Logic

Every so often I have a problem with logic[1]. My problem is people citing logic, without understanding logic. It has become like a mantra: “Be logical,” “Logic tells us,” et cetera.  Sadly, the people who do so say logic when they mean “I think”, not necessarily acknowledging the other side except to dismiss it out of hand.

So what then is logic? Logic is nothing more than a tool. It is an aid to assist in finding the best solution for a given problem. The simplest form of this is a basic if-then statement. If your PIN is correct, then the ATM will grant access to your accounts. In some cases this can be an oversimplification, but I’m ignoring that. I’m great that way.

Before I go further, I will say I am not fully versed in Logic. I don’t know all its listed pitfalls (called[2] fallacies) save a few: Reductio ad Hitlerum (reduced to Hitler) and Reductio ad absurdum (reduced to absurdity). I don’t know its myriad of types and forms. In fact you could probably fill a thimble with what I do know about it. There, I’ve said it. Now accept me as an authority[3] on the matter and lets keep going. Okay?

An example I once heard of a logic problem presented to a computer. (I haven’t researched to see if this story is true in any way, so take it with a grain of salt.) The computer was asked to determine which was the better choice: a watch five minutes off, or a “broken”[4] watch.  The computer returned that the broken watch was the correct choice as it was correct twice a day, whereas the other was never correct. For me at least, this was the wrong answer. Strictly speaking both watches are right all the time, just not necessarily where you’re standing on the globe. I know that’s a quippy response, and I’m keeping it, but it’s still true. So there has to be restrictions, or assumptions and givens[5], to guide the decision and the course of logic. In this case it would be assumed that the watches would be analog, as a broken digital watch would render the argument moot. Assumed that we would only consider time related to one locale.  It would be given that there are two watches. This is getting verbose, and annoying. So moving on.

Anyway, the goal is to get the argument as close to a black-and-white question, an either-or answer. Right or wrong. On or off.  In the watch question the computer went for the best choice, which it (or the programmers) took to mean the most correct. What happens, however, when the best choice is taken to mean the one that serves the user most adequately. Then the answer would be reversed; the right choice would be the watch that is five minutes off as it would be consistent and the user would be able to tell the approximate time all day. The broken watch, while still right twice a day, cannot tell the user when it is right. So then which is the right choice, consistent or correct? I would say consistent based off of usefulness alone.

So what does this rambling monologue have to do with my problem with logic?[6] Basically, uh… huh, I guess it’s not with logic, but the people claiming to use it and demanding that you do too, all without themselves knowing how to use it.  So come on people, be logical, learn to use logic.[7]

---

[1] I can hear the snarky remarks from here, thank you.

[2] One in the same really, but reductio ad hitlerum is a specific vein of reductio ad absurdum. It boils down to, “if Hitler did it, it is evil.” i.e. – “Hitler liked abstract art, therefore abstract art is Nazi art.”

[3] This is probably an example of the fallacy of false authority or something.

[4] I put broken in quotes, well, because we’re talking logic here and I wanted to cover my bases as some people can be real sticklers for detail and wordplay. So here we define broken as “non-functioning, but whole and intact; a drained battery”.

[5] An “assumption” is something that is not necessarily true, but will be treated as such for the argument. A “given” is something that is true.

[6] Again with the snarky comments! What’s WRONG with you? ;-)

[7] See what I did there? I did something that ticks me off when other people do it. Aren’t I delightfully hypocritical?

What service workers WISH they could do (1)

At some point everyone in the service industries (be it retail, food, or what-have-you) gets fed up with the sense of superiority and condescension they face from their customers. And so at times they would love to have a pre-printed note that they could hand to the customer and simply walk away...

"Dear Sir or Madam,
We 'regretfully' request that you immediately cease frequenting our establishment. This request is being made, as our sales associates have found you to be an obnoxious detriment to humanity.
We thank you for no longer allowing us to serve you. And we hope to never see you again.
Sincerely yours,
Management"

Come to think of it, I think that might be a pretty clever gimmick for a store. People would be trying to get associates to give them one of those cards. :-)

Silk Harvest

"I hate this," Acorn said. He kicked at the walnut armor on the floor. His transparent wings fluttering slowly with his agitation. Acorn was glowing softly red.

