FRIDAY - TRADITION
JJ

 “I remember, there was this one Christmas Day, where I captured Quarryman… Did you know he retired about fifteen years back? I think he’s a senator from New Hampshire now or something… Anyway, I imprisoned him on this channel that showed nothing but Christmas specials for the entire day. By the time he finally broke free and foiled my plans he was a wreck. I heard that even years later he would still have flashbacks whenever someone started singing Frosty the Snowman.”

The man laughs hard. It’s the laugh of a man who’s got no regrets, the kind of man who in his younger days probably didn’t even have much of a conscience. His big white beard falls over a faded red shirt that reads, in living color.

“What about you? I bet someone who used to call themselves Joe Friday must have a few stories of memorable holiday villainy from the good old days?”

“I’m not one for reminiscing.” I ladle another shot of leftover eggnog into his glass. It’s ten in the morning, but he doesn't seem to mind. “And aren’t you Jewish?”

“I’m half Jewish from my mother’s side, but I haven’t been to temple since the seventies.” These days he’s just Kelly Emmett, but in days long past he used to go by the Technicolor Terror.

He gives me a wild grin. “I’ve fought or teamed up with a half dozen literal gods or demigods. And, after spending a week going toe to toe with a long john empowered with the ten mythical gifts of this pantheon or that, it just gets a little hard to sit through Shabbat services.”

I refill my own glass. “I guess after living the sort of lives we have cynicism tends to outweigh faith. I mean, Azazel is in here at least once a month to get drunk and hit on women. He’s literally a fallen angel, and he’ll be the first one to tell you that most of the stuff they preach is bull.”

Kelly gestures around at the decorations. “If that’s your feeling, then why make such a big deal about the holiday?”

“Christmas?” I swirl the contents of my glass, watching the soapy eggnog as it slides past the edge of the tumbler glass, “That’s not religion. It’s tradition, and that’s more powerful than a bunch of old words in some book. At least that's always been my take.”

The old man takes a sip and comes away with a bit of eggnog in his beard. “Does your tradition have to do with an empty bar?”

I look around at all the empty tables and stools. It’s been a hard year and I’d be lying if I said that my cash box wasn’t emptier than usual, but I wave it away. “Georgia’s at home with her kid. Edward said something about spending the day talking with a pen pal from Canada, and Buddy’s out with his nieces.”

“But not you?”

I can tell he’s looking at me, but I don’t meet his eyes. “If religion is the first casualty of a supervillainous life, then family is the second. The only person that ever cared about me was my mother and it’s been fifty years since I’ve seen her... but I got my bar. She’s the only family I need now.”

Kelly gets quiet, which is far from his natural state. I hate it when people get quiet like that.

“I have my own traditions,” I say. “I keep the bar open in the morning, then I get into my Santa suit and pay a visit to… a place in Little Athens, and then I head down to the supermarket and pick up a tray of red and green cookies. They get marked down to half-price after five today. I’ll spend the rest of my night watching Captain Super Meets Santa Claus on this old VHS.”

“I suppose it could be worse.” He starts humming Frosty the Snowman and cackles madly.

“Well, my wife absolutely loves Christmas,” he says wiping the tears away. “She’s bonkers over it. Decorates the house with lights and snowflakes, bakes gingerbread, the whole kaboodle. We have so much damn dinner that I got leftovers for weeks. You’re more than welcome to come and have a plate. We could use the company.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I got my traditions, but I’d take a Santa suit if you got one.” I fix the green tie I’m wearing, to hide the shake in my hand.

“Fresh out. What happened to yours?”

“Toxic fruitcake.” I take a sip of cold eggnog to steady my pounding heart. “I’ve been trying to get another one, but all the stores are clean out. I got to find one or I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“You get pretty worked up over this sort of thing?”

“What sorta thing?”

The man who was once a murderous psychopath narrows his eyes. “Back in the sixties I once worked with this organization called the Fang. It was one of those typical faceless paramilitary snake cults. Instead of Christmas, they celebrated the coming of the Great Viper or some BS like that.

“Well, the head of the outfit used to get all twitchy if things weren’t done according to the proper ceremonies. Last I remember he was twitching right up to the point that Sergeant Glory and the Statesmen punched him square in the jaw. God, I hated those flag-waving bozos.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“I’m just saying if you get too wrapped up in the way things are supposed to be you tend to be blind to the way things are, and then boom, the next thing you know you’re getting knocked for a loop by some GI in a camouflaged cape.”

