It was round about Christmas when Troy knocked on my door and told me that he was going to lose his arm.
'The doctors told me they can't do nothing,'� he said.
Troy had his arm up in a sling and it did look pretty painful. I knew this for a fact because I had broken my arm once and it had hurt like hell. I didn't lose it though.
'Would you like to come in?'� I said.
Troy shook his head. 'It's ok. I just wanted to let you know my news. That was all.'�
I watched Troy as he made his way down the path. He rented a little caravan in the back garden. Our landlady let him have it for three-quarters of what I paid for my bedsit because it didn't have any central heating. It didn't have a toilet either but the landlady never mentioned that. She was kind of old and didn't like to talk about such things, although where that left Troy I wasn't sure. Up until this day Troy and I had never really had a proper conversation.
I gave Troy a little wave as he was about to step inside the caravan. Then I felt guilty about this. I didn't want Troy to think I was showing off, having such a flexible arm and all.

The next day I made two cups of tea and took them both down to the caravan. After about five minutes of knocking the door finally opened. Troy was in his pyjama bottoms and his hair was all sticking up on end. He was rubbing his eyes with his one good arm.
'Did I wake you?'� I said.
'Is that for me?'� said Troy, nodding towards one of the cups of tea.
We went and sat down on either side of the little table and I pulled that morning's paper out from under my arm. I opened it up to the right page and pointed to the box I had already circled.
'I think I've found us both jobs,'� I said.
'Are you forgetting about this?'�
Troy was tapping the side of his head with the end of a pencil but I knew that he meant his arm.
'I've read the advert,'� I said. 'It doesn't mention anywhere about having two arms. Besides, these days there are all sorts of laws to protect the disabled.'�
'I'm not disabled,'� said Troy.
'Then you should be perfect for this job.'�
By saying this I knew I had won the argument. If Troy didn't go for the job then it would be as good as admitting that he was disabled. I guessed he wasn't ready to go down that path yet.

The manager had this way of looking both of us up and down as if we had just walked in off the street. I sensed right off that Troy didn't take to him so I thought I had better do most of the talking. I got the impression that Troy didn't talk much anyway, like people had let him down badly in the past and he didn't want to go over that old ground.
I said that we had seen the advert in the paper and that we were the men for the job.
'So you've worked as elves before, have you?'� said the manager. 'And what about his arm?'�
'This one's alright,'� said Troy, rotating his left arm. 'Look.'�
A woman with long legs and hair in a bob ran up to the manager. 'They've caught some kids in haberdashery stealing needlepoint kits. They need you there right away.'�
'Yes, yes,'� said the manager impatiently. He ran a hand over the top of his head and turned to us. 'You'll find Santa on the forth floor. Just follow the signs. He'll gen you up.'�
'So we've got the job?'� I said.
'It's only until Christmas Eve, you understand? There's no call for elves after Christmas. They're seasonal.'�
'Got it,'� I said.

From what you read, you normally expect these department store Santas to be alcoholics or kid-haters or something, but right off I could see this wasn't the case. We found Santa sitting in his grotto with a smile on his face and a bible in his right hand. He had a 'I love Jesus' badge on his red suit just below his beard.
Santa told us where to get changed and it was straight down to work. There was a cash desk at the front of the grotto where parents paid for their kids to go in, there was a tunnel behind this, and then there was Santa.
Troy and I had to stand in the tunnel and entertain the kids before they got to Santa. Entertaining the kids involved saying 'Merry Christmas' a lot and generally smiling.
'Couldn't we just throw sweets at them?'� said Troy after an hour or so of this.
'Sweets aren't good for their teeth,'� said Santa.
'It'd be a whole lot easier,'� said Troy.
Santa fixed Troy with a stare when he said this and I hustled Troy back into our tunnel.
'Look,'� I said, 'when's this operation of yours?'�
'What?'� said Troy.
'To remove the arm.'�
'Boxing Day,'� said Troy. 'Although boxing is the last thing I'll be doing.'�
'Look,'� I said. 'We'll keep our heads down here for a couple of weeks, save up some cash and then why don't we go away somewhere. Once your arm is all sorted out.'�
Troy didn't say anything to this, but when the next kid came down the tunnel Troy let out a big 'Merry Christmas' and did this funny dance that I hadn't seen before. It even made me laugh.

