Simon Says: Case of the Sidewalk Santa Scam (standard:mystery, 3474 words)
Author: pjlawton	Added: Oct 03 2004	Views/Reads: 3341/2258	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Someone is killing Sidewalk Santas. PI Winston Simon is hired to find out why and runs into some old friends. Did I say friends?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

divorce. I guess she likes it there because she has been there ever 
since. I had pretty much gotten over her but I did miss my daughter a 
lot. 

“Well Bro, I know you just love to hear my voice but I didn't call just
to chat. You know about the dead Santa's right?” 

On the news I had heard that a third sidewalk Santa had been killed. All
shot in the head just like the one across the street from my office. 

“Yeah I heard about them. What's up?” 

TJ spent the next few minutes filling me in on what they knew which was
of course very little. Finally he got around to why he had called. The 
main reason was to tell me he had referred a woman whose son was one of 
the dead Santa's. The young man had been home from college for semester 
break and had been trying to make a little spending money for 
Christmas. He said that she wasn't really satisfied with the current 
investigation so he had given her my name. She would probably be 
calling me later today. I thanked him and rang off. Maybe some work was 
exactly what I needed to get me out of the blues. While I waited for 
her call I outlined some areas for investigating. She called about two 
hours later. 

*** 

I drove over to her house later that day. She lived in the Williston
area in an upscale three story brown stone. Not the ritziest 
neighborhood but a far cry from mine. I rang the buzzer and she 
immediately opened the door. She must have been standing there waiting. 


I was surprised at what I saw. With a name of Rawlings I guess I had
expected someone a little different. She was Hispanic, late thirties or 
early forties with long hair and a quick smile. She wouldn't be 
considered beautiful but to sum her up with one word, striking. 

“Mister Simon? Come in please” She led me to a well-decorated sitting
room and motioned for me to take a seat on the sofa. 

“Thank you. Ms Rawlings, let me begin by saying that I am sorry for your
loss.” She nodded her head but didn't speak. 

“What exactly do you want me to do?” 

Her quiet voice suddenly got hard. “Mister Simon I want you to find out
who killed my son. I want them punished or dead. I don't really care 
which.” 

Maybe I should have been shocked by her tone but I really wasn't. I
would pretty much feel the same way if something like that happened to 
Jacki. 

In my police experience I had found that having a grieving relative talk
about their loss sometimes made it a little easier for them to bear. 
“Ms Rawlings, please tell me a little about your son.” 

I listened quietly for about ten minutes while she spoke about James,
her son. I don't know if it helped but I want to think that it did. 
After awhile she ran out of words. I took that opportunity to take my 
leave. 

Rising and walking to the door I said, “He sure sounds like a great kid.
I know you must miss him a lot.” She nodded but didn't say anything. 
Pausing at the door I shook her soft hand. “Okay Ms Rawlings, I'll do 
what I can.” 

A couple of seconds later I strolled down her walkway with a $2000.00
retainer check in my pocket. As it turned out it didn't take long to 
solve the mystery. 

*** 

I spent the next three days just watching. I went to each neighborhood
where the shooting occurred and patiently watched the Santa's at work. 
It wasn't rocket science and even I could figure it out. Simple bell 
ringers they weren't. Oh yeah, they were taking in money in their 
little metal kettles but that was only a sideline to their real 
purpose. The Santa's were dealing. 

Time after time I would see someone approach and drop a few coins in the
kettle. They would then hand over some folded green to the Santa and he 
would pass back a small packet or two. I checked several other corners 
and saw the same thing. You would think that if I was able to spot this 
little enterprise then the police should also. Maybe they were just 
over worked with the upcoming holiday season or maybe just weren't 
looking quite as closely. I hoped that's what it was. 

I hated drug dealers more than anything except maybe kidnappers. I
decided I would have to do something about this little set up so I 
decided to follow one of the jolly old fellows at the end of his shift. 
I have to say this for them; they were keeping the business separated. 
I stood outside the Charity office and watched as each Santa brought in 
his little kettle and turned it in, drew their daily pay and headed 
out. It was then that I noticed one particular fact. The entire Santa 
crew was made up of young Hispanic males and from their actions they 
all knew each other very well. After turning in their kettles they all 
left together. I decided to follow them home. 

