“You know I’ve been living in the Philippines.” Jason’s grandfather leaned forward to close up his recliner, so that he sat on it like a chair. He leaned over to talk to Jason, who stretched out on a yoga mat in his living room after his boxing workout. “I got tired of the US, got tired of my job here—which I hated—and took an early retirement to go to the Philippines. I only came back to the US to get some things in order, like pay taxes, apply for Social Security, sell off the house, and supervise the trial launch of the Midas Game. After Christmas, I’m leaving to go back to the Philippines.”

Jason stopped. He was in a hurdler’s stretch and felt like the roof had just collapsed on him. “Are you sure you want to go back?”

“Yes. I’ve got a beautiful girlfriend and friends there. I’m staying out in the country, or the bukid, as they call it, and it’s a beautiful place.” His grandfather seemed to be staring off at someplace far away, and there was a dreamy look in his eyes.

Jason pulled both feet into his groin in a stretch called a snowplow. “No offense, but I thought the Philippines was run down and dirty.”

“And overcrowded. Yeah, some parts of the city are like that, but I’m out where there’s clean mountain air, roosters crowing in the morning, fresh bananas, mangoes, and papaya.” Gramps rubbed his knees. “Honestly, I’m torn. I want to go back to the Philippines, but I want to see you avoid the mistakes I made in my life. I want you to be successful where I failed.”

“Don’t worry about me. I think I get it now.” Jason put both legs straight out in front of him and leaned forward to touch both toes. “It’s just that I haven’t had a best friend since I left Fresno, and you’re my best friend. You’ve helped me get through this year of teaching—you’ve seen how stressful it’s been. I trust your advice, and I feel like I can tell you anything.”

“I appreciate that, Jason. Just a moment.” The old man got up and went to the kitchen, where Jason heard the faucet run and ice tinkle in the glass. He returned with a fresh drink and handed Jason a bottle of water. “I feel the same way. I have Filipino friends in the Philippines, but there’s always a language barrier, because we’re speaking Bisaya. All of my foreign friends either died or moved off during the Covid scare. You’ve been the only American I can talk to, and the only one I can tell all my crazy ideas.”

“They’re not crazy; I’d just say deranged.” Jason laughed. “I told you what I thought at first, but it’s got to the point that I look forward to the Midas Game. I can’t believe how real it feels, how human the people are to me. The game is going to be a huge hit, I’m certain of it. Are you coming back?”

“I don’t know,” Gramps replied. “Definitely, I’ll have to come back before the Midas Game goes to market, if it ever does. But I tell you what, once you get all your debt paid off, that’s when things take off, and I promise you I’ll be back for that.”

“Good. That doubles my motivation to get rid of my debt.” Jason stood and stretched, leaning forward to touch his toes. “I hate to see you go but have fun in the Philippines.”

“I’ll be here until after Christmas.” His grandfather seemed grimly determined. “We’ll just have to make the most of our time until then.”

* * *

“Good mornin’, Father Jason.” Sister Mildred beamed, then looked at him with concern. “Lord a’mighty, ya got a shiner on yer eye. How in the blazes did ya get that?”

Jason touched the corner of his eye where the sister was staring, and noticed it felt sore. Looking at his reflection in the rectory window, he saw that the corner of his eye was black, where blood had drained into the lid beneath the eye.

“I don’t know, Sister. I didn’t feel anything last night—probably all wound up. There was one bit there when I was in the middle of a bunch of the Rowdy Murphys, and everybody was swinging. Somebody must have clipped me in the melee.” Jason was wearing his sweats, so he pulled up his hood. “How is Maureen?”

“She’s hatin’ life this mornin’, got a fearsome hangover.” The nun shook her head and adjusted the cord at her rotund stomach. “Want some coffee? I was just goin’ ta the basement ta serve the men.”

“Thanks, Sister Mildred, but I’m going for a run. I’ve got a fight scheduled for the 22nd.”

Jason nodded and took off at a jog, passing the church, where men were descending the steps to the basement. Because the bastards cut the electricity, Jason had been forced to use gas burners to heat the basement. His upcoming fight would earn him twenty dollars. It wasn’t much, but he hoped he could gradually work his way up to the bigger prizes. In order to earn bigger payouts, he had to win, or at least look good, so he was working his butt off to get in shape, which included running early in the morning. The question was, where was he going to get the money to keep the shelter running, especially now that he had to buy meals, which were much more expensive than cooking food themselves?