"It's not that bad," Stump said. His golden glow was blocked by the bulky armor he wore.
"Besides it's useful."

"Ha!" Acorn said. He didn't want to go harvesting silk. It wasn't fun. Now honey harvesting that was fun. Acorn's head ached at the thought, but he couldn't think of why.

"You're scared!" Stump exclaimed with a laugh. "Acorn's sacred of spiders!"

"I am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not! I'd just rather get honey, is all."

"All you think about is honey." Stump rolled his eyes. He picked up the armor and held it out to Acorn. 

"Fine," Acorn grumbled. The walnut armor, though skillfully carved made Acorn look like a bulky doll. "I hate this."

"You said that already," Stump said.

Acorn chased him out of the burrow and into the glen.

The sun was bright and and the air clear. A gentle breeze made the trees rustle their leaves in song even as the flowers bobbed their heads. It was a day for play, not a day for work. And Acorn felt the worse for it.

Strung between the flowers and bushes, shining like gossamer hung glistening spirals of spider webs. As the flowers bobbed, the webs would bow like a ships sails. And darting here and there among the flowers were bees.

"Bees! We can ditch this and follow them to their for honey," Acorn said. 

"No," said Stump. Stump was Acorn's friend but he was a stick in the mud.

"Fine," Acorn groused.

A matronly sprite flew towards them leading a small group of walnut protected  fellows. She lighted before Acorn. She studied him a moment before giving a heavy sigh. 

She turned to the gathered sprites and waved them close. When everyone was close enough to hear clearly, she said, "Okay, you all know what to do. This is important. Be careful out there."

The sprites all flew off. Acorn moved to jump skyward but the woman stopped him.

"Acorn," she said "Please, no games today. Just be careful."

Acorn stared at her with affronted innocence even as Stump laughed himself silly.

She shook her head and flew up to keep an eye on the proceedings.

"I'm always careful," Acorn said.

This spurned Stump to new levels of mirth.

Acorn took to the air. He could see pairs of sprites throughout the glen busily at work. And on the far side of the glen was the largest spider-web Acorn had ever seen. 

It stretched between two trees and criss-crossed completely blocking the path. It was immense. It was terrifying. It was a tease. Acorn had to harvest it.

"Let's get that one," Acorn said speeding across the glen.

Stump flew after him. "It's too big!" he shouted.

"We can finish sooner that way," Acorn called back.

Acorn hovered before the spider-web. It was larger than he had thought. Quick as thought, he drew his needle sharp sword and sliced free a thread. He caught the free floating thread and began to wind it into a ball. He'd get plenty of silk, and then he could go back to doing what he wanted.

"I don't like this," Stump said. But he darted his own sword out and freed another thread. Soon his own ball of silk was growing.

Acorn's thread shook gently as he wound it. Then it went taunt. Acorn grimaced and worked harder to wind the silk.

"Uh, Acorn," Stump said.

Acorn ignored him. The sooner he finished the sooner he'd get honey.

"Acorn, look down," Stump said.

Acorn looked. Climbing the thread that he was winding was huge black and green spider. Panicked Acorn flew back and forth trying to shake the spider free. 

The spider just clung to the thread and worked it's way steadily towards Acorn.

Acorn screamed and tried to fly straight up. But he hadn't been paying attention and hadn't noticed that the web was now above him. He flew right into the spider's web and was stuck.

Acorn struggled to get free but the more he struggled the faster the web held him.
"Let go!" Shouted Stump. "Let go of the the thread!"

Acorn let go of the ball of silk, before he even realized he still had held it. The ball fell drawing the thread and spider after it.

"Get me off of here," Acorn said.

"I don't know," Stump said flying over. He held his completed ball of silk. He carefully placed it in a bag. "I think you're more useful there. You'll distract the spiders."

