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The Usual Santas: A Collection of Soho Crime Christmas Capers

Foreword by Peter Lovesey
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Hardcover
$19.95 US
5.31"W x 7.78"H x 1.3"D   | 17 oz | 24 per carton
On sale Oct 24, 2017 | 416 Pages | 9781616957759
Finally: the perfect stocking stuffer for the crime fiction lover in your life! With a foreword by CWA Diamond Award-winner Peter Lovesey, these eighteen delightful holiday stories by your favorite Soho Crime authors contain laughs, murders, and plenty more.

This captivating collection, which features bestselling and award-winning authors, contains laughs aplenty, the most hardboiled of holiday noir, and heartwarming  reminders of the spirit of the season.

Nine mall Santas must find the imposter among them. An elderly lady seeks peace from her murderously loud neighbors at Christmastime. A young woman receives a mysterious invitation to Christmas dinner with a stranger. Niccolò Machiavelli sets out to save an Italian city. Sherlock Holmes’s one-time nemesis Irene Adler finds herself in an unexpected tangle in Paris while on a routine espionage assignment. Jane Austen searches for the Dowager Duchess of Wilborough’s stolen diamonds. These and other adventures in this delectable volume will whisk readers away to Christmases around the globe, from a Korean War POW camp to a Copenhagen refugee squat, from a palatial hotel in 1920s Bombay to a crumbling mansion in Havana.

Includes Stories By (In Order of Appearance):
Helene Tursten, Mick Herron, Martin Limón, Timothy Hallinan, Teresa Dovalpage, Mette Ivie Harrison, Colin Cotterill, Ed Lin, Stuart Neville, Tod Goldberg, Henry Chang, James R. Benn, Lene Kaaberbøl & Agnete Friis, Sujata Massey, Gary Corby, Cara Black, Stephanie Barron and a Foreword and story by Peter Lovesey.
An 'IndieNext' Selection for November 2017
A Bookreporter.com Best Book of 2017


Praise for Soho Press


“Soho Press consistently publishes top-notch novels that open windows on foreign underworlds off-limits to the casual traveler.”
—Marilyn Stasio, The New York Times Book Review

"[Soho Crime] has accumulated an impressive stable of international crime writers."
—Jack Batten, The Toronto Star

Praise for
The Usual Santas

"Crime writers are set loose on Christmas and come up with short stories that take place in a variety of locales, from a Korean War P.O.W. camp to a palatial hotel in 1920s Bombay, all somehow finding a way to craftily meld noir and Noel."
—The New York Times Book Review

"The Santas (and the stories) are anything but usual . . . some of the most inventive, effective and downright moving Christmas crime stories in recent memory."
—Tom Nolan, The Wall Street Journal

"Promises laughter and death."
—The Washington Post

"For someone who needs a little noir with their holiday cheer."
—Los Angeles Times

"What these Christmas crime stories have in common is the deep humanity at the core of crime—the ugliness, the anxiety, the generosity; all the impulses that move people to action, big and small . . . Fertile ground for crime fiction, on Christmas as on any other day."
USA Today

"The 18 stories feature things going awry in locations as diverse as Sweden, North Korea, Utah and Ireland. Good fun."
—The Sunday Times (UK)

"Soho sets loose its authors to write eighteen Christmas stories set in locales as exotic as Seoul and Havana, Copenhagen and Goteborg, Laos, Thailand, Bombay and the Mormon precincts of Utah. There’s not a narrative dud in the bunch."
—The Toronto Star

"A fun collection of short stories from Soho authors in which the holidays feature somehow. Just the thing to start getting you in the mood." 
Raleigh News & Observer 


"Spanning the globe to Denmark, England, North Korea, Sweden and beyond, the attractive batch of holiday stories in The Usual Santas is a perfect gift for all armchair mystery and short story aficionados looking for light, fun fare."
—Plattsburgh Press-Republican

