Just off a frantic Buenos Aires street was a small avenue no one ever noticed. It was the dog days of summer and heat was rising up from the asphalt. Along the avenue was a café where a reindeer named Rudolph sat alone at a corner table. A straw fedora was pulled low and obscured his face. He was sipping a mojito. The day’s edition of La Nación was folded across his lap.
On the table was a can of Barbasol shaving cream. No one seemed to think that was odd.
The waiter approached and delivered a dish of cannoli. “On the house, señor.” Startled, Rudolph went ramrod erect and frantically looked around. As his nose sniffed for danger it flashed brilliantly through several shades of angry crimson.
Satisfied there was no immediate threat, Rudolph casually felt under the table. There, amidst the gum, was an envelope. He deftly detached it and slid it into the newspaper. Using the paper as a blind, Rudolph opened the envelope and read the note inside.
“You can do the job when you’re in town.”
Shit. Reactivated! Rudolph had feared this day might come. He had always known there might be one last job. That last bit of business with Gepetto went sideways, what a mess that was, no lie! The Toy Cartel didn’t play games.
Rudolph shook the envelope and a photograph tumbled out.
Oh shit. Jolly man, red suit. It was the Fat Man himself!
This post is part of Blogdramedy’s 2012 BlogFestivus challenge where festivants are cajoled and harassed into writing nine stories in nine days about nine reindeers. Each story has to be exactly 243 words in length. Happy Festivus to all!