The Snow White Christmas Cookie

or isn’t hooked up with is none of my concern. Why are you so curious anyhow?”

“Because my friend Mitch and I we were both looking to place a wager on this Sunday’s Patriots-Giants game. What’s the spread?”

“Last I heard it was Pats by seven points.”

Rut gawked at Steve in disbelief. “At home against the G-men? Why, the Pats are a lock to beat that.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at the old fellow. “What kind of wager are you talking about, Rut?”

Rut took a sip of his Guinness. “A hundred on the Pats. How about you, Mitch?”

“I can’t bet against my Giants. I’ll ride them for a hundred.”

“That’s a sucker’s bet,” Rut informed him. “You’re a born pigeon.”

Steve said, “I can place your bets with Rick for you if you’d like.”

“That’d be great, Steve.” Rut took another bite of his chili dog. “What do you get out of it?”

Steve frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“You allow the fella to operate in here. What’s in it for you?”

Steve turned cold on him. “Why would you ask me something like that?”

Rut shrugged his soft shoulders. “Just curious.”

Mitch said, “Is he into anything else?”

Steve stared across the bar at Mitch. “I don’t allow any drugs in here, if that’s what you’re asking. Your girlfriend would shut me right down. The guys like to bet on football. I figure they may as well do it here. Nobody gets hurt and it’s good for business.”

“It wasn’t,” Mitch said, munching on his chili dog.

Steve shook his head. “Wasn’t what?”

“What I was asking you. Does Slick Rick also extend credit to guys who come up a little bit short?”

“Well, yeah,” Steve allowed. “If somebody needs a few bucks until payday or whatever.”

“So he’s a loan shark?”

“To my mind he’s simply providing a service. His vig’s a little high but, hey, it’s not much higher than what the big boys nail you for when you fall behind on your credit cards. And them bastards have got the full faith and credit of the U.S. government behind them.”

The door to the Rustic opened now and in barged Casey Zander in his Patriots hoodie and sweatpants, looking frazzled and agitated. Also not particularly happy to see Mitch and Rut.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“You had a rough night, son,” Rut responded soothingly. “You and your mom both. We’d like to buy you a beer. Have a seat.”

“Not right now,” Casey snapped, looking around the place. “Hey, Steve, where’s Gigi?”

“She was here earlier, Casey. Went out.”

“Who with?”

“No idea. Gigi goes her own way. You know that.”

“Well, when’s she coming back?”

“When she decides to come back,” Steve answered patiently, as if he were speaking to a whiny, annoying child. Which he basically was. “Here she is now,” he informed Casey as the door opened again. “Are you happy?”

Gigi Garanski looked as if she’d just wandered in from a Def Leppard video. She was an absolute vision of unloveliness in a torn denim jacket, hot pink spandex tights and snakeskin cowboy boots. Gigi had big, sticky-looking hair that was dyed a garish shade of yellow and she looked as if she’d applied her eye makeup with a trowel. She was pale and extremely skinny. Not a glam kind of skinny. A malnourished kind. Mitch doubted Gigi was more than twenty-five but she had a lot of hard miles on her.

Casey reached over and grabbed her. “Where have you been?”

“What do you care?” she answered in a raspy voice.

“I was looking all over for you.”

“I was right here, asshole. Where were you? Told me you were going to take me out for breakfast.”

“I had to hang with my mom on account of Hank.”

Gigi made a face at him. “Your mom. With other guys it’s their wife or their girlfriend. With you it’s always your mom.”

“Shut up about my mom!”

“Don’t tell me to shut up. And let go of my arm, will ya?”

“Seems like a stable, mature relationship built on mutual respect,” Mitch observed.

“And common interests,” Rut agreed, nodding his tufty white head. “Politics, religion, the theater…”

Gigi moved away from Casey now and sidled over to the corner table where Tommy the Pinhead sat with Slick Rick. She bent over, taunting Casey with a defiant gaze, and gave Tommy a wet, slurpy kiss. Casey watched the two of them, red faced. When they were done sucking face, Tommy spoke to Gigi in a quiet voice. She nodded her sticky blond head, then made her way slowly back to Casey, Tommy watching her with cool-eyed detachment.

“How about we go for a drive someplace, babe?” she asked sweetly, cradling Casey’s chubby cheeks in her pale, taloned hands.

Casey shrugged his shoulders. “Why not?”

“Hey, don’t do me any favors.”

“I’m not, Gigi. I want to go with you. Really, I do. Just give me a couple of minutes, okay? There’s something I have to take care of first.”

Gigi rolled her eyes at him. “Whatever.”

Casey started toward the door, shooting a glance over at Tommy the Pinhead and Slick Rick. As he went outside, the two of them put their heads together and conferred. Then Tommy got his huge self to his feet and went out the door, too.

Gigi parked herself at the bar next to Mitch. Steve brought her a glass of white wine. She took a small sip, looking Mitch up and down with frank curiosity.

He smiled at her and said, “How are you?”

“Compared to what?”

“Is it just me or does Casey seem kind of antsy?”

“He’s always antsy,” she sniffed. “That one was born antsy.” And with that she took her wine down to the other end of the bar.

“Nice girl,” Mitch observed.

“Trust me, she’s more popular around here than Casey is,” Steve said.

“I can believe that.” Rut drank down the last of his Guinness. “That boy is awful hard to warm up to.”

“Does he place a lot of bets with Slick Rick?” Mitch asked Steve.

“Why are you asking?”

“When I was over at his place this morning I saw a ton of NFL stats lying around. Couldn’t help wondering if he was a bit of a gambler.”

“I wouldn’t call what Casey does gambling,” Steve said in a low voice.

“What would you call it?”

“A disease.”

“He has a problem?”

“A big problem.”

“Well, now,” Rut murmured. “Ain’t that a fine how do ya do?”

“I need to get something out of my truck,” Mitch informed the old postmaster. “I’ll be back in a sec, okay?”

“Okay by me.” Rut tapped his empty Guinness bottle. “But it’ll cost you.”

“Another round, Steve. And it’s my tab, okay?”

“In that case,” Rut said, “I’ll have another chili dog, too.”

Mitch went out of the Rustic’s front door, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight in the parking lot. Casey and Tommy the Pinhead were having words over by Casey’s blue Tacoma pickup. Mitch inched his way over behind the