Cooked Goose

shocking you and that scumbag attacking you. You must be—”
    “Attacking me?” Tammy shook her head and sniffed. “He didn’t attack me. He was trying to help me get that thing off my chest. He was just—”
    “Oh, damn.” The truth hit Savannah with a whollop somewhere in her solar plexus as she stared down at the fellow on the pavement.
    He glared back at her with a mixture of rage and confusion in his blue eyes. Blue eyes. White beard. Rosy cheeks—well, his cheeks were sort of green now, but she was pretty sure they had been rosy a second before she had kicked him in the groin.
    “You hurt Santa Claus,” said a small, wee voice behind them. Savannah turned to see a young boy, watching her with horror on his munchkin’s face. “You’re in big trouble, lady,” he went on to explain in painful detail. “I saw what you did! You kicked Santa Claus right in the balls!”
    “Don’t say ‘balls,’ honey. It’s not nice,” his mother said, pulling her child closer to her and away from the crazed brunette and the other woman who had just disrobed in public. “We prefer to call them by their proper name, testicles.“
    “Yeah,” the kid continued, wide-eyed. “And I saw that lady’s chesticles, too! Did you see them? They were hanging right there and—”
    The outraged mother clamped one hand over her son’s mouth and the other over his eyes as she led him away.
    “I’m-m-m... I’m-m-m-m...” croaked Santa Claus as he struggled to rise.
    “What is it, sir?” Savannah graciously offered him her hand. He slapped it away.
    A couple of fresh-faced security guards in black, wanna-be-cop uniforms came whizzing up in a glorified golf cart. “What’s going on here?” the tallest one demanded as he climbed out of the cart. “Oh, Mr. Wilcox,” he said, noticing the man on the ground, “it’s a good thing you’re here.” He consulted his watch. “Your shift starts in three minutes. Are you hurt?”
    “I’m-m-m... I... ack-k-k-k-k.”
    “Mr. Wilcox seems to have lost his voice for the moment,” Savannah said, trying to sound helpful, even cheerful. “In fact,
    I think he should probably be taken to a hospital. You said something about his shift. Does he work here?”
    “Sure,” replied the short one. “He’s our five o’clock-’til-closing Santa.”
    “Oh, shit,” Savannah whispered to Dirk, “I really did kick Santa in the balls.”
    “Definitely classifies as a ‘naughty’ and not ‘nice’ gesture,” he replied dryly.
    Still leaning against the VW, Tammy continued to quietly sob.
    ‘Tm-m-m... I’m-m-m-m...” Once again, the not-particularly-jolly old elf tried to communicate with the world.
    “Oh, Santa. I’m so sorry.” Savannah dropped to her knees beside him and clasped his cold, clammy hand between her own. “What is it, sir? What are you trying to tell us?” ]
    “I’m-m-m... Pm-m-m...”
    “That’s it. Just take a deep breath and say it.”
    ‘Tm-m-m... Pm-m-m-m-m gonna... sue... your! fuckin’ ass off!”

    * * *

    6:15 p.m.

    Having pulled his car deep into the orange grove, well out of sight from the main road, the driver cut the key. He pulled his backpack from the floorboard and yanked the zipper open. Inside he had packed duct tape, thin nylon rope, and a ten-inch butcher knife—the tools of his trade. Rape was a primal act; it didn’t require sophisticated, high-tech equipment.
    Oh, yes, and the disguise. He was particularly proud of the red hat with its white fur trim and the snow white, luxuriously curly beard. Who said he didn’t have Christmas spirit? he thought with a grin as he tossed his keys into the pack and zipped it closed.
    When he swung the car door open, the sweet scent of tree-ripened citrus filled his head, triggering memories... of last time... of the time before... and the time before that. Lately, just the smell of his morning glass of orange juice could get him excited and hard.
    He glanced at his watch. Six-seventeen. He had to get to the bus stop. The last one ran at six-thirty. Stupid hick town. They folded up the sidewalks at eight.
    But he’d be back. In an hour or less, he’d return. With company.
    He took a deep breath, smelled the oranges, and felt his blood rush to his groin.
    Oh, yeah. He’d be back. And then... party time!

CHAPTER TWO

    7:30 P.M.

    “ N ow down South, where I’m from, we know how to cure what ails a rapist. Yep. We just chop his damned pecker off. Then we string that sucker on a piece