When Elves Attack Read Online Free

pulling down the center of the building . . . Words cannot begin to describe this scene of devastation, but I’ll keep talking anyway . . .”
    Manny turned to Serge and slowly grinned. “I thought this was about copper.”
    â€œIt was.” Serge stopped and smacked himself in the forehead. “I forgot. I never took calculus.”
    â€œ . . . Now the east wing has just come down, the whole estate completely flattened. And since all of Greenleaf’s assets had been sheltered in the house under Florida’s no-seizure law, he’s completely wiped out.”
    â€œPam, this is Jim on the anchor desk. Surely someone as smart as Greenleaf would have insurance . . .”
    â€œThat’s correct, Jim. But as soon as the claims check is issued, it’s a financial instrument and not a house, which is no longer shielded under the no-seizure law, and will immediately be turned over to the victims whose retirement accounts he wiped out . . .”
    Manny glanced at Serge again. “You planned this all along?”
    â€œWho? Me?”
    A hearty laugh. “I got the guys outside. Let’s start getting this copper loaded.”
    The TV screen switched to a local VFW hall. “ . . . In other news, there are no new leads in the heartless theft of memorial plaques to the area’s fallen, which has brought out dozens of supporters holding a candlelight vigil . . .”
    A cell phone rang. “Manny here. . . . What? . . . When did this happen? . . . That’s great news. . . . I mean it’s bad . . . I mean, you know what I mean.” He clapped the phone shut. “Serge, that was Nicky the Mooch. Just got word on those plaques of yours. Someone’s trying to unload them in Lutz.”
    â€œSo Nicky’s got them?”
    Manny shook his head. “Guy’s been laying low because of all the heat. But he finally risked going to Nicky’s scrap yard because Nicky is, well, like you and me.”
    â€œYou mean casual with the letter of the law?”
    â€œNicky said that when he dialed my number a minute ago, the guy must have thought he was calling the cops. He spooked and split.”
    â€œDamn,” said Serge. “Now we may never get them back.”
    â€œNot so fast,” said Manny. “He recognized the guy. From time to time, brings in stuff from construction sites. But a month ago, he was actually selling something legitimate. The bumper fell off his car. So he let Nicky copy his driver’s license like they’re supposed to do the rest of the time. Helps make his logbook look at least half kosher.”
    Serge pumped his eyebrows. “Nicky’s got his address?”
    â€œJust pulled it. He’s waiting for your call.”
    â€œCan’t thank you enough.” Serge pointed beside the bed. “That pile of pipes? On me.”
    â€œNice to be back doing business with you.” Manny pulled work gloves from his pocket and slipped them on. “So what’s going to happen now?”
    â€œTomorrow’s Thanksgiving.” Serge retrieved his pistol from a suitcase and checked the magazine. “Only polite thing is to invite him to dinner.”

Chapter Two
    THE NEXT DAY
    South Tampa. The neighborhood was called Palma Ceia. An oasis of pastel bungalows, preserved Mediterraneans, and old Florida ranch houses. Tastefully landscaped with royal palms and bougainvilleas. Kids on sidewalks. Bikes and skateboards. Safe.
    The streets had names like Santiago, San Juan, and Sunset Drive. A few blocks in from the bay sat an unassuming road called Triggerfish Lane.
    Fourth house on the left. Whitewashed with turquoise trim and, next to the front door, a turquoise sailfish over the address: 888. In the middle of the yard stood an arching date palm that was illuminated after dark with a baby spotlight, but it was only noon, and the tree didn’t need