The Fat Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

that,” Dingleberry said. “Santa will be fine.”
    “Look at the dark circles around his eyes,” I said. “Already, it looks like he’s wearing a mask. The Fat Man’s losing weight, Dingleberry. He’s wearing stomach padding like a dime store Santa. I bet he don’t weigh eight stones wet. This will be the end of him, I bet you.”
    “Can I quote you on that, Uncle?” said a voice behind me. I turned to see Rosebud Jubilee, the pip-squeak reporter from The Marshmallow World Gazette rag. Rosebud was a crackerjack little thing; her red hair was a waterfall of crimson confection and the freckles on her nose and cheeks looked as good as sprinkles on an ice cream cone. She wore a purple hat because she liked wearing it. It looked a little ridiculous, but the angle of the chapeau told you she didn’t give a hoot about what you thought. A peppermint stick dangled from her lips, bouncing up and down as she talked like a conductor working up steam for the finale. She looked at me with a little smirk behind the peppermint, like she had me all figured out. I didn’t mind as much as I should have. It was a nice kind of smirk.
    “Never believe anything you hear in the Blue Christmas, sister,” I said. “Didn’t they teach you that in Hack Reporting 101?”
    “I cut class that day,” she said, hopping up on the stool beside me without being asked. “I was on a story about some kid that locked himself in the closet because Santy Claus kissed him off with a bag of coal.”
    “Maybe the kid was naughty.”
    “Maybe the kid just needed a spanking.”
    “Maybe that’s what I gave him.”
    “Maybe you were too rough.”
    “Maybe you’d like to find out.”

    “You gonna bend me over your knee, Gumdrop?” she asked.
    “Maybe.”
    “Are you still on the clock or you just trying to get on the Naughty List yourself?” Her smirk was now a smile. Round One, Rosebud—a knockout. I could feel Dingleberry beside me turn as scarlet as Hester’s monogram. “Elvis, the lady needs a cup of cheer. I imagine her mouth gets parched with as much as she talks.”
    Rosebud Jubilee pounded the bar. “Gimme a peanut butter and banana daiquiri, straight,” she said. “And use the crunchy. Momma hasn’t had breakfast.” Elvis slid a mug of the house special to her and gave her a salute. She dispatched it in one gulp, wiped her pretty little mouth and dared me to say something else smart.
    “Just so you know, all of that was off the record,” I said. “Even though it was just for laughs.” I was squirming a little, but I didn’t want her to see it.
    “Don’t go and have kittens, Coal,” she said with a warm smile. I liked the smile. “I’ll get my story when it’s ready. You got to thaw out a bit before I put you in the oven.”
    “Why not just throw me right into the frying pan?” I asked. “Everybody else has.”
    “Off the record and cross my little old heart,” Rosebud said, “I think you got a raw deal.”
    “Your story didn’t say as much,” Dingleberry said from my elbow.
    Rosebud sized Dingleberry up and decided to go easy on him. “The first rule of journalism, Mr. Fizz, is to meet your deadline,” she said. “Your chum here couldn’t be reached for comment. I looked under every rock I knew and, believe me, I know plenty. The boss wanted the story I had in my Royal typewriter so far and that’s what got the ink. Now, if Gumdrop wants to tell me his side of the story, then I’m ready to listen.”
    “Don’t do it, Gumdrop,” Dingleberry said, suddenly worried. “It’s a trick and you’re in enough trouble already.”
    “Does he tuck you in too?” Rosebud asked me. There was that smile again. It was a nice smile.
    “Only if I can’t find somebody better,” I said, trying my luck. She didn’t slap me, so I gave Dingleberry the heave-ho. “Dingleberry, why don’t you run along now. I appreciate you coming to see me, but I’m going to finish my chat with Miss Jubilee—it is Miss,