A Christmas Boon(-Mee)

A Short Story

Editor’s Note:

Today, we complete our “P3 Christmas Series” with a wonderful short story by Brady Putzke. He delivers a pulpy noir crime tale with a humorous, festive flair.

From the partners here at Pulp, Pipe, & Poetry Magazine, wishing you a Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year.

See you in 2024.

- Frank Theodat

---

I awoke to the tastes, smells, sights, and sounds of Christmas. Which in my case meant the overnight lingering flavor of stale cigar smoke, eggnog that was much more bourbon than whatever the nog part is, a pitiful sort of Charlie Brown, scantly-lighted Christmas tree in the corner of my studio apartment, and the children of my upstairs neighbor doing presumably some sort of rowdy Celtic jig on the other side of my ceiling. ‘Tis the season. Fa la la la la, etc.

If I weren’t separated from my wife I suppose this would be the time for her to take off her ‘kerchief and I my cap, having just completed my long winter’s nap. I didn’t have a cap for sleeping anyhow, preferring to sleep au naturale. Too much information? Anyway, the clatter above me certainly wasn’t Old Saint Nick, and I didn’t feel it incumbent on me to spring from my bed to see what was the matter. Instead I just laid in it, doing my best mental “bah humbug”. 

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I realized with more fright than I’d like to admit that I did have an unexpected guest, though not of the rosy-cheeked, big-bellied, “ho ho ho” variety. No, the visitor in question was a brown-skinned slender fella in a flowing orange robe and he was apparently meditating in my high-class IKEA POÄNG chair that sat in the corner opposite my less than luxurious tree.  

After my initial jerky start, I concluded he looked harmless enough and instead of rummaging through my side drawer for my Glock, I opted to chuck the half-drunk bottle of Knob Creek that was sitting atop my night stand at his head. 

My fright took hold in earnest then as the glass container passed right through his cue-ball dome and shattered on the wall behind him.

A ghost!

Sonofabitch.

Now I did spring right out of my cozy bed and shout at the apparition. 

“Who are you and what do you want?”

He slowly opened his eyes and his face spread into a cheerful and peaceful grin.

“Hello,” he said.

“Get out,” was my still-groggy reply.

“That I can’t do,” he said. “I seem to have been assigned to you as I travel this new plane of Samsara to what I hope is a more favorable rebirth.”

Christ. A Buddhist. Decidedly not in the Christmas spirit.

“What do you want?” I asked, incredulous still, but finding it hard to fully doubt my eyes and ears.

“It seems I’ve been murdered,” he answered. 

“Sorry, what?”

“Murdered.”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

“Why then did you ask?”

“Because this can’t be real.”

“All that happens is illusory in this Veil of Maya.”

“The what?”

“Pay no mind,” he said, shaking his head with what looked like impatience. Or maybe condescension. 

I didn’t especially like being mocked by a monk ghost that had snuck into my bedroom/kitchen/living room.

“You are a detective, no?” he went on. “A private dick?”

“Yeah, but nobody calls us that anymore.”

“I see. Because of its similarity in your language to the male member?”

“I guess,” I said. “Anyway, what do you want?”

“To have you solve my murder, of course.”

“What?”

“Must we do this dance again, Mr. Rawls?”

“How do you know my name?” I asked, the remnants of my meat lover’s pizza dinner climbing out of my stomach and into my throat. 

“How do we, fated to wander the endless wheel of Birth and Death, truly know anything?”

“A philosopher, great.”

“I am but a simple student of Mahayana, the Great Vehicle, the path to enlightenment taught by Gautama Buddha.”

“Were.”

“How’s that?” he asked.

“You were a simple student. Now you’re a ghost.”

“Ahh, yes. I do seem to be of a different form than last I recall. I must admit this transitory state was not described to me in the scriptures. Perhaps I have accumulated too much bad karma.”

“Whatever, man. I’m going back to bed.”

“No, please. I need your help.”

“I thought the whole point of your song and dance was to be free of desire.”

“Yes, but none save for a true Buddha escapes desire completely. I have much left to learn and must seek to attain another precious human birth. Though it is unlikely.”

