A Very Stark Christmas: Chapter 1

A Stark Mystery

Oh, the weather outside is frightful But the fire is so delightful And since we’ve no place to go Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

As I crossed the frozen parking lot carrying two boxes of Rosario’s finest pies, it occurred to me that love had a way of making me happy even doing things I normally hate.

Like picking up dinner in a snow storm, spoiling a perfectly good pizza with anchovies and peppers (hence the two boxes), and singing Christmas Carols.

But I was love shacked up with my lady, Helen of Queens, at a motor court near LaGuardia Airport for an extended stay because bad weather had cancelled all her flights.

For the first time in my life, I appreciated the lyrics to “Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!”

I’d broken up with Ginny (a fact unappreciated by Tonic) and had been on the straight and narrow for months now.

In case you’re wondering, that means no criminal Muppets running around without a handler, no time traveling Ford Pintos, and definitely no rides in Depression-Era crop dusters.

As intoxicating as my gal could be, no judge could ever convict me for the use of a controlled substance.

Just before I could reach for the doorknob to our pied-à-terre, everything went silent except for my singing and a whistling noise coming from the right.

A cold, wet stinging blow to my cheek stopped my holiday CD on track 1 and knocked me on my keyster.

I regretted not buying pizza insurance like that guy in the commercials.

In the darkness, I heard footsteps trail off in the distance and the maniacal laughter of a child. He sounded like an elf out of the movie “Bad Santa.” But I don’t believe in those alcohol-induced hallucinations anymore.

My therapist told me I’ve made so much progress in staying focused in the here and now. And I haven’t had a nightmare in weeks about some fat, bloated, orange-colored infection turning half the country into zombies.

But the pain in my cheek was real enough, as well as the melted snow running down my face and under the collar of my trenchcoat, blazer, heavy sweater, dress shirt and bullet-proof vest. Layering, you know?

“You rat bastard!” I yelled back. “Who throws a snowball with a rock in it?”

I gathered the pizzas the best I could and made my way back to our room.

When I opened the door, Helen’s screams broke the silence again.

“Please help me!”

“Whatsa matter, baby?” I yelled as I reached for the gat in my trenchcoat.

“Your face… what happened to your face?” She caressed my now swollen and stinging cheek.

“It’s nothing, sugar lips. Are you okay? What happened while I was gone?”

“Everything’s been quiet here, too quiet. The problem is your face. It looks like someone was trying to deliver a message.”

She went to get some ice from the fridge to ease the swelling in my cheek.

I thought about how far we had come in our relationship; this was the first time she was giving me first-aid for a wound she hadn’t inflicted.

I called out to her, “don’t worry about it, baby, it was probably just some kids playing a prank.”

She pulled me by my tie over to the dresser drawer, turned my head gently toward the mirror and said, “No, they were delivering a message, see?”

Sure enough, there were letters embossed on my cheek that read “!EM PLEH ESAELP.”

“Sounds like Esperanto or something. Let me get my code book and work on this.”

“You’re looking in a mirror, Sherlock.”

“Oh yeah, kiddo, now I get it. But I’m not gonna waste another minute playing the gumshoe game when we’ve got the 12 Days of Christmas to spend in each other’s arms.”

A knock on the door broke the reverie of our silent little night.

It was a guy in a Santa costume.

To be continued…

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This is the fourth Stark mystery, a humorous noir-style collaborative story.