"You’ll find laughs, murders, and plenty more in this captivating collection of best-selling and award-winning authors. For more than 25 years, Soho Crime has been publishing atmospheric crime fiction set all over the world."
—The Oneonta Daily Star

"Soho Crime draws from its impressive roster of authors for this outstanding Christmas-themed anthology . . . This is the perfect holiday gift for mystery fans."
Publishers Weekly, Starred Review 

"What do you get for the crime reader who has everything? How do you get your favorite armchair gumshoe into the holiday spirit? And where can you find 18 hilarious, chilling, and bizarre stories centering around suspicious mall Santas, mysterious dinner parties, and stolen diamonds? The answer to all of these questions (and so many more) is The Usual Santas, A Collection of Soho Crime Christmas Capers, an anthology featuring stories by some of your favorite Soho Press authors and their most unexpectedly twisted Christmas-themed tales."
—Barnes & Noble Reads

"The holiday-infused collection The Usual Santas, gathers the cream of Soho’s international crime-writing crop . . . a festive multitude of short-story gem​s."​
​​—​The Seattle Review of Books ​

"These eighteen holiday capers by bestselling Soho crime authors contain mysteries, murders and plenty puzzlers that will test armchair sleuths for hours."
—Acadiana Lifestyle

"A feisty little collection by feisty little, globe-spinning Soho Crime, The Usual Santas rounds up holiday tales from all over the world that range from laugh-out-loud, spit-out-your-turkey hilarious to cry-in-your-wassail misery and woe."
Mystery Scene

"This holiday-themed collection presents 18 pieces of short fiction from an impressive roster of international mystery writers. The voices veer from darkly humorous ­(Helene Tursten and Mick Herron) to touching (Timothy Hallinan and Mette Ivie ­Harrison) to disturbing (Stuart Neville and Ed Lin), with tales set around the globe . . . Thoroughly entertaining."
—Library Journal

"Each bite-size mystery in this winning collection is a gift." 
—Booklist 

"The perfect stocking-stuffer for all those suspense readers out there."
—Suspense Magazine

"This is a perfect stocking stuffer for any mystery fan—or any fan of excellent writing, engrossing stories, and holiday fun."
—Ted Hertel, Deadly Pleasures Magazine

"The perfect stocking-stuffer for the crime or mystery fiction fan on your holiday gift list."
—Bookgasm

"Highly recommended reading. With settings on nearly every continent, taking place from the Middle Ages to the present, and written by authors of all ages and nationalities, it is anything but usual."
—Gumshoe Review

"This noir-tinged collection is not your usual heartwarming holiday read. Soho, which leans toward the darker side of crime, has presented eighteen crime capers that may leave you hiding out at home until the holidays are over."
—Reviewing the Evidence

"I highly recommend this anthology to anyone with a fondness for Christmas tales."
—Buried Under Books

"A delightful new anthology."
—Zoom Street blog

"[The Usual Santas] definitely got me in the Christmas spirit, not to mention introducing me to some crime writers that are worth following up on."
—I've Read This blog

The Usual Santas: a very good example of that kind of thing."
—James R. Benn, author of the Billy Boyle mysteries

“I wished the book would never end, so I didn't finish it."
—Timothy Hallinan, author of the Junior Bender mysteries and the Poke Rafferty thrillers

“Nothing says Christmas like a story from a guy named Goldberg."
—Tod Goldberg, New York Times bestselling co-author of The House of Secrets

“Buy this book or else. We know where you live."
—Lene Kaaberbøl, New York Times bestselling co-author of The Boy in the Suitcase

“Soho Crime publishes a wide variety of consistently high-quality crime fiction, so I expected this collection to be a great read, and it didn’t disappoint. Not only does it feature holiday capers from a number of my favorite crime authors (Peter Lovesey, Stuart Neville, Helene Tursten, Mick Herron), it was also a great way to sample other Soho authors I haven’t read yet. Even if you’re not a fan of Christmas, you’ll love The Usual Santas!”
—Carol Schneck Varner, Schuler Books, Okemos, MI
An excerpt from the title story, “The Usual Santas” by Mick Herron