“And where does your murder come in?”

“I don’t know.”

“Great. Very helpful,” I said. “Would you be going now?”

“Wait,” he said. “Will you please help me, Lawrence?”

So, look, it still freaked me out that he knew my name, but I was moved by the sad pleading in the whimpered request, so much in contrast to his otherwise snooty pontificating, that I resolved to help out the poor sap. I’ve got a cantankerous image to maintain, however, as I’m sure you’ll understand. So I had to offer up some cynical reason for me to agree to take this otherworldly case.

“And what will I get in return?” I asked.

“I will teach you the Way.”

“Peachy keen. Buddhism lessons.” I think I actually rolled my eyes. 

“Scoff not at what you do not understand.”

“Let’s just say you’re lucky I’ve got a streak of morbid curiosity in me. I have to admit this will have to end up a more interesting case than I normally take. At least I won’t have to take any candid photos of cheating politicians.”

He didn’t answer.

“I won’t have to do anything like that, right?” I asked, suddenly unsure of my decision. 

“No, certainly not,” he replied, seemingly offended. “I vowed to never know the touch of a woman.”

“Frankly, you’re probably better off,” I said, thinking obviously of Caroline. “They can be more of a headache than they’re worth, Mr.--- What was it again?”

“I did not tell you.”

“Yeah, I was kind of prompting you to tell me now.”

“I see. I take the name Boon-Mee. It means ‘lucky or fortunate’ in your language.”

“Ironic. Say, how do you know English anyway?”

“I do not know.”

“There’s a mystery in itself, but a boring one.”

“Yes, perhaps it is, Lawrence.”

“Call me ‘Larry’.”

“Very well.”

“Okay, Boon, let's get rolling, shall we?”

“Boon-Mee.”

“Fine.”

I preferred the monosyllabic version but I didn't make a fuss about it, since he insisted.

“Would you kindly look away?” I said. “I’ve got to get some underwear on at least.”

He looked puzzled, his brow wrinkled and the side of his mouth upturned, but he obliged. 

I slipped on a pair of plaid boxers from the laundry basket next to my bed. They were clean, scout’s honor. It’s just that who’s got the time to fold, really?

He was looking at me again now and I prayed he hadn’t peeked. A pervert phantom monk was the last thing I needed on Christmas Eve.

“You are ready now to investigate?” he asked. 

“I’m still a bit underdressed, Boon-Mee,” I said. “How about you wait in the hall for me? Won’t be a moment.”

He nodded and then floated to the damn door and passed right through it. 

I suspected I was in for a hell of a day.

---

Out on the grimy street, my new ghostly friend and I made our way through the bustling throng of last minute shoppers and other various apparently randomly panic-stricken pedestrians to reach my buddy Vito’s hot dog cart. An orange and white steam stack bellowed white vapor into the air around us, which frankly would be more what I would expect Boon-Mee to look like in his current incarnation. No, that’s the wrong term, since he didn’t have a body per se anymore. Whatever the metaphysical case might be, one major benefit of his current state was his ability to navigate the crowd with ease. He just passed right through them. Or vice versa. I don’t know how it worked. I wondered in passing if the busybody folks racing through the streets felt a chill when they occupied the same physical space as my monkish compadre. 

“Now look, B,” I said, being unable to resist nicknaming him (it’s a sign of endearment isn’t it? I did find myself growing sort of fond of him already, an uncomfortable contrast with my hardened self-image). “Don’t go making that ‘one with everything’ Buddhist hot dog joke.”

Vito looked up from his boiling trade with clear concern in his eyes. 

“Larry, who the hell are you talking to?”

By this I confirmed that I was the only one who could see Boon-Mee. I guessed that was just as well. Though I figured I’d have to be cautious to avoid charges of insanity from my acquaintances. You might notice my choice of words there. The fact is I didn’t have many friends. Okay, any, really. But such was the life of a lone-wolf detective. I’m like a latter day Marlowe. For real. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Larry,” Boon-Mee said, inaudible to Vito. 

