McDougal Saves Christmas (Final Chapter)

After dropping off the load of toys for the orphans McDougal topped off the reindeer with mescaline and absinthe and we rocketed off into the cold December air. We continued on Santa Claus's rounds, supplementing the toys with BB guns, slingshots, liquor, cigarettes, pornographic magazines, small animal traps and anything else that caught McDougal's eye. Entering the homes became a bit of a problem. McDougal made a valiant effort at sliding down chimneys, but he just didn't have a knack for it. After trying several other tactics we finally decided on simply kicking doors in and tossing the toys inside. Guard dogs were a problem. McDougal knows a highly effective canine sleeper hold, but this takes a few minutes even when the dog does not struggle, which is rarely the case. For expediency's sake many of the dogs (and one medical helper monkey) had to be dispatched using McDougal's silenced 9mm handgun. We left a few extra presents at these houses.

When we finished with Europe McDougal swung the Landrover south, landing in a small village in Afghanistan.

"McDougal, I don't think they celebrate..."

But before I could finish, the big man was out of the truck like a shot.

"This will only take a minute," he yelled over his shoulder as he disappeared into the darkness.

McDougal returned a short time later clutching an armload of tightly wrapped bundles.

"Had to finish my Christmas shopping," he explained. "This place has the best hash."

Once again we flew off into the night. I assume that Santa Claus follows some type of orderly pattern when he makes his annual rounds. McDougal did nothing of the sort. We zigzagged across the globe, collecting nearly as much stuff as we gave out. In Columbia we picked up a bale of uncut cocaine. In Zimbabwe we picked up ivory and rhinoceros horns. In Baghdad we picked up a solid gold AK-47 that had "Uday" engraved on the side. In the Philippines McDougal picked up a pair of champion fighting cocks, and I picked up a particularly virulent case of gonorhea.

As we walked back to the Landrover McDougal looked at his watch.

"Fucking hell! We've got to pick up the pace! We'll head to the United States next, get that finished up."

"Once we get there can you just drop me off at my apartment?" I asked. "I'm tired, hung over and my cock is on fire. I don't think I can handle any more of this."

"Nonsense," McDougal roared, "you've just run out of Christmas Spirit!"

He flipped me another capsule. That was really the last thing I needed at that point, but I was suffering so much that unconsciousness did seem pretty appealing. I swallowed it down and waited for the freakout to set in. As my vision started to fade, slumped in the Landrover's passenger seat, I heard McDougal say "this ought to speed things up." I watched him reach into the back, remove one of the air rifles and take careful aim at the hindquarters of one of the lead reindeer, either Dasher or Dancer I guess. I buckled my seatbelt. McDougal's voice, seeming to be coming from very far away, "But I guess if you really want to be dropped off I can work something out..." That oppressive coldness in my chest. The snap of an air rifle and the Landrover giving a sickeningly violent upward jerk. Sleigh bells... Sugarplums...

A cold concrete floor and the smell of urine. A voice barking at me in Arabic. I don't speak Arabic. A large hand dangled a Ziploc bag full of red and green capsules in my face. More Arabic. Then a kick in the ribs. I coughed up a bit of blood, but my vision cleared a bit too. Thank Allah for small miracles. I was in a cage. No, a cell. That bastard McDougal was nowhere to be seen. But there was that Egyptian prison guard waving the bag of capsules, screaming at me now, still in Arabic. A second guard swam into view. He leaned in close and said quietly in thickly accented English, "He says 'Are these your pills?' You should answer. You are in big trouble sir."