“Someone call the clubhouse and get the heat down here!” Geno shouted to Sister Mildred, telling her she should call the police.

When Geno, the head of the mayor’s RAPE detachment got to the crumpled body of Sal, he knew the man was deader than a doornail. Sal’s skull was caved in, and his body lay unnaturally still on the lawn. Nevertheless, Geno knelt to feel for a pulse, but his suspicions were confirmed. The RAPE squad arrived just minutes ago, so the murder had to be very recent.

The big man rose to his feet and yelled. “All right, everybody, some bastard bopped Sal. Fan out and find him!”

Geno drew his gat from the small of his back. The men of the squad weren’t supposed to be armed: they were just enforcing mask wearing, social distancing, quarantines, and made sure the mayor got his share of revenue. But Geno wasn’t the kind of guy to take chances. The mayor’s men spread out and moved to the gym, then climbed the stairs, while others moved around to the church and the rectory.

Lito scanned the men’s bunks at the top floor, holding his night stick at the ready, and even searched the restroom and showers. He was coming down the stairs when he saw someone sprawled over the stairs. “Nate!” he shouted and ran down the stairs, but slipped and fell, spraining his ankle as he fell.

“Hey! In here!” Lito yelled. He sat on the step and felt his ankle, which was sore, but not broken. Looking at the bottom of his shoe, he couldn’t see color well in the fading daylight, but whatever was on the sole of his shoe was too thick to be water, which made him realize he slipped in a puddle of Nate’s blood.

Men from the RAPE squad came running from the nearby rectory and went on opposite sides of the boxing ring on their way to the stairs. “Nate!”

Justo and Robert dashed up the stairs and saw two bodies lying on the stairs. Both men had deformed skulls resembling deflated basketballs.

“Nate!” Roberto called.

“Lito, is that you?” It was hard for Justo to see in the dim light as the sun set.

“Let’s get the hell out,” Justo suggested.

Roberto nodded, suddenly finding that his mouth and throat were too dry to speak. Someone had just taken out Sal, Lito, and Nate, silently, and unseen.

The two men ran to the middle of the lawn where they felt safest. “Nate and Lito just got blipped off!” Justo shouted. He and Roberto stood back-to-back, holding their nightsticks out.

“Everybody, drop it and gather at the cars!” Geno shouted and waved in the direction of the street where their cars were parked. “To the boilers!”

The RAPE squad ran from all areas of St. Michael’s grounds, headed to their cars. They were a nervous lot, waving their clubs and looking around them. When they reached the cars, they gathered, forming a wary circle with their eyes on the surrounding street, the trees, and the nearest building.

“Lito and Nate got bumped off,” Justo said breathlessly, tired from the stressful run. “They were lying on the stairs like rag dolls, with their skulls crushed.”

“Did anybody see anything? Anyone suspicious?” Geno asked his men.

“That guy’s the shadow of death, I’m tellin’ ya,” Nick swore.

“How do we know it’s one guy?” Geno asked. He held his gun down low so as to not be obvious.

“We don’t,” Roberto answered, “but I don’t think a bunch of droppers could have moved that quietly, and without any of them being seen.”

“Where’s Neil?” Tony wondered and looked about him.

“Yeah, where the fuck is Neil?” Vinny echoed in alarm.

The men all looked about them, scanning each other’s faces.

“Neil got popped,” Roberto concluded at the same time everyone else did, and his tone was one of awe at how smooth the killer was.

“I think we’re safer in the boilers,” Nick said, remembering the gun he had in the glove box. He opened the car door but noticed that it was already slightly ajar. Something dropped out of the doorway, resembling a soda can on a stick, and bounced on the blacktop. What the hell?

The explosion ripped through Nick’s legs and groin, and threw shrapnel up into his face, while sending a hail of jagged metal shrieking outward as it blew open the driver side door. Fortunately for the other men, Nick’s body absorbed most of the blast, but the men standing at either side of him were ripped by shrapnel. Nick was blown backward by the force of the explosion, and dead before his body hit the asphalt.

