the matter, Emil?' Edith patted him on the back. 'Do you have demophobia?'

'I don't know. What's that?'

'Fear of crowds, dear.'

'Yeah, yeah, that's what I've got.'

'Don't you worry. Gloria and I will be right here beside you.'

Terrific. The whole town was looking for them. An ex-con and two old women dressed in magi costumes weren't going to stand out a bit.

The cabbie turned around in his seat. 'Here you go. You'll have to hoof it from here. No access except for emergency vehicles tonight.'

Emil stretched his neck and peeked out of the window. This was really weird. It didn't exactly seem like an angry mob on the lookout for fugitives. No torches, no pitchforks, just a bunch of ordinary people waiting patiently in line, smiling and chatting. There were also show girls, female impersonators, mob types, and several Elvis Presley lookalikes, which made Emil feel a little better. Maybe they wouldn't stand out after all. 'What's really going on here?' he asked.

'He's here,' Edith and Gloria replied in unison.

'It's the kid, I told you,' the cabbie said, as the sisters clambered out of the cab. Then he passed Emil's ring back over the seat. 'Here. Last thing I got time for is stopping at some pawn shop. Now get out of here. I'm losing fares.'

Emil met his eyes. 'Thanks.'

'Merry Christmas. Out.' The cabbie jerked his thumb at the door and revved the engine. Emil scrambled out and watched him pull away as Gloria and Edith dragged him into line.

'Look at them all, Emil!' Edith exclaimed. 'Isn't it exciting? This time everyone seems to know.'

'It _is_ the information age,' Gloria reminded her.

Emil tapped an Elvis impersonator on the shoulder. The man looked exactly like Presley in his later years, right down to the black pompadour and the spangled white suit. He eyed the three of them. 'Who are you supposed to be?'

'Forget about that, just tell me what everybody's waiting for.'

'You didn't hear about the little boy?'

Edith rolled her eyes. 'Of course we did.'

'Oh, now, hold on.' Emil was shaking his head. 'You're kidding, right?'

'No joke. The child's been all over the news. It's kind of cool, isn't it? All these people coming out on Christmas Eve. Stuff like this just doesn't happen every day.'

'It certainly doesn't,' Gloria agreed.

Emil flapped his arms against his sides in frustration. 'Give me a break. Are you trying to tell me –' He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw Officer Sanchez and Officer Myers approaching, working the crowd into an orderly line. Of all the cops in Vegas, he had to run into these two again. He quickly turned his back and pushed his fez further down his forehead. 'Oh, damn.'

'What is it? What's the matter?' Edith asked.

'Those cops up there,' Emil whispered. 'They're the ones who arrested me the other day, and if they see me, I'm toast.'

Gloria and Edith put their arms around him and pulled him close. 'We'll make sure that doesn't happen,' Gloria said, just as the news camera swept over the crowd.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Foster snored himself awake on the sofa, completely disoriented. It was pitch dark in his apartment except for the bluish glare of the television screen. The football game he'd dozed off to when it had still been daylight had morphed into the local newscast.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position and stared mindlessly at a couple of overly coiffed anchors yammering on about some kid. He reached for the remote to click to another channel, but then the newscast went to a live panning shot of a crowd in front of the hospital. That got his attention, because the first face he saw in the throng of people was none other than Emil Rice's.

He glanced at the phone to call it in, then hesitated. The hospital was only a few blocks away and this was one bust he wanted to be in on.

'You're mine, Emil,' he muttered, grabbing his keys.

***

Emil's heart was pounding like a kettle drum as he and the sisters made their way through the line at the hospital, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. No way he could make a move now. First off, Myers and Sanchez kept doing the rounds, plus there were other cops all over the place, keeping sharp eyes on the crowd. Any sudden movement by three cats dressed as magi would be Doomsday for him.

He risked an upward glance – they were almost at the hospital entrance where two security guards were posted. He figured if they could get past them, he was golden. He'd find a nurse, plead a case for the sisters, then disappear.

Elvis turned out to be a great distraction. He was big enough to block Emil from view, and so deep into his impersonator role, he chatted up the security guards in his fake Tennessee accent long enough for the three of them to slide right past him into the lobby and over to the reception desk.

A harried nurse pushed three pieces of paper across the counter. 'Fill these out, please, then have a seat in the waiting area.'

Gloria's eyes widened in surprise. 'I never dreamed we'd have to fill out an application to see the child. That certainly wasn't in the book.'

Edith patted her shoulder. 'Emil explained it to me while you were resting in the cab. It's called red tape. Things are more complicated now.'

'Yep, that's right, Gloria. Just fill out that form and we're all good.'

While the sisters were busy filling out their forms, Emil leaned across the counter and whispered to the intake nurse, 'These two ladies I'm with? They're going to need some special attention.'