“That’s good,” I said. “It’s a stupid one anyway.”

“Larry?” Vito asked. “You bang your head or sumpthin’?”

“No. Sorry, Vito. One too many eggnogs.”

“Gotcha,” he said. “Anyway, on the house, buddy. Merry Christmas.”

“What does that mean, Larry?”

I tried to yank Boon-Mee by the arm to get us on our way, looking pretty dumb I’m sure, grasping at air. And of course, I couldn’t actually grab him, so it was dumb, in addition to how it might have looked. My phantom friend got the idea though and followed me down the block, where I set about the probably hopeless task of explaining Christmas.

“It’s our big holiday. He was just saying he hoped mine was a happy one.”

“That is kind of him. Such compassion accrues good karma.”

“Yeah, maybe. But that’s not why we do it.”

“Oh? Why then?”

“I don’t know. It’s the right thing to do.”

“I see. Yes I agree. We are interdependent beings and so kindness to one is kindness to all.”

“Something like that.”

We walked (or floated, in his case) another couple blocks, taking in the ambience of the season. There were vendors with those sickly cinnamon-scented pine cones, the last sad leftovers of miniature firs, and lots of knick-knacks and baubles for the person who has everything but you still have got to buy something for the thought of it, or whatever. We passed a store window with a large Grinch mannequin behind the glass, holding up various trinkets for advertisement. Boon-Mee seemed interested by the, probably to him, odd looking creature.

“What is the purpose of Christmas, Larry?” he asked me.

“I don’t know, to spread good cheer and give gifts. You ask a lot of questions.”

“I am– sorry, was a simple student.”

“Fair enough. Yeah, it’s the season to be jolly, I guess.”

“How was this festival created?”

“You mean what for? It’s to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ.”

“This is a famous man?”

“Yeah, well also God.”

“A demi-god?”

“No. He is God but also a person. I don’t know, B, I wasn’t much for Sunday School.”

“You attend school on Sunday only?”

“No, it’s like religious school.”

“Is not all school for religion?”

“Not here.”

“I see.”

There was more silence as he pondered the life-size plastic Grinch in the window. He rubbed at his chin, apparently wracking his brain, if he had one still, to understand.

“So, Larry, this big green monkey is Jesus Christ?”

I sighed and put my non hot dog wielding hand to my forehead. 

“No, B, that’s the Grinch.”

“And who is he?”

“He’s a fictional character who steals children’s gifts.”

“He is also a god? Why do you revere a god who is a thief against children?”

“No, no, he doesn’t exist. He is made up and it’s a story meant to show how people who hate joy can change and embrace the spirit of giving. And how people can forgive you even if you’re a jerk as long as you turn around.”

“This sounds like a profound teaching.”

I was taken aback, to be honest with you. 

“Yeah, I suppose it is in a way. Come on, let’s get to the police precinct and figure out what happened to you. And please, maybe less questions.”

“Maybe?”

“Definitely, B. I don’t know the answers anyway.”

“Often the question is more important than the answer, Larry.”

“Oooo,” I said, waving my hands. “Very deep.”

He seemed to take me seriously despite my theatrical display of sarcasm. He was impossible in more ways than one. 

We walked on in relative silence until we got to the precinct. 

---

“Mike,” I said, addressing the portly, balding homicide cop who was as close to a friend as I got, being a lone-wolf and all. He was chewing a sprinkled donut and drinking probably old coffee out of a white styrofoam cup and could not have been more of a cliche.

“Hey, you grumpy old bastard,” he said. “Good to see you. Usually you don’t pay holiday visits.”

“Yeah, about that,” I said, abruptly guilty that I was only looking for info on Boon-Mee’s death and had not in fact come to give my Christmas greetings like Mike seemed to happily think. In a split second, though, I decided to play along. But I was already foiled by letting the cat out of the bag early.

“Oh,” Mike said. “You need a favor, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said, sort of ashamed of myself. I think I was blushing. Which sounds awfully childish for a seasoned P.I. accustomed to dealing with the seedy underbelly of society. I tried sheepishly to make up for my faux pas. 