Whiteoaks, the brochures explained, was more than a shopping center: it was a Day Out For The Whole Family; a Complete Retail Experience Under Just One Roof. It was an Ideally Situated Outlet Village—an Ultra-Convenient Complex For The Ultra-Modern Consumer. It was where Quality met Design to form an Affordable Union. It might have been a Stately Pleasure Dome. It was possibly a Garden Of Earthly Delight. It was almost cer­tainly where Capital Letters went to Die.
     More precisely, it was on the outskirts of one of Lon­don’s northwest satellite towns, and, viewed from above, resembled a glass and steel rendering of a giant octopus dropped headfirst onto the landscape. In the gaps between its outstretched tentacles were parks and play areas and public conveniences, and at each of its two main entrances were garages offering, in addition to the usual services, full valet coverage, 4-wheel alignment and diagnostic analysis, as well as free air and a Last-Minute One-Stop-Shop. Cart stations—colored pennants hoisted above them for swift location—were positioned at those intervals market research had determined user-friendly, and were assiduously tended by liveried cart-jockeys. From ten minutes before dusk until ten after daybreak the area was bathed in gentle orange light, the quiet humming of CCTV cameras a constant reminder that your security was Whiteoaks’ concern. And in a hedged-off corner between the center’s electricity substa­tion and one of four home-delivery loading bays—perhaps the only point in the complex to which the word “accessible” did not apply—lurked a furtive row of recycling bins, like a consumerist memento mori.
     As for the interior, it was a contemporary cathedral, sacred to the pursuit of retail opportunity. There was a food mall, a clothing avenue, an entertainment hall; there were wings dedicated to white goods (“all your domestic requirements sat­isfied!”), pampering (“full body tan in minutes!”) and financial services (“consolidate your debts—ask us how!”). There was a boulevard of sporting goods, a bridleway of gardening supplies; a veritable Hatton Garden of jewelers. No franchise ever heard of went unrepresented, and several never before encountered had multiple outlets. Whiteoaks’ delicatessens carried sweet­meats from as near as Abbotsbury and as far as Zywocice; its bookshops shelved volumes by every author its readers could imagine, from Bill Bryson to Jeremy Clarkson. The shopper who is tired of Whiteoaks, it might easily be asserted, is a shopper who is tired of credit. During the summer, light washed down from the recessed contours of its cantilevered ceilings, and during the winter it did exactly the same. Temperature, too, was regulated and constant, and in this it matched everything else. At Whiteoaks, you could buy raspberries in winter and tinsel in July. Seasonal variation was discouraged as an unnecessary brake on impulse purchasing.
     Which was not to say that Whiteoaks ignored the pas­sage of the year; rather, it measured the months in a manner appropriate to its customers’ needs. As surely as Father’s Day follows Mother’s, as unalterably as Harry Potter gives way to the Great Pumpkin, time marches on; its inevitable progress registering as peaks and troughs in a never-ending flow chart.
     For there are only seventeen Major Feasts in the calendar of the Complete Retail Experience.
     And the greatest of these is Christmas.
 