'One of the nurses will take care of any special needs once you get into the processing area. Just let them know when you get there.'

Emil took his paperwork, sat down next to Edith and Gloria, but was immediately distracted by a wall-mounted television where a newscaster was blathering: 'Those who doubt that a heart of gold beats beneath the neon glitz of Las Vegas have only to look at the line of potential donors spilling out of this hospital into the street. But time is running out for eight-year-old Bobby Montgomery. Tonight he lies near death, waiting for the bone-marrow match that will give him another chance to fight off the leukemia that is ravaging his frail body. So far over two thousand people have submitted to the blood test...'

'Oh, man, that's what this is all about.'

Edith stuck a pen in his hand. 'Emil, you have to fill that out or they won't let you see the Christ child.'

Emil pointed at the television. 'Haven't you been watching that? He's not the Christ child, he's a little kid with leukemia.' He fluttered the application form. 'And this isn't going to get you in to see him. This is to find out if you've got... Forget it.'

'Now you fill that out, Emil,' Gloria admonished him. 'You've brought us all this way. No one deserves to see the child more than you.'

'Listen, this is dumb.'

Gloria gave him a wounded look.

'I just don't want you to be disappointed, is all. This kid, he's not who you think he is.'

'Maybe he's not who _you_ think he is, dear.'

## CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Outside the hospital, Sanchez and Myers took another pass up the line toward the entrance. It was a surprisingly orderly group for so many people. No real need for crowd control, Sanchez was thinking, and then he heard raised voices up ahead and saw a man shoving his way to the front of the line. He and Myers moved up fast behind him because that was how trouble started.

'Hey, buddy, take it easy, wait your turn.' Sanchez grabbed the man's shoulder, spun him around, then did a double-take. 'Whoa. Foster. What are you doing here?'

'Sanchez. Thank God. You've got to get me in there.'

Myers chuckled. 'Damn, Foster. We all thought you were such a hard ass and look at you now, rushing down here on Christmas Eve, trying to save some kid. I'm touched, Foster, I really am.'

'It's a miracle is what it is,' Sanchez said.

Foster was out of breath and desperate. 'You want to quit flapping your jaw for a minute and listen? Emil Rice is in there. You owe me twenty bucks, Sanchez.'

***

Emil kept a wary eye on the lobby doors, his right leg pumping up and down like a piston while he waited for Edith and Gloria to finish their applications. He didn't think Sanchez and Myers had seen him outside, thanks to the sisters, but the worst could still happen if he sat around here too much longer. It was time to get away from this lobby and out of sight. All the people in line before them had disappeared down a hall into what he assumed was Processing, and that would be a perfect staging area to split.

'Come on, ladies, we need to get moving. Are you finished yet?'

'I think we're ready,' Edith said, scrutinizing her application.

'Great! Follow me!' Emil shot out of his seat, snatched the sisters' paperwork, and hustled over to the nurse at the reception counter. 'Here's our stuff. Where do we go?'

'Down that hall, second door on your right. A volunteer will direct you from there.'

Emil spun in place, linked arms with Edith and Gloria, and started marching them down the hallway. 'Okay, here we go, off to see the child.' He took one last look over his shoulder, and let out a relieved sigh. The lobby was now out of sight, and maybe, by God, things were going to work out after all.

A cheery blond volunteer wearing a Christmas sweater with a fuzzy angora reindeer leaping across her chest greeted them in front of a large treatment room, where nurses and lab techs wielding syringes drew blood from dozens of potential donors.

'Good evening,' she said sweetly, but her eyes were warily assessing their magi costumes and probably their general state of dishevelment. 'If you'll just take a seat at the back of the room, a nurse will be right with you.'

Emil put on his best winning smile. 'Thank you, ma'am. Do you know how long this is going to take?'

'Not long at all.'

'Terrific. So, is there a back exit to this place, maybe down the hall?'

The volunteer gave him a befuddled look. 'I'm not really sure...'

'I've got a place I need to be in a hurry, so I want to avoid all the traffic.'

She scrutinized his costume again and smiled in sudden understanding. 'Oh. You have a performance, don't you?'

'Yep, we're all due on stage pretty soon, so I'd like to make tracks as fast as possible.'

'Well, to tell you the truth, I don't really know where the exits are, except for the main one, but I suppose there's one somewhere down this hall. I'm sorry, sir, we need to keep the line moving, but we certainly appreciate you taking time out of your schedule to be here. Just step into the treatment room and somebody will be right with you.'

'Thank you, ma'am.'

'Good luck tonight. Break a leg.'

'Thanks. We're gonna need all the luck we can get.'

Emil found three empty chairs closest to the exit. 'Have a seat, ladies.'

Gloria and Edith were looking around, puzzled. 'We have to get our blood drawn before we see the child?' Edith asked.

'Uh... well, sure. They want to make sure we're not sick or anything.'