The guys didn't disburse but all went together to an old boarded up
building on the corner of 48th Street and 9th Avenue. I couldn't 
believe it. It looked like the 9th Avenue Diablo's were back in 
business. The Diablo's had been pretty much destroyed several years ago 
after a violent turf war with a new Jamaican gang. I hadn't known they 
had reformed. Guess lately my mind had been on other things. 

As I stood there watching the building I happened to look up. Coming
toward me on the other side of the street was a junkie wino named Rudy 
that I had once used as a snitch. I motioned for him to meet me around 
the corner. 

“Hey Simon my man, what's happening?” 

“Hey Rudy, what can you tell me about the Diablo's and their new little
scam.” I took out two twenties and held them out. 

The money quickly disappeared somewhere in the folds of the filthy
clothes he was wearing. “I don't know much man, but I do know that they 
have taken over the entire Santa business in the neighborhood. That's 
cold man, treating Santa that way.” 

We talked for a few minutes and he confirmed what I had already figured.
Apparently the Diablo's wanted all the corners and gave the current 
holder a choice. Either you gave up the corner and kept your mouth 
shut, dealt drugs for them, or you died. Looks like the Rawlings kid 
and the other two wouldn't play ball and got the third choice. That 
really burned me up. Three lives snuffed out by some lowlife scumbag 
drug-dealing thugs. I wasn't going to let them get away with that. I 
told Rudy to hang loose and headed out to see TJ. 

*** 

TJ let me tag along on the raid but I did have to stay outside. The
Tactical Team made short work of the Diablo's and in about twenty 
minutes 30 gang members and about 100 kilos of drugs was off the 
street. Everything went smooth with the exception of one small 
incident. As the bangers were being led out one that I remembered as a 
minor leader saw me standing there. In an instant I realized that he 
recognized me. Not too long ago I had taken out their old leader.  As 
Mister Macho passed, he spat ominous hate filled words toward me. 

“You. Yeah, we know you man. You gonna die, we see to that. I promise.” 

TJ watched him being led away then turned to me and laughed. “Hey Bro, I
don't think the Diablo's like you. Maybe you need to take a course in 
how to win friends and influence people.” 

I just shook my head. “And I try so hard. 

TJ's look turned serious. “Yo Bro, you better watch yourself for awhile.
These guys do hold a grudge and we didn't get them all.” 

I opened the door to my car and got inside. “No problem Big Guy, I may
just take me a little vacation, maybe a little fun sun and sand is just 
what I need. See you later.” 

In my review mirror I saw TJ watching until I drove out of sight.
Sometimes he worried about me I think a little too much. Oh well, he 
had always thought of himself as my big brother. I didn't mind at all. 

On the way home I called Ms Rawlings and filled her in on what had gone
down. I told her I would type up my report and send it to her along 
with the remainder of my unearned retainer. She told me she really 
appreciated me handling the matter so quickly and to please send the 
report but to keep the money. Hey, a couple of grand for a few days 
work wasn't that shabby. A few more cases like this and I could catch 
up on some of my left over bills. Unfortunately these easy cases didn't 
come along all that often. Did I say easy case? Well, it ended up being 
not quite so easy after all. 

*** 

A couple of nights later I was leaving my favorite watering hole when
two young thugs dressed in Santa Suits stepped out of an alley entrance 
directly in front of me. One pulled a wicked looking switch blade knife 
and the other what looked to be a home made Sapp. There wasn't any 
pretext of robbery or anything; they were there to kill me. I didn't 
give them the chance. 

As they got close I reached into my belt holster and pulled my everyday
handgun, a Walther P22 .22 caliber automatic loaded with LR hollow 
point ammunition. I wasn't about to be Mister Nice Guy and simply shot 
the closest one twice in the middle of his forehead right below his 
furry fringed Santa Hat. He fell like a rock. 

The second one didn't want any part of that and hightailed back down the
alley as fast as he could run, big black vinyl boots flopping all the 
way. I went over and gave the stiff a once over. I pulled the Red 
jacket off his right arm and right there below cutoff sleeveless muscle 
shirt was the little tattoo. It was a comic devil above a large D with 
a 9 in the center. It looked like some of the Diablo's were trying 
follow through on their leader's threat. I pulled out my cell and 
dialed TJ to let him know what had happened and to come on down. I 
didn't want some rookie cop getting the wrong idea. Anyway, I figured I 
had better watch my self a little closer for a few days. 

