Troy and Me (A Christmas Tale) Part 2

Troy and Me (A Christmas Tale) Part 2.

 

Read Part 1 
 

    The guy shepherded us down the corridor to where Santa was sitting on his throne. Santa initially reached into his bag to give the guy a present and then seeing the gun he went white and kissed his 'I love Jesus' badge. We were way past Jesus's help I thought, as the guy pulled a rope out from around his waist and tied us all together.

 

    “If you keep schtum,” he said, “we won’t have any trouble.”

 

The guy had a weird accent, I couldn’t put my finger on it, Polish or something, and with his big round face he certainly looked foreign.

 

    He settled himself down on the chair that the kids normally sit on and then we all stayed there looking like a pretty poor Christmas show.

 

    I was thinking this was the sort of situation in films where you end up in concrete shoes and get thrown into a river and I was also thinking it was just my luck to be dressed as an elf when this happened. I could already imagine the sarcastic newspaper headlines. After about ten minutes though, the guy started to rummage in the pocket of his jacket and came out not with some concrete ready-mix but a packet of cigarettes. From the design on the box these looked Polish too.

 

    “Have any of you got a light?” he said, leaning forward.

 

    Santa shrugged, I did too so the guy turned towards Troy. As he did he kind of sat back a little, as if something had shocked him.

 

    “Troy man, is that you?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

 

    “I’m going straight, Vic,” said Troy.

 

    “You’re dressed as an elf,” said the man I now knew as Vic.

 

“Hey man, I heard about you. Weren’t you shot or something down at the harbour? That was a raw deal.”

 

    “They say I’m going to lose an arm,” said Troy.

 

    “Which one?” asked Vic.

 

    From outside the grotto came an announcement over the tannoy that the shop would be closing in five minutes, and if anyone had goods to purchase could they do so right away. 

 

    Vic sucked some air through his teeth. “That’s the baby. Tell you what, Troy; I could use a decent getaway driver. I hear you’re the best in the business.”

 

    “Like I say,” said Troy, “I’m going straight.”

 

    We listened to the sounds of the shop closing and then one by one the lights in the grotto went out. I was pretty surprised to hear about Troy’s criminal past.  As far as I knew he was just this guy who rented a caravan in the garden where I lived. On one level being a getaway driver was pretty cool but on another I also figured it was wrong. I admired Troy for sticking to his guns with Vic. It’s pretty difficult to decide to change yourself and stick to it.

 

    After another half hour or so, Vic stood up and ran a hand over his greasy hair. He took out a knife and cut the rope that was holding us all together.

 

    “You know where the manager’s office is?” he said to Santa.

 

    Santa nodded but he didn’t say anything. He was looking kind of queasy, totally different to how he was with the kids; with them he was all jolly and Christmas-like.

 

    “That’s where we’re going,” said Vic. “Don’t forget, I’ve got a gun.”

 

    It was the weirdest thing being in the department store after it was all shut up. It was the kind of place you expected always to be full of shoppers weighing up the price of stuff, especially at Christmas.

 

    I thought about grabbing one of the toys and maybe hitting Vic over the head with it, but the closest things to hand were all these cute looking teddies and I wasn’t stupid.

 

    Santa led us off the shop floor and up this staircase with whitewashed walls. The sound of our footsteps echoed around us. I noticed Troy was grimacing.

 

    “I’ve missed my medication slot,” he whispered to me. “The arm is killing me.”

 

    When we got to the manager’s office Vic flicked on a light and directed us over to some chairs in a corner with the gun. He was acting like the real big shot but what I was thinking about was Troy and his medication.

 

    Vic went straight over to this portrait that was hanging on the wall behind the desk and lifted it carefully down to the floor. There in the wall was the front of a safe. Vic kissed his lips together.

 

    Troy groaned a little. I could see that he had beads of sweat running down from his hairline and down both of his cheeks. With his good arm he was cradling the arm that was going to be removed.

 

    “Look,” I whispered. “Hang in there and think about that holiday. I don’t know how these things work but we can probably put in these hours as overtime. We might get time and a half.”

 

    Vic had an ear pressed to the safe and with one hand he was turning the dial of the lock. How he knew beforehand the whole thing wasn't opened with a key I don't know but that was probably what made him a master criminal and me just an elf.

 

    There came a clunk, clunk, clunk from the safe and I saw the door swing open. Inside was bundle after bundle of money. Vic let out a yelp and rubbed his hands together. 

 

    “Happy Christmas you devil,” muttered Santa quietly.

 

    Vic took from his pocket one of those plastic bags they sometimes give you in supermarkets if you are lucky and began shoving the money inside it. 

 

    Troy gave another groan. In the past I had seen plenty of TV shows and I was worried Troy might collapse, but instead he wiped the sweat from his forehead and piped up.