Gloria brightened. 'Oh. What a good idea. It would be just horrible if we were carrying a virus and passed it to the child. We'll have to remember to put that in our sequel to the book, Edith.'

After a few minutes a formidably sized nurse with permanent scowl lines etched into her forehead approached them. She assessed them with the languorous expression of a long-time Vegas citizen who'd seen it all a million times before. 'You three look like you're on your way to a play.'

Emil bobbed his head. 'Yep, that's right, so can you make this quick? We've gotta be on stage soon.'

'Roll up your sleeves. Ladies first.'

Emil hated needles, so he stared down at the floor until he saw the nurse's shoes in front of him.

'Ready?'

'Uh... on second thought, I don't think this is a good idea...'

'You're black.'

Emil glowered up at her. 'Yeah? You got a problem with that?'

The nurse rolled her eyes. 'Not personally. As far as I know, trouble comes in all colors. But do you know the odds against an interracial marrow match?'

Emil blinked at her. 'I don't even know what you just said.'

Her expression softened. 'Never mind. You'll go in the registry, and we're real low on minorities. Roll up your sleeve, honey.'

Emil complied, then looked away and pinched his eyes shut.

'Don't worry, Emil. It doesn't hurt. And we'll be right here,' Edith reassured him.

'Merry Christmas, Emil. Nice outfit.'

'Agh!' Emil jumped in his seat and gaped up at Foster.

The nurse pushed him back down. 'Hold still or you're going to look like a pin cushion.'

Emil started squirming in his chair. 'Foster! Jeez, this is kind of a coincidence, you and me both here getting tested for that poor sick kid...'

Foster folded his arms across his chest. 'Don't push me, Emil.'

'Sit still!' The nurse turned on Foster. 'Sir, do you mind?'

'Really,' Gloria said crossly. 'You're making him nervous.'

'He should be nervous. He's under arrest.'

'Do you know who this is?' Edith asked incredulously. 'You can't arrest him.'

'Technically, I can't.' Foster pointed to Officer Myers and Officer Sanchez, who were posted at the door. 'But they can.'

The nurse went nose to nose with Foster. 'Nobody's arresting anybody until I get some blood!' She plunged the syringe into Emil's arm, then turned back to Foster. 'Are you next?'

'Me? Hell, no...'

'You've been tested already?'

'No.'

'Then sit down.'

Foster glared at her. 'Hey, listen. I'm a Clark County probation officer. I'm not here to give blood. I'm here to arrest this man.'

'So arrest him after you give blood. Would it kill you to try to save a dying eight-year-old child, Mr Clark County Probation Officer?'

Foster sat down grudgingly. 'Emil, you run, you're a dead man. I'll have Sanchez and Myers shoot you in the back, you got it?'

'You leave him alone!' Gloria said shrilly. 'This is a holy night and you are a very unholy man!'

Emil reached over and patted her hand. 'It's okay, Gloria.'

Foster gave her a once-over. 'Who the hell are you? His fairy godmother?'

'Hey, lay off them, Foster. They're the wise men and they're okay.'

'I don't care if they're the – OUCH!'

Edith clasped her hands together in delight. 'Well done, Nurse! Was that lithium?'

The nurse smiled at her. 'I wish. So where's your application, Mr Clark County?'

'What application?'

She jerked the needle out of his arm more sharply than necessary, then shoved a form into his hand. 'Fill this out.'

Foster started scrawling his details, keeping one eye on the old ladies, the other on Emil. 'I knew you were stupid, but this really kills it. What the hell were you thinking? That kidnapping two lunatics and dressing up in a skirt was going to be good cover?'

Emil sank down in his chair sullenly. 'That is _not_ how it went down.'

Edith postured herself indignantly and faced Foster. 'What a preposterous notion. Emil most certainly did not kidnap us. If anything, we coerced him.'

Emil looked at Foster hopefully. 'Yeah. I was coerced. That's exactly what happened.'

'Absolutely,' Gloria said. 'He didn't know what his purpose was, but we showed him, and now look.' She beamed at Emil. 'He's here, just where he's supposed to be.'

Foster's last thread of patience was fraying thin. 'Listen, Loony Tunes, there's room for three in the squad, so unless you want to get hauled in for obstructing justice, I suggest you just shut up.'

Emil stood up and put himself between Foster and the sisters. 'I told you, lay off them, Foster. I mean it. You can disrespect me all you want, but leave them out of it.'

Foster folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head. 'So what are they to you?'

Emil looked at Gloria and Edith. 'They're my friends.'

The sisters closed in on Emil, presenting a united front. 'He's our family.'

Foster signed his application and slammed his pen down. 'Man, Emil, you really screwed up this time. I can hardly wait to call Judge Addison and tell him how well his little pet project worked out.' He stood up and grabbed Emil's elbow just as the nurse passed by with a tray of blood samples.