At Whiteoaks Christmas slipped in slowly, sublimi­nally, with the faint rustle of a paperchain in early September, and the echo of a jingle bell as October turned. Showing almost saintly restraint, however, it did not unleash its reindeer until Halloween had been wholly remaindered. After that, it was open season. Taking full advantage of its layout, the complex boasted eight Santa’s Grottos—one per tentacle—each employing a full complement of sleigh, sacks, elves, snowflakes, friendly squirrels, startled rabbits, and (coun­terintuitively, but fully validated by merchandise-profiling) talking zebras. And, of course, each had its own Santa. Or, more accurately, each had an equal share in a rotating pool of Santas, for the eight Santas hired annually by the Whiteoaks Festive Governance Committee had swiftly worked out that no single one of them wanted to spend an entire two-month hitch marooned in Haberdashery’s backwater, or worse still, abandoned under fire in the high-pressure, noise-intensive combat zone of Toys and Games, while another took his ease in the Food Hall, pampered with cake and cappuccino by the surrounding franchisees. So a complicated but workable shift system had been established by the Santas themselves, whereby they chopped and changed each two-hour session, swapping grottos three times a day and generally sharing the burden along with the spoils. This worked so well, so much to everyone’s satisfaction, that the first eight Santas hired by the Governance Committee remained the only Santas Whiteoaks needed, returning year after year to don their uniforms, attach their beards, and maintain an impressive 83% record of hardly ever swearing at children whose parents were in earshot.
     Santa-ing was not an easy undertaking. It was not a task for sissies. And while the Usual Santas didn’t always do things by the book, by God, they got the job done!
     And each year, once they’d managed just that—after the shops had lowered shutters on Christmas Eve, and Whiteoaks slumbered, preparatory to the Boxing Day rush—the Santas met in a hospitality room adjoining the security suite, and relaxed over a buffet provided by the grateful merchants of the quarter, and exchanged war stories until the hour grew late, and generally luxuriated in the absence of children.
     But however relaxed they grew, they kept their beards on. And remained zipped inside their red suits. And never addressed each other as anything other than “Santa”; and in fact, would have been unable to do so had they wanted, because while they might, for all they knew, be friends and neighbors in civvy street—might drink in the same pub, or regularly catch the same bus to the same football ground—on duty they remained in uniformed character, and always had done. This had started in jest but had quickly hardened into custom. Not long after that, it calcified into supersti­tion. In their dealings with toddlers and hyperactive infants, the Usual Santas had suffered in undignified, frequently unhygienic ways that had bonded them in a manner few civilians could hope to understand, but on every other level they were strangers to each other. And with this, they were perfectly comfortable.
     Until, one day . . .

About

Finally: the perfect stocking stuffer for the crime fiction lover in your life! With a foreword by CWA Diamond Award-winner Peter Lovesey, these eighteen delightful holiday stories by your favorite Soho Crime authors contain laughs, murders, and plenty more.

This captivating collection, which features bestselling and award-winning authors, contains laughs aplenty, the most hardboiled of holiday noir, and heartwarming  reminders of the spirit of the season.

Nine mall Santas must find the imposter among them. An elderly lady seeks peace from her murderously loud neighbors at Christmastime. A young woman receives a mysterious invitation to Christmas dinner with a stranger. Niccolò Machiavelli sets out to save an Italian city. Sherlock Holmes’s one-time nemesis Irene Adler finds herself in an unexpected tangle in Paris while on a routine espionage assignment. Jane Austen searches for the Dowager Duchess of Wilborough’s stolen diamonds. These and other adventures in this delectable volume will whisk readers away to Christmases around the globe, from a Korean War POW camp to a Copenhagen refugee squat, from a palatial hotel in 1920s Bombay to a crumbling mansion in Havana.

Includes Stories By (In Order of Appearance):
Helene Tursten, Mick Herron, Martin Limón, Timothy Hallinan, Teresa Dovalpage, Mette Ivie Harrison, Colin Cotterill, Ed Lin, Stuart Neville, Tod Goldberg, Henry Chang, James R. Benn, Lene Kaaberbøl & Agnete Friis, Sujata Massey, Gary Corby, Cara Black, Stephanie Barron and a Foreword and story by Peter Lovesey.