"That's not funny," Acorn said.

Laughing Stump cut Acorn loose. Acorn flew a short distance away, turned, and then stuck his tongue out at the spider's web.

Stump flew over to Acorn, and then, while humming innocently, began to pluck the remaining threads from off Acorn.

"What are you doing?" Acorn asked.

"Gathering silk," said Stump with a smile.

"Not funny."

"Yes, it is." Stump flew back to the web and snag another thread. "Come on, we've got to finish."

"Alright," Acorn said. He didn't want to. He'd had a traumatic experience that could only be soothed by the liberal application of honey. He began to gather his own thread.

"Look a spider," said Stump.

Acorn jumped back from the web, releasing his thread to the wind. There was no spider.

"You're never going to finish at this rate," Stump said between laughs. 

Soon enough the web diminished in size and the sprites bags bulged with silk. They returned home to find the matronly sprite waiting for them. She took one look at Acorn and just sighed heavily.

End.

Water Dancing

It was twilight and fireflys spun through the air.

"Hey look, Acorn," Stump said. His wings were glowing a pale blue in anticipation. "Let's catch one."

Acorn briefly flashed a bright red. He tried feigning disinterest but broke into a wide grin. "Last one to - " 

Stump was already gone darting through the air. Small shouts of joy making their way back to Acorn.

"HEY! Wait for me! You never wait for me! Why didn't you wait for me? Is it glow envy? I bet it's glow envy!" Acorn said. He dashed out after Stump. His small pixie body passing easily under leaves and through gaps in bushes.

The night darkened and the pixies chased the fireflies quickly forgetting their goal. Soon they took to chasing each other, like twin comets  spinning through the air.

With the suddenness of nature's magic, the moon broke free of the clouds. Its light bathed the area, and the pixies stopped, floating in mid air.

The moon's glow revealed a slow flowing river below. The rippling water making the moon's light seem to dance on the water, like liquid light. 

"Acorn, we should head back," Stump said. "Owls will be out. Acorn?"

Acorn was looking down at the water. His red glow mingled with that of the moon upon the water. "Pretty," he said.

"Acorn?"

"I bet we could put on a show. One that would make the girls mouths hang open. Look at that light. Some honey, a girl, and the light . . ."

"Acorn, let's head back."

Acorn dove for the river. He spun in a loop squealing with glee. He flitted above the water, leaving trails of ripples on the suface. He was loosing himself in his dance.

Stump rolled his eyes. It did look fun. Soon he joined Acorn. His pale blue glow joining with Acorn's red.

They skittered and dodged. Dove, rolled, rose, swerved, and paused. Created ever more complicated steps.

It was only after the moon hid behind the clouds did they realize they had an audiance. All along the shore, glowing faintly, floated dozens of pixies. Their colors shaming rainbows.

A golden glow darted out to them. It flew straight to Stump and resolved itself into a beautiful girl.
"May I have the next dance," She asked and blushed.

"Su - " Stump started to say.

"Hey it was my idea!" Acorn said shoving Stump aside. "Why don't you dance with me?"

"I like blue," she said grabbing Stump's hand and flying off.

"What?! Red's far better the blue! I - " Acorn was shouting after them.

"I'll dance with you," said a raspy voice behind Acorn. 

With trepidation he turned around, and saw an elderly pixie. Acorn shivered. "Uh, I don't want to dance? That's it. I. . . uh . . . hurt my foot. Yeah! Ow! Oh.... I better sit this one out..."

"Cute," the crone said and took his hand. The dance had begun.

END.

Raiding the Hive

Acorn studied the beehive hanging high above in the top of old elm tree. To his right his friend, Stump, was humming tunelessly while tossing rocks in a puddle. Acorn flapped his semi-transparent wings and floated a few inches off the ground. He was so excited he was glowing a dull red. Stump hooted for joy as one of his rocks managed a double-skip on the small pool. 

"We can do it," Acorn said. His eyes were glued on the hive. 