'Where do you think you're going?' she said to Foster.

'To jail, if it's any of your business, which it isn't.'

She snatched Foster's application out of his hand. 'You're a real pain, you know that? You remind me of my first husband.'

'Oh, yeah? And I'll bet he left you for a woman with a personality. Am I right?'

The nurse leveled a look of disgust at him, and passed the tray to a lab tech. 'The pathetic retort of a pathetic man. Sit down. If you're a flat-out reject, we'll know in five minutes. Then you can go wherever you want, and good riddance.'

Emil watched her stalk away, then felt the cold steel of a cuff on his right hand. 'Oh, man, Foster...'

Foster clicked the other cuff on his own wrist. 'So, Emil – just for my own edification here – you did the great escape, why didn't you ditch the old broads and bolt?'

Emil sighed miserably. He watched Gloria and Edith shoot dagger glares at Foster. 'I was getting to that.'

'No, you weren't. You could have been halfway to Bethlehem by now, and instead you end up in front of every news camera in Vegas. What are you doing here?'

Edith leaned forward, still glaring at Foster. 'He didn't want to leave us. He was concerned for our welfare.'

'Yeah, right. Emil Rice, the great humanitarian.' Foster snorted, then returned his attention to Emil. 'Day I dropped you off, those two were all over you. Freaked you out pretty good, as I recall.'

'Yeah, well, things change.'

'That's news to me. So what's their story?'

Emil shrugged. 'All I know is the wise-men gig.'

'I see by your outfit that you're a wise man, too.'

'It's not funny, Foster. They really believe it.'

Foster sighed. 'Could have been worse. They could have pegged you for the Christ child. Then you'd be running around here in swaddling clothes, whatever the hell they are.'

'I think the sick kid upstairs is supposed to be the Christ child.' Emil leaned in close to Foster and whispered, out of the corner of his mouth, 'You have to get them some help.'

Foster looked at him curiously. 'Don't worry, it's on the way.'

## CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Sanchez and Myers were still stationed at the door, watching Foster and Emil go back and forth at each other.

'Why do you owe Foster twenty bucks?'

'He won the pool again,' Sanchez grumbled. 'He said Emil would find a way out of Clark County by Christmas Eve and it's Christmas Eve.'

Myers chuckled. 'If there's anybody in the world who knows Emil Rice inside and out, it's him. I mean, look at them sniping at each other. They're like an old married couple.'

'I wonder what's taking so long.'

'Who knows? Hey, Sanchez, do you remember the names of the three wise men? It's been driving me nuts.'

Sanchez frowned. 'I think one of them's called Caspar or Gaspar or something like that.'

'Yeah. And there's Melchior... So, who's the third guy?'

'Caspar, Melchior, and... I can't remember, and I just saw _Amahl and the Night Visitors._ '

'I think it begins with F, doesn't it?'

'No, it doesn't. You're thinking of frankincense, that stuff they brought. What – you think the third wise man was named Frank?' Sanchez nodded toward the two old women Emil had kidnapped. 'Go ask them. They ought to know.'

'Good idea.'

Myers came back a few minutes later, a serious expression on his face.

'So? Did they know the name of the third wise man?'

Myers nodded solemnly. 'Emil Rice.'

They stared at each other for a moment, straight-faced, then burst out laughing.

***

Foster watched the crabby battleship of a nurse who'd spiked him walk into the room holding a computer printout. Her expression wasn't so vexed anymore. In fact, she looked downright happy.

'Excuse me! Excuse me!' she yelled, silencing everybody in the room. 'Is there a Henry Foster present?'

Foster and Emil exchanged a puzzled glance, then Foster raised his free hand. 'Yeah, right here.'

The nurse recognized him instantly, and looked a little shocked. 'Well, Mr Clark County Probation Officer, congratulations. Looks like you came here to ruin a life and instead you might end up saving one. You're a potential match.'

The room was silent for a brief, hanging moment, then exploded with cheers.

Emil smiled a little when he saw Gloria and Edith jump to their feet, joining in the excitement. Sure, they didn't know what was going on, but at least they seemed happy. And maybe that was a bonus to being a little tweaked in the head – random stuff could make you happy, even if you didn't get it.

The nurse walked over and eyed the handcuffs. 'Mr Foster, the Montgomerys want you to come upstairs and meet Bobby.'

He lifted his cuffed hand, dragging Emil's up with it. 'I can't.'

'Bring him along. Follow me.'

Gloria and Edith were ecstatic. 'We're finally going to see the child, Emil!'

The nurse gave them an apologetic look and gestured toward Foster and Emil. 'Sorry, just these two, nobody else.'

The sisters stared at the nurse, devastated. 'But we must go!' Edith cried.

'Yeah,' Emil said firmly. 'They have to go. I'm taking care of them, and you don't know what you're dealing with here.'

