- Polite Fictions

This is what Charlie knew:

Slick was set up. The pie - a pie Charlie had made - was bait. Were they trying to be clever, ironic bastards, or did it just turn out that way?

They had sent some poor asshole to "mess with The Gingerbread Man." And the Gingerbread Man had stuck a fork in his head.

The Gingerbread Man. Yes, they were trying to be clever, ironic bastards. She had heard his code name on the surveillance tapes. She knew he was important. She did not know why.

Here's what else Charlie didn't know:

Was he named so she'd know who they were talking about? Or because they were pigs and cows and old, old women and they wanted to eat him?

She also didn't know if she had been allowed to steal those tapes. If she, too, had been set up. Was this her final exam for "baking school?" She looked at the three remaining people in the room. If only they would wear name tags, so she could tell who was on her side. Where are the self-destructing directives when you need them?

Which is of course bullshit. When there are people in the room trying to kill you, the nametags should be pretty fucking easy to read.

"I hear the Carribean is nice this time of year," she said to Claudette.

"That's my girl." Claudette beamed at her broadly. She looked like an old woman who wanted to gouge out some raisin eyes when she smiled like that. She was still smiling as Charlie put a bullet through the back of her head.

Charlie turned to face the men.

"Hey Roman, who thought 'Laughing Whore' was a nice thing to call someone?" She didn't wait for an answer.

"For the record," she said, turning to Euri, "I am a lady." A lady who was out of bullets. She could tell by the weight of the pistol.

"Euri, have you tried to kill me today?" Euri shook his head.

"Is there any hope for Doug?" He shook his head again.

"Was he dirty?" Euri nodded.

She cut him loose, wanting to say "go and sin no more." It almost made her laugh like a lunatic just thinking it. Almost. She had made a mental note to keep the laughing in check.

"Get the fuck out of here," she told him (which is the same thing, really).

Charlie went around the bar to check on Slick. There, she found a scene of yellowish flocked snowmen, crippled candy canes and plastic pine boughs. The speakeasy hideout was cramped with all the Christmas decorations stuffed in there. Slick had been busy.

"Merry Christmas," said the Gingerbread Man.