The Last Noel — Steve Hockensmith

The clatter of loose Legos drew her away from the door. Monkeyberry Toys's final customer was heading to the checkout counter, and she wanted to be there when he arrived. She'd ring him up herself.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she started to say.


She froze.


The man had pulled up the hood on his oversized parka. His left arm was wrapped around three boxes.


His right hand held a gun.
He walked up to the counter and pointed the gun at Patrice.


“Gimme the money,” he said, his gruff voice warbling.