 

    “Vic,” he said, “you still want that getaway driver?”

 

    Vic tied a knot in the top of the carrier bag and slung the bag over his shoulder. He laughed grimly.

 

    “Thought the sight of all this might change your mind. This is the start. There’s loads of money about at Christmas. Like I said, I need a good driver.”

 

    “I’m your baby,” said Troy.

 

    I didn’t know what I was more upset about; this whole robbery, my holiday plans probably falling through, or being let down by Troy.  I had kind of gotten used to the idea of having a friend who lived in the caravan behind my bedsit. I had imagined us popping over to each other’s for cups of tea and maybe sharing a beer on the stoop in the summer. Oh well.

 

    Troy stood up, giving me and Santa what I guessed was a disparaging look and walked over to where Vic was next to the safe. Vic laughed again and made like he was going to put an arm around Troy but as he did, Troy, to the surprise of us all, lunged to the left and snatched the gun right from Vic’s hand. He held it up and pointed it at Vic.

 

    “I’m going straight,” said Troy. “How would it look if you got away with all that money? I’m bound to be fingered and I’m tired of getting fingered. It’s happened once too often. Losing my arm has put things into perspective.”

 

    This was the most I had ever heard Troy talk and I was pretty impressed.

 

    “Catch,” said Vic.

 

    Vic took the bag off his shoulder and threw it right at Troy. I guess if Troy hadn’t been in so much pain he would have been quicker. The bag hit him square in the chest and the gun went flying. 

 

    Vic and Troy both lunged for the gun together and it disappeared under their bodies. At the same time me and Santa leapt up out of our chairs, both us of thinking that if we got the gun we could resolve the whole situation. Or maybe Santa was just thinking he could flatten Vic with his weight. Santa was quite a big guy.

 

    Vic and Troy were both on their knees on the floor now. Troy had his good hand on the gun but sweat was pouring off his forehead and he was obviously in pain. Vic let out a shout, reached over Troy's body and punched him hard on his poorly arm. Troy screamed and I heard the gun go off and then felt this pain in my leg like nothing on earth.

 

    I heard the gun go off again and saw blood spurting out of the back of Troy. It hit the wall making a pattern all the way up to the ceiling. It was like one of those Rorschach testing things but I couldn’t say what it represented. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was something. I don’t know. It was at that point that I must have passed out.

 

 

Two weeks later I was clearing out Troy’s caravan. Outside the window all I could see was thick snow. It had started the day after the incident in the department store and had continued ever since. They were saying that it was the worst winter for twenty-five years.

 

    I had spent one week in hospital. The doctors said I was lucky not to lose a leg. 

 

    “You might walk with a limp,” a young doctor had told me, “but not so much of a limp as if you’d have had a prosthetic.”

 

    The landlady had lent me a case to pack Troy’s stuff up in. I had said I would do it. He didn’t have much; a few pairs of pants, a spare pair of jeans and a shirt that was obviously for best. What surprised me most was his collection of books. I hadn’t had Troy down as a reader. When you don’t know someone, it can still be surprising what you don’t know about them.

 

    It had turned out that Troy was a hero. The bullet that had gone through him had also hit Vic. Vic hadn’t got away with a penny.

 

    I closed the lid of the case and took a final look around the caravan. I headed out into the snow, it was tumbling out of the sky like popcorn. Luckily I had a cab waiting.

 

    It was Christmas Eve and the streets were full of last minute shoppers. A Santa was standing on a corner ringing a bell. Two kids were throwing snowballs at a smaller one and then a big dog appeared and chased them all away.

 

    The taxi stopped and I got out. I wished the driver a happy Christmas and stepped into the hospital concourse. Snow swirled around here too, rushing in through the doors and through a hole in the roof where the hospital was being redeveloped.

 

    I made my way up the stairs and let myself into the room where Troy was staying. There was a machine next to him making beeping noises and he had a drip in his arm. His left arm. They had removed the bad one. I held my hand to his forehead. He still had a temperature but it didn't seem any worse. That was a good thing surely.

 

    “I’ve packed your stuff, for our holiday,” I said. “The case is here, all ready for when you wake up." I took a deep breath and sat down on the chair next to the bed. "The nurse tells me it's good if I speak to you. Maybe somewhere in there you can hear me. Can you?"   Then, not knowing what else to do, I took one of the books out of the case and opened it up to the first page.

 

    “War and Peace,” I read, “by Leonard Tolstoy.” I coughed gently into my hand. “It was cold, cold day in Siberia…”

 

End

 

(Troy and Me has previously been on AbcTales and then published. Then disappeared. So here it is reposted for Christmas. Thanks for reading. If you did. And Happy Christmas). 
 

Image from Pixabay