After the lunch rush the manager came down to see how we were doing.
'They've got this whole dance thing going on,'� said Santa, putting down his bible.
The manager wanted to see it and I couldn't see how we could get out of it although it felt weird doing it in front of him seeing as he wasn't a kid or anything.
'I like it,'� he said, as we finished. 'I don't know that it's traditionally elfish but keep it up and there's an extra fifteen pence an hour for you.'�
'Traditionally elfish,'� said Troy under his breath as the manager walked away and I could tell he was annoyed.
'Think of the holiday,'� I said and already it sounded like something Troy and I were definitely going to do. The day before we had hardly said a word and now we were best mates or something.
There was a rush between about three and four as some kids finished school and there was a bit of trouble when one little girl accidentally poked Santa in the eye with the prow of a model sailing ship she had been given.
I was thinking about going home when this big bloke appeared in the tunnel.
'Oy,'� I said, 'you can't come down here. This is kids only.'�
'Shut it,'� said the guy and I noticed he was holding a gun. 'One false move from the pair of you and you can kiss my arse goodbye.'�
The guy shepherded us down the corridor to where Santa was sitting on his throne. Once there, he pulled a rope out from around his waist and tied us all together.
'If you keep stum,'� he said, 'we won't have any trouble.'�
I couldn't put my finger on it but the guy had a weird accent, Polish or something, and with his big round face he certainly looked foreign. I guessed he was up to no good. He had this aura about him like in those old fifties black and white films.
He settled himself down on the chair that the kids normally sit on and we all stayed there in our own little worlds. After about ten minutes though, he started to rummage in the pocket of his jacket and came out with a packet of cigarettes. From the design on the box these looked Polish too.
'Have any of you got a light?'� he said, leaning forward.
Santa shrugged and I did as well and the guy turned towards Troy. As he did so he kind of sat back a little as if he was shocked about something.
'Troy man, is that you?'� he said. 'What are you doing here?'�
'I'm going straight, Bill,'� said Troy.
'You're dressed as an elf,'� said the man I now knew was Bill. 'Hey man, I heard about you. Weren't you shot or something down at the harbour? That was a raw deal.'�
'They say I'm going to lose an arm,'� said Troy.
'Which one?'� said Bill.
From outside the grotto came an announcement over the Tannoy that the shop would be closing in five minutes and that if anyone had goods to purchase could they do so right away.
Bill sucked some air through his teeth. 'That's the baby. Tell you what Troy, I could use a decent getaway driver. I hear you're the best in the business.'�
'Like I say,'� said Troy, 'I'm going straight.'�
We listened to the sounds of the shop closing and then one by one the lights in the grotto went out. I had been pretty surprised to hear about Troy's criminal past.
As far as I knew he was just this guy who rented a caravan in the garden where I lived. On one level being a getaway driver was pretty cool but on another I also figured it was wrong. I admired Troy for sticking to his guns with Bill. It's pretty difficult to decide to change yourself and stick to it.
After about another half an hour Bill stood up and ran a hand over his greasy hair. He took out a knife and cut the rope that was holding us all together.
'You know where the manager's office is?'� he said to Santa.
Santa nodded but he didn't say anything. He was looking kind of queasy, totally different to how he was with the kids, then he was all jolly.
'That's where we're going,'� said Bill. He added menacingly, 'Don't forget, I've got a gun.'�
It was the weirdest thing being in the department store after it was all shut up. It was the kind of place you expected always to be full of shoppers weighing up the price of stuff, especially at Christmas.
I thought about grabbing one of the toys and maybe hitting Bill over the head with it, but the closest thing to hand were all these cute looking teddies and I wasn't stupid.
Santa led us off the shop floor and up this staircase with whitewashed walls. The sound of our footsteps echoed around us. I noticed Troy was grimacing.
'I've missed my medication slot,'� he whispered to me. 'The arm is killing me.'�
When we got to the manager's office Bill flicked on a light and directed us over to a corner with the gun. He was acting like the real big shot but what I was thinking about was Troy and his medication.
Bill went straight over to this portrait that was hanging on the wall behind the desk and lifted it carefully down to the floor. There in the wall was the front of a safe. Bill kissed his lips together.
Troy groaned a little. I could see that he had beads of sweat running down from his hairline and down both of his cheeks. With his good arm he was cradling the arm that was going to be removed.
'Look,'� I whispered. 'Hang in there and think about that holiday. I don't know how these things work but we can probably put in these hours as overtime. We might get time and a half.'�
There was a clunk, clunk, clunk from over by the safe and I saw the door swing open. Inside was bundle after bundle of money. Bill let out a yelp and rubbed his hands together.
'Happy Christmas you devil,'� said Santa quietly.
Bill took one of those plastic bags they sometimes give you in supermarkets if you are lucky out of his pocket and began shoving the money inside.
Troy gave another groan. In the past I had seen plenty of tv shows and I was worried Troy might collapse, but instead he wiped the sweat from his forehead and piped up.
'Bill,'� he said, 'you still want that getaway driver?'�
Bill tied a knot in the top of the carrier bag and slung the bag over his shoulder. He laughed grimly.
'Thought the sight of all this might change your mind. This is the start. There's loads of money about at Christmas. Like I said, I need a good driver.'�
'I'm your baby,'� said Troy.
I didn't know what I was more upset about; this whole robbery, my holiday plans probably falling through, but what I think I felt the most was being let down by Troy.
I had kind of gotten used to the idea of having a friend who lived in the caravan behind my bedsit. I had imagined us popping over to each other's for cups of tea and maybe sharing a beer on the stoop in the Summer. Oh well.
Troy walked over to Bill and Bill made like he was going to put an arm around him but as he did so Troy lunged to the left and snatched the gun right from Bill's hand. He held it up and pointed it at Bill.
'I'm going straight,'� said Troy. 'How would it look if you get away with all that money? I'm bound to be fingered and I'm tired of getting fingered. It's happened once too often. Losing my arm has put all this in perspective.'�
This was the most I had heard Troy talk and I was pretty impressed.
'Catch,'� said Bill.
Bill took the bag off his shoulder and threw it right at Troy. I guess if Troy hadn't been in so much pain he would have been quicker. The bag hit him square and the gun went flying.
Bill and Troy both lunged for the gun together. I heard it go off and I felt this pain in my leg like nothing on earth. I heard it go off again and I saw blood spurting out of the back of Troy. It hit the wall making a pattern all up to the ceiling. It was like one of those Rorschach testing things but I couldn't say what it represented. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was something. I don't know. It was at that point that I passed out.