"Let it rest, Acorn," Stump said. He was already searching for another pebble to throw. "Collecting honey is dangerous." 

"Only if the bees catch you." Acorn waved away Stump's objection. "And besides honey is always better fresh." 

"I'm not going." Stump shook his head, gave up his search and flew to the other side of the clearing beneath a blackberry bush. He reached up and began eating the ripe berries. 

"Some friend," Acorn muttered. He flew a little closer to the hive. He could smell that wonderful honey. He hesitated then flew full force at the hive. He landed on it and drove his tiny dagger into the papery surface, sawing himself a hole. He was so close, the idea of all that honey was intoxicated him. 

Bees began to pour out of the hive and surround the little pixie. Acorn didn't hear the incessant hum of their wings and continued to saw at the hive with single-minded determination. Seconds pass and the bees' droning rocked the air with increasing intensity. 

Acorn looked up from his work and took in all the bees crowding the air around him. He worked his throat a little, "Uh . . . hi." He floated away from the hive as still more bees poured out of it and headed for him. 

Acorn turned in mid-air and flew across the clearing as fast as his wings could carry him. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Murder! Bloody murder!!! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!"
Barely staying ahead of the ever increasing swarm of bees, Acorn crisscrossed back and forth across the clearing hoping the swarm would tire. 

"Stay where you are, you honey-hoarders!", he shouted even as he increased his speed to stay ahead of them. Looking back to check his distance, he missed seeing the tree in his path and flew full speed into it. His little body rebounded off the tree and fell to the ground to lay hidden beneath a clump of crabgrass. 

Hours later Acorn woke up feeling sore from head to foot, seated nearby was his friend Stump eating something golden by the fistful. Acorn sat up and scanned the sky for the angered bees. 

"Want some?" Stump asked with a hiccup as he held out his sticky hand. 

Acorn focused his eyes on the offered hand and realized that it is covered in honey. "Where'd you get it?" He said in a worshipful voice. 

"I snagged it while the bees were chasing you." Stump reached his hand into a pot by his side and pulled it out thick with oozing honey. 

Laughing Acorn reached into the pot and began his own feast. "Is there anything better than honey?" he asked before he shoved his sticky hand his mouth. 

Stump's only answer, being drunk on honey as he was, was a gentle snore, as he had passed out.

Hell is an Irish Bar

Shamus enters the pub. A beard of three day's growth blackens his face, but goes unnoticed in the dim light. Sweat beads his brow from the unusually hot day outside. He pulls a soiled handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his face. His clothes are clean but rumpled. His back pocket has reshaped itself around his wallet.

Shamus glances over at the air vent before heading to bar. The tassels someone strung there hang limp in the absence of a breeze. There'll be no respite from the heat in here. The bar is dark and beaten, but it shines with a dull finish. The bartender is busily wiping the counter down.

The only stool left open has a tilt, so Shamus stands beside it. He leans on the bar. When the bartender fails to notice him, Shamus waves a hand.

The bartender glances in his direction, then puts his rag under the counter, and comes over.

Shamus orders a beer.

The bartender points his thumb over his shoulder at the tap. There is a sign taped to it reading 'Out of Order'.

Shamus says that bottled is fine.

The bartender says that the delivery is late, there isn't any.

Shamus asks for whiskey.

They're all out.

Vodka.

Out.

Vermouth.

Out.

Gin.

Out.

Port.

Never had any.

Wine or champagne.

The bartender spits on the floor.

In exasperation Shamus asks what the bartender does have.

Silently the bartender pulls a tall glass and a pitcher from beneath the counter. He places the glass before Shamus, and then pours a dark purplish-black liquid. No moisture beads on the glass; it's warm.

What's this, Shamus asks knowing he'll drink it regardless.

Prune juice.

The bartender leaves Shamus to nurse his drink.

Shamus sips the vile liquid. He'd come back tomorrow. He always did. Maybe tomorrow there'd be something stronger.