“Away from the boilers!” Geno shouted, and the men followed him as he raced across the street. He was panicked by the thought of somebody who was, just as Nick himself said, the shadow of death. “Where in the hell are the damn heat?”

* * *

“Never buy a new car,” his grandfather told Jason, and shook the skillet.

“What am I supposed to drive?” Jason asked.

“Everyone assumes they need a car, but when I moved to the Philippines and lived in downtown Cebu City, I didn’t have a car at all. I could walk everywhere easily—stores, restaurants, karaoke bars, the doctor, and the dentist.” Gramps added buttered mushrooms and folded the omelet. “Just before I moved to the Philippines, my car died, and I walked to work. I realized I didn’t need a car as much as I thought I did.”

“But doesn’t it make sense to buy a new car, which has a warranty, and no wear on it, so you’ll get the most out of it?” From his seat at the kitchen counter, Jason watched Gramps slide the folded omelet onto his plate. “Thanks. It seems like if you buy a used car, it already has wear on it, plus who knows what’s wrong with it.”

Gramps began stirring eggs for his omelet. “The problem with brand new cars is that they depreciate so rapidly. Your $20,000 car, by the time you drive it home, is worth only $16,000 dollars, so basically you’re paying four thousand dollars for that new car smell. As Dave Ramsey says, if you buy a new car, it’s like throwing hundred dollar bills out the window as you drive, because your car is losing value so rapidly.”

“Dave Ramsey?” Jason sprinkled pepper and hot sauce over his omelet, then took a bite.

“He’s a financial advisor, has his own radio show. I don’t agree with everything he says, but he has a lot of smart advice, and you could sum up his main message as, ‘Get out of debt, and stay there.’” Gramps watched the omelet as it bubbled, and occasionally popped a bubble with the corner of his spatula. “The smart move is to buy a car that’s a year or two old, so you’re paying $16,000 for a $16,000 car. Have a mechanic look at it, but typically by that time, any underlying mechanical issues have been resolved. A new car is no guarantee of quality. Some people are going to go into the dealership repeatedly to get issues fixed with a brand-new car.”

“But you said no loans, right?” Jason took a sip of his coffee.

Gramps draped a slice of cheese over the omelet in the skillet. “Yes, you want to pay cash, and if you can’t pay cash, then you need to get a cheaper car. A friend of mine got an Idaho Electric fleet car, paid $1200 for it. It didn’t have air conditioning, but it was solid and reliable, which is all you need.”

The side of Jason’s cheek tightened. “How am I supposed to get a date if I’m driving a jalopy?”

“It’s about getting wealthy. Real wealth, not taking out a huge loan with money you don’t have to try to impress people.” Gramps pointed at Jason with his spatula. “If you have money in the bank and a financial plan, any woman is willing to look past your practical car.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“During World War II there was a group of women who married multiple servicemen to get their monthly wife’s allotment, and in case their husbands got killed in action, a hefty insurance payoff. Soon these women were gravitating to airmen. Why is that?” Gramps looked over his shoulder as he scraped the buttered mushrooms into his omelet.

“I don’t know.” Jason shrugged. “Maybe pilots are more romantic, more alpha.”

Gramps shook his head. “No, airmen were more likely to get killed. It’s like those scamming women had read the actuarial tables and knew that airmen were more likely to die, resulting in a big payoff for them. Don’t underestimate woman’s ability to calculate your net worth. Let’s say you show up in a new suit and a silk tie, with a Rolex watch. What does a woman do?”

Jason was a college graduate, a fluent bilingual, and an avid reader, yet whenever he was around his grandfather he felt like a clueless idiot. With his mouth full, he shrugged his shoulders, because he had no idea.

“She looks at your shoes.” Gramps gave Jason the gotcha look, then slid his omelet onto his plate. “Quality shoes are an easy tell whether a guy actually has money or is faking it. A lot of guys will invest money in fancy jewelry but skimp on their shoes.”

“But I don’t see the big deal with cars,” Jason said, and reached for his coffee cup. “Everybody has one.”

