Moss and Gibby's First Christmas

The Alternate Plan

           

            “Maybe we ought to try something else, Moss, it’s really cold in this alley.”

            Snow flew from the brim of Moss’s hat as he wheeled on his partner, Gibby. “What do you mean, cold? You just got back here from the restaurant.”

            “I know, but my right hand is freezing”

            “Well, put it in your pocket.”

            “It’s in my pocket, that’s why it’s cold. I’m holding the gun with it.”

            “Let go of the gun, Gibby; you don’t have to hold it. Go back across the street to the restaurant and warm your hand. I’ll stay on watch, It shouldn’t be much longer. That Santa’s pot should be nearly full.”

            “I can’t, the guy running the place told me to get out and stay out.”

“Why would he say that? What did you do?”

“Nothing! I was just standing there inside the door and he said if I wasn’t gonna buy something I should get the hell out.”

“So why didn’t you buy something?”

Gibby’s eyes rolled. “I couldn’t buy something, Moss. I haven’t got any money. That’s why we’re gonna rob the Santa, right?”

“Tell you what, Gib, take a walk through the toy store next to the restaurant. Browse a little and get yourself warm; when you come back, I’ll take a turn.”

The little man squeezed past Moss’s bulk and was just about clear of the alley entrance when Moss pulled him back.

“Look out, Gibby. That’s a squad coming down the street. Duck back in here. We don’t want any cops seeing us in the neighborhood, if you get my drift.”

“Gotcha, Moss.” Gibby peeked under Moss’s arm as the squad drew up to the curb opposite the alley. A uniformed officer exited the car and shuffled through the street slush to the trunk area. A twist of his keys and he removed a large basket wrapped in clear plastic from the car’s trunk. He sat it on the fender of the car while he checked street addresses.

“That’s Mike McCaffery, Moss. How the heck did he know we was here?”

“Shush, Gibby. He doesn’t know we’re here. He can’t have found out the warden let us out early, already. It looks like he is taking that basket to that door next to the toy store. Yup he’s knocking now. Hey, look at that, he’s giving that basket to some lady and that little kid. It must be some kinda Christmas basket.”

“I wonder how we could get a basket like that, Moss. I bet it has all kinds of stuff to eat, good stuff, Christmas stuff.”

“The kid is tearing it open now. Naw, I can’t believe it. The kid pulled out a stinking sweater. What the heck kind of Christmas treat is that for a little kid? You know, Gib, I thought McCaffery was smarter than that. Now I’m really embarrassed that clown ever put us in the slammer.”

“It looks like a nice heavy sweater, Moss.”

“But a sweater for Christmas, Gib! You know what I mean. That ain’t nothing for a little guy like that to get. He should be getting toys and candy! Duck back, Gib, McCaffery is turning this way.”

Mike McCaffery climbed back into his squad and slowly rolled away from the curb, leaving a wake of “thank you’s” and waves behind him.

“Okay, Gib, the lady is going back in. Take a trip to the toy store for a warm up. Try not to get noticed this time.” Moss whispered to Gibby’s departing back, “Don’t hold the cold gun.”

The small boy pulled the sweater over his head and made the six step journey to the window of the toy store. Gibby saw the reflection of the store window’s lights and glitter in the boy’s eyes as he held the door so they could both enter. The boy took a half step back and gave a small shake of his head. Gibby made the correct assumption: The boy was as welcome in the toy store as he was in the restaurant.

The narrow boards of the white oak floor creaked under Gibby’s shoes as the would-be robber stepped over the threshold. He glanced back through the front window, and his eyes met those of the boy peeking through the decorations and toys on display.

A short, stocky man greeted Gibby with a, “What do you need, mister?” His tone was gruff and didn’t strike Gibby as being filled with the Christmas Eve spirit he expected.

“Just browsing for the minute, thank you.”

“Well you better make up your mind quick. I’m planning on closing in about twenty minutes.”

The man stepped around Gibby, waving his arms and shouting to be heard through the store window. “Get away from here, go back home. You’re scaring away customers, you little twerp.” Brushing past Gibby, he mumbled, “Damn kid next door, he makes the place look like something out of Dickens. You know, he asked me if I could set aside that bike and he could pay me a quarter a week on it. I pay him a quarter to sweep out the store and he wants me to finance the bike yet too, with my own quarter. Kids, they want everything nowadays.”

