Merry Fucking Christmas

‘Who the hell would want to kill bunny?’

The question facing me on a crisp December morning as I watch forensic elves take hair samples from the wall and share glances that would kill a puppy. They aint happy. Buns was a name, a furry shoulder to cry on when the going got tough.

The scene was normal, a full palm tree sprouting from the floor and a half dozen chocolate wrappers strewn around the 8 by 5 apartment. What wasn’t SOP was watching weeping elven SOCO’s picking Bunny-skull from the rear wall. No TV. Bunny was a reader with no time for the movies. Maybe she’d have seen the whack job coming if she’d bothered with those gangster flicks.

‘I got an ear! Friends and romans I have an ear!’

The soggy brown backed item dangling from the latex gloved hand was stained vermillion on the inner white. I watched a stripy stockinged fuckwad bag it like he’d won the contract for the Lucky Charms cereal adverts. Easy. This one didn’t know bunny. Just another stiff.

I took myself off a 150 year case for Bunny. The White Rabbit had his fingers in every pie you can think of, and I was a week from presenting his ass for supreme violation by the court of fiction. But someone had to take down Bunny. Sweetest archetype you ever met. Eostres own kid and a mother to anyone who came calling. No doubt that bleeding heart is responsible for the bleeding throat wound. Trust. You want to play that game then someone will fuck you.

‘What are you thinking Jack? Don’t pull that close face on me’

I preferred him without the heart. Tinman got wiser than his paygrade.

‘Motive. Who wants Bunny off? It’s not slotting in, rust-ass. She was literally a perfect and blameless gal’

As he wiped down his steel hands I noticed a ring-dent on the wedding finger. His eyes tracked to meet mine with a slow squeal of rust.

‘Dorothy left me again, so ignore it. Bitch’ll be back as soon as the Red Shoes run her back home. As for Bunny, well SOMEONE is making a play for Easter obviously. She wasn’t killed for her shit, right?’

Right. A five dozen stacked crates of chocolate and two bales of shredded bedding paper. It ain’t the haul to be aiming for.. This shit was ideological.

Tinman had forgotten me, poking those steely appendages into the gaping stump that once held the head of our Easter Bunny. In my concentration I’d let slip a chill, but pulled the hoar frost back to the sarcastic handclaps of several pissed off elven forensic boys.

‘Weeeell, ho fucking ho’ he whispered

‘What’

From the throat wound a nasty sliver of metal, about a hands length, soaked in blood and upwards curving

‘Let the motherfucking slieghbells ring my friend. My Strawman wouldn’t have the heart to pursue this at this time.’

Semi frozen blood stained the sliver.

‘You’re saying this was the Fat Man?’

Another rusty creak made an impression of a smile done in metal.

‘Oh yes. This is Kringles work, Just surprised we don’t have the usual hoof-mark to the forehead. Rudolf is a vicious piece of shit. Nothing you can do Frost, you know he’s got his power on this time o year’

I feel my ice crackling along the carpet.

‘EssCee can’t always hide behind the presents. One day, he eats his last fucking pie.’