When Elves Attack by Tim Dorsey Page A

And your dad has dedicated his life to protect you and your mother from all of them. Next to that, I’m the wimp! . . . Do . . . you . . . understand . . . little . . . girl!”
    â€œOkay, okay, yes. Jesus, I didn’t realize you two were so close.”
    â€œHe’s my hero. I want to be just like him.”
    â€œReally?”
    Serge nodded. “Sorry about freaking you out there for a minute, but I’m sensitive about this.”
    Nicole’s breathing was coming back down. “No biggie.”
    â€œI’ll make you a deal,” said Serge. “Jim needs your help and love in his struggle. Do me a favor and show him respect.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThat’s better.”
    â€œBut you said a deal,” countered Nicole. “What do I get?”
    â€œBack at the house, I heard something about you wanting a tattoo?”
    â€œOh man, my mom will really hate you.”
    â€œNo, she won’t. I know how to handle women like her.” Serge hit the gas again. “You leave that to me.”
    â€œI don’t think you really know my mom. She’ll go ape.”
    â€œIt’s all about the art of conflict. Most people go in headfirst.” Serge made a skirting gesture with his right hand. “Whereas I outflank.”
    â€œYou’re going to sneak up on my mom?”
    â€œIn a manner of speaking.” Serge took another swig from his coffee thermos. “Give you an example: the Positive Protest.”
    â€œPositive?”
    â€œSay you’ve got some kind of protest group that wants concessions from the powers that be. But the conflict is going nowhere. So the only option is to take to the streets, creating a massive public disturbance of anarchy that brings the city to its knees. Except for some reason, the city is the only one with a riot squad. Don’t ask why, it’s just the way they set it up at the beginning. And they come storming in with shields and helmets and batons, sweeping you off the pavement like autumn leaves.”
    â€œI’ve seen it on TV.”
    â€œThat’s where they all go wrong. If I was in charge of the mob, I’d stage a Positive Protest. And when the shock troops start goose-stepping in with the tear gas, you begin waving signs and yelling slogans demanding higher police salaries. Then their bullhorns blare for you to disperse, and you say you totally agree with what they’re asking, and it’s a shame that the people who have to make you disperse don’t receive better benefits and pensions—and that your group will vote en masse for any politician who jacks up their compensation. The riot team can do nothing but stand mute. I’m dying to try it out! Except I don’t have a cause yet . . . I could always phone in my grievances later . . .”
    â€œWhat’s that got to do with my tattoo?”
    â€œYou’ll see when we get there.” Serge passed the dog track and pulled into a strip mall. “Because of your age, you’ll need parental consent. That’s me; they never check. Plus I know this guy.”
    â€œWow, you’re really going to help me get a tattoo. That’s so cool.”
    TRIGGERFISH LANE
    The front door opened.
    Martha came racing out of the kitchen. “Where on earth have you been?”
    â€œOut.” Nicole walked by with a sullen expression.
    â€œI want more of an answer than that,” said Martha. “Did they hurt you?”
    â€œDon’t be lame.”
    As Nicole left the living room, Martha happened to glance down below the small of her daughter’s back. A tiny bit of ink peeked out above the waistband of her shorts. An audible gasp. “A tattoo! . . . Jim, come quick; it’s Nicole! It’s an emergency!”
    Jim ran out of the den. “What’s the matter? Is she okay?”
    â€œShe got a tattoo.”
    â€œI thought she needed parental