Gibby saw the small face reappear in the corner of the window as soon as the man’s back was turned. “That bike’s pretty small for him, ain’t it?”

“You don’t know much about bikes, do you, mister?”

“No, I never had one.”

“That’s a girl’s bike. It’s pink for a little girl. See the training wheels? I guess he wants to buy it for his sister.”

“What does a bike like that cost?” Gibby’s hand slipped into his pocket and felt cold steel.

“Should go for 80 bucks, but since it’s Christmas Eve, I’ll let you have it for 75 plus the tax a’course.”

Gibby’s hand tightened on the pistol’s grip. He glanced back at the window to the small face and a chill went up his spine. Thoughts whirled in Gibby’s head, no there has to be a better way. “I don’t have a little girl, just curious. Guess I best be head’n home. You have a nice holiday.”

Gibby didn’t wait for the man’s mumbled reply. He ignored the stare of the small boy as he crossed the street to the alley and the waiting Moss. “Moss, you ever had a bike?”

“No, Gibby, I never did, but I got something to tell you.”

“Me too Moss. I just met the meanest bastard on earth.”

“Later, Gib. Watch Santa over there for a few minutes.”

“But Moss---”

“Quiet, Gib, just watch. See the couple coming around the corner? Watch what happens when they get to Santa’s kettle.”

“They dropped a couple of bills in the slot. That’s nice of them, and good for us, ain’t it Moss?”

“Keep watching, Gibby. Catch what happens when they walk away. See! See! That damn Santa has the hole in the pot rigged so he can pull the money back out. There he goes. He’s sticking the money into his pocket. That creep is skimming from the pot, do you believe it? Those people think they’re donating to a good cause and he is robbing from them and the charity.”

“You know Moss, you’d think you could trust a Santa Claus.”

“Gibby, you know that’s not the real Santa, right?”

“Yeah, Moss, I know, but it’s the thought of it that’s disturb’n. I mean, we were going to rob him, ‘cause that’s what we do, but he’s stealing from both sides. That makes him twice as bad as we are. Doesn’t it, Moss?”

“Well, not quite, Gib. This is the way I see it. If we go over there and take the money away from that bum that he already stole, then it’s not like we are stealing it from the people who thought they were donating it, ‘cause it’s really already stolen.”

Gibby’s eyes wandered in no particular direction, he was certain that there was something wrong about Moss’s plan, but he was having a problem pinning it down. Moss gave him a nudge in the back and whispered, “Now put your hand on the gun, Gibby. Let’s go over there and give that crook a lesson on the spirit of Christmas.”

Gibby scurried across the street, taking on the attitude of an avenging angel. Moss trailed behind, hopping on one foot. The snow and slush had found its way through the hole in the sole of his right shoe.

Small bubbles of saliva formed in the corners of Gibby’s mouth as he attempted to articulate a coherent sentence expressing his anger at the Santa’s activities. His hand shaking on the gun, he was waving the whole right side of his jacket in Santa’s direction. The Santa was certain he was being accosted by some sort of lunatic until Moss hopped over the curb and interceded.

“We have been watching you, Mr. Claus, and we know you’re a thieving crumb. This is what is going to happen. You reach into your pocket where you stuck all the dough you skimmed from the pot here, and hand it over. Then you take your kettle back where it came from and turn in your suit and beard. By the way, if my friend here ever sees you on the street doing this again, he could get very upset.”

The Santa glanced at Gibby, who was bouncing about, desperately attempting to remove the gun from his pocket to emphasize Moss’s tirade.

The Santa eyes widened with fear as he blurted out, “How do I know this nut has a gun?”

There was the sound of tearing material and the gun appeared in Gibby’s hand. The catch for the clip caught on a hole in his pocket and the clip and bullets fell into the snow as he waved the automatic in the direction of Santa’s nose. Santa was smart enough to know there could still be one bullet in the chamber and was handing over the stolen cash as Moss continued his lecture.

“You’d be smart not to report this to anyone. Stealing from you is one thing stealing from poor kids and orphans is another. I’m sure you would rather not have that come out, would you? You could end up doing twice the time we would get.”

Santa gathered up his stand and kettle and ran off in what he hoped was the direction of Santa headquarters to resign. Gibby, on an adrenaline high, trotted after Moss back to the alley.

As Moss flattened the bills for counting, he asked, “Gibby, what was it you were saying about some bastard before?”