*** 

Christmas Eve came and I was feeling a little more secure. I hadn't seen
or heard anything from my old devil friends for several days. Between 
the ones that I had taken out and the ones that the police had busted 
there couldn't be very many more of them still out on the streets. That 
suited me just fine. 

I was on my way from the local Package Express office where I had
shipped my daughter's Christmas present. I know, last minute and all 
that but they assured me that she would get it on Christmas morning. 
Anyway, as I walked along I got that tingly feeling on the back of my 
neck. Someone was watching me. I pretended not to notice but I slowly 
scanned my surroundings and kept my hand near my gun as I walked. I 
couldn't see anything but there were a lot of dark alleys and closed 
storefronts that made excellent hiding places. I kept my guard up but 
nothing happened and I was back to my warm office in a matter of 
minutes.  Inside I shrugged; maybe it had just been my imagination. 
But, just to be safe I double bolted my door. 

Christmas morning was more than a little depressing. I did receive a
call from my daughter Jacki thanking me for the present and wishing me 
a Merry Christmas. That helped a little. By mid afternoon though I was 
in a pretty somber mood and stayed that way the rest of the day. Around 
six o'clock I decided to head down to my favorite watering hole for a 
sandwich and some liquid pick me up. Just as I started to get up from 
my desk they busted through my door. 

*** 

There were two of them. They came through the door fast before I had a
chance to do anything. I quickly realized that I had forgotten to 
relock the door after going out for the morning paper. One of these 
days a stupid play like that was going to get me killed. 

They must have been waiting for just the right opportunity. One was
packing a MAC-10 automatic and the other had a stainless steel 
hammerless Saturday night special. I would have laughed if the 
situation hadn't been quite so dangerous. Why? Well, only pimps and 
lowlife thugs carried stainless steel handguns. I guess they thought it 
made them look tough. I wasn't too concerned with Mister Pimp; however, 
at close range that MAC-10 could do a lot of damage. 

In about two seconds I realized that I knew Mister Pimp. The last time I
saw him he was hightailing it down the alley while his friend lay dead 
in the street. I figured I may as well get the ball rolling. 

“Well, well. If it isn't Mister Track Star Santa. Been running down any
alleys lately? Last time we met you couldn't wait to get gone. I think 
maybe you should have stayed gone.” 

He eyed me coldly for a second. “So, Mister PI, you talk big for someone
who is about to die. We're gonna fix you good.” 

I laughed out loud, partly to make him mad but mostly to cover my
movement as I inched my hand under my desk. I continued to laugh and 
said, “Yeah, right, just like the last time.” 

He turned to the other one and sarcastically said. “Mister PI over there
thinks something is funny. Maybe we show him we're not so funny.” 

His little lack of concentration was what I had been waiting for. I
shifted my hand and palmed the hand grips of my Smith & Wesson .357 
Magnum revolver that I kept fastened with Velcro to the inside of my 
desk. All my attention was on the banger holding the MAC-10 as I jerked 
the Magnum out and fired. Two shots slammed him in the chest and he 
literally flew through the air back against the far wall. His already 
dead finger jerked the trigger of the automatic and sprayed a hail of 
bullets all over my office. Most were of no consequence but one did 
graze me along the side of the neck. I ignored the pain and turned my 
attention to Mister Pimp. There was no need. A couple of his partner's 
slugs had found him, one in the back and another in the back of the 
neck. He was very dead. 

For a few minutes I sat at my desk with the smell of cordite and fresh
blood heavy in the air. After my racing blood pressure had slowed to 
somewhat near normal I picked up the phone and gave TJ a call. Merry 
Christmas Bro. He wasn't really too happy to hear from me to say the 
least. 

*** 

A few weeks later I had just finished redecorating my office. Patching
up the holes and cleaning up the blood took a little more work that I 
had anticipated. I was sitting at my desk admiring my handiwork when I 
received a call from an Assemblyman Sanchez of my district. It seemed 
that he and Ms Rawlings were an item. His call was to thank me for 
helping rid the city of a bad street gang and a lot of illegal drugs 
and in particular for helping Ms Rawlings through her grief. He said 
the mayor was also very pleased and would like to award me a city 
commendation. I thanked him but informed him that I already had plenty 
of commendations and really couldn't use anymore. He was disappointed 
and said that the mayor would be even more disappointed. I told him 
that I was really sorry that the mayor would be disappointed but that 
was okay, I hadn't voted for him anyway. 

End 


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