Shopping fever was at its worse. Bodies kept piling up, headlines screamed : "Impatient Mother Shoots 3 In Toy Store", "Crazed Santa Runs Amok, Goes On Rampage", "Yuletide Killer Confesses, I Mistook my Credit Card for an Axe". Lieutenant Detective Oscar Perucho got out of the unmarked car, holding the shotgun in front of him, the safety off, no standard police practice, but at this time of the year you'd better be prepared, since every ordinary-looking citizen was a potential mass killer. Granted, most situations ended up peacefully, with an handcuffed grandma writhing on the ground of a department store, stolen property strewn all around her. Yet, Perucho had already been shot at twice in the past 48 hours, and attacked repeatedly by unlikely characters armed with various blunt and not so blunt objects, including a 8-pound fresh salmon. He could still smell it on his suit. The shotgun cleared a passage through the crowd of onlookers, and he pulled open what remained of the shattered glass door. Incredibly enough, the shoppers were still in the supermarket, frenzied zombies compulsively pushing overflowing carts in the alleys. Perucho didn't want them on his way. He fired a round in the ceiling. Tinsel and plaster flew all over the place. The shoppers didn't duck or run for cover. Instead, they stared angrily at him, some of them even starting to draw weapons from purses, holsters and hip pockets. His badge cooled them off of a little. They resumed their shopping as if he didn't exist. Somebody else, however, did mind the detective's presence in the