Trafika Europe 2 - Polish Nocturne

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.” 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 2.

139