When Elves Attack by Tim Dorsey Read Free Book Online Page B

start the car,” said Coleman. “She’s looking for something else to throw.”
    Feet ran down the front steps.
    â€œHurry!” yelled Coleman.
    â€œThat’s not Martha.”
    Nicole sprinted down to the car.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” yelled Serge.
    â€œComing with you. I’m getting the fuck out of this hell house!”
    â€œYour mouth!” said Serge.
    She grabbed the passenger-door handle before Serge could hit the lock button, and dove in the backseat.
    â€œGet out of the car,” said Serge.
    She pointed up the street. “Just hit the gas.”
    â€œOut of the car—”
    Martha came running down the steps.
    A cast-iron pressure cooker crashed and creased the Chevelle’s hood. “My car! It’s vintage!”
    â€œTold you to hit the gas.”
    Serge peeled out.
    Martha ended up in the middle of the street behind the car, throwing her shoes.
    Nicole was twisted around in her seat, looking out the rear window and giggling. She turned back around. “That was cool.”
    â€œThat was not . . . What do you think you’re doing?”
    Nicole lit a Marlboro Light. “What?”
    Serge snatched it away and threw it out the window.
    â€œHey!”
    â€œJesus, you’re just a kid!” said Serge. “What, sixteen?”
    â€œFifteen.”
    Coleman fired a new doobie and passed it back over the front seat. “Wanna hit?”
    â€œSure.” Nicole reached.
    Serge slapped his hand. “Coleman! That’s illegal!”
    â€œSorry. How ’bout a beer?”
    â€œNo!” yelled Serge. “She’s just a kid!”
    Nicole pointed. “Is that a real gun?”
    â€œWhat?” said Serge. “Oh, this? Didn’t realize I’d gotten it out again. Something to keep my hands busy.”
    â€œCan I hold it?”
    â€œNo!” He stowed it under the seat.
    Nicole slumped in disappointment. “You guys looked like you were going to be fun.”
    â€œWe are fun,” said Serge. “Ask anyone. Well, not anyone. You know how some people automatically don’t like you for no reason?”
    The Chevelle made a right for the Gandy Bridge.
    â€œSo where are we going, anyway?” asked Nicole.
    â€œWe drive around,” said Serge. “Waiting for duty to call.”
    â€œI get it.” Nicole nodded. “You like to go cruisin’. Me, too. Driving around getting messed up. Then maybe street-racing on the Courtney Campbell or Twenty-second causeway. Some of those dudes have guns, too.”
    â€œWhat dudes?”
    â€œLike my boyfriend.”
    â€œI’ve been meaning to talk to you about him,” said Serge.
    Nicole got out her cell phone. “You mean Snake?”
    â€œIs that a name?”
    â€œNo, it’s just what the guys at work call him.”
    â€œWork?” said Serge. “Like an after-school job.”
    â€œNo, he dropped out his senior year. Has a job at the Gas-N-Grub.”
    â€œSenior?” said Serge. “How old is this Snake?”
    â€œEighteen.”
    Serge slapped his forehead. “Now we really have to talk. How many piercings does he have, anyway?”
    â€œDon’t be old-fashioned.”
    â€œOh, I don’t have a problem with it. They’re meant to attract attention, and they attracted mine . . .”
    The Chevelle ramped up the bridge over Tampa Bay.
    Serge glanced as the young girl tapped her cell phone. “Nicole, what are you doing?”
    â€œTexting.” Tap, tap, tap.
    â€œBut I’m talking to you.”
    Not looking up: “I hear you.” Tap, tap, tap.
    Serge yanked the phone away.
    â€œHey!”
    â€œIt’s rude,” said Serge.
    â€œEverybody does it.”
    â€œAnd that’s the whole problem with this country today. No manners.” Serge unscrewed a thermos of coffee. “People used to hang out and actually communicate. But today they head to