Praise

An 'IndieNext' Selection for November 2017
A Bookreporter.com Best Book of 2017


Praise for Soho Press


“Soho Press consistently publishes top-notch novels that open windows on foreign underworlds off-limits to the casual traveler.”
—Marilyn Stasio, The New York Times Book Review

"[Soho Crime] has accumulated an impressive stable of international crime writers."
—Jack Batten, The Toronto Star

Praise for
The Usual Santas

"Crime writers are set loose on Christmas and come up with short stories that take place in a variety of locales, from a Korean War P.O.W. camp to a palatial hotel in 1920s Bombay, all somehow finding a way to craftily meld noir and Noel."
—The New York Times Book Review

"The Santas (and the stories) are anything but usual . . . some of the most inventive, effective and downright moving Christmas crime stories in recent memory."
—Tom Nolan, The Wall Street Journal

"Promises laughter and death."
—The Washington Post

"For someone who needs a little noir with their holiday cheer."
—Los Angeles Times

"What these Christmas crime stories have in common is the deep humanity at the core of crime—the ugliness, the anxiety, the generosity; all the impulses that move people to action, big and small . . . Fertile ground for crime fiction, on Christmas as on any other day."
USA Today

"The 18 stories feature things going awry in locations as diverse as Sweden, North Korea, Utah and Ireland. Good fun."
—The Sunday Times (UK)

"Soho sets loose its authors to write eighteen Christmas stories set in locales as exotic as Seoul and Havana, Copenhagen and Goteborg, Laos, Thailand, Bombay and the Mormon precincts of Utah. There’s not a narrative dud in the bunch."
—The Toronto Star

"A fun collection of short stories from Soho authors in which the holidays feature somehow. Just the thing to start getting you in the mood." 
Raleigh News & Observer 


"Spanning the globe to Denmark, England, North Korea, Sweden and beyond, the attractive batch of holiday stories in The Usual Santas is a perfect gift for all armchair mystery and short story aficionados looking for light, fun fare."
—Plattsburgh Press-Republican

"You’ll find laughs, murders, and plenty more in this captivating collection of best-selling and award-winning authors. For more than 25 years, Soho Crime has been publishing atmospheric crime fiction set all over the world."
—The Oneonta Daily Star

"Soho Crime draws from its impressive roster of authors for this outstanding Christmas-themed anthology . . . This is the perfect holiday gift for mystery fans."
Publishers Weekly, Starred Review 

"What do you get for the crime reader who has everything? How do you get your favorite armchair gumshoe into the holiday spirit? And where can you find 18 hilarious, chilling, and bizarre stories centering around suspicious mall Santas, mysterious dinner parties, and stolen diamonds? The answer to all of these questions (and so many more) is The Usual Santas, A Collection of Soho Crime Christmas Capers, an anthology featuring stories by some of your favorite Soho Press authors and their most unexpectedly twisted Christmas-themed tales."
—Barnes & Noble Reads

"The holiday-infused collection The Usual Santas, gathers the cream of Soho’s international crime-writing crop . . . a festive multitude of short-story gem​s."​
​​—​The Seattle Review of Books ​

"These eighteen holiday capers by bestselling Soho crime authors contain mysteries, murders and plenty puzzlers that will test armchair sleuths for hours."
—Acadiana Lifestyle

"A feisty little collection by feisty little, globe-spinning Soho Crime, The Usual Santas rounds up holiday tales from all over the world that range from laugh-out-loud, spit-out-your-turkey hilarious to cry-in-your-wassail misery and woe."
Mystery Scene

"This holiday-themed collection presents 18 pieces of short fiction from an impressive roster of international mystery writers. The voices veer from darkly humorous ­(Helene Tursten and Mick Herron) to touching (Timothy Hallinan and Mette Ivie ­Harrison) to disturbing (Stuart Neville and Ed Lin), with tales set around the globe . . . Thoroughly entertaining."
—Library Journal

"Each bite-size mystery in this winning collection is a gift." 
—Booklist 

"The perfect stocking-stuffer for all those suspense readers out there."
—Suspense Magazine

