“What do you mean gone?” said Nick.

“Like a ship in the Bermuda Triangle.” said Steve.

Nick paced to face the dining room wall. He stared at the grains on the wood. “Do you have any idea how bad this is?!”

Steve finished his shot, then poured another double. “Bad? You hate the gig. I figured you’d want to find the guy personally to thank him.”

“How is this a good thing? It’s seven days before Christmas and the sack is gone.” Nick straightened his tie.

Steve grinned. “You resisted the calling for years. Don’t make me laugh.”

Nick zoomed at light speed, and clenched Steve’s collar, pulling his face up, looking eye to eye. “Think about this, drunken excuse for a helper, the sack can carry anything. Grenades, bazookas, missiles. If whoever took it is up to no good, Christmas will be the least of our worries.”

Steve lifted the glass around Nick’s arm and chugged it all at once. “What do you want me to do about it? It’s gone.”

Nick released Steve. “Find it.”

“Easier said than done, Santa.”

“Screw you.”

“Well hell. You aren’t denying it anymore.”