"Jeez," I said. "Why don't you try using the doorbell? I wasn't expecting to find a man on my couch."

"Sounds like a personal problem," Diesel said. "What's the plan for the day?"

"I don't have a plan. I thought you'd have a plan."

"My plan is pretty much to follow you around. I figure there was a reason I was dropped here. So I'm waiting for it all to shake out."

Oh boy.

"There's some stuff for you in the kitchen," Diesel said. "The kerplunkers were picked over, but I got you a poinsettia and a Christmas tree. Seemed like I owed you a tree."

I went into the kitchen to investigate and found a nice big red poinsettia sitting on my counter. And a five-foot, fully decorated Christmas tree stood square in the middle of my kitchen floor. It was a live tree trimmed in gold and white, its base planted in a plastic tub swaddled in gold foil, the perfectly formed top of the tree capped with a star. It was gorgeous, but vaguely familiar. And then I remembered where I'd seen the tree. Quakerbridge Mall. The trees were strung along the entire ground floor of the shopping center.

"I'm afraid to ask where you got this tree," I said.

Diesel clicked the television off and ambled into the kitchen. "Yeah, some things are better left unknown."

"It's a nice tree. And it's all decorated."

"Hey, I deliver."

I was standing there admiring the tree, wondering if I could get jail time for being an accomplice to grand theft spruce, and Randy Briggs called.

"I just got in to work, and something strange is going on here. Your pal Sandy Claws showed up and sent everyone home. He shut down the whole production line."

"It's Christmas Eve day. He probably was just being nice."

"You don't get it. He shut down permanently."

"I thought you weren't going to rat for me."

"I just lost my job. You're the only thing between me and welfare."

"Are you still there?"

"I'm in the parking lot. It's just Claws and Lester inside."

"I'm on my way. Stick with Claws and Lester."

I hung up, grabbed my jacket and bag, and Diesel and I ran for the stairs. I paused for a moment when I pushed through the lobby doors and saw the charred spot on the pavement. No more CRV. Just some heat-scorched blacktop and a couple patches of ice where water had frozen.

Diesel snagged me by the sleeve and yanked me forward. "It was a car," he said. "It can be replaced."

I belted myself into the Jag. "It's not that simple. It takes time and money. And then there's the insurance." I didn't even want to think about the insurance. I was an insurance joke.

Diesel took off, flying low, heading for Route 1. "No problemo. What kind of car would you like? Another CRV? A truck? How about a Z3? I could see you in a Z3."