Page 11 of Operation Père Noël

“Where are the stores?” asked Nine.

“Everywhere. We have two off Canal, one in the mall on the riverfront, one in the Galleria, one in Lafayette, and one in Baton Rouge.”

“Okay, then we divide and conquer. Everybody takes a store. Find those damn dolls and buy everything you can to go with them. Clothes, books, everything,” said Ghost.

If stores weren’t already on high alert for shoplifters during the holiday season, seeing massive, handsome older men walking through their stores looking as though they were trying to find hidden IEDs was probably not making them more comfortable.

“I don’t see one,” whispered Baptiste. Gabe nudged him, pointing to the top shelf.

“Look. There are four!”

“Get on my shoulders,” said Baptiste. “We need all four.”

Placing his foot on his brother’s thigh, he stepped up and onto his shoulders, steadying himself using the shelving unit for balance. Baptiste gripped his ankles, balancing him as he grabbed the dolls, tossing them down one by one. He jumped off his shoulders and picked up two of them.

“You’ve put on weight,” said Baptiste, cracking his neck left then right.

“Fuck you,” growled Gabe. “I weigh exactly the same as I always have.”

“Whatever,” smirked Baptiste. They turned down the next aisle and were completely overwhelmed. “Holy shit.”

“What the fuck? How do we know what goes with what?” asked Gabe.

“That’s easy,” said a little girl standing near them. “Everything is colored to match. See the triangle on the box?”

“I see,” said Baptiste.

“Just look for that color triangle, and everything will go with her.”

“Thanks, kid.”

“You’re welcome.” She skipped down the aisle, disappearing around the corner.

“Okay, an orange triangle. Grab everything with that.”

“We’re gonna need a fucking basket,” said Gabe.

Rushing back to the front of the store, he grabbed a basket, and they began clearing the shelves of everything with an orange triangle. Then, it was all the books belonging to this doll. When they got to the register, they almost choked at the final bill.

“Christ, we could have bought them a car for this price.”

“They don’t drive, asshole,” frowned Gabe. “Just pay the woman.” Walking out to the truck, Baptiste sent a text to the others.

Four down. All the supplies with them.

“They got four,” said Luc. “We can’t let them win.”

“It’s not a contest, dimwit!” Miller stared at his younger brother, still seeing the little boy who desperately wanted a bicycle for his eighth Christmas, taking on extra chores for a whole month to prove he deserved it.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I was just remembering the Christmas that you wanted the bike,” chuckled Miller. “You were so fucking cute. You took on everyone’s chores so you could prove to Santa that you were a good boy.”

“Yea, had it not been for that little fight with Morris Lefevre, I would have been home free,” he grinned.

“It wasn’t a little fight. You practically tore his arm out of its socket, if I remember right.”

“He deserved it. He was touching Camille and Claudette. I didn’t like it.” Miller nodded, gripping his brother’s shoulder.

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