The finale to Mrs. Claus' chapter. You'll see more of her in later chapters, though, except it won't just be her chapter. Maybe a couple reindeer will be in the next chapter. So, be on the lookout for the next addition to Operation: Save Santa. However, I'll be taking a break from Santa after this, and will be moving on to Cupid and Baby New Year. But enough future talk, here's the dramatic conclusion of Red Hot Mamacita.
LaShawn and his gang were back at their hideout in a broken down alley between two apartments. With them was their newly received sleigh. They just brought it back there.
“Dang,” hollered Miguel, admiring the object they stole. “If we hook this thing up with some big rims, it would be mad ballin’.”
LaShawn punched his fellow gang member hard in the shoulder. “What it is with you? You be talkin’ gangster when you some Mexican blood Latino who don’t even have the potential to beat some preppy reindeer at yo momma battlin’.”
The Hispanic man raised a finger. “Actually, I’m Puerto Rican…”
“Do it look like I care. Besides, we ain’t takin’ this ride to the streets. We sellin’ it fo’ mad money, you heard?”
The gang was thrilled.
“Like on meBay?” wondered the Asian, filled with optimism.
“Yeah shorty,” shouted the wannabe gangster, emerging from the crowd.
The crew replied, “No!”
Miguel was the first to criticize this selling technique. “Yo, we ain’t no white boys who use stupid computers to solve our problems, we solve ours by force, Holmes. And, by the way, shorty ain’t ballin’ anymore.”
LaShawn struck Miguel in the gut. “Yo I’m ‘a’ beat you so hard if say that again, Miguel.”
“So,” began a gang member in the back, “how we gonna sell it?”
LaShawn smiled and nodded. “Yo, I’ve been thinkin’ of this a long time.”
***
Cyndra raised her hand. “I’m lost. We leave at midnight for what? I need to know, for an intellectual like I require motivation.”
“Sweetie,” replied Mrs. Claus, “I told you on the phone, we’re going to rescue my husband in Las Vegas.”
Her fellow book club friends knew she was the wife of Santa Claus and often joked around about it. “What did he do there?” started Cyndra. “Did he gamble all of his toys, is that it?” Although she expected a reaction from everyone, no one budged. She grunted. “I thought it was rather humorous and witty.”
Claus faced the chart. “Let me explain this chart a little more. The circles on here are us; the X’s you see are the ‘gangsters’ that took my husband’s only means of transportation.”
Olivia took this opportunity to feed herself a couple lemon squares. She stuffed them in her mouth while no one, not even Gladys, the Eskimo who slapped her arm before, was looking. The flavor enriched her mouth.
And between me and you again, Olivia only comes to the book club for free chow. Honestly, she is an extremely overweight, old woman whose only current form of entertainment is mooching off of Mrs. Claus’ home cooking. Now that’s sad.
Olivia was so focused on the scrumptious delicacy she’d eaten, that two horrible things happened:
1. She didn’t listen to the plan.
2. She stuffed the entire batch in her mouth at once.
Gladys, of course, was the first to notice.
Interrupting Mrs. Claus, she blurted, “Look at what Olivia has done!”
Oh yes, and I forgot. Three horrible things happened, my apologies. Number three is that she upchucked on the couch.
Everyone faced Olivia to speculate a blob of green, yellow, a rainbow in fact, lying on the couch. The corpulent elf blushed, her face as red as a bright tomato. She was dripping beads of sweat that were atrociously speeding down her face. The entire club was watching her.
“It wasn’t me,” she said.
The elderly women looked at Olivia in disdain.
“I’ll go get a mop,” Mrs. Claus said, sighing.
***
”So, how are we gonna sell it, LaShawn?” wondered Miguel.
“Don’t play dumb with me, I just said I gave it thought, never that I knew how to sell it. You bein’ such a re-”
“Tarts, I like tarts!” interrupted a random homeless man wobbling in the alley, holding a bottle of rum. He gulped down a swig of the alcohol, although most of it missed his mouth.
The Asian of the group shook his head. “That was an incredibly strange predicament that just occurred.”
“In English!” a gang member shouted.
“Ah ya!”
LaShawn nodded his head, his eyes telling something in his mind had unfolded. “Yo, we gon’ sell the sleigh in the black market.”
***
“Now that the mess is cleaned up,” began Mrs. Claus. Olivia blushed again. “I personally think that we are ready to begin Operation: Save Santa.”
Cyndra rose from her seat and stuck out her hand. “Not so fast! We’re going to leave like this?”
The book club members were confused. Some were scratching their heads, some in deep thought, and some, like Olivia, were splashing glasses of egg nog down their throats like they’d never drank before.
“Well, it seems I need an explanation. I figure that for our little escapade, not only to look delightful, but to camouflage into our surroundings, we must wear the color black.”
“Let’s knit,” proclaimed Mrs. Claus, “the best black spy outfits you’d ever gosh darn see.”
Five minutes later…
Everyone fetched needles and black yarn and began to knit. Elderly woman have a natural ability to knit, so it wasn’t too challenging to create endless supplies of heavy-duty black spy clothes. They made black shirts, pants, hats, even undergarments.
“So, are we prepared now?” Mrs. Claus asked everyone. Everyone seemed to nod their heads in agreement, as if they were completely ready for the operation.
“Wait!” shouted an Eskimo.
“Oh, what now, Florence?”
Florence was shy and always went with whatever anyone said. She was a pushover, but always followed directions, however whenever she interrupted anything to comment, she was disciplined. “Maybe,” she said in a low, nervous voice. “Maybe we can, um, have code names.”
“No, that’s a stupid idea, sweetie.”
Cyndra raised her hand in a vigilant manner, waving her arms in anxiety to be called on. “I believe that we should have secret code names.”
“Ooh, secretive. Cyndra you always think out of the box, in fact, I don’t even think you have a box. Sweetie, wonderful idea. Everyone, in order to simplify the identification process and to sound, as the kids say, cooler, we are making code names.”
Florence’s mouth hung open, her face in disgust.
Mrs. Claus was in deep thought, then her eyes brightened up. “You may now refer to me as Red Hot Mamacita. Now let’s save my husband. Operation: Save Santa is…”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Claus.”
“Florence, what have I told you about suspending my sentences?” She tapped her foot. “Now this had better be good.”
The Eskimo cleared her throat. “Well, in all due respect ma’am, um, that code name thing was, uh, my idea. Cyndra took it. Um, you gave her credit for it after you ignored me.”
“Does it look like anyone cares?” replied the old woman. “Now as I was saying before rudely interrupted by someone here, Operation: Save Santa is…”
Before finishing her sentence, Florence ran off sobbing. “I’m never coming to this book club again!” She ran off to front door and opened it, however she only speculated clothes.
“Other door, miss, that’s the closet,” said Mrs. Claus.
She opened another door that led to the outside confines of the North Pole, the endless snowy abyss blowing in the lush blustery weather. Florence slammed the wooden door. She began to walk, a shadow in the bitter cold, a speck on the white blanket of frost. And that was the end of her.
“Good riddance,” said Beatrice, back at the meeting.
Mrs. Claus jerked a sullen smile, one forced. “Operation: Save Santa is ago.”
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