100 Bullets: I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus
A Kevin Schmidt Fic (ramiel@siscom.net)

This part of the Project was originally hosted by
Circle Of Dreams

Disclaimer: "100 Bullets," "Agent Graves," and all related concepts are owned by Brian Azzarello and trademarked by DC Comics.  They are used here without intent to threaten copyright or make profit.  Happy Holidays.

 NOTE: Contains mature themes.  If you have a weak stomach, be warned.

She wasn't sure if the parents really were glaring at her, or if it was a rapidly growing sense of paranoia.  In the long run it didn't matter.  She was already out of place, being the only adult in the line that wasn't accompanied by a kid.  She allowed herself a small, bittersweet smile as she glanced at the kids waiting in line with her.
She felt a chill, despite the warmth of the pressing crowd and the overtaxed mall central cooling system.  With a slight frown she pulled her leather jacket tighter around herself and waited patiently for her turn.  She was sure they were all looking at her at this point, not just because she didn't have a child with her, but because of the cut of her skirt, the hint of cleavage peaking out from beneath the men's dress shirt she wore beneath her jacket.  They all knew, she was growing more positive of this by the second.  Shelly Carson knew they silently called her a whore and snickered behind her back.
It didn't matter.
For the first time in months she had a purpose.  She had a reason for not taking a handful of pills in the morning just so she could stagger zombie-like through a day of waiting tables.  It was the second greatest gift she had ever received.
She was next in line now; she began to tune out the chatter around her as she mentally put her face on.  It had been well over five years since the last time she'd worn this face.  Five years since she wore an outfit like this one, evoking a schoolgirl uniform with its too short plaid skirt and soft cotton shirt.
She was next. She drew in one last breath and stilled the fluttering in her heart and slid up to him with a shy smile on her face.  She caught the surprised look in his eyes as she gracefully slid herself onto his lap.
He cleared his throat and gave a throaty "Ho! Ho! Ho!  And have you been a good little girl this year?"
Her face shone with mock innocence as she answered softly, "I've been pretty naughty this year, Santa."  She gently moved on his lap, pressing closer to his bulky form and placing her arms about him.  She could tell that she had his complete attention.
His voice had a slight stammer to it as he patted her gently on the back.  "Well, er, you know that naughty boys and girls only get lumps of coal in their stockings, don't you little girl?"
She pouted, and began to twist strands of his big white beard around her fingers.  "Well, I only want one thing this year, Mr. Santa."
"Well, I might be able to bend the rules a little.  What would you like for Christmas this year?"
She moved in closer, grazing his beard with her face.  She could smell the sour scent of beer on his breath.  She lowered her voice and quelled a momentary bout of queasiness.  "Ever since I was a little girl I've wanted to be Santa's Special Helper."
She could feel his arousal and she actually had to suppress a grin as his struggled to maintain his gruff voice.  "Err, really Little Girl?"
She nodded mutely.
Santa smiled.  "Well, if you're a good little girl and say your prayers, maybe I'll let you meet the elves and see the North Pole."
He leaned in slightly, the beard tickling her ear, "I'm off in ten minutes, want to meet me out back and we'll go see my workshop?"

 

 

"Black coffee, a slice of warm apple pie, and a moment of your time."
It was a day earlier, and she was waiting tables at Lou's Café.  "Café" at this point being Lou's attempt to convince folks this wasn't really a fleabag diner.  The attempt was wildly unsuccessful.  Lou's catered to people who didn't mind the occasional cockroach skittering across the floor.  Luckily Lou himself didn't care that his head waitress was an ex-hooker, and the only thing he expected her to do was wait tables.
She scribbled his order on a note pad and smiled weakly.  "Coffee and pie is no problem, but I'm a bit busy right now, Mister."
He looked up at her from his booth and smiled warmly.  "Please, Ms. Carson, I only need a moment."
She frowned.  "Do I know you?"
"Not yet."
"Listen, I don't know what you've heard, but..."
He continued to smile the same warm smile, but his voice was like cold steel.  "Shelly, it's about Katherine."
She proceeded to get him his pie and coffee and then sat down across from him.  "Are you a cop?  Did you find something out?"
"My name is Agent Graves.  No, the police still do not know who raped and then suffocated Katherine Carson, leaving her body in a plastic bag behind a grocery store."
Shelly shuddered at his cold delivery and fought back tears.  "Then why the %^? are you talking to me about it?"
Graves' smile vanished and his rugged, weather-beaten features softened.  He was an older man, at least sixty, maybe seventy and the age showed in the harsh lines of his face and his thinning white hair.  He steepled his fingers and looked at Shelly with concern in his eyes.  "Because it's almost Christmas and I have a gift for you."
Shelly glared at him, her words laced with venom.  "What are you going to do, give me my daughter back?"
Graves shook his head and pulled a manila folder with a red bow on it from the seat beside him.  With a slow motion he slid it over to Shelly.  "No, but I can give you the man who did it to her."
Disbelieving, she opened the folder and read several pages of background on Mr. Matthew Lawrence, Age 45.  She read about his being a suspect in several child molestation cases throughout the years.  She read about the kiddie porn websites he subscribes to, and the hardcore pedophile magazines he gets from Denmark every month.
After that, however, was a detailed clinical analysis of the last moments of Katherine Carson's life.
She closed the envelope, her eyes filled with tears, blood running down her chin from where she bit her lip.  Agent Graves offered her a handkerchief.  She took it with shaking hands and wiped the blood from her mouth.
Graves waited until she had calmed slightly and then placed a small briefcase on the table in front of Shelly.  "I didn't come here to upset you, Shelly.  I came here to give you this."  He thumbed the latches on the briefcase and turned it to face Shelly, opening it slightly to let her see the contents.

