dock or in the wrestling arena. Every few minutes the tavern's conversation would be interrupted by his boisterous laugh that threatened to shake the bottles down off the shelves and the inebriated off their perches. The third was a tall yet somewhat emaciated fellow who could have won the best-looking cadaver contest at any local poorhouse. All three listened to my former employer intently.
"All of the information is in these notes," he said, and then, focusing on the wan one, he continued: "Remember, you are the past. Bring up all about that horrible Christmas season he had at boarding school, adding details like how he loved the Arabian Nights, and such. Then move into his apprenticeship under Fezziwig. Dick Wilkins was his old crony, and Belle was the girl that got away."
"Yessir," the wan one replied in an asexual lilt.
"And you," he continued, moving on to the bearish fellow, "remember to cover his current life. All of the facts on that guy Cratchit's family will do the trick. Play up that brat Tim, the one with the gimp. The old buzzard has to wallow in guilt and regret."
"What about the nephew?" the bear asked. "This guy named Fred."
"Oh, yeah," my former employer agreed. "Cover him, too."
Turning to the walking corpse, he finished with: "You don't say anything. Just show him those pictures and try to look creepy . . . like death warmed over."
"Is that all?" the cadaver inquired.
"That's it. You already have your cloaks. White for past, green for present, and black for—"
"Yet to come," the cadaver interrupted.
"Whatever. Just remember to show up starting at twelve, one of you on each hour. No later than that or the drug that will be mixed in his dinner will have worn off. By morning, he'll be a raving lunatic, and by New Year's, Bedlam's latest inmate."
"And bonuses all around," added the bear.
"Here, here!" the group replied.
From my tavern stool observation post I was horrified. It was clear that they were using the research I had carefully gathered to drive an admittedly unlikable yet innocent man insane.
The question was why, but it quickly all clicked in place.
The nephew Fred, the son of Scrooge's sister Fantine.
Fantine's married name was Rogers.
How could I have been so blind? Fred Rogers, Scrooge's nephew, was my former employer.
I was so busy flagellating myself for my stupidity, that I didn't even hear the bear come up behind me and put me in a choke hold.
I passed out as the weight of a thousand curses of stupidity came crashing down.
I came to, what must have been hours later. I was trussed up like a holiday goose, in the back area of some storeroom. Above me I heard the voices of a crowd at play, a Christmas party of some sort. My head hurt, and the more I struggled the more exhausted I became.
After an enormous effort I finally managed to work the trusses off my ankles, freeing my legs from their bondage.
Then I passed out again, the stupid singsong of a holiday round beating through my skull.
My rest was disturbed by a lantern bearer, who doused my face with a glass of holiday cheer.
"Stupid detective," a voice behind the light scolded. "All of the party guests have gone home, and now I must deal with you."
"I guess so, Fred," I said, and then added with false bravado, "and, by the way, seasons greetings."
"I was afraid you had put it all together, Mr. Chandler. That's why I had Barnaby escort you here. You may not remember. You were quite unconscious at the time."
"Barnaby the bear," I offered.
"You could have been enjoying the holiday right now, but no. You had to be nosy."
"And you had to be greedy," I countered "You're Scrooge's only heir. God knows he's not going to give it to charity. Couldn't you just wait? His days are obviously numbered at this point."
"With any luck, tonight's little dramatic recital will have taken care of that already. The best case is that his ticker gives out, at which point I inherit the firm. The worst case is he goes crazy, at which point I take control of the firm and he goes to the loony bin. I win either way."
Somewhere in the distance the bells of Christmas dawn tolled.
"There! A new day is dawning. Scrooge & Marley will now be Fred Rogers and Company," he laughed, and then added, taking a gun from out of his pocket, "and you are the only flaw in a perfect plan. A flaw