the smuggler’s bible


They take him out the front, past the sheet covering the butler’s body. Someone has tipped off the newspapers. Flash bulbs sparkle in the evening snow.

“I had good intentions,” Cratchit whispers as they put him in the car. “Marley found out I was donating to the shelters. He would have stopped it then.”

“You can keep quiet. This is admissable.”

“I don’t care.”

“Fine,” Pontchartrain says. “What about Scrooge?”

“Scrooge.” Cratchit pauses. “Well, Mister Scrooge deserved it. Will he live?”

“The medics think so. Probably. But he’s going to wake up different tomorrow. You changed the man, all right.”