When Elves Attack Read Online Free PDF

held up his arm, showing a fresh bandage on a flesh wound.
    â€œ . . . Then you pulled a gun on me. Luckily I had pulled mine first. Even then, I didn’t take your style of hospitality personally. But what crossed the line was when I tried to reason with you about the importance of those plaques—real nice again—explaining the difference between them and air-conditioning coils, and what did you say about the people whose names were engraved?” Serge got out his gun again and tapped his chin in thought. “Yeah, I remember now. ‘Fuck ’em.’ ” He shook his head. “Not good. That’s the problem with this generation. No sense of history. They haven’t the foggiest notion of all the sacrifices that have been made so they can safely lounge about this country texting and tweeting . . .”
    The man began whimpering.
    â€œNot the crying again,” said Serge. “Obviously you don’t know anything about me. I take the high road. The answer isn’t to attack you. Our nation’s too divided for that. No, the constructive remedy is to educate you and welcome you into the program. It’s Thanksgiving! So I’ve invited you here today as my guest, to break bread and celebrate the men and women on those plaques. Look around you! This room is chock-full of liberty. Some mold, but more liberty.”
    Coleman raised a beer. “Pursuit of happiness.”
    Serge nodded. “And pursuit of happiness.” He replaced the tape on the captive’s mouth and clapped his hands a single time. “You hungry? Let’s start getting that turkey ready!”
    â€œBut, Serge,” said Coleman. “How are we going to cook it? There’s nothing in here.”
    â€œGot it covered.”
    Serge grabbed his car keys and ran outside to the trunk of the Chevelle. He came back carrying a large metal device, and kicked the door closed behind him with his foot.
    â€œWhat’s that?” asked Coleman.
    Serge carefully set it down next to the plaque burglar. “Remember that menu of Florida newspaper headlines that keep repeating themselves every holiday season?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œThis is one I forgot to mention.” Serge reached inside for a page of safety instructions and tossed it over his shoulder. “Hand me that turkey.”
    THREE HOURS LATER
    A dozen police cars converged in the parking lot of a sub-budget motel on South Dale Mabry Highway near the air-force base. Yellow crime tape. Forensic team.
    A white Crown Vic rolled up. The detectives got out and stared at the incinerated and gutted room.
    A stretcher rolled out the door with a covered body, still smoldering.
    The lead investigator approached the sergeant in charge. “What have we got here? Another meth-lab explosion?”
    The sergeant took off his hat and wiped his forehead. “That’s what we thought at first.”
    â€œWhat else could possibly have caused it? In all my years, I’ve only seen destruction this total at drug labs.”
    â€œYou know those same newspaper headlines you see every year? Floridians trying to keep warm by barbecuing indoors?”
    â€œHe was barbecuing?” The detective watched them load the stretcher into the back of a coroner’s truck. “What an idiot.”
    â€œNot barbecuing. We found a large deep fryer in the room. And a big turkey. There won’t be leftovers.”
    â€œDeep-frying a turkey?” The detective looked back at the room. “But a grease fire wouldn’t cause that kind of damage. The door’s blown off the hinges and charred like a briquet.”
    â€œWasn’t your average grease fire. Forensics hasn’t officially ruled, but it’s looking like they were deep-frying a frozen turkey.”
    â€œJesus, you never deep-fry a frozen turkey. It goes off like a bomb. A big one.” The detective opened a notebook and shook his head. “Well, like