How to give offense

Hello, if you are reading this you wish to offend someone. This guide is here to help you deliver the most astounding insults ever. The process is simple and easy to understand, just follow the easy steps below. 

Step One - Decide the degree of insult intended. Do you really want to hurt someone or just banter spitefully yet playfully? Do you want to leave the person emotionally scarred and crippled? Do you wish to strip away their ego and self-esteem leaving them an emotionless husk ready to fall apart at any moment? (Helpful Suggestion: When giving offense it is better to overshoot your mark.) 

Step Two - Select the appropriate situation. Some insults and offenses are most powerful only in given locales or situations. For example, saying 'I'd rather french a blender,' right after he proposes conveys the adequate level of rejection and emotional destruction all due to timing. 

Step Three - The Insult. This is the most tricky part of the procedure. Wrong wording will lead to openings an opponent may use for 'the comeback'. If seen in time, such openings will allow you to prepare in advance and may even be used to heap bigger and better insults on your opponent. Remember, not all insults need be verbal. One of the most overused, but effective is the simple rising of the middle finger. When beginning in the insult circuit, stick to comparisons or name calling until you have developed sufficient speed and skill to create witty phrases. (Unfortunately, a large and increasing number of people believe they can skip right to the more skilled insults without betraying themselves as idiots.) Since you know your opponent best try to chose something that will touch one of their hot buttons or sensitive spots. 

Step Four - The delivery. Your method of delivery must be in such a way as to strike to the heart of the target. A good insult delivered in a bad manner, ruins the effect. Be creative in the delivery. For example, an insulting birthday gift may only be construed as a joke gift unless taken to the extreme. Try giving rubber sheets to a bed wetter publicly. 

Step Five - The Gloat. No insult no matter how trivial is complete without a proper gloat. The most simple is often the most effective, a self-sure knowing smile. However, in some situations the gloat itself may be used to add to the insult. For example, after delivering a stinging comment to or tripping a nerd, laugh loudly and point. 

I am assured that these five basic steps will guarantee that you will become a master of insults in no time at all. You will be the envy of your friends.

Frosty No More

My name is Rolf. I’m an elf. I live at the North Pole. I’m a cop.

And Frosty the Snowman was missing. All anyone could find were his hat, his scarf, a carrot, and some coal. This case was sure to leave me cold.

The crime scene was a public restroom with all the taps on hot and the drains clogged. Water was everywhere.

I suspected foul play, but with no body I was in hot water. Worse yet all my clues had been washed clean. I was working from scratch on this one.

I bent and picked up the tattered top hat. It was soaked through and was utterly magicless. Someone had punched a hole through the top.

I turned to my crime tech, Rudolf. Sure he was a reindeer of some fame, but he didn't let his nose go to his head. He'd needed a steady job to fill his time during the slow season, and had followed his nose to the crime lab. He'd become jaded since working here, but then life couldn't always be reindeer games.

Rudolf was busily scooping water into a test tube. He'd have my answers soon. The water in the tube turned blue. Rudolf looked at me and nodded.

It was Frosty. The poor sap.

I left Rudolf to his job and splashed my way from the room. I had to move fast, before this became a cold case.

To make matters worse, the perp had taken Frosty’s arms. Either as grisly mementos or firewood.

In the hall I found Jacques “Jack” Frost giving his statement on how he found the body. He was Frosty’s long time partner and friend. They’d gone all over the Pole advertising their ice creams and frozen treats. Jacques was one silver tongued salesman, I could tell; my wallet was shivering in fear.

Jacques locked his ice hard gaze on me and gave the officer he was with the cold shoulder.

I decided to start small and play nice. "Did you defrost the snowman?" I said.

Jacques's eyes widened and his face reddened with heat; a neat trick for the King of Cold.

"Frosty was my partner, why would I melt him?" Jacques demanded.

"I don't know; maybe to get the business to yourself. Maybe the snowman was skimming cream off the top and you didn't like it. Maybe you thought he was getting slushy and didn't want him dripping on the carpet. I don't care," I said. I was lying; I did care, carpets were hard to clean. "I do know you're going to spill."