“But it’s one of your biggest expenses. It costs more to drive than people realize, between buying the car, gas, tires, oil, maintenance, insurance, wear and tear, etc. And if you ever get a DUI, you’ll pay thousands. The less you drive, the more you save.” Gramps sat on a stool at the counter and reached for his coffee. “Mr. Money Mustache says the one key tactic he credits to his financial independence was that he lived close to his work, and a store where he did most of his shopping. He could either walk or bike if he needed to.”

“He didn’t drive at all?” Jason wondered. “And Mr. Money Mustache? Where do you come up with these people?”

“He didn’t consult me before he came up with his blog name.” Gramps laughed and took a sip of his coffee. “He has a car, but he rarely drives it, only when it’s absolutely necessary, and then he decides where he’s going to go, plots his route, trying to make several stops at once, so he’s not aimlessly wandering around.”

“Sounds anal retentive to me.” Jason pushed his empty plate aside and drank his coffee.

“That anal retentive guy retired in his thirties. How would you like to be retired from teaching right now, and not have to go back to work in two weeks?” Gramps looked at Jason and raised his eyebrows. “Your house or apartment, and your car, are going to be your biggest expenses—if you get those under control, you can be rich.”

“So what am I supposed to do about my car?” Jason drank the last of his coffee, then got up and walked to the coffee pot. “You really need a K cup machine. I forgot how awful the old coffee makers taste.”

“True, but I hate to invest the money when I won’t be here in two weeks. It’ll take you a month or two to pay off the college loan. I won’t be here when you start paying off your car, so I thought we’d talk now.” Gramps cut a bit of his omelet but didn’t eat it. “You’ve been driving into Garnet every day, even in blizzard conditions. What if you lived in the town, and walked or biked to work?”

“I don’t know.” Jason pursed his lips. “It’s a small town, and people gossip, plus I would run into parents and students all the time.”

“Try it. If you don’t like it, you can move back, but you’re losing a lot of time and money with your daily commute.” Gramps swiveled in his chair to face Jason. “Look, you don’t plan on doing this forever. You want to be wealthy and retired, right?”

Jason thought about it. “Yeah, you’re right. Whatever it takes to be done with teaching, I’m ready to do it.”

“Actually, I think you’ll like living in Garnet.” Gramps smiled and took a bite of his omelet.

* * *

The detective shined his flashlight on the corpse. He borrowed a rubber glove from the ambulance attendant and felt the deceased’s scalp. “We’ve got a puncture wound here, like an icepick.”

“So what’s he do? Stab them with an icepick, then club them?” The second detective shook his head. “Makes no sense.”

“Maybe he’s got a weapon like a spiked bat, drive nails through the end.” The detective rubbed his bloody glove on the grass, then stood and stripped it off.

“Isn’t that overkill?”

“Yes, but overkill is intimidating.” The detective withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his inner pocket and rapped the pack against an extended finger to cause a cigarette to slide out.

“Let me have a gasper,” his partner said, and took the offered cigarette.

The two men lit up and weighed the evidence they’d gathered at the crime scene. Maybe smoking is a horrible, deadly habit, but it does have the advantage of slowing a person down, giving him time to think, and to act deliberately.

“Each victim is struck only once, so it’s not a crime of passion, and there’s no personal angle here.” The detective recalled murders he’d investigated where the victim’s head was bludgeoned to the point of being unrecognizable, as often happened in rage murders.

“The killer knows what he’s doing and is confident he can kill with a single blow.”

“The grenade in the vehicle—a German ‘potato masher’—tells me he’s got military training. German, maybe? So is it anybody here at the shelter?”

“No. They were all in the basement when the first and following victims were killed. One of Luciano’s guys?” He blew smoke into the air.

“Why would he start a war with the mayor? Lucky Luciano isn’t as lucky as he is smart.”

“One of the mayor’s men said the killer was like the shadow of death, not long before he opened his car and got blown up.” The detective scanned the darkened buildings of St. Michael’s, and was glad for the presence of the cops. “Whoever he is, he’s still out there.”

Jason and the monkey were in ghost mode, having seen the detectives examine the corpse and heard them discuss the case. Jason was worried: a merciless killer was on the loose, and until he got taken out, no one in the St. Michael’s Shelter was safe.