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It was already ten days past the traditional Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade that had floated and marched down the streets of New York. Ice skaters were currently twirling and executing impressive double axels beneath the enormous, illuminated tree in Rockefeller Square. 5th Avenue was probably using more kilowatt hours of electricity than the casinos in Vegas to illuminate their holiday decorations, as was 34th Street all the way down to Herald Square. There were vendors roasting aromatic chestnuts at the intersections of streets clogged with tourists, and determined shoppers were ignoring what was a burgeoning recession. Neal suspected that a multitude of the Santas monotonously ringing their bells beside the kettles at their feet were really Wall Street brokers out of a job now that the Stock Market had imploded. However, any hint of the upcoming holiday was poignantly absent once Neal walked through the doors of the FBI Building at 26 Federal Plaza. Even the White Collar floor was business as usual without one stray strand of tinsel in evidence or even a scrawny poinsettia.
“What is it with you people and your Mr. Scrooge, Bah, Humbug, attitude?” Neal remarked to Jones and Diana one Monday morning. “Do you even realize the radio announcers are telling us there are only ten more shopping days until Christmas? So, where’s the yuletide spirit? When are the holiday wreaths and the red velvet bows and the pine garland going to make the scene? And just so you know, I’ve been trying to spot certain nasty little voyeurs all week and I just can’t seem to find them.”
Diana gave a put-upon sigh. “Voyeurs, Neal? As usual, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Neal was only too happy to enlighten his colleague. “I’m talking about the annoying Elf on the Shelf and all his spying little cohorts. If you think about it, that’s a creepy concept to inflict on a little kid. It could scar them for life and make them paranoid.”
“And maybe that’s a good thing ‘cause then maybe they wouldn’t turn out to be a thief or a con man,” Jones snickered.
Neal rolled his eyes. “But seriously, guys, why no frills for the upcoming holiday?”
“Neal, this is a federal building,” Diana explained, “and the government, in its politically correct wisdom, does not allow any displays that depict the celebration of a holiday except for maybe the 4th of July. So, we cannot look as if we are giving a nod to Christmas, Hanukkah, or even Kwanza.”
“Well, that’s a real bummer,” Neal mumbled.
“Yeah, tell us something we don’t know,” Jones agreed.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, Neal waltzed through the double glass doors lugging an oversized shopping bag that he plunked down beside his desk. Of course, Jones and Diana were curious to find out what their quixotic coworker was up to, and past experience had taught them that nothing was too farfetched. They watched Neal carefully remove his small bust of Socrates from the edge of his workspace and then place it into a bottom drawer. He then relegated his good luck charm’s spot to something large and plush and very white.
Diana checked out this new addition and offered a comment. “Is that supposed to be a somewhat modified version of Frosty the Snowman?” she dared ask.
Neal responded by wagging an index finger in her face. “Nope, we can’t go there, Diana,” he scolded. “Frosty the Snowman has holiday connotations and, as you made me aware yesterday, that’s a definite no-no. What we have here is someone I fondly call The Ice Man. And before you ask, he is not a Reese Hughes caricature.”
Jones was already circling Neal’s desk like a shark in the water taking stock of its prey. He eyed the oversized new addition and chuckled at the custom transformation. The Ice Man was wearing a pristine white shirt, a spiffy charcoal suit coat and vest, and a tasteful red plaid tie. There was a small lockpick set of miniature tools in one of his leather-gloved hands, and what was a fairly accurate facsimile of a tracking anklet in his other one. Neal had also duplicated a tiny version of his FBI confidential informant credentials and had them peeking out of an upper pocket in the jacket.
“Your little buddy is missing his black top hat,” Jones teased.
“Actually, he prefers a fedora,” Neal answered as he flipped his own hat onto the Ice Man’s head.
Just then, Peter meandered down from his upstairs office to see what was going on. He surveyed his partner’s new little friend, then cocked an eyebrow and smirked, “Obviously I don’t keep you busy enough, Neal. It appears you have time on your hands to play with dolls.”
“You can mock all you want, but what you see before you is my way of protesting the status quo without actually breaking any rules,” Neal claimed with a superior air.
“Well, that would be a first,” a new voice intoned as four surprised people turned to find the very person Neal had recently ridiculed hovering nearby. Everybody put on their innocent faces and waited for their office superior to continue with what was probably going to be a ranting tirade. Instead, Neal pre-empted the big boss as he jumped in with a non-stop, don’t come up for air, patter of words.
“Agent Hughes, I feel the need to explain. What you see before you is simply a testament to something that may very soon become an anachronism. Snow, in any form, and even ice may go the way of the dodo bird, both sad victims of climate change and global warming. Sir, I’m sure an informed man such as yourself knows that fossil fuels and the production of carbon dioxide create greenhouse vapors in the earth’s atmosphere. Of course, there’s also methane and nitrous oxide adding to the problem. I’ve done extensive research, and I’ve read that scientists have examined greenhouse gases from the past when they analyzed the air trapped inside ice that has been accumulating over time in Antarctica. I must say, Agent Hughes, that it was very alarming, at least to me, to find out that the testing showed carbon dioxide levels have been consistently rising ever since the 19th century, and they’re accelerating at an alarming rate! I’m certain you must be as worried as I am about the future of our planet.”
Neal finally paused to take a fortifying breath, fully prepared to continue with more bombastic rhetoric delivered at warp speed. During that nanosecond of quiet, everybody dared shoot a surreptitious glance at the Special-Agent-in-Charge of the unit. Hughes’ eyes had taken on a glazed look after enduring Neal’s barrage of non-stop words that amounted to a long run-on sentence without let-up. The old man felt as if he had been literally talked into a stupor. Like a shellshocked soldier on the battlefield, it took a few seconds for him to rally, and only then did he hold up a firm hand, either in mock surrender or instinctual self-preservation.
“That’s quite enough with the science lesson! Actually, more than enough unsolicited information.”
“But, Sir, I have more data,” Neal said persistently.
“Just shut up, Caffrey, and give everyone’s ears a break. Have your fun with your little friend before he melts away. Isn’t that the gist of that very annoying holiday song?” Hughes mumbled irritably as he turned on his heel without waiting for an answer and trekked slowly back to his office. A veteran FBI agent decided that sometimes it was a wise strategy to pick your battles and only engage the enemy if you thought you could win.