I was about to close up the shop and see if I could manage some last-minute holiday shopping at the thrift store, when the front door dinged and I heard hard boots clicking on the floor in the front of the shop. Suppressing a curse, I plastered a smile on my face and popped through the door separating my office from the front counter.

“Happy Holidays. I’m sorry but we’re about to clos…”

My voice faltered.

The woman standing in my tiny customer lobby had an air of self-assurance and class, despite the wild dichotomy of her attire. She had not bothered to plaster on a smile, and her serious gaze and black leather outerwear were somehow not at odds with the Santa hat perched atop her head and the ugly Xmas sweater peeking out from her trench coat. A thick silver belt buckle depicting a set of antlers set off the badge and holster riding the same belt near her hip. Her voice was melodic, but extremely firm.

“I have some questions about your chimney cleaning services, and your availability on Noelnacht. You’d need to be available on standby for 24 hours, but the pay would be commiserate with that inconvenience.”

Her gloved hands produced a bright green business card with raised silver ink, though I didn’t see from where. She pressed one corner of it one the glass counter, then released it so the card slapped onto the smudged surface with aloud “click.”

Most years, if some weirdo walked in on December 23rd with that routine, I’d have just told them I was unavailable. But on this night I was coming off a long series of financial strains and however odd her outfit was, it also spoke of money and professionalism. I really needed the money half of that equation.

I picked up the card and read it. Twice. It had just a single line of text, with a wreath-and-antler badge icon after it.

“Holly Jolly. Chief of Security, North Pole.”

“Well, Mister Scringe?” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Shall we talk business?”