"We were going to expand," Jacques said bitingly. A sudden chill in the air bit at my nose. "He was handling the Antarctic campaign. I needed him."

"Then who offed him?" I asked.

"You're the cop, you figure it out," Jacques said.

I was itching to run him in, but ever since last year I'd been on a tight leash. Santa hadn't liked the attention I brought down on him and had used his influence to get me on the naughty list. I had to tread carefully.

Jacques knew it too. I could tell from his frosty demeanor.

"Stay in town," I said.

Jacques smirked and I knew he'd be lawyered up before I made it to the parking lot.

As I wormed my way through the crowd of press crying out in dismay at the lack of a body and fabricating tantalizing tidbits to draw in the viewer, I spied a tidbit of my own; a slight elf with tears in her eyes. She was on the outer edge of the crowd, but not trying for a view of the sodden aftermath. She knew something.

I hotfooted it to her. I caught her as she was blowing her nose. She was inked with snowflakes on her cheeks and hands; a Frosty groupie. My feet quickly chilled as I realized that my hot lead was just snuffed.

"You a cop?" she asked.

I was surprised she couldn't tell by the five-o'clock shadow and rumpled overcoat, but I badged her anyway. "Detective Rolf," I said, "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Her eyes glistened as she met my gaze. I'd be lucky to get anything coherent from this popsicle.

"It's true, isn't it?" she said with a catch in her voice. "Frosty's dead?"

I didn't see the point in hiding the truth; she'd find out soon enough anyway. "It looks that way."

She broke down sobbing again, and I regretted my impulse to pick her brain. It was becoming obvious that that particular organ had suffered frostbite some time ago.

"What's your relationship to Frosty?"

She blew her nose. It sounded like a foghorn. "I'm his girlfriend. I was meeting him here."

She'd paused slightly there. She was lying. I almost wished her pants would catch fire; I needed the warmth.

"You're his stalker," I said.

"It's not like that," she said a bit too quickly. It was true.

"Right. Did you see what happened?"

She shook her head. "It's a restroom."

I had no doubts that she'd violated the sanctity of that particular room several times in her fervor. But that she hadn't this time meant that she'd thought she'd get caught. Someone else had been in there and she knew it. I gave her the silent treatment with a heavy stare. Guilty minds can't abide silence.

She broke like a glacier sliding home.

"He wasn't alone alright!" she blurted.

"Who else was in there?"

"I don't know, but he was dressed in a tux." She broke down crying again. She was worse than a faucet.

I called an officer over and set him to taking the lady's info and keeping tabs on her. My leads were quickly drying up faster than Frosty.

I turned back to the restroom to take one more look in hopes something would bite me when I saw a flash of black and white darting into the crowd.

Since I didn’t think it was a newspaper blowing in the wind, I gave chase.

It was a short chase.

I caught the suspect trying to waddle its way to a storm drain. Penguins don’t move fast.

It was an Emperor penguin with a complex, I could tell; he was wearing a tux.

“I didn’t do anything!” squealed the penguin in a falsetto. It was a she.

“Sure you didn’t,” I said slamming the penguin to the pavement. “That’s what everyone says when they run away from a crime scene.”

“If I had iced the snowman, why would I stick around?” the penguin said.

“Because you’re a perv and you get your jollies watching your crime. I don’t care.” It was true; I never cared for the motive, just catching the scumbags. “If you didn’t do it, why’d you run?”

“So he wouldn’t see me?”

“He who?”

“You’ve killed me!” the penguin said. She started bucking. Her beak took a nasty swipe at my hand.

I let my knee slip into her gut, hard.

She grunted and I caught a whiff of sour herring. I’d have to be careful or I’d be in a fishy situation.

“PETA’s going to get you for this,” she snipped at me.

“PETA supports putting down man killers,” I said.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” she said.

“Then spill. What were you doing here?”

“I had a meeting with Frosty,” she said.

“In the men’s room? I see.”

