A Gumshoe Kind of Christmas

Mist from my vaporizer mixed with the steam coming from the Wilmington, Delaware streets. In my gumshoes, I walked stealthily. I saw him cross the street. He wore civilian attire, but I knew it had to be him by his gait. No sleigh, no clinging bells, no reindeer; the whole sense of his identity had been stripped away like gift wrap.

I followed his vehicle for about six blocks and saw him make a stop. Another bar. Maybe that’s what kept him so jolly. The amazing thing remained that he could drive. Maybe all it took for him to sober up was some cookies and milk.

I watched him get out of the car and head straight for the hole in the wall. I approached. Once I entered, the place exuded warmth and comfort. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood. He kept a low profile, but I knew he had bought drinks for everyone in the bar.

I inched closer to be face to face. He looked up from his top shelf bottle of scotch.

“Ho, ho, how are you, Warren?”

“You know my name?” I asked, slightly agitated.

“If I can see you when you're sleeping, I think I ought to know when you’re in your detective attire, too!”

“You got me!”

“So, are you here to arrest me?” he said with a chuckle. The glee he had seemed genuine and hearty despite the circumstances.

“No. Not yet. I mean I’ve got a list of violations including home invasions and the aforementioned seeing when people are sleeping. Do you even have a license to set up cameras in people’s houses?”

“Those aren’t cameras. It’s my mind’s eye.”

“Alright, well you enjoy your booze and Merry Christmas to you, sir,” I said and slid away.

“Ho, ho, wow!”