The nurse shook her head. 'Sorry.'

'Come on.' Foster started dragging Emil behind him, but he dug in his heels.

'FOSTER!'

'What?'

'You've gotta do something!'

'Like what?'

'Gloria and Edith have to come with us. I can't leave them.'

Foster looked at the sisters, who were now in tears. 'Are you out of your mind?'

'Listen,' Emil hissed. 'Just look at them! They're unraveling!'

'Yeah, well, they're crazy. Isn't that what crazy people do, unravel?'

Emil stood his ground. 'I can't go without them. I _won't_ go without them.'

Foster grunted. 'What are you going to do? Chew your hand off? Look, Emil, I'm not an idiot. I know exactly where you're going with this. You want me to take the cuffs off so you can supposedly stay with those two, and then you'll zip out right past Sanchez and Myers. I don't know how you'll do it, but you will find a way, so clamp it and start walking.'

'Foster.'

'For God's sake, _what_?'

'Please. They have to go upstairs with us.'

Foster gave Emil a hard look. The kid was the most reliably insincere conniving little rat on the face of the planet, and he'd learned long ago how to read him. But he didn't see any of that in his eyes now, which was really weird. Maybe it was a new con, but right now, it didn't matter – a kid was dying in Intensive Care, and maybe he, Henry Foster, had a chance to save his life.

He looked at the nurse, took a deep breath, and pled his case.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

'This is just great,' Foster grumbled, as he and Emil trudged up to Intensive Care, followed by Edith, Gloria, Sanchez and Myers. 'I've got a nurse from Hell in front of me, a con handcuffed to my wrist, and two nut-jobs bringing up the rear. Seriously, Emil, before they lock you up and throw away the key, you have to tell me what this is all about.'

Emil risked a sideward glance and noticed Foster pondering his shoes as they walked, a deep frown creasing his face. 'Fair enough, Foster. And thanks.'

'Whatever.'

Emil turned and looked at Gloria and Edith, who smiled and gave him little waves. He waved back. 'Doing okay, ladies?'

They both nodded serenely.

'They actually don't seem so crazy,' Foster commented.

'They're high-functioning.'

'High-functioning what?'

'Delusional paranoid schizophrenics. They think they're fulfilling their destiny right now.'

Foster cocked a brow at him. 'What – you get a psych degree in the past two days?'

Emil shrugged. 'Nah, I just learned a few things.'

'Well, I guess that's something.' Foster let out a shaky sigh. 'God, I hate being around sick people. I don't want to see this kid. What am I supposed to say to him?'

Emil broke a smile. The old coot was actually nervous. 'Well, you can start by telling him why you've got a man in a skirt handcuffed to your wrist. Kid's bound to be curious about that.'

The nurse stopped at a large interior window that looked into a hospital room, where a very still, frail boy lay in bed. His parents were hovering over him, oblivious to the audience on the other side of the glass. 'Here we are. Mr Foster, you know what to do.'

Foster nodded, dug in his pocket for the cuff key and freed himself from Emil. 'Sanchez, Myers, don't take your eyes off him for a second, you got it?'

'I'm not going anywhere, Foster,' Emil said wearily, scrunching alongside Edith and Gloria, who had their hands pressed against the glass as they stared at Bobby Montgomery in awe. He saw tears running down their cheeks and felt his throat tighten.

Gloria let out a little sob. 'I never thought this moment would come.'

Edith reached to wipe the tears from her sister's cheeks. 'It wouldn't have without Emil.' They both turned to him and wrapped their arms around him. 'You are such a blessing, dear.'

Emil had no clue what to do, so he hugged them back, looking over the diminutive sisters' shoulders to exchange an embarrassed glance with Myers and Sanchez. But the cops weren't paying him any mind: they were staring into the room where Foster was also in an embrace – the embrace of Bobby Montgomery's parents.

Emil delicately extricated himself from the sisters' hugs and put on a gentle smile, hoping to distract them. 'So, what do you think? Does the child look like you thought he would?'

Gloria tapped a forefinger on her lips, carefully considering. 'Well, now that you ask, I am a bit surprised that he wasn't just born.'

'Not this time,' Edith said with certainty. 'This time he was dying, and _then_ he was saved. Which means our sequel is going to be much longer than we thought. But we still don't have any gifts. Emil?'

'Actually, I think Foster is the best gift this kid is ever going to get.'

'I certainly can't believe that,' Edith said skeptically, leveling another glare at Foster. 'Oh, look! The child sees us!' She waved her arms.

Emil peered through the glass and saw the poor little kid smiling at them. His face and body were skeletal, but he lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers in a weak greeting.

