Hank started to lift the bottle to his eye, then paused and swore. He looked left, right, then barked, “Will you get the hell out of there?”
Muddy crossed his legs carefully, so his bells wouldn’t ring. He rested an elbow on a knee and his chin in his palm.This ought to be interesting.
Hank stood there, kneading the back of his neck with a hand. “Hey, you! Genie!”
Nothing.
“Uh... Muddy!”
Muddy waited.
“Dammit!” He raised the bottle to his eye and scowled into it.
“Looking for me?”
Hank spun around. He looked at the tree, then frowned down at the bottle. He dropped the bottle. “Yeah.”
Neither said another word for a good three minutes.
Finally Hank broke the silence. “Are you coming the hell down?”
Muddy shook his head. “Don’t think so.”
Hank stalked over to the tree and looked up. After a minute in which he worked his tight jaw but didn’t say a word, he snapped, “I need a favor.”
Muddy just looked at him. “No wishes.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with wishes.”
“I’m not taking you inside the bottle again.”
“No thanks, ch—” He stopped. “No thanks.”
Muddy rubbed his goatee. “What kind of favor?”
Hank began to pace. “Smitty thinks the kids need to have a visit from Santa Claus tonight.”
Muddy wasn’t going to make this any easier for him.
Hank crossed over to where he’d been pacing. He picked up a canvas sack, came back, and dropped it at the base of the tree. “I want you to put this stuff in their stockings and stomp around the roof tonight. You know, make a lot of noise.”
“Like Santa’s reindeer.”
“Yeah. I can’t do it. I’m too heavy. I’ll fall through the roof and give it away.”
Muddy waited, then took a phrase from Hank. “Let me see if I have this straight. You want me to fly up on the roof, pretend to be Santa and his reindeer, then fill the children’s stockings.”
“Yeah.”
Muddy watched him squirm for a moment longer. It was just too good to pass up. “As a favor for you.”
“For the kids.”
Muddy waited, took a deep breath, and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll do it.”
“Good—”
“On one condition.”