“But also, Merry Christmas, Mike. And to Laura.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said, rolling his buggish eyes. 

There was an awkward pause. Except Mike looked as jovial as ever. Guess only I felt awkward. 

The spirit that was Boon-Mee then popped up behind Mike and stuck his tongue out. It was so out of character that I burst with laughter. 

Mike seemed to think the laugh was intended for him and the tension diffused as we instantly settled into a more friendly vibe. The monk had saved me from a relatively terrible social calamity. What’s more, he seemed to know it was the right thing to get me and Mike to be copacetic. Go figure. Maybe they taught psychology in whatever misty mountain monastery he came from.

“Sorry, Mike, I didn’t mean to put you out.”

“Nah, it’s all good, Larry. Anyway, what’s up?”

“Wondered if you could give any info on a murder involving a monk?” I started, looking over his shoulder at Boon-Mee so I could give a detailed description. “He’d have been about five-six, thin, bald, orange robes, stupid smirk half the time.”

“Well, I don’t know about the smirk, but yeah we got a monk all bagged and tagged from last night. Buncha them visiting from some place in Asia. I don’t know where. Open and shut anyway. Why?”

“The, uh, family,” I stuttered, realizing to my chagrin that I had no cover story. “They hired me to find out where their son was. He, um, ran away to the monastery.”

Mike shrugged and let out a guttural “huh”. 

“Weird place to go if you run away. But yeah, bad news for them. But you already know he’s dead. I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything, Larry.”

“Christmas favor?” I asked.

“Yeah, alright, no skin off my back. They were all arguing, them monk folk, about a bowl or something, and one of them thwacked the dead one, well not dead then, but the one at the morgue now, upside the head with a walking stick and he fell into traffic. Warning you though,  kind of a mangled body now if you wanted to see it for some reason.”

“Wow. So no mystery at all then.”

“Not so much.”

Boon-Mee looked positively dejected hovering behind the policeman. So much for freedom from emotions. Even in death he could be disappointed. 

“Thanks, Mike,” I said. “I’ll bring you a card next time.”

“Yeah, sure you will.”

I tried to grasp Boon-Mee by the arm again, like an idiot. That caught me a weird glance from Mike, but my monk buddy got the idea again and followed me to the elevator. 

---

We strolled, or hovered, depending on our degree of corporeality, the way back to my apartment. 

“You didn’t tell me you were in an argument before you mysteriously died,” I chided Boon-Mee.

“Yes. It would seem I have reaped of my karma. I knew not that Adhiarja had slain me. But it makes sense. I admit to coveting his bowl. It was a nice bowl.”

“This is more ridiculous by the second. It wasn’t even a mystery. Why did you appear to me?”

“I don’t know, Larry. It was a mystery to me, though. You have solved the case in a way.”

“By asking someone at the police department. I didn’t do any detective work. And you’re still here. Solving it didn’t make you reincarnate or whatever.”

“It seems not. Perhaps I inhabit this state for another reason.”

“I am sick of this crap. Back to bed for me. Except I threw all the whiskey I had at you this morning. Bullshit.”

“You are angry?” 

“Maybe you’re the detective!”

“I’m sorry, Larry.”

He looked like a puppy just then, his ghost eyes got all big and sad. 

“It’s fine,” I said, calming a bit. “You know, you got me on good terms with Mike with that tongue stunt, so we’ll call it even. Most people don’t want to hang out with me at the holidays, so maybe I built a bit of a bridge there.”

There was a rather pleasant silence before my companion leapt up, if that’s what you’d call it.

“I’ve got it!” Boon-Me yelled. He floated off at it had to be about five miles an hour. 

Sonofabitch.

“Slow down, you stupid ghost!” I shouted, running my ass off, and getting some pretty concerned looks from the other people on the sidewalk. Oh well. ‘Tis the season to be loony I guess.

---

I followed him for had to be sixteen blocks, panting and stopping to dry heave a couple times. He waited for me when I did that, but always stayed way out front and I didn’t understand why he couldn’t just wait for me to catch up. That is, until I realized where he was leading me.

