The Ghost of Christmas Present by Scott Abbott Page B

waiting car. “All right, let’s go!” One of the policemen slammed Patrick up against one of the back doors and cuffed his hands hard.
    â€œI get it now, Jolly Green Joker,” said the shotgun cop. “You stage your own little Christmas pageant just waiting to pickpocket everyone’s candy canes.”
    â€œI swear—” was all Patrick could get out before the driver cop shoved him in the backseat.
    â€œSave it for your new cellmates. I know some boys inside our cages who love a good bedtime story.” The two cops climbed into the cruiser’s front seat, which was separated from the back by thick steel meshing.
    Patrick put his hands and face to the wire. “But you don’t understand. You have to listen to me.”
    The driver started the engine as the shotgun cop addressed Patrick. “When you join the NYPD, they tell you that you don’t have to listen to bums who pickpocket people at Christmas. It’s like a regulation or something.”
    The patrol car pulled away from the curb. Patrick turned to the back window and watched the crowd disperse. He couldn’t find Mindy or Kent or even George. But he did find someone. It was Mila standing there with Ted. Her eyes and Patrick’s met as she watched him being driven away.
    â€œI didn’t do it,” Patrick mouthed, but before he could finish his sentence, Ted had already turned the young woman around to lead her away.

Chapter 16

    WANDERERS OF THE DARK
    M idnight Manhattan splashed itself across the horizon in a blurry Milky Way of traffic signals and blinking neon. Here and there, wandering cabs trolled the streets for stray merrymakers looking for a dry ride home from their holiday cheer. One taxi driver gave up searching for a new fare and peeled off the East River Parkway to head across the Brooklyn Bridge.
    Ted sat in his cashmere dressing gown and watched the lone taxi from his apartment window as it drove over the river and wound its way around an off-ramp before disappearing into the wet backstreets of Brooklyn Heights. “The wrathful skies gallow the very wanderers of the dark and make them keep their caves.”
    â€œWhat did you say, Uncle Ted?”
    Ted looked up to see Mila standing behind him, having just let herself into the apartment.
    â€œNothing,” he said and pulled his gown tightly around him. “What are you doing here so late?”
    â€œI came to drop off these papers. I worked overtime to get them done. I’ve got a lot of packing to do before I leave. Why are you talking to yourself in the dark?”
    â€œI don’t answer to my employees. They answer to me.”
    Mila set down the stack of papers.
    â€œThis is the last of my work. I’m no longer an employee.”
    Mila came over and curled herself up on the far end of the leather couch.
    â€œPoof, I’m once again your niece.”
    â€œWho taught you how to talk?” Ted asked with a wry grin.
    â€œThe one who was always there for me while Mom was off memorizing the beaches at Costa Del Sol . . . you.”
    â€œMy sister’s a good person. But it’s a fact she often forgets.”
    Ted reached out and gripped his niece’s hand.
    â€œWhat were you saying when I came in?”
    Ted exhaled. “I was reciting a line from a play. King Lear .”
    â€œI’ve heard the title. What’s it about?”
    Ted looked out the window at the dark downpour splashing across the glass. “It’s about an old man with a long white beard who talks to himself in the night rain.”
    â€œYou’re behind on your beard.”
    â€œI don’t think the shareholders would care for an unshaven CEO. I knew a corporate president once whose two-day stubble sparked rumors of a no-­confidence vote.”
    â€œSo why are you reciting a play to yourself in the night rain?”
    â€œBecause, like Lear, I’m going crazy. Isn’t it