It was two weeks later and I was clearing out Troy's caravan. Outside the window all I could see was snow. It had started snowing the day after the incident in the department store and had continued ever since. They were saying that it was the worst Winter for twenty-five years.
I had spent one week in hospital. The doctors said I was lucky not to lose a leg.
'You might walk with a limp,'� a young doctor had said to me, 'but not so much of a limp as if you'd have had a prosthetic.'�
The landlady had lent me a case to pack Troy's stuff up in. I had said I would do it. He didn't have much, a few pairs of pants, a spare of jeans and a shirt that was obviously for best. What surprised me most was his collection of books. I hadn't had Troy down as a reader. When you don't know someone, it can still be surprising what you don't know about them.
It had turned out that Troy was a hero. The bullet that had gone through him had also gone through Bill. Bill hadn't got away with a penny.
I closed the lid of the case and took a final look around the caravan. Then I headed out into the snow, it was tumbling out of the sky like popcorn. Luckily I had a cab waiting.
It was Christmas Eve and the streets were full of last minute shoppers. A Santa was standing on a corner ringing a bell. Two kids were throwing snowballs at a smaller one and then a big dog appeared and chased them all away.
The taxi stopped and I got out. I wished the driver a happy Christmas and went into the hospital concourse. Snow swirled around here too, coming in through the doors and through a hole in the roof where the hospital was being redeveloped.
I made my way up the stairs and let myself into the room where Troy was staying. There was a machine next to him making beeping noises and he had a drip in his arm. His one arm. They had removed the bad one. I put a hand on his forehead.
'I've packed your stuff, for our holiday,'� I said. 'The case is here, all ready for when you wake up.'�
Then, not knowing what to do, I took one of the books out of the case and opened it up to the first page. They say that hearing a voice you know can sometimes help in situations like these.
'War and Peace,'� I read, 'by Leonard Tolstoy.'� I coughed gently into my hand. 'It was cold, cold day in Siberia'�'�

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...