 

 

It was a quick drive to Santa's apartment from the mall.  He was still wearing most of his costume beneath a long brown trenchcoat.  He smiled and caressed her cheek with a gloved hand.  "Still want to see Santa's Workshop?"
She smiled wickedly and kissed at his fingers.  "Oh yeah."
They walked up the steps to the third floor and into a remarkably normal apartment.  Shelly didn't know why this shocked her, what did she expect to find?  Children tied to the couch?  A sign on the door saying "I am not human"?
He locked the door behind them and put his beard back on, smiling.  At this point Shelly could plainly see the bulge in his pants as he moved closer to kiss her.  She grudgingly met his lips through the fake beard.  She giggled and cooed and moved with him willingly when things progressed into his bedroom.  She doffed her coat and dropped it by his bed and slowly began unbuttoning her shirt, revealing a white lacy bra underneath.  His beard scratched as he kissed between her breasts, his gloved hands discovering the white cotton panties beneath her skirt.
Eventually his body pressed against her and he fumbled with the belt on his Santa outfit sliding his pants down.  He moved against her, muttering to himself.  She never realized how big he actually was and imagined there was very little padding in his costume.  His callused hands, now free from the gloves, roamed over her body.
"Oh yes, oh thank you God.  You're so beautiful, little girl, so very pretty."
The words started to come faster spilling out in a jumbled monologue, his hand grew more insistent, reaching, grabbing, and caressing.  He slid her panties down and then moved his hands up across her body, holding them to her face, caressing the soft skin.  He didn't notice the tears his hands wiped across her face.
She felt his hands move down to her neck and her sobs increased; she felt his weight moving against her, his smell, his oppressive warmth.  She didn't bother to choke back the sobs as she reached into her coat, reaching blindly for her gift.
"You're so perfect, so pretty."
She fired the 9mm point blank into his skull.

 

 

Inside the suitcase was a gun.
"It's a 9mm Glock 17, fully loaded.  Also in there are one hundred unmarked, untraceable bullets.  The gun itself is untraceable and, should it be found, any investigation it's involved in will cease immediately."  Graves studied her expression carefully.
"This has got to be a lie.  No one can do things like that.  The police would..."
Graves interrupted.  "They would what?  They were not able to ascertain the identity of your little girl's killer.  And even if they could, he'd only spend time in an institution.  Probably freed within twenty years.  There are many areas where the hands of law enforcement are tied.  If you accept this, your hands are not tied.  You're free to judge Lawrence as you see fit."
Shelly looked at him disbelieving.  "I don't have the right to play God."
"You used to be a mother."
She silently took the briefcase.

 

 

She tucked the gun back into her coat, and tried to wipe the blood off with the sheet.  She buttoned her shirt and moved zombie-like out of the apartment and down the steps.  As she stepped into the cold December night, a black Lexus pulled up to the curb.  The door opened and the driver, an average-looking guy in his twenties wearing a rumpled suit, stepped out and looked at Shelly.
Shelly stepped back, numbly feeling for the lump of steel in her coat.
"Whoa, take it easy, Graves sent me.  I'm your ride."
She stopped and let her shoulders slump.  "Oh."  She looked at him, "What happens now?"
He moved around to the passenger door and opened it for her.  "Well, from here you can go on, start a new life, put this behind you.  I mean, you could stay.  No one would come after you, but what would you do with your life?"
She looked back at the third floor windows where she had just seduced and murdered the man who killed her daughter.   Shelly looked back at the man.  "How could I start over now?"
He shrugged and rubbed his hands against the bitter cold.  "There are ways."  His voice grew quieter, "I think I've done it."
She sighed and slid herself into the car, he closed the door and joined her.
As the car pulled away from the curb she began to talk softly.  "I didn't believe him.  Graves.  He could have been lying, that's why I did what I did.  I had to be sure."
He looked at her as he maneuvered through pre-Christmas traffic.  "And were you sure?"
Several minutes passed in silence.  She continued to look straight ahead but broke the silence with a question.  "How many people does he do this to?"
"For Mr. Graves, every day is Christmas."

 

 

The End