Ebenezer

Chapter 1 - Ebenezer's Last Hit

"Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it."

— Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

"And then I saw that there was a way to Hell,

even from the gate of Heaven."

— John Bunyan, The Pilgrim's Progress

"America is a gun."

— Brian Bilston

1

Christmas Eve, 2008

Snow falls on a wet city street. A man in a black pea coat waits for a cab to pass, then crosses, stepping through slush to an old brownstone. He shivers, huddling up in his jacket, breath visible as he thumbs a button on the intercom. The faded tag in its slot reads APT 4 - J. MARLEY.

The door buzzes. The man opens it immediately and steps into the vestibule.

In an upstairs office, a man in his mid-fifties sits hunched over a cluttered mahogany desk in deep concentration, shuffling papers and making handwritten notes. With his slick receding hair and red suspenders, a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up his hairy forearms to the elbows, he looks like a Cockney gangster-type. The name he's answered to since his early twenties is Jake Marley, but it is not his real name.

He looks up at a knock. The man in the black pea coat steps into the doorway, standing in silhouette.

Marley grins. He's seen this betrayal coming nearly as long as he's known the man in the doorway. He only wishes he'd had more time. "Got you working on Christmas, 'ave they, Ebenezer?" he asks.

The man in shadow nods, raising the pistol in his hand. He screws off the silencer and tucks it into a pocket. For this job, he wants his weapon loud. He wants to feel it.

"Only a matter of time before you're the man behind the desk, innit?" Marley says, nodding. "And somebody younger, willing to do the job cheaper, he'll be greetin' you on Christmas Eve like you done me."

Marley unbuttons his shirt and jabs a finger at his hairy chest. "Right. You shoot me right here then. Might as well. You already tore out my bloody 'eart."

The man steps out of the shadow, firing three times. The shots so loud he feels them in his chest. Muzzle flashes emblazon a face as pale as parchment, features like a pit bull, with rich black mutton chops, cold blue eyes and black leather gloves.

This is Ebenezer Scrooge.

By the time the ringing in Ebenezer's ears stops, Jake Marley is dead as a doornail.

2

Thanksgiving, 2018

Ebenezer bolts upright in bed, the alarm buzzing. His hair has grayed, wrinkles and dark circles. His face and torso drenched in sweat. Haunted by his recurring dream.

He shuts off the alarm and grabs the bottle of Jack off the nightstand. Swigs greedily. Wipes his mouth. It's 9:30. Outside the street is dark.

He pads across Berber shag to the bathroom and steps into the glass-walled shower. Turns on the taps and stands under the rainwater showerhead. Scalding hot water cascades over his face, his muscular arms and chest riddled with old scars and puckered bullet wounds. Shampooing his hair, he pisses into the drain.