Secret Santa

by Andrew Shaffer

A man was dead—this was not the time nor place for Aqua Net.

that day, clutching a mop for protection in case the drunk woke up, she learned that she’d never really been afraid of clowns. What scared her were the men underneath the pancake makeup.

An unpleasant odor drifted past her nose. It was positively vile. “Do you smell something?” Cal shook his head. “I’ve got a cold.” And now I’m going to have to disinfect my desk, she thought. Today was not the day to come in with a hangover. “It smells like…like a dog’s—” Lussi looked down at her feet. The black, polished shoe on her left foot was pressed into a single brown turd the size of a bratwurst. This hadn’t been tracked in from outside; she would have noticed that. Had somebody let a dog into her office? Cal leaned over the desk to get a look at what Lussi had stepped in. “It’s not one of mine.” She shot him a blank stare. “Too small,” he explained.

“It’s supposed to be anonymous,” Lussi said. “So is AA, but the first thing you do there is introduce yourself.”