He jogged down Millard Avenue, the side street the church was on, snapping out punches, shoveling uppercuts into an imaginary opponent’s breadbasket, whipping out hooks that he pictured connecting with his opponent’s jaw, as he ran. He was jogging to the rescue mission, which was a good four miles away, but he needed to run to make sure he didn’t run out of gas during his fight, even though he was only scheduled for six rounds. If you have never boxed, a three-minute round sounds awfully short, but in the ring, you’re sucking air in fifteen seconds, and a minute can seem like 30 days in the hole at Devil’s Island, particularly when you’re being socked in the gut.

He must have jogged a half-dozen blocks before he heard a whoop behind him, and when he looked over his shoulder, he saw a squad car with “bubble gum machine” domes on the top, spinning in red and blue. Jason stopped, and two officers got out. He noticed they were large men with calloused hands and scarred knuckles, signs that these cops had gone toe-to-toe slugging it out over their careers, as was common in an era of law enforcement before pepper spray and tasers, when police carried hardwood Billy clubs, blackjacks, and saps, and every Friday night they punched drunks senseless before shoveling them into the paddy wagon.

“Where’s yer mask?” one of the cops asked, approaching Jason with his hands resting on his basket-weave leather belt, which put his .38 service revolver within easy reach.

“Got a quarantine pass?” his partner asked, flanking Jason from the other side.

“Well, officers, I’m jogging four miles to get in shape for my upcoming boxing match,” Jason explained, and slipped off his hood to appear less threatening. “I can’t wear a face mask while I’m running.”

“Where’d ya get that shiner?” the first cop asked, cocking up one eyebrow.

“I’ve been sparring.” Jason thought that sounded plausible.

“Boxing match?” the cop angling out to his left asked. “Who’d you say ya are?

“I’m Jason Whitlock, running the St. Michael’s shelter, taking the place of Father Milligan, or trying to.” Jason couldn’t say he was replacing Father Milligan without feeling like a total impostor, a plastic imitation of the man. “I’m boxing at the Eureka on the 22nd to raise funds for the shelter.”

The first cop gestured to his partner. “We’re rootin’ fer ya, Father. It’s like the Fightin’ Father has come back—what a shame the way he went. We hope ya give him hell.”

“Truth is,” the cop on Jason’s left added, “we don’t give a tinker’s damn about the masks and passes—just don’t let the wop mayor’s goons find ya, though. ‘Specially once you get outside the Tammany jurisdiction.”

“Sure, thanks, officers.’ Jason saluted them as they got back into the squad car. They slowly followed him as he jogged the next several miles until he reached the rescue mission, at which point the two officers waved and sped off.

He climbed the steps of the rescue mission up to the landing, where he could smell the chili cooking in the kitchen. Several men chatted and drank coffee in the dining room, waiting for lunch. Jason was walking to his room, when he met Pastor Roy in the hall.

“Oh, Pastor, I was just coming to get my things.”

“Sure, Brother Jason, nobody’s touched them.” Pastor Roy removed a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. It seemed that the big man sweated 24 hours a day. “How’s it going at the shelter?”

“The mayor shut down the kitchen, and I’ve been scrambling to get food for the men. The…” Jason hesitated, trying to keep his anger in check, “…illegitimate children even shut off the power to the church and dining hall.”

“Illegitimate children?” Pastor Roy asked, then a light seemed to go on. “Oh yeah. You can cook here if you need to.”

“Thanks. I thought of that, but I’m afraid they’d shut you down, too, in retaliation. I’m boxing on the 22nd at the Eureka to raise funds for the church.” Jason fished the key to his room’s deadbolt out of his pocket.

“The Fighting Father Milligan,” Pastor Roy mused. “I’d love to see that again. I knew you were gifted, young man.”

Jason nodded and continued down the hall to his room, where he locked the door behind him. He climbed the toilet tank to get to the lair he’d created to store all his guns and ammunition. He packed everything into a duffel and climbed back down, replacing the ceiling panel. He then removed all his clothes from his standup closet and rolled or folded them up before packing them into the duffel. Now that he had cooled down, and was no longer sweating, he decided to take a shower.

He went to the men’s dorm and rinsed off in the showers, which resembled the showers in a gym for boys’ P.E. He walked back down the hall to his room, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist while carrying his folded sweats. Once in his room, he closed the door and debated whether he should put his sweats back on, because he was going to train once he reached the shelter, or change into something clean. He was shaken out of his deliberations by a knock at the door.

Figuring the pastor was going to tell him something, Jason opened the door, but was surprised to see Sisters Belinda and Jamie outside his door, looking much less angry than last time.

