When Elves Attack Read Online Free PDF Page A

not.” Serge ran back to the car and returned with a large paper sack. “Thanksgiving is why they invented Kentucky Fried Chicken. We got all the fixin’s.” He began removing items. “Here are the biscuits and super-large sides of mashed potatoes and gravy, macaroni and cheese . . . Doesn’t it smell great?”
    Coleman turned on the TV. “Football.”
    Serge dug deeper into the bag. “And the pièce de résistance, coleslaw to die for.” He tossed the last Styrofoam container to Coleman. “Ice that down in the sink like the Pilgrims did with the Indians.”
    Coleman went in the bathroom. “But how will we cook the turkey? Everything else is ready.”
    â€œHave to eat the turkey later. It’s all side dishes until then.”
    Serge sat down at the desk facing the wall and tucked a napkin in the collar of his T-shirt. Coleman sat next to him, facing the same peeling wall. Serge set his fists on the desk, a plastic utensil gripped upright in each one, and smiled back at his buddy in their crack-den motel. “Now, this is fuckin’ tradition.”
    Coleman dove into the mashed potatoes. He stopped. “Serge, what about the guy?”
    â€œThe guy? . . . Oh!” Serge threw his arms up. “My manners!”
    He walked across the room, opened the closet, and stared down at a young, hog-tied man with duct tape across his mouth. “You completely slipped my mind. I’m so embarrassed. Come! Join our feast!” Serge dragged him across the carpet.
    Coleman munched a biscuit and turned up the TV. “The Dolphins are playing the Lions.”
    â€œThe Dolphins?” Serge let go of the hostage and wandered over. “I love the Dolphins! What’s the score?”
    â€œDon’t know.” Munch, munch.
    Serge pulled up a chair in front of the TV. “It’s third and long. Pick up the blitz! Pick up the blitz! . . . Ooo, they didn’t pick up the blitz.”
    Coleman pushed the rest of the biscuit into his mouth and popped another Pabst. “What’s that noise?”
    Serge’s nose was practically against the TV screen. “What noise?”
    â€œ That noise.”
    Serge turned the volume down. “I hear it . . .” He turned around. “Oh, forgot about him again. Just left him on his belly. My attention span.”
    â€œBecause you stopped taking your meds.”
    â€œExactly. I like my attention span.” Serge got up from his chair. “Lets me juggle multiple tasks and get more accomplished. Follow the space program, work on my total solution for the Middle East, thwart customer-service people who make up answers, determine if fifteen minutes really can save me fifteen percent, develop renewable energy source from golf balls lost in ponds, retrieve priceless brass plaques . . .”
    â€œThat guy’s wiggling around the floor pretty good for someone hog-tied,” said Coleman. “I think he’s trying to say something.”
    â€œProbably wants to tell us what side dishes he wants.” Serge leaned down and ripped the duct tape off the captive’s mouth.
    â€œOw!”
    Serge smiled with big white teeth and held a Styrofoam container under the man’s nose. “Good coleslaw! Nobody makes it like KFC. Go ahead, have the rest.”
    â€œSerge,” said Coleman. “Doesn’t he need plastic utensils?”
    â€œNo, I’ll just set it on the floor in front of his mouth.”
    â€œPlease!” said the hostage. “Don’t hurt me!”
    â€œHurt you?” said Serge. “Why would I do that? Oh, I know. Like when we came to your apartment last night and requested the plaques back. And if I remember, I asked real nice, too. I might have said ‘cocksucker’ a few times, but that’s always taken out of context. And what did you do? First, you cut my friend with a knife . . .”
    Coleman