Without the standard fare of abuse he usually meted out to delinquents, Vincent found himself with more than enough time to cruise the waterfront. He strolled over to the small cluster of boats that gathered by the old docks every Christmas season.
The boats were tied together by their owners and decked out with amazing arrays of holiday displays. Vincent's favorite was the low-end yacht that kept a menagerie of bejeweled reindeer on its bow. Then the two sailboats that hung a new Psalm, spelled out in flickering lights, between their masts every year. They must never get the presents they ask for, he thought.
He reached the end of the waterfront and headed south to the family headquarters, leaving the boats until next year.
There, in front of the entrance to Rolfondo's office, he saw two St. Petersburg hairless, the feline bodyguards of Samson of Washington, Rolfondo's boss and the head of the state family.
The Peterbalds nodded to him as he approached. "Vincent of Tacoma," they said.
"Alexsandr of Washington, Zhenya of Washington," he replied. He walked past them and scratched a sequence on the metal slab that blocked the entrance. From within the warehouse, the security door was pushed aside. He entered.
The room was rather empty, unusual for a family boss. But Rolfondo was a humble cat, more business than pleasure. He would be the first to tell you, "The more you have, the more you have to lose." And it showed in the simplicity of his official residence. Some pillows lay in the corner of the room, and in front of them, ornately carved ebony food bowls. On two of the pillows sat Rolfondo of Washington and Samson of Washington.
Between them, a slab of fresh salmon lay upon a silver tray. Rolfondo was nibbling at it as Vincent approached him.
"Vincent of Tacoma! " Samson said.
"Samson of Washington," Vincent replied, stretching on his front paws and lowering his head, acknowledging Samson's seniority. Samson smiled wide. He leaned forward and rubbed his nose on Vincent, a rare show of affection from the seventeen-year-old boss. But Samson knew Vincent's story and treated him as the son he never had.
"Thankyou, sir," Vincent said.
"All the other cats are gone for the holiday," Samson said. "What are you doing here? Don't get me wrong, I am delighted to see you, my boy."
Rolfondo answered for Vincent. "I needed him to take care of those Vietnamese down by the old docks. They are too far behind for my liking." He looked at Vincent. "Well, what did you get from those three slack-a-bouts?"
"Well," Vincent started to reply. He looked at Samson and lowered his head, ashamed to show weakness. "They said they didn't have anything."
Rolfondo snorted. "And you believed that? Vincent, you know better than to trust a bunch of 'nip heads like…"
Vincent interrupted him. "No, sir. I didn't believe them. It's just that…"
"Just that what?" Rolfondo thundered. "You could have sent them back to that shithole they call home with one paw tied behind your back!"
"Now, now," Samson said. "Let's hear what he has to say, Rolfondo."
"I have to say," Vincent paused. "I have to say that it is Christmas Evening, sirs. I know they were probably holding, and probably stoned at the time, but… I couldn't rough them up tonight. Not on Christmas, sirs. They don't have much to live for as it is. They only owe a few grams and…"
"Rolfondo, I think he's getting soft in his old age," Samson said, winking at Vincent, who winced at the accusation. He wasn't that old, and certainly wasn't getting soft. He knew Samson was being playful, but he regretted showing weakness in front of his elders.
"Perhaps so, Samson," Rolfondo replied. He looked at Vincent. "Do you have the other pickups?"
"Oh, yes, sir." Vincent pawed at the satchel hanging from his neck until it fell to the floor. He pushed it over to Rolfondo.
"Eh, get that away from me. You know how it messes me up," Rolfondo protested. Vincent swiped the sack into the corner of the room.
"Give the boy a break, Rolfondo," Samson said. "It is Christmas Eve. I know you have a heart somewhere in there." He poked at Rolfondo.
"Ah, I suppose so, Samson, I suppose so. Go on home, Vincent. You've done well as usual," Rolfondo said.
Vincent nodded to Samson and Rolfondo. "Merry Christmas, sirs."
Vincent's neighborhood was conspicuously devoid of Christmas festivity. His friends joked that it was the only all-Jewish area in Tacoma, but Vincent blamed the lack of decoration on the high number of elderly residents, too fragile to bother with the dangers of falling from ladders.
In the backyard of one elderly man, Vincent had made a home in an abandoned camping trailer. Too old to drive, the man paid no attention to it, except for a tarpaulin to keep the rain out.
Vincent hopped onto the top of the trailer and crawled under the tarp to the cracked skylight that was his door. He jumped to the table inside and over to the double bed at the rear of the trailer. There was the woolen blanket Rolfondo had given him on the day of his promotion to collector.
He pushed it into a pile and crawled beneath it. Within minutes he had put the day behind him and fell to sleep.
Christmas morning woke Vincent with a shiver. He climbed from his blanket and looked outside. Giant snowflakes were falling past the window. He purred and jumped to the skylight and pulled himself out.
A little slower than usual, he thought. I may need to find a place without such high ceilings. He jumped to the wall next to the trailer and down to the ground.
He pawed the frosty ground playfully, causing a spray of white behind him. Squeezing through a hole in the wooden fence, he went over to his favorite bush to pee.
A screech startled him.
"Come back here, cat!" a voice yelled.
He looked down the alley. A boy was running toward him. So was a cat. Vincent crouched, ready to spring over the fence and avoid the whole scene.
"Come back with my Christmas present!" the boy yelled. His voice was familiar to Vincent, and then he remembered. The kid lived around the corner with his mother.
When True and Vincent had roamed the neighborhood together, the boy had always tried to coax True into his house with pieces offish. Vincent had felt jealous of the attention paid to True, but he had never mentioned it.
Now the boy was running toward him. But why was he chasing this cat?
Then Vincent recognized the cat. He was carrying something in his mouth as he bounded toward Vincent. Something the boy wanted back.
"True?" Vincent said, realizing it was the Phuong brothers' enforcer. "What are you doing here?"
True Phuong ran up to him. and dropped something from his mouth. "Merry Christmas, Vinnie the Craw!" he said, smiling. Vincent looked at him, wondering if True was still high from the night before.
On the ground was an Army man action figure, new from the looks of it, except for a tooth mark or two.
"Is this for me?" Vincent asked, confused.
"Vinnie! Your Christmas wish is no secret to me. I told you I make it up to you," True said. He turned and ran down the alley past the boy, who was about to reach Vincent.
"Please, kitty, don't take my G.I.Joe, it's my Christmas present," the boy said.
Vincent looked at the toy on the ground. The boy approached slowly and crouched in front of Vincent. The knees of his pants were thinning, his pink skin starting to show through. He must be freezing, Vincent thought.
"I'm Fred," the boy said. His eyes were kind and inviting, his smile genuine. He reached out a hand. Vincent sat still and let Fred rub his head. The boy's touch was gentle. It reminded him of the kindness Samson showed with the rub of his nose. He arched his back and let Fred stroke him.
They sat together for what seemed an eternity, Fred rubbing and caressing Vincent's fur, forgetting about his toy soldier.
"You look cold. Do you want some warm milk?" Fred asked, breaking the reverie. Vincent replied with a long purr and rubbed against Fred's leg.
"I have to get home before Mom worries about me, but she won't mind if you have Christmas dinner with us." Fred stood and looked down at Vincent.