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139
I snorted. It appeared that Stockmann Department Store
Security Chief Henrik Bruun and I spoke the same
language. “You are accustomed to carrying a weapon in
your work and employing direct physical force when
necessary,” he stated. “Precisely the man . . . the person . . .
we need. We are looking for an extra guard for the
Christmas season. I did not wish to say more than that to
the employment authorities. The job is not quite the
normal lying in wait for shoplifters and removing
troublemakers. It’s a question of in-house scrutiny. Thieves
have infiltrated our staff. Your job is to expose them. You
will need a suitable disguise: you will thus become one of
the house Santa Clauses.”
2.
It tickled terribly under my nose. I was accustomed to using
mustache glue to dress as my male alter ego Reiska
Räsänen, but the Santa Claus disguise also involved a beard
down my chest. I glued the eyebrows over my own; they
shaded my bespectacled eyes. I rouged my nose to a
drunkard’s red and added a few moles with makeup. Long
white hair covered my ears. I wore a fat suit under the red
Santa Claus coat, overalls that added about forty pounds
and also hid my meager maidenly curves. It felt strange to
sit, because the suit’s stomach and chest squeezed together
and the thighs bulged to the sides. My walk became more
ponderous and imposing than my usual spring. I stretched