"This is a perfect stocking stuffer for any mystery fan—or any fan of excellent writing, engrossing stories, and holiday fun."
—Ted Hertel, Deadly Pleasures Magazine

"The perfect stocking-stuffer for the crime or mystery fiction fan on your holiday gift list."
—Bookgasm

"Highly recommended reading. With settings on nearly every continent, taking place from the Middle Ages to the present, and written by authors of all ages and nationalities, it is anything but usual."
—Gumshoe Review

"This noir-tinged collection is not your usual heartwarming holiday read. Soho, which leans toward the darker side of crime, has presented eighteen crime capers that may leave you hiding out at home until the holidays are over."
—Reviewing the Evidence

"I highly recommend this anthology to anyone with a fondness for Christmas tales."
—Buried Under Books

"A delightful new anthology."
—Zoom Street blog

"[The Usual Santas] definitely got me in the Christmas spirit, not to mention introducing me to some crime writers that are worth following up on."
—I've Read This blog

The Usual Santas: a very good example of that kind of thing."
—James R. Benn, author of the Billy Boyle mysteries

“I wished the book would never end, so I didn't finish it."
—Timothy Hallinan, author of the Junior Bender mysteries and the Poke Rafferty thrillers

“Nothing says Christmas like a story from a guy named Goldberg."
—Tod Goldberg, New York Times bestselling co-author of The House of Secrets

“Buy this book or else. We know where you live."
—Lene Kaaberbøl, New York Times bestselling co-author of The Boy in the Suitcase

“Soho Crime publishes a wide variety of consistently high-quality crime fiction, so I expected this collection to be a great read, and it didn’t disappoint. Not only does it feature holiday capers from a number of my favorite crime authors (Peter Lovesey, Stuart Neville, Helene Tursten, Mick Herron), it was also a great way to sample other Soho authors I haven’t read yet. Even if you’re not a fan of Christmas, you’ll love The Usual Santas!”
—Carol Schneck Varner, Schuler Books, Okemos, MI

Excerpt

An excerpt from the title story, “The Usual Santas” by Mick Herron

Whiteoaks, the brochures explained, was more than a shopping center: it was a Day Out For The Whole Family; a Complete Retail Experience Under Just One Roof. It was an Ideally Situated Outlet Village—an Ultra-Convenient Complex For The Ultra-Modern Consumer. It was where Quality met Design to form an Affordable Union. It might have been a Stately Pleasure Dome. It was possibly a Garden Of Earthly Delight. It was almost cer­tainly where Capital Letters went to Die.
     More precisely, it was on the outskirts of one of Lon­don’s northwest satellite towns, and, viewed from above, resembled a glass and steel rendering of a giant octopus dropped headfirst onto the landscape. In the gaps between its outstretched tentacles were parks and play areas and public conveniences, and at each of its two main entrances were garages offering, in addition to the usual services, full valet coverage, 4-wheel alignment and diagnostic analysis, as well as free air and a Last-Minute One-Stop-Shop. Cart stations—colored pennants hoisted above them for swift location—were positioned at those intervals market research had determined user-friendly, and were assiduously tended by liveried cart-jockeys. From ten minutes before dusk until ten after daybreak the area was bathed in gentle orange light, the quiet humming of CCTV cameras a constant reminder that your security was Whiteoaks’ concern. And in a hedged-off corner between the center’s electricity substa­tion and one of four home-delivery loading bays—perhaps the only point in the complex to which the word “accessible” did not apply—lurked a furtive row of recycling bins, like a consumerist memento mori.
     As for the interior, it was a contemporary cathedral, sacred to the pursuit of retail opportunity. There was a food mall, a clothing avenue, an entertainment hall; there were wings dedicated to white goods (“all your domestic requirements sat­isfied!”), pampering (“full body tan in minutes!”) and financial services (“consolidate your debts—ask us how!”). There was a boulevard of sporting goods, a bridleway of gardening supplies; a veritable Hatton Garden of jewelers. No franchise ever heard of went unrepresented, and several never before encountered had multiple outlets. Whiteoaks’ delicatessens carried sweet­meats from as near as Abbotsbury and as far as Zywocice; its bookshops shelved volumes by every author its readers could imagine, from Bill Bryson to Jeremy Clarkson. The shopper who is tired of Whiteoaks, it might easily be asserted, is a shopper who is tired of credit. During the summer, light washed down from the recessed contours of its cantilevered ceilings, and during the winter it did exactly the same. Temperature, too, was regulated and constant, and in this it matched everything else. At Whiteoaks, you could buy raspberries in winter and tinsel in July. Seasonal variation was discouraged as an unnecessary brake on impulse purchasing.
     Which was not to say that Whiteoaks ignored the pas­sage of the year; rather, it measured the months in a manner appropriate to its customers’ needs. As surely as Father’s Day follows Mother’s, as unalterably as Harry Potter gives way to the Great Pumpkin, time marches on; its inevitable progress registering as peaks and troughs in a never-ending flow chart.
     For there are only seventeen Major Feasts in the calendar of the Complete Retail Experience.
     And the greatest of these is Christmas.
 
