The Book of Death (Bourbon Kid 4)

name, just to make things official.
    ‘It’s The Book of Death, by
Anonymous,’ he said. ‘Please log it against my account.’
    ‘Certainly, sir,’ said Josh
reaching down to type on a keyboard in front of a monitor on the desk. Sanchez
waited by the desk to make sure he did it properly.
    After a few seconds of typing,
Josh looked up. ‘It says here you already have one book out,’ he said frowning.
‘The Gay Man’s Guide to Anal Sex?’
    ‘Police business,’ Sanchez
retorted.
    Josh raised an eyebrow. ‘Researching
the great buggery case from nineteen eighty-four?’
    ‘Are we done?’ Sanchez asked in
a firm voice.
    ‘Yep. When should I expect both
books back?’
    ‘When I’ve finished my research.
Good day.’
    With The Book of Death tucked
firmly under his arm, Sanchez marched out of the doors and headed down the
stairs. The whole process had actually been much easier than he had expected
(aside from the unfortunate revelation about the buggery book). As he hurried
down the steps he contemplated what he would say to Jessica when he showed up
at the Casa de Ville with the book. He was so deep in thought that he barely
noticed the large gentleman dressed as Santa Claus coming up the stairs. The
two of them bumped into each other. The collision caused Sanchez to drop The
Book of Death. It bounced onto the edge of one of the steps behind the Santa
and then continued to bounce down the stairs to the bottom. Sanchez looked up
at the Santa who stared back at him with a look of surprise on his bright red
face. Both men spoke at the same time and uttered the exact same words:
    ‘Watch where you’re
going, ya fat bastard!’
    The Santa actually looked pretty
fearsome, and Sanchez noticed specks of blood in his dirty grey beard. He also smelled
of stale booze, a smell Sanchez knew only too well. It’s how most of his
customers at the Tapioca smelled when they arrived for the day. Considering the
level of booze, Sanchez was surprised that the Santa was even up so early in
the morning. Whatever the reason, it was obvious that the guy wasn’t much of a
morning person because he looked about ready to rip Sanchez’s head off. His
face contorted with rage at the fat bastard comment from the law enforcement
officer. An apology of sorts was required.
    ‘Er, sorry,’ said Sanchez.
‘Didn’t realise you were a man of God an’ all that.’ He reached inside his
jacket and pulled out his silver hip flask. He held it out to the angry Santa.
‘Here, have some Christmas spirit on me,’ he said with a fake smile.
    The Santa looked down at the hip
flask and eyed Sanchez suspiciously. ‘What’s in it?’ he growled.
    ‘It’s similar to eggnog, so
it’ll probably taste very familiar to the likes of you. And you can keep the
flask. Merry Christmas.’
    The Santa took the flask. The
angry look on his face softened. ‘Merry Christmas to you too, officer,’ he
said. Then he carried on his way up the stairs.
    Sanchez breathed a sigh of
relief and hurried on down to the bottom of the stairs where The Book of Death
had landed face down on the ground in a patch of dirt and snow just inside the
front doors. The dirt had most likely been brought in on the boots of the fat
angry Santa (who by Sanchez’s reckoning would be even angrier once he took a
sip from the hip flask). He picked the book up and brushed the snow and dirt
off the cover then headed back out into the street.

 
    Up in the library, Josh was busy
trying to fathom whether or not Sanchez was really a cop or just a homosexual
who liked dressing up as a member of the Village People, when he was confronted
by the sight of an angry looking Santa Claus.
    ‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked.
    The Santa leaned over the desk.
He had an unpleasant smell emanating from his breath. ‘I’m looking for the
Reference section. Where is it?’ he asked.
    ‘Over there,’ said Josh pointing
over the Santa’s right shoulder. ‘Are you a member here, sir?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘In that case I’ll have to get
you to fill out a new members form once you’ve chosen a book.’
    The Santa curled his top lip up,
revealing a fairly sharp set of teeth. He unscrewed the lid on a silver hip
flask he was holding and eyeballed Josh. ‘I’m looking for The Book of Death,’
he said in a husky voice unbefitting of a man so universally loved by children
the world over. ‘I’m told it’s in the Reference section. You seen it?’
    Josh knew where it was all
right. Sanchez had