A modest sized lobster boat sailed into the harbor at Rockport in Massachusetts bearing Santa Claus to kickstart the holiday season. Mr. Claus was invited as the celebrity Santa for the village on Cape Ann and he agreed as long as his real identity was held in confidence. It was nippy out on the ocean and he wore thermal underwear under his best suit as his capacity for cold was shot to Hell after living in California.
As the boat approached the small harbor he was waving at a surprisingly large number of people gathered to ring in the holiday season. He was a long way from The Pole and the offices of the Aardvark Detective Services, where he ran a successful private eye business together with Mrs. Claus. He was happy to be spreading the joy of the holiday season without worrying about production lines for toys, unruly elves in their overly effective labor union and the supernatural underworld that was his prime source of income for the detective agency.
He was hoping that the fishermen in the boat would be dressed in yellow foul weather gear like the iconic Gorton’s fisherman. But they looked like more like town dignitaries in substantial wool coats with matching hats and gloves. And as he looked around he realized that the houses in Rockport probably belonged more to people who had at least two homes and didn’t fish for anything other than good tips on the best restaurants.
As the boat docked he got prepared for a march up Broadway to the Baptist Church for photos and the lighting of the town’s Christmas tree. Through the noise of the boat and crowd he didn’t hear his phone ring but felt it vibrate in his pocket. He picked it out and saw a text from Mrs. Claus-
Get your a** back here!!! They took William at gunpoint and will only talk to you.
He wrote back-
Who took William? And why?
She answered-
I don’t know who or why. Just get your a** back here- NOW!!!