About block fourteen I figured it out and when I did finally catch him, Boon-Mee was floating in front of the old brownstone Caroline and I had inherited from her parents.

“How… the hell… do you… know where I… live?” I managed between gasps for sweet, sweet oxygen.

“Lived.”

“What?”

“You lived here.”

“Ah yes, B, very funny. You got me.”

“You should speak with your wife.”

“Not a chance monk-man.”

“It is Christmas, Larry.”

“You didn’t even know what that was five hours ago!”

“It is true. But I said I was a simple student. Not a slow one. I understand now, perhaps better than you.”

“Bull.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” I said, with a sigh. I’d been sighing a lot with this guy. 

We stared at the dark green door for a while. 

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t know what to say. I’ve messed up so much stuff.”

“I can give you the words.”

“Well, hell, why not? Enough crazy stuff has happened today.”

I climbed the steps and knocked.

Caroline answered. She wore a dopey Christmas sweater. Still, she looked beautiful. Her hazel eyes showed surprise but, thank God, not anger. Her auburn hair was draped over her shoulders and her cheeks bore a charming hint of blush. 

“Your wife is very beautiful,” Boon-Mee said, levitating at my right shoulder, speaking into my ear.

“Yes she is,” I replied. Out loud. Again, like an idiot.

Caroline then asked a series of perfectly reasonable questions.

“Larry? What are you doing here? Who are you talking to?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Never mind.”

“Tell her she looks beautiful,” Boon-Mee said.

“You look beautiful, Caroline,” I said.

“Thanks…” she answered, her suspicion palpable. 

“Repeat after me,” Boon-Mee said, launching into a monologue which I assume he thought was romantic and which I repeated like a buffoon. But I confess I was high on hope and excitement, two things I hadn’t felt in a long time.

The speech ran like this:

“I have been quite awful to you, my love, and I’ve come to apologize. I have accrued much bad karma from my actions and wish to purge it by amends and reconciliation. It is the time for such things, being the holiday to celebrate the man Jesus God. Hear, my wife, that I long to know your womanly touch again and–”

“You sound nuts, Larry,” Caroline cut me off. 

She was right. I laughed. Shyly, if you can believe it.

I nodded over my shoulder to let my monk friend know I could take it from there.

“Look, babe, I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t cover things in the least, but I wondered if maybe we could make a start towards getting better. It being Christmas and all. I do love you.”

She looked me over. It was an eternity.

Then she jumped forward and wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed herself into me. She looked up and planted a big one on my lips. I heard the angels sing. Or whatever happens in the movies at this part. 

“Okay. A start,” she said. “We can start with that. I’ve got eggnog. You wanna come in?”

“No booze, right?” I asked.

“Nah, the boring kind.”

“Perfect,” I said.

She grabbed my hand and turned to lead me into her house. Our house?

“Hold on just a sec, babe,” I said. “I’ll be right in.”

She shrugged and said okay, leaving the door cracked.

I hopped with no small amount of glee down the steps again to chat with Boon-Mee in privacy.

“It worked, you crazy ghost!” I said in an excited stage whisper.

“Yes, I knew it would.”

“How?”

“You yourself taught me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I simply led you to apply the teachings of the story of your green monkey god, the Grinch.”

“No, B, I explained this he’s not–”

As I started to explain, the monk began to fade and become translucent. He was slowly vanishing.

“Farewell, Larry. I have cleared my karmic debt. Pray I attain another human birth.”

I tried to hug my weird new friend. Needless to say I failed and probably looked stupid again.

I didn’t care. This crazy little bald guy who got smacked into traffic for arguing about a bowl had saved my Christmas and probably my life, in all honesty. I wouldn’t ever forget him.

And that’s the story of how a weird ghost monk taught me the meaning of Christmas by way of a Dr. Seuss story. The Lord works in mysterious ways, especially around this time of year. And His ways are one mystery even this old not-so-lone-wolf-anymore detective ain’t ever going to figure out. I think you just got to be grateful for it.