***

Foster reluctantly walked over to Bobby Montgomery's bed at the insistence of his parents. They'd been hard enough to deal with, with the hugs and gratitude, but this truly sucked. The poor kid was gray and probably weighed two pounds, was clearly in a ton of pain and yet had a big smile on his face. 'Hi, Bobby,' he said awkwardly.

'Hi,' he rasped quietly. 'You brought the wise men.'

'Yeah. I guess I did.'

'That's so cool. Are those real policemen out there?'

Foster smiled a little and nodded. 'Yeah. They're friends of mine.'

'Are you a policeman, too?'

'No, I'm a probation officer.'

'What's that?'

Foster faltered, scrambling for a G-rated job description: 'I watch dirt bags sink back into the sewer' didn't seem like the appropriate response. 'Uh... well...'

Mrs Montgomery stepped up to her son's bed and laid a hand on his arm. 'Probation officers help people, Bobby. When people get on the wrong track, Mr Foster helps them find their way again.'

Well, that was news to Foster, but he smiled and nodded.

'That's cool. Are you sure you want to do this, Mr Foster? They're going to stick a long needle in you.'

'Oh, yeah? How long? This long?' Foster stretched out his arms as far as they would go.

Bobby giggled. 'Longer! But it's not so bad. They do it to me all the time. You get used to it.'

'Well, that sucks.'

'Pretty much.'

***

Outside in the hall, Sanchez still had a firm grip on Emil's arm.

'I'm not going anywhere,' Emil grumbled at him. 'Do you have to hang onto me like that?'

'Emil doesn't like to be touched,' Gloria explained.

'Is that a fact?'

Edith nodded. 'Yes, it is.'

Sanchez released his grip. 'If you even move, I'll taze you where you stand.'

'I told you, I'm not going anywhere.'

'He's speaking the truth,' Gloria said.

'So, tell me how you did it, Emil.'

'Did what?'

'Found a way out of Clark County. I've dropped off people there before and the place is tighter than Fort Knox.'

'We showed him how,' Edith offered.

Sanchez looked at her doubtfully.

'It's true. We've known how to escape for years.'

'And you didn't try?'

'Of course not. We had to wait for Emil to find us first. There are three wise men, not two.'

'Ah, I'm getting it now.' He looked at Emil. 'So how did you end up being the third wise man?'

'It's a long story. I'll tell you one day over a beer. If I ever get out of prison.'

Gloria suddenly clasped her hands under her chin in delight. 'Edith, look who's here!'

'Nurse Griffin! What a wonderful surprise.'

Emil turned to see Nurse Griffin rushing down the hall and shrank down, wishing he could evaporate into thin air.

She tried her best to look stern. 'Edith and Gloria, I can't believe you did this. You scared us half to death. Do you know how many people have been looking for you?' She hugged them both and glared at Emil. 'I expected more of you. You are in big trouble.'

'Tell me about it.'

'I don't suppose you'll be coming back with us.'

Emil glanced at Sanchez and Myers. 'I don't think so.'

Foster emerged from Bobby Montgomery's room then, blinking a lot. 'Damn antiseptic burns my eyes.'

Emil noticed a doctor approaching, briefly eyeing the odd collection of people clustered by Bobby Montgomery's room, and who could blame him? ICU had probably never been so colorful.

'Mr Foster?'

Foster raised his head. 'Yeah?'

The doctor shook his hand vigorously. 'I'm Tom White, Bobby's oncologist. You're a godsend, Mr Foster. We have more tests to run, but the way the lab results look so far, you might just save this boy's life.'

The full weight of that pronouncement left Foster shaken. How did you wrap your head around something like that? He felt a light punch on his arm, and turned to see Emil grinning at him.

'Hey, Foster. Way to go, man.'

Dr White handed Foster a sheaf of papers. 'I know you have some business to take care of here, but when you're finished, come to my office and we'll go over the paperwork. I'll explain what happens next and answer any questions you might have. I'm just down the hall, first door on the right.'

Foster gave him a dazed nod. 'Yeah, okay, I'll be right there.'

Gloria and Edith stared at Foster in disbelief for a moment, then turned to Emil. 'Is it true, Emil?' Edith asked. 'That unpleasant man is actually going to save the child?'

Emil smiled at them and shrugged. 'Looks that way, ladies. How about that?'

'Well, I for one just can't believe they left all of this out of the book,' Gloria huffed. 'It's going to take us forever to write the sequel.'

Nurse Griffin stepped in to catch the sisters' attention. 'We'd better get you two home so you can start writing your sequel. Say your goodbyes now.' She stepped aside and glanced up at Emil. This time, the chill was gone from her eyes.

Emil walked up to the sisters and plucked the front of his costume sheepishly. 'Sorry, but I got this pretty dirty, so I'll send it to the cleaners and get it back to you as soon as I can, okay?'

'Nonsense,' Edith said. 'That is your raiment, Emil. You must keep it.'

Gloria nodded. 'There's no way of knowing when you might need it again.'

