Achmed’s confidence was slowly starting to dwindle. It had been well over twenty minutes since Ali and Aryan had gone on their patrol, and he was yet to hear anything from them. The members of the choir sat in silence. Their faces had been drenched with tears while the terrorists continued to taunt them with their rifles. Every one of them had been on edge wondering if they would be first to go. There was still no word from the police, and for all they knew, they would be left behind.

Nevertheless, they had to hope for a Christmas miracle. Achmed continued to pace around the room, thinking of some biting dialogue to entrance the terrified people and highlight his master plan. However, the constant paranoia was starting to bite him. He looked out the window once more, still waiting to see any signs of the other two.

“I do not like this.” Achmed said aloud.

“What’s the matter Achmed,” Muhammad asked. “I thought you loved terrorism?”

“No, Ali and Aryan have not come back yet.”

“Maybe they just got lost?” Asad chimed in.

“Possibly, these damn Americans and their shopping malls. How do people buy things in such a labyrinth?” Achmed replied.

Across the room, an old, corded phone on top of the desk started to ring. Muhammad carefully approached with his rifle at the ready. He answered.

“Hello?” Muhammad asked.

“Uh, is this the terrorist?” David’s voice buzzed through the phone.

“I prefer the term freedom fighter, terrorist is a term designated by imperialists to justify invading small countries.”

“Yeah, yeah,” David replied, this time a little off tilt from the remarks. “I’m David Davidson and I’m with the police. We got your money, and we want you to turn over the hostages.”

“Ha, I don’t believe you,” Muhammad laughed at the offer. “I’ll believe it when you deliver the money to us.”

“If we’re going to make a deal, you have to work with us. Just open the security doors outside the mall and we’ll bring it straight to you.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Then how do we bring you the money?”

“Not my problem.” Muhammad concluded before slamming the phone down.

Achmed’s eyebrow began to raise as he looked over to him. After a few moments of silently watching Muhammad laugh deviously to himself, he interjected.

“Who was that?” Achmed asked.

“The police.” Muhammad replied.

“Do they have our money?”

“No, just American lies.”

“That is true,” Achmed nodded his head in agreement. “I need you to go find out where Aryan and Ali are. Asad and I will watch them. Hurry back, my trigger finger is getting itchy.”

Somewhere across the mall…

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Ali was starting to come back to consciousness after receiving a blow to the face. By the time his vision started to become focused, he found himself unable to move his arms. Both of his hands were tied behind his back while his legs and torso were held in place to a small chair. He was the women’s dressing room of some girly store that he had never been to, because he had no luxuries like this in his country. He looked at all the clothes sitting in the stall and started to get nervous.

“What have you Americans done to me?” Ali asked, shocked to see all of the Christmas decorations draping his body.

“Alright douche bag, we’re gonna do this the easy way or the hard way,” Dick said as he emerged from behind him with a pair of pliers in his hand. He started to clamp the tips of the tool together, causing alarm. “Where the hell are the other guys with the choir?”

“They’re in some room, it’s a longue.” Ali cried without hesitation.

“Well fuck, that was easy.” Michael said as stepped around the chair, puzzled at the quick answer.

“Not good enough,” Dick interjected, this time grabbing the pair of pliers and gently clamping Ali’s groin. “Be more specific.”

“It’s a comfy room, lots of luxury furniture, TVs, and Christmas decorations.”

“Fuck, that can be anywhere,” Dick replied. “Last chance.”

“That’s all I know! The choir is supposed to relax there or whatever you Americans do.”

Michael’s eyes lit up. He took a second to piece together what little information he had while he twiddled his pistol against his lips.

“That’s the performers lounge. I know where that is.” Michael added.

“Where?” Dick replied.

“It’s adjacent to the stage, it’s near the north side of the mall. It’s next to the food court.”

“Damn it, how am I supposed to remember all of that shit?”

“I can take us there, I know where the food court is.”

“No time for a snack Heffer, we gotta move,” Dick lifted the pliers from Ali’s junk. “We need to take those barriers and help the other guys to get inside of the mall or those singing people are toast.”

“I know where that is too. I’ll have to go to the security room and use my badge, but there might be more of them. It’s gonna be dangerous.”

“Good point,” Dick lifted the pistol from his belt again, this time struggling to pull the weapon out because of his massive physique. “Let’s split up. You go and disable the barriers while I go kill the terrorists.”

“Great plan.”

The two were about to split up, until Dick stopped to look at himself in a small mirror across the room. He looked at his Santa suit still clenching his body and back to Michael, desperate to get some answers.

“You never told me why they never let you wear the suit.” Dick said.

Michael froze in place. He dipped his head towards the floor—a somber stare lingered on his face. There was a lot of pain that Dick could detect, and Dick knew that grown men like him never talked about their problems.

“You really wanna know, huh,” Michael asked. “I was a young security guard. I was like you, really wanting to prove myself. I had the physique to play Santa and was prepping for the role all year long. We had a handful of people ready to play Santa and I tried my best.”

Michael walked over to one of the booths, taking a seat and staring off towards the ceiling as he began to frown.

“There was just one problem,” Michael said. “I’m black, and black people can’t play Santa.”

“That’s bull shit man.” Dick replied, mortified that the role was never considered inclusive.

“Ever since then, I’ve just been a security guard. Sometimes, I wonder if people even understand the meaning of Christmas. I felt lost,” Michael lowered his head to the floor. “I kept wondering if there was light at the end of the tunnel. I used to think it was some wacky Holiday about family or something wild like that. Sometimes I don’t even think I know the meaning anymore.”

“It’s not about any of that stuff. Do you know the true meaning of Christmas,” Dick asked him. He then leaned into him, giving him a nudge with his fist. “It’s about presents. Not like the ‘presence’ of loved ones, but presents, for loved ones and from them. That’s the true meaning of Christmas.”

“You’re right, Dick. Come on, let’s go save Christmas.”