“No, you prick; in the restaurant. We were going to sign the deal for him to endorse Penguin Pies.”

“Why would he need a deal? He’s an ice cream mogul in his own right.”

“I don’t know. He just said that things had gotten warm between him and his partner. He was looking to liquidate.”

I backed of the floored dame and let her regain her feet. Equal rites said I didn’t have to help her up. ‘Sides she’d tried to bite me. “So Frosty was leaving Frost?”

“That’s the impression I got,” she said. She was looking flighty. Something had spooked her.

“Who were you trying to avoid?” I asked.

Her attention snapped back to me with her beady little eyes shooting frozen cod into my soul. I hate fish.

“The Whale,” she whispers. And before I can ask anything else she belly-slides into the storm drain. I hear her tux rip, but figured that’d be the least of her problems.

This could be bad; I didn't speak Whalish. But then I didn't need to. Crime sounds the same in any language. Jack had thought that Frosty was expanding the business south of the equator, but he'd really been expanding his own horizons. And the overdressed penguin was here as part of it. But where'd the Whale come in? Who'd hired him?

I had no doubt as to which Whale she'd been referring. Willy was pursuing a career in film. Great White was geriatric. And Shamu was doing time in Florida. The only other whale of any fame was adequately known as "Killer". If he was in town, it was as a hired gun for someone else.

A chill in my gut told me it was Jacques Frost, but I had no proof. I had to catch Killer and make him turn stool pigeon.

There weren't many places a whale could hide at the pole, so I headed to the Fishing Hole, a trendy little club. There in the back sucking down shrimp cocktails was a whale in a blue silk shirt.

I know what you're thinking, and it was an all-you-can-eat menu. Hitmen are cheap.

I cornered him in his booth and shooed of the girls sticking to him like flies. I noted that he too was in a tux. It must be a sea critter thing.

Killer turned his head and eyed me. "Get lost copper."

"You killed Frosty," I said. "I can prove it."

"If you could, I'd already be blubber nuggets."

He'd done it and knew I couldn't prove it. He was taunting me.

"I've got a witness that can place you," I said.

"What do penguins know? Especially ones with eggs to hatch?" He smiled exposing rows of sharp teeth.

"That's all bluster. Come clean and I'll do what I can for you with the District Attorney," I said.

"I'm not saying I did it, but if I had, I was paid to."

"And if you were paid to, who paid you?"

"It was a chilly relationship," he said with a laugh.

"Jacques Frost?" I asked. I knew the answer, but I needed to hear him say it.

"Is that what he's calling himself these days? Used to be Old Man Winter."

"So Frost hired you to flush Frosty? Why?"

"I didn't say he did. And I wouldn't ask those questions."

"But you'd find out to cover your own fin if nothing else."

He was drawing this out like the cold fish in the back of my freezer.

"I certainly would. Frosty was double dealing and leaving Frost out in the cold. Frost didn't like it, and didn't want the bad press their breakup would give the business."

"And I suppose, you'd keep a way to prove it was him who hired you?" A death machine like Killer would; it'd be his surefire way out of trouble.

"I would," Killer said. He pushed up from the table and towered over me.

Our interview was over. I knew who'd done it, I knew why, I just didn't have any proof.

I grabbed Killer's dorsal fin and plied pressure. I don't think he felt it. "Help out the law. Favors can be repaid."

"And ruin my rep? Get real." With that he dove through the ice and was gone.

Frosty wasn't going to get justice. But I could keep my eye on Frost. He'd screw up something sooner or later and I'd get him for that.

I dropped hints with the insurance company. The red tape tied up Frost from collecting. But over the week the stock for the business went through the roof; I doubt Frost missed the insurance money.

I could feel him gloating and it burned me.

The next day, I found a package on my desk. It was a couple of sticks, Frosty's arms, and a USB jumpdrive with some pictures of Frost handling the sticks and paying Killer, and a sound file of Frost ordering the hit. There was a card. It read, "You owe me."

I smiled. Frost had enjoyed his season long enough, spring was coming.

The End.