Emil sighed and looked down at the purple velvet and the gold braiding, dulled by desert sand. 'Yeah, well, the way I figure, I won't need it until I see you two again. This wise-man thing isn't exactly a solo act.'

'It certainly isn't,' Edith agreed.

Emil kept his eyes down. 'You take care, sisters, you hear me? Listen to Nurse Griffin, and no more coal chutes.'

'Of course,' Gloria reassured him. 'When can you come home?'

'Oh, boy. Well, it might be a while.'

Edith placed a hand on his cheek. 'We'll miss you every minute, dear. But we'll wait for you, just like we did before. We're very good at waiting.'

'I know!' Gloria cried triumphantly. 'We'll decorate your room while you're gone!'

Edith clapped her hands together. 'Excellent idea, Gloria!'

Emil finally looked up with a smile he could trust. 'Okay, but no ruffles or lace. Something fit for a king, right?'

'Absolutely.'

He sidled in a little closer while he surreptitiously reached up into the sleeve of his robe and pulled Ralph's Rolex down from his upper arm. As soon as he found the golden moment, when nobody but Edith and Gloria were paying attention to him, he slid it off his wrist and placed it in Edith's palm. 'Can you give this back to Ralph for me?' he whispered.

'Of course, dear,' Edith whispered back.

'Keep it under cover, okay?'

'Oh, yes, I will, dear.'

Nurse Griffin nudged her way in. 'Come on, ladies, it's time to leave. And you, Emil, you take care. And don't forget what I said about nursing.'

'Thanks, Nurse Griffin. I'm probably going to have a lot of time to study. Maybe enough time to get my doctorate.'

'I hope you won't be gone that long.' She leaned in and spoke quietly into his ear. 'Write to Edith and Gloria once in a while. It would make them very happy.'

'I will. I promise.'

He watched the women disappear down the hall and into a waiting elevator.

Sanchez started cuffing Emil's other wrist. 'Come on, I got a cell with your name on it.'

Emil willingly submitted. There was no gas left in his tank and no reason to fight, con or cajole. He was finished. Done. He didn't know what the consequences would be yet, but he was ready for whatever got thrown at him.

'This might be a record, us hauling you back to jail twice in forty-eight hours,' Myers commented.

'You should have bet on that, Sanchez,' Foster said. 'Look, it's Christmas Eve, you've both got families waiting for you. I can take it from here.'

Myers looked up brightly. 'You sure?'

'No problem.'

Sanchez gave Foster a high-five. 'Thanks, Foster. And congratulations.'

Foster watched and waited until they were gone, then unlocked the handcuffs dangling from Emil's wrists while he muttered to himself. 'God, more tests. More needles, the kid said. Big long ones. I hate needles. Every time I see one, I want to lose my lunch.'

Emil looked down in amazement as the handcuffs fell free. 'What are you doing?'

'Merry Christmas, kid,' Foster said, then hurried down the hall toward Dr White's office.

Emil was dazed by his freedom for a moment, then made a mad dash for the elevator, stabbing the button repeatedly. While he was waiting, he overheard Foster and Dr White talking in an adjacent room.

'I know it's Christmas tomorrow, Mr Foster, but the earlier we get started, the better.'

'I got no problem with that. Jeez, you're going to take more blood from me now?'

'Yes. There are tests we need to run tonight. Now the extraction of bone marrow is an outpatient procedure, but you will be sedated, so arrange for a family member to drive you, and to stay with you for the first twenty-four hours after you're released.'

The elevator doors slid open and Emil stepped in, but held the door so he could keep eavesdropping.

'Why? What's going to happen? I'm not going to get sick or anything, am I?'

'You'll be a little woozy, a little weak for a day or two. You won't feel like doing much for yourself. You shouldn't be alone.'

'I think I can manage.'

'We can admit you overnight, of course, if there isn't anyone.'

'Not a problem, Dr White. I'll see you in the morning.'

'Merry Christmas to you, sir.'

'Sure. You too.'

## CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Foster emerged from Dr White's office, still fiddling with his shirt cuff. The ward was silent, the hallway empty... almost.

Emil was sitting on a bench by the elevator doors. He actually had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn't seeing an apparition. Finally, he stepped up to the elevator and punched the down button. 'Thought you'd be long gone by now.'

Emil pushed himself up off the bench and joined Foster in the elevator. Both men stared straight ahead and watched the floor numbers lighting up as a car made its way to their floor. 'Yeah, well, I thought about it. Didn't think I'd have a lot of luck hitching a ride in this getup, even if it is Vegas. Plus it's pretty late, not a lot of traffic this time of night on Christmas Eve.' He dared a glance at Foster, who was still staring straight ahead. 'Hey, you think maybe I could crash on your couch tonight?'