At Whiteoaks Christmas slipped in slowly, sublimi­nally, with the faint rustle of a paperchain in early September, and the echo of a jingle bell as October turned. Showing almost saintly restraint, however, it did not unleash its reindeer until Halloween had been wholly remaindered. After that, it was open season. Taking full advantage of its layout, the complex boasted eight Santa’s Grottos—one per tentacle—each employing a full complement of sleigh, sacks, elves, snowflakes, friendly squirrels, startled rabbits, and (coun­terintuitively, but fully validated by merchandise-profiling) talking zebras. And, of course, each had its own Santa. Or, more accurately, each had an equal share in a rotating pool of Santas, for the eight Santas hired annually by the Whiteoaks Festive Governance Committee had swiftly worked out that no single one of them wanted to spend an entire two-month hitch marooned in Haberdashery’s backwater, or worse still, abandoned under fire in the high-pressure, noise-intensive combat zone of Toys and Games, while another took his ease in the Food Hall, pampered with cake and cappuccino by the surrounding franchisees. So a complicated but workable shift system had been established by the Santas themselves, whereby they chopped and changed each two-hour session, swapping grottos three times a day and generally sharing the burden along with the spoils. This worked so well, so much to everyone’s satisfaction, that the first eight Santas hired by the Governance Committee remained the only Santas Whiteoaks needed, returning year after year to don their uniforms, attach their beards, and maintain an impressive 83% record of hardly ever swearing at children whose parents were in earshot.
     Santa-ing was not an easy undertaking. It was not a task for sissies. And while the Usual Santas didn’t always do things by the book, by God, they got the job done!
     And each year, once they’d managed just that—after the shops had lowered shutters on Christmas Eve, and Whiteoaks slumbered, preparatory to the Boxing Day rush—the Santas met in a hospitality room adjoining the security suite, and relaxed over a buffet provided by the grateful merchants of the quarter, and exchanged war stories until the hour grew late, and generally luxuriated in the absence of children.
     But however relaxed they grew, they kept their beards on. And remained zipped inside their red suits. And never addressed each other as anything other than “Santa”; and in fact, would have been unable to do so had they wanted, because while they might, for all they knew, be friends and neighbors in civvy street—might drink in the same pub, or regularly catch the same bus to the same football ground—on duty they remained in uniformed character, and always had done. This had started in jest but had quickly hardened into custom. Not long after that, it calcified into supersti­tion. In their dealings with toddlers and hyperactive infants, the Usual Santas had suffered in undignified, frequently unhygienic ways that had bonded them in a manner few civilians could hope to understand, but on every other level they were strangers to each other. And with this, they were perfectly comfortable.
     Until, one day . . .