The Santa Slayer

Santa Claus lay dead on the kitchen floor, his lifeless body a mess of blood and peroxide facial-hair.
Xander lifted up the head, examining what remained of the jolly man's face for a brief second before dropping it rather unceremoniously back down again. And then he lit a cigarette, and lapsed into one of his famous Moments of Quiet Contemplation.
"Are you sure that it's Santa Claus? he asked finally.
"Of course it's fucking Santa Claus! Dirk exclaimed, temple-vein pulsing, his grip on the axe-handle tightening. He managed to restrain himself from burying the blade in Xander's skull (he'd already killed Santa Claus, the Patron Saint of Christmas; what would Xander matter?) ' but only just. Xander's nonchalant disposition riled him at the best of times¦ and now sure as hell wasn't one of those.
"Good job, Xander said, oblivious. "Cuz if he'd gotten this suit from a Costume Hire shop, Goddamn, they'd be pissed.
Dirk tightened his grip on the hatchet once more.
"Well thanks a lot, Xander, that's really useful. I mean, it really fucking is. I mean, here I am: there's a dead body on my kitchen floor¦ not just any dead body, mind: nooo¦ it's Santa Claus's body, of course! The whole room is covered in his blood ' because, naturally, I didn't just kill him did I? Oh no, that would have been too simple! I had to bludgeon him to death with an axe, didn't I? And to make matters just a TINY BIT WORSE, my lovely wife Carol is gonna be home in twenty-fucking-minutes! So yeah, Xander, go ahead and crack your wonderfully witty jokes¦ I mean, you might as well: I'm already doomed!
Another one of Xander's Moments of Quiet Contemplation.
Another tightening of Dirk's grip on the axe.
Meanwhile, Santa Claus remained dead.
"I have a plan, Xander said, flicking the butt of his cigarette onto the floor ' nearly setting fire to Santa's beard in the process.
"A plan?
"Sure. A 100%-foolproof plan, success guaranteed.
The deadlocked expression of rage and despair on Dirk's face loosened slightly. Yes, Xander's nonchalant disposition irritated the hell out of him, but Dirk also knew that nothing even remotely bad ever happened to Xander; no cataclysm of fate had ever conspired to compromise his demeanour; he most certainly would not have gotten himself into the mess that Dirk was in right now, that was for damned sure ' so maybe, Dirk thought. Just maybe¦
"What is it? he asked. Didn't just ask: pleaded. His fate hanged in the balance now; his whole life depended upon Xander and his "plan. Carol would be home in fifteen minutes, and in spite of the fact that she had often reassured him that she would love him no matter what he did, he thought that killing Santa Claus might just be stretching it a little bit.
"Well Dirk, ol'buddy ol'pal¦ I say we get out of this kitchen, climb onto the roof, hop into out mate's sleigh and fuck off to Mexico¦ how about it?
Dirk was silent for a few seconds, blatantly ripping-off one of Xander's Moments of Quiet Contemplation. He looked first at the axe in his hand, then at the body on the floor. Dirk Benson, a killer? The Santa Claus Killer? Who'd have thought it! Maybe he could go after the Tooth Fairy next¦
"Well? Xander asked. "What do you think?
Dirk smiled. He bent down, wiped the head of his axe on Santa's beard, and then put it back into his jacket pocket.
"Let's go, he said.