“Well, this has been some real holiday cheer and all, but it’s about time I close the place up.” I down the rest of my drink and start to wash the glass.

“Don’t be like that,” says Kelly. “C’mon, the morning’s still young and God knows I’m not. One more drink?” He holds out his glass and I ladle in another helping of eggnog. “Besides, you owe me a tale of Christmas villainy?”

I think about it as I lean against the bar. There’s something comforting about the familiar wooded top beneath my hands. It’s like a mother’s touch.

“My first ever masked crime was on Christmas Day.”

“No one ever forgets their first time.”

“Yeah,” I let myself smile a bit. “I broke into Haran’s Department store, the big one in the Ironsides District. I probably wasn’t older than sixteen at the time. I used a brick to break the display window, the one facing First Street, where they set up the big Christmas displays every year.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a villainous escapade.” Kelly licks the eggnog from his beard.

“Well, it wouldn’t have been if Absolute Hero hadn’t been passing by.”

“No kidding?” He laughs. “I remember that idiot. He had ice powers and was always making the worst sort of puns about them. If he yelled ‘Freeze’ at me one more time I swear I was going to punch him right between his snowballs.”

“Yeah,” I say. “He definitely yelled that when he found me, but I jumped behind this rack of calendars. Suddenly, razor-sharp icicles come flying over my head. I nearly pissed myself.”

“What’d you do?”

“I threw the heaviest thing I could find. I remember that it was this big bulky weekly planner. The thing wasn’t just some little leather-bound notebook either. It was like a big hard covered binder full of cotton-blended paper, stickers, organizers... the works. I tossed that thing without even looking. It was more instinct than aim.”

“Did that do the trick?”

I nod. “The damn thing hit Absolute Hero square in the temple. The cape went down like a sack of potatoes. I heard later that he had some sort of hematoma or something. The guy was never right in the head after that... So, I got away.”

Kelly whistles. “This line of work, I tell you. One day you’re yelling at criminals that they got ‘Snow way out,’ and the next you’re getting put into a coma by a kid throwing a calendar. It's a wonder any of us ever get out alive.” He puts down his glass. “What’d you steal, cash, jewelry, designer jeans?”

“A Santa suit.”

“What?”

I’m about half ready to clam up, but I figure I’ve started the story, so might as well keep going. “This was a year or two after my dad finally got tired of beating on us and left for good. But, my mother was sick, and she was in the hospital all alone. She loved Christmas. We had this tradition where every year we watched my favorite movie together and ate cookies.”

“Let me guess, Captain Super Meets Santa Claus?”

I drum my fingers on the bar to keep them from twitching. “Anyway, she wasn’t doing too well and I wanted to cheer her up by coming to the hospital dressed as Santa, but I didn’t have a suit. I knew Haran’s did. I’d seen it there a few days before.”

“So, you break a window, down a cape, and saunter over to your mom's hospital bed in a stolen suit.” He laughs. “She must’ve loved that.”

“The damn thing was three sizes too big. I looked ridiculous, but it didn’t matter. Mom still smiled. It was one of the last things she ever did. She was gone a few hours later.”

Kelly stops smiling. “So, the Santa suit you lost...”

“Same one.”

“Good,” he says and I want to deck his halls, but he stands up and puts his jacket on. “Who wants to spend their Christmas wearing a musty old suit anyway?”

“It’s a tradition.”

He offers me my coat. “Make a new tradition. Come and endure my wife’s turkey dinner.”

“I got plans.”

“And she’s got homemade cookies. Besides, I haven’t seen Captain Super Meets Santa Claus since I was in junior high. It’d be a real laugh to watch. I can tell you about the time Captain Super actually punched me through a plate glass window.”

“I got a place I need to be,” I say, but I take my coat from him.

“I know.” He nods, “and on the way, we’ll stop down in Little Athens. Isn’t that where Dracma Cemetery is?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll give you a lift. Besides, I want to meet this mother of yours. I have a few critiques to offer her about her child-rearing skills.” He puts his wrinkly old wiry hand on my shoulder and leads me to the door of the bar.

“You see, JJ, the way I see it, old traditions are fine, but new traditions are much better.”