“Mind your manners,” Somerset said. It was a relatively mild rebuke, but for some reason it made Stúfur press his lips together and glance uncomfortably at Dylan. Somerset waited until he was sure his brother had nothing else to say. “And you should have. He’s the one with the answers.”
The smell of burnt, cold grease and eggs hung thick in the air. Dylan’s stomach turned, the taste of Funyuns and bile sour in the back of his throat. He tried to ignore it.
“I think it was a copy.” He scooped the watch up off the table and tucked it away in the pocket of his oversized sweatpants. “A decoy.”
Ket and Stúfur traded looks.
Stúfur scratched his jaw, sharp under a scruff of stubble, and shook his head. “Naw, that makes no sense,” he said. “Where would this snotrag get a copy of the watch, one good enough to fool the Wolves. Never mind that we all saw the magic. Right?”
He looked around the table for backup. All it got him was a non-commital shrug from Ket.
Somerset squeezed Dylan’s shoulder pointedly.
“Go on,” he said.
Dylan didn’t want to. He was surprised at how much he didn’t want to… or maybe he wasn’t. This didn’t seem like a conversation that would end well for him. It wasn’t like he had a choice, though. He reached up to push Somerset’s hand off his shoulder.
“I was going to tell you,” he said. Somerset snorted at him. That was fine. He could believe what he liked. “And I don’t have any answers. Not really. None of this was my idea. I was just given two watches.”
Stúfur slammed his hand flat on the table hard enough to make the breadcrumbs and the egg-slimed plates bounce.
“Fucking Gull!” he said. “I knew he couldn’t be trusted, always sucking around Santa like the old man had beenhisfirst choice. This was his plan all along. Kill Santa, keep everyone busy with his cheap SHEIN rip-off, and he gets to pick the next Santa.”
Ket cleaned his nails on the hook. “Then why would he give both watches to him?” he asked.
The question deflated Stúfur. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe he couldn’t tell them apart, and in the heat of the moment—”
“He only gave me one watch,” Dylan said. “This was my grandad’s watch. I’ve had it for years.”
More silence. Then Stúfur threw up his hands. “Oh, fuck off!” he said as he got up from the table abruptly. He jabbed a finger at Somerset. “This is all your fault.”
“How?” Somerset asked.
“I don’t know,” Stúfur snarled back.
Ket tapped the hilt of his hook on the table. “What happened to having each other's backs?” he asked.
Stúfur crossed his arms and scowled blackly. “I can have his back and think he’s an asshole,” he said. “I bet this is his fault. I’ll put money on it.”
“Done,” Somerset said. “Now let Dylan finish so we can find out.”
Dylan cleared his throat. It was dry and scratchy with Funyuns powder. “Can I have a drink first? It’s a long story.”
“We don’t have time for a long story,” Stúfur said. He got a can from the fridge and brought it over to bang it on the table in front of Dylan. “Just give us the Cliff Notes.”
It was a beer. Dylan didn’t think it was even nine yet.
What the hell? It wasn’t like he’d have to drive the ambulance today. Dylan hooked his finger under the tab and popped it open. He took a swig of the cold, crisp lager.
“OK,” he said. “I think my grandad was Santa, and he gave me the real regalia years ago.”
He took another drink.
They all waited. After a second, Ket cleared his throat. “Maybe abitmore detail,” he said.
To be fair, it wasn’t really that long a story. Dylan supposed it just felt like one from the inside.
“I don’t really remember what happened before,” he said. “I just know what I was told later. I was about three. My parents had left me with a babysitter and went out for dinner. They never came back.”
