The Mike Murphy Files and Other Stories by Christopher Bunn

getting closer.
    Boom!
    BOOM!
    It was almost as if the gangsters were tossing grenades into my cell.
    “Hey!”
    They were yelling at me now. My bed frame rattled and shook. It was enough to wake me up. I woke up. My bed frame was still rattling.
    “Hey!” someone hissed. “Hey, boss!”
    I opened my eyes. And screamed. A horrible, goggle-eyed monster stared at me out of the darkness.
    “Shh!”
    The monster flipped back its night-vision goggles to reveal the tiny face of Snix. He’s the head of my R&D department. He’s about three feet tall, which is pretty big for an elf.
    “Keep it down, boss,” he said. He scowled at me. “You owe me big time.”
    “Anything, Snix. Anything. Uh, where’s everyone else?”
    “Tahiti. They conga-lined their way to the airport. You only got me because I stayed behind to defrost the freezer. Come on,” he continued grumpily. “Let’s get out of here before they wake up.”
    “Before they wake up?”
    “I had to tase a couple of policemen to get in. Here, put this on.” Snix pulled another pair of night-vision goggles out of his backpack. “I cut the power main before I came in.”
    “You cut the power main? You’ve seen way too many movies. You didn’t, er, tase a Detective Thurston, did you?”
    “Maybe I did,” he said, looking irritated at the question. “I didn’t stop to ask their names.”
    “Well, at least you didn’t blow anything up. Or did you? Tell me you didn’t.”
    He seemed to cheer up at this idea. “Not yet, boss.”
    Snix had left his car parked in the back alley behind the station. A fire-engine red ’69 Camaro.
    “Nice and inconspicuous,” I said.
    “Yeah,” said Snix. Elves don’t understand the concept of sarcasm. “Wait until you hear the engine.”
    “V8 big block?”
    He looked at me as if I was a moron. “Jet engine. How’d you think I got here so fast? This baby can do Mach 4 without breaking a sweat. Cold fusion power plant, radar cloaking, airbags, the works. It even has an espresso maker. What do you think we’re doing down in R&D all the time? Making toys?”
    The engine fired up as smooth as buttered caramel. “All right,” said Snix. “Tahiti, here we come!”
    “There’s just one problem.”
    “What’s that?”
    “I think the Mafia has my sack.”
    His jaw dropped. “The Supreme Santa Sack Version 3.0 with fifth-dimensional sourcing!” Snix breathed. “There isn’t another in the world like it. Your old pop is going to kill you. I’m going to kill you!”
    “And my sled’s gone too,” I added.
    He seemed to go into catatonic shock at that. I had to slap him a few times.
    “The sled!” he managed.
    “Yes, the sled. They must’ve stolen it after they hit me on the head and threw me down the chimney. That was a real Merry Christmas. They definitely qualify for the naughty category.”
    “I wish they’d hit you a lot harder!” he shouted. “That sled is my pride and joy!”
    “Calm down. You’re going to hyperventilate. All we need to do is look up the Gambini family in the telephone book, pay them a visit, and get my stuff back. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
    Snix gripped the steering wheel. “More firepower,” he muttered. “We need more firepower. All I have is a Taser and some exploding toffee. We can’t take on a bunch of Mafia thugs like this. I’m not a magician, you know. You’ve ruined my vacation!”
    “Well, let’s get this baby in the air,” I said, patting the dashboard. “A quick dash home, grab a few supplies, zip back, and drink some eggnog with the Gambinis. Ho, ho, ho, and all that. Maybe we could stop in and see that Detective Thurston. She’s probably rather concerned about my whereabouts. She struck me as having a sympathetic soul underneath all that Kevlar and whatnot.”
    Snix just snorted and stepped on the gas. Elves aren’t known for being sympathetic souls. His soul was probably made of Kevlar, if he had one to begin with. Despite these very fascinating