“Oh yeah, the guy from the toy store, he was being really nasty to the boy, especially considering it is Christmas and all. Did you ever have a bike, Moss?”

“What boy, Gib? Do you think you need a bike? I’m not following here. Fifty-one, fifty-two...”

“The boy with the sweater: He wants a bike. Not for him, he wants it for his sister.”

“Fifty-five, fifty-six. That’s nice, Gib, that the little guy wants to get a bike for her. Thirty-seven. Damn, now I have to start over.”

“I was thinking, Moss.”

Moss cut a hard look in Gibby’s general direction. “Thinking, Gibby? Thinking what?”

“I been thinking about what you said about Santa. You know, stealing from both ends and how rotten he was. I think you got it wrong, Moss. I think we might be doing the same thing, and that makes us just as bad as him.”

Moss blinked his eyes to adjust to the new darkness of the alley as the lights from the restaurant faded. He found himself talking to the spot where he assumed Gibby was still standing. “Are you suggesting we give this money up to the first guy that walks down the street?”

“No, that won’t work; it isn’t his money any more than it’s ours.”
“We can’t take it to the Santa. That crook is long gone by now.”

“No, I guess we can’t.”

“The way I see it, Gib, we deserve this money. We kind of rescued it. You know, Gibby, people gave this money for a worthy cause. We’re a worthy cause. We have no food, no money, and on top of that we have nowhere to sleep. We’re worthy, Gib, as worthy as anybody I have ever seen. It’s not our fault they let us out early. Is it, Gib? Tell me, is that our fault?”

            “Guess not, Moss. It’s just you were the one who said the sweater kid ought to get something better for Christmas. You know, Moss, we been broke before. We can do broke. We could go to the mission and get some soup and they’ll let us sleep there until we come up with something else.”

            Moss dropped the wad of bills to the ground when a voice from the back of alley whispered, “Merry Christmas, boys.”

            Moss dove for the bills and shouted, “RUN GIBBY, RUN!”

            “Don’t bother. I know who you are and I can find you anytime I want to.”

            Moss dusted snow from his coat as he righted himself. “That you, McCaffery? How did you get here so fast?”

            Mike’s flashlight shone on Gibby and Moss as he advanced toward them. “That Santa’s act caught my eye when I was making a delivery across the street. By the way, Gibby, you’re right, the toy store guy is a bastard. You’d be surprised how the echo from this alley carries across the street.”

“We’ll have to keep that in mind in the future.” Moss looked at his wrist as if his long ago pawned watch were still there. “Oh my, look at the time, gotta run, Mike, nice chatting. Gotta go.”

“Stay where you are, you two. You both know this isn’t the way that this has to end. I can’t let you get away with an armed robbery. Well, almost armed. I picked up your cartridges and clip Gibby. You know you should be more careful with a gun, even if the shells are lying on the sidewalk. What do you think we should do about this situation, guys?”

            Gibby took the lead. “Whatever you say, Mike, is okay with me.”

            “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but for once I agree with you, Gibby. If you don’t have the money, there is no evidence. No evidence, no robbery. Let’s go buy a bike.”

            Gibby was practically skipping across the street in front of Moss, who trudged alongside of Mike. While negotiations for the bike improved when lead by Mike in his uniform, the would-be thieves were still eight dollars short. In a moment of weakness, Mike agreed to bear the burden of the difference under the assurance of his conspirators he would not be in sight at the delivery.

            Moss and Gibby had a little spring in their step as they made their way back to the alley. “We did something good tonight, Moss. You should be happy about that. I’m sure Mike will give us a ride back to the jail: I don’t think he’ll make us walk in all this snow.”

            “You’re a real Christmas pip, Gibby, don’t ever forget it.”

            The back door of Mike’s cruiser opened as they neared it. “Hurry up guys we’re late.”

            Gibby was yet again puzzled. “Does the jail close early for Christmas, Mike?”

            The car’s tires spun and they were out of the alley. “We’re not going there. We’re headed to my place to find you a jacket that isn’t ripped to shreds, then dinner.”

Moss and Gibby exchanged confused glances. In near unison they asked, “You’re making dinner for us?”

“Not quite, I have a friend, Sharon---you’ll like her--- she keeps her diner open on Christmas Eve so that people without families can go there for a free dinner. I guess that includes us, fellas. By the way, Moss, don’t you ever refer to me as a clown again.”

“The echo in the alley?”

“Right.”