“May we come in?” Sister Belinda asked.

“Sure, come on in, ladies.” Jason invited them in with a wave, but suddenly became conscious of the fact that he wore only a towel. He closed the door behind the two women, who sat on the bed.

“We’re sorry we were harsh with you earlier, Brother Jason,” Sister Belinda said apologetically with her hands in her lap, and Sister Jamie nodded in agreement. “I think we were rattled by the crazy blonde guy you fought with, and his sudden, violent death.”

He wouldn’t have noticed it before, but due to the fact that he’d played the game and received advice from both the monkey and his grandfather, Jason realized that this was an example of women never being accountable for their actions, or so they’d have you believe. Jason remembered the scene in the movie where Jack Nicholson, who plays a famed author, is asked how he creates such realistic female characters. “Simple,” Jack replies, “I start with a man, and remove all reason and accountability.”

“No problem, ladies,” Jason offered soothingly. “I think we were all a little rattled.”

“The two of us would hate to have you leave on a bad note.” Sister Belinda sat on the bed and ever so slightly turned, pointing her huge breasts at Jason.

Jason thought that if he were in a porno movie, this would be the point where the wah-pedal guitar would start playing, “wah-wah-chicka-tikka-wah-wah.” Jason went over and embraced the two women, only to find Sister Belinda’s hands roaming up under his towel, stroking his member while massaging his balls. Soon he felt Sister Jaime’s petite hands slip under his towel and massage his thick hose. He found himself stiffening, tenting the towel until it lay draped over his erection as though it were on a coatrack.

“Let’s get this out of the way.” Belinda whipped the towel away, and the two ladies gasped at the size of his veiny erection.

With Pastor Roy in the building, the two women moved quickly. They couldn’t risk getting undressed, which would take them too long to get themselves decent again. Their hands massaged Jason’s swollen member and rolled his balls in his wrinkled sack. Clear jism was already leaking from the slit in his knob. Belinda took the tip of his cock into her mouth, and Jason could feel her tongue roll over his dome to slurp up the leaking precum, while Jamie’s slender fingers kneaded his balls.

“It’s been too long, ladies, I’m about to blow.” Jason could already feel a tightening in his prostate, signaling that the huge load in his bloated balls was about to explode.

Jamie crowded her face next to Belinda’s mouth. The curvy woman passed the baton to the petite sister, who struggled to wrap her lips around Jason’s red cockhead.

Jason wanted to cry out but suppressed a moan when the sensation of Jamie’s mouth on his knob, and the flicking of her little tongue tip on his slit became too much, and the first bolt of jism leaped out into Jamie’s mouth. Torrents of hot cum shot out and flooded her small mouth, which caused the girl to bring up a petite hand to catch the overflow of semen leaking from the corner of her mouth and running down her chin.

Seeing that Jamie’s mouth was full, Belinda took back Jason’s spurting tool, missing just one jet of pearly white seed that shot over the bedspread, before sucking it into her mouth. The curvy woman created fierce suction, drawing out every drop of jism that spurted out of Jason’s gnarled rod. Both of the women looked up at Jason and swallowed in unison. Jason could have orgasmed right then, if it weren’t for the fact that Belinda kept milking him as his ejaculation waned. She slurped up a few drops, but an eager Jamie grabbed Jason’s twitching shaft and lapped up the dregs, stroking the length of his shaft to wring out any last drops onto her tongue.

Jason felt weak, and he swore that he was more exhausted from the workout these women gave him than from his four-mile jog.

“Brother Jason, you shot way too fast. Is no one taking care of you at the shelter?” Belinda patted his ballsack as Jamie traced her fingertip over the swollen blue vein running the length of his turgid shaft. “You shouldn’t be running around with blue balls—it’s just not healthy. Come back here if you need to be taken care of.”

Jamie nodded in agreement and slid her hand across his inner thigh.

“I’ll remember that, ladies.” Jason smiled. “I’m glad we got things straightened out and we’re on good terms again. Oh, and I owe you both.”

“We’re going to hold you to your word,” Belinda said with a gleam in her eye.

“Yeah,” Jamie said quietly.

The two of them left, slipping out of his room discreetly. Jason put on his athletic supporter and his sweats and was sliding on his socks when there was a knock at the door. “Yes! Come in!”

Pastor Roy opened the door just enough to poke his head through. “There’s a detective here who wants to ask you some questions.”

Jason’s stomach knotted when he realized it had to be about the blonde man he killed.