Bazooka 7

“What happened to Santa?”

“What?” I looked across the table at Officer Buck.

“You haven’t said what happened to Santa and the waitress yet.” He complained.


“Did they survive the diner attack?”


“Do you know what happened to them afterwards?”

“Kind of.” Buck raised an eyebrow. “I’m getting to it,” I said, annoyed. “I’m busy trying to get arrested at the moment.”

Unfortunately I was more out of shape than I thought. Shorty sped out of sight leaving me with a cramp in my side and all around feeling just a little bit lost. Aimlessly I wandered around the city until stars shone, eventually making my way back to my small and dingy apartment, befitting my long-term unemployed status.

I lay in bed and thought back on the day. Attacked by a hail of assault weapons, beat up multiple times by a girl half my age, height, and weight, a case of mistaken identity that’s made me one of the most wanted men of the last five years.  I felt all that should be spread out over at least a week’s time instead of less than twenty-four hours. 

I thought about going down to the police station the following morning. Maybe I could talk enough sense to warrant a memo for all the bounty hunters to leave me the hell alone. But what if they didn’t care I wasn’t the real guy? The police captain had been catching a lot of heat from the public for not catching the serial bank robber named Mike; perhaps he would lock me up in his place just to appease the masses? So perhaps I would wipe the slate clean and pretend the day never happened, instead going about my daily business of trying to find a job.   

I settled on pancakes for breakfast and fought hard to sleep, too sore and tired to weigh my options anymore. The next morning I forgot breakfast and instead walked out the front door heading to the unemployment office.

Walking down the sidewalk I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise up in fear. I whistled in an attempt to dispel the feeling but to no avail. I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw nothing. Breathing deeply I faced forward to have one of my few remaining lives scared out of me.

“It’s you!” A gruff voice bombarded me before a thick arm wrapped around my neck, bending me in half with excited affection.

“Who?” I croaked out, managing to look up from my crippled position. “You?”

The old man from the diner beamed down on me. “Gee, I’m sure glad you’re not dead!” He chirped merrily, dragging me down the street to an unknown destination.        


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