Foster snorted. 'So you can catch a few Zs and steal my car in the middle of the night?'

Emil's shoulders drooped. 'It's not like that. Hey, I'm here, aren't I? Besides, I know what you drive – even I wouldn't steal that junker.'

'Funny. And, no, you can't crash on my couch. What do I look like? A Best Western? Besides, I got things to do in the morning. I have to be back here first thing.'

Emil cleared his throat. 'Well, maybe I could give you a hand with that. You know, sort of a payback for giving me a place to sleep that isn't jail or a loony bin.'

Foster finally looked at him and cocked a brow. 'You know what happens if you stick around.'

Emil nodded. 'I know. Back to jail.'

'You wish, but you're not getting off that easy. While Dr White was in there draining my blood, Harold called me. The guy's an idiot. He actually wanted you back there until I told him you skipped again. He'll be real happy to hear you didn't. And the more I think about it, the more I like you back at Clark County. What am I going to do? Send you back to jail to sit on your duff watching videos and probably getting a law degree so you can sue me when you get out? Hell, no. I want to wake up every morning smiling because Emil Rice has been up for five hours already, emptying bedpans and puke buckets.'

Emil frowned and scuffed his toe on the linoleum as the elevator doors finally pinged open and they both stepped in. Muzak was playing: 'Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas'.

Foster dragged his hands down his face. 'Man, this is going to make just a buttload of paperwork, you know that? I could really use a beer. You want a beer?'

'That's a probation violation.'

'You never worried about violating your probation before. Besides, I'm your probation officer and I'm waiving that clause right now.'

'You can't do that.'

'I know, but who's going to tell?'

'Yeah. A beer would be good.'

They stepped out of the elevator and walked side by side through the hospital lobby toward the exit. 'You got a tree at your place, Foster?'

'Of course I have a tree. What kind of question is that? It's Christmas.' Foster pushed open the lobby doors and felt the smack of chilled desert air hit his face. 'Hey, you like ham?'

'Sure I like ham. Who doesn't?'

***

Officers Myers and Sanchez walked to their patrol car through the thinning crowd. Everyone was dispersing, heading back to family, friends and their postponed Christmas Eve celebrations.

'What a weird night. I'm glad it's over. But it's pretty cool about Foster being a match for that kid.'

Sanchez nodded. 'If you think about it too hard, it makes your head swim.'

Myers looked at his watch. 'It's still early enough to catch some holiday cheer. Wife said she'd hold a couple presents until I got home.'

'Same here.'

They were almost at their squad when a dirty, disheveled man pushing a metal grocery cart approached them from the opposite direction.

'Move it along, buddy,' Sanchez warned him. 'Show's over.'

The man nodded and smiled at them as they skirted around him. 'Joy to the world, man. You got something for me?'

Officer Sanchez stopped after a few steps, then turned back. He pulled out his wallet, found some single bills, and tucked them into the man's hand. 'Merry Christmas,' he said, then started walking away.

'Wait.' The man rummaged in his cart and pressed something into Sanchez's hand as he looked him straight in the eye, a gentle smile on his face. 'Merry Christmas to you, Officer.' Then he turned around and pushed his cart into the darkness.

Sanchez followed him with his eyes, then looked down at what the homeless man had given him.

It was a bar of Ivory soap.

## THE BEGINNING

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##### PENGUIN BOOKS

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Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.

This ebook first published in Great Britain by Penguin Books 2017

Copyright © Traci Lambrecht, 2017

The moral right of the author has been asserted

ISBN: 978-1-405-93453-4

# Contents

  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Prologue
  4. Chapter One
  5. Chapter Two
  6. Chapter Three
  7. Chapter Four
  8. Chapter Five
  9. Chapter Six
  10. Chapter Seven
  11. Chapter Eight
  12. Chapter Nine
  13. Chapter Ten
  14. Chapter Eleven
  15. Chapter Twelve
  16. Chapter Thirteen
  17. Chapter Fourteen
  18. Chapter Fifteen
  19. Chapter Sixteen
  20. Chapter Seventeen
  21. Chapter Eighteen
  22. Chapter Nineteen
  23. Chapter Twenty
  24. Chapter Twenty-one
  25. Chapter Twenty-two
  26. Chapter Twenty-three
  27. Chapter Twenty-four
  28. Chapter Twenty-five
  29. Chapter Twenty-six
  30. Chapter Twenty-seven
  31. Chapter Twenty-eight
  32. Chapter Twenty-nine
  33. Chapter Thirty
  34. Chapter Thirty-one
  35. Chapter Thirty-two
  36. Chapter Thirty-three
  37. Chapter Thirty-four
  38. Chapter Thirty-five
  39. Chapter Thirty-six
  40. Chapter Thirty-seven
  41. Follow Penguin
  42. Copyright Page

  1. Cover
  2. Table of Contents
  3. Begin Reading

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