The colossus of a man loomed in the hallway ahead of him. His double-breasted pinstripe suit accentuated the broadness of his shoulders and torso. He moved to reach inside Jason’s breast pocket with a hand that was as large as a ham hock. Jason swatted that hand aside and threw a punch into the man’s gut, causing the goon’s eyes to open wide. Apparently, the hulking man was just as surprised as Jason that his punch had landed with any force.

Remembering his trip in the ambulance, and losing his check, and his upcoming date with the bombshell of a redhead, Jason threw another punch to the gut with the same left hand. He followed up by throwing the right hand, an uppercut, and realized he knew nothing about boxing and his punches sucked—at least as far as form went, but what he lacked in skill and precision he made up for with sheer power, knocking the breath out of the brute in front of him. Jason kept throwing punches into the huge man’s breadbasket, aiming for the solar plexus. Eventually he found himself having to try to hold up the massive semi-conscious man with one hand so that he could punch him with the other.

“Try to take my check, you rat bastard!” Jason used his left hand to hold the towering man upright, and his right fist connected with an uppercut that caught the giant at the solar plexus, and his lights went out. The big man collapsed, falling over his own heels, and didn’t stir.

“What do I do now?” Jason wondered aloud, staring down at the unconscious brute on the wood floor.

“Good question.” A cop came down the hallway, smoking a cigarette. “He’ll revive soon, and then he’ll chase you to the bus in a blind rage. Or, he’ll have a score to settle, and he’ll hound you until he settles it. You’ve got to bump him off.”

Jason recognized this cop as the same one who had flummoxed Houdini by putting him in the rigged handcuffs. “Bump him off?”

“Got one of those Christmas gifts?” the cop asked. He extinguished his cigarette in the sandy top of a waste bin standing along the wall.

“I’ve got two left,” Jason replied.

“Hand me one, and drink the other,” the cop instructed him, and reached out for the bottle.

The two of them stripped off the Sunday funny paper, revealing two half-pint bottles of Night Train, then twisted the tops open, tearing through the tax stamp. Jason took a sip of his Night Train and grimaced.

“Guzzle it,” the cop said. “I need the bottle now.”

Jason thought of all the men at the mission, how they loved Night Train, a fortified “wine” with a brutal alcohol content. He tilted the bottle straight up and gulped it down, feeling like he was drinking a combination of merlot, cheap bourbon, and cough syrup. Jason coughed, and felt a warmth spread through his chest.

In the meantime, the cop splashed the contents of the other bottle over the unconscious brute’s suit, mouth, and face, then pressed the empty bottle into his hand. The detective took the empty bottle from Jason and shoved it onto the large man’s side jacket pocket.

“Here, help me,” the detective grunted. “He’s starting to come to.”

The detective pulled the heavy man up to his feet, aided by Jason, which was frustratingly difficult to do, not only because the brute was so big and heavy, but also because his body was as limp as a sack of potatoes. They dragged him down to the landing and pitched him over the side of the stairs, so that he fell through the gap in the staircase, doing a surprisingly graceful cartwheel in midair before he struck the tiled floor of the lobby head-first. With a stomach full of Night Train, the sight of the man’s broken head on the tile made Jason queasy.

“Get on the bus, and keep your kisser shut,” the cop said.

“Thanks,” Jason replied, and made his way down the steps to the bus, where the men were waiting for him.

“Did you have one of the Christmas gifts for yourself, Brother Jason?” one of the men asked with a knowing smile.

“Well, I had a bottle left over and hated to see it go to waste,” Jason replied, and smiled warmly. It was a Night Train smile, because he felt a glow in his body and a cheer that cut through the chilly weather.

The men on the bus broke into applause.

When the bus dropped off the men at the rescue mission, Jason was the last to climb the stairs, and found Pastor Roy waiting for him at the landing.

“Brother Jason, may I speak to you in private for a moment?” the pastor asked in his baritone voice.

“Sure, Pastor Roy,” Jason replied. “Is something wrong?”

Pastor Roy looked uncomfortable, and made as if to loosen the tie at his neck, but it was already loosened, with the upper two buttons of his shirt unfastened, and the loop of the pastor’s tie was wide enough that it would have easily slipped over Jason’s thigh. “I hate to have to rebuke you brother, or disfellowship you, but they say you gave the men alcohol.”

“Well, Pastor, you know how I would hate to do anything unscriptural,’ Jason began, and laid a reassuring hand on the big minister’s shoulder. “I Timothy 5:23 says, ‘No longer drink only water, but use a little wine for your stomach’s sake and your frequent infirmities.’ Who am I to argue with scripture?”

The big man looked relieved, and the sweat on his balding head seemed to sparkle instead of just slide and drip. He smiled and patted Jason’s back. “Doing your Bible study, young man. That’s great!”

“Thanks,” Jason blushed. As evil as handing out half-pint bottles of Night Train might be, there was the matter of the man he’d killed earlier today. He waved down the hall in the direction of the dorm room. “I’ve got a date to get ready for.”

* * *

“There was quite a commotion here earlier today,” the redhead informed him when he showed up at Dr. Steinman’s office. The doctor and the blonde receptionist had already left, so now only the redheaded candy striper remained to lock up. “They found a huge man dead at the foot of the stairs. Apparently he was hitting the happy sauce and had an accident. It would have been just another bum meeting an accident—no offense—except he was a member of RAPE.”

“What?” Jason asked incredulously, finding it hard to believe he’d heard what he thought he’d just heard.

“RAPE,” the redhead repeated. “Revenue Accountability and Policy Enforcers. It’s their job both to collect revenue and to enforce the mayor’s latest diktat, which they’re calling executive orders.”

They were walking down the stairs, and Jason was distracted by the way her huge breasts bounced up and down in her cleavage.

“Are you getting an eyeful?” the nurse asked.

“Two,” Jason replied. “Sorry if I’m staring, but you’re incredible. I think even a blindman would find himself staring. By the way, what’s your name?”

“Betty,” she replied. “Short for Beatrice, which was my grandma’s name.” She nervously looked at the spot where the goon lay dead on the floor earlier today.

“Was that where they found the dead guy?” Jason asked.

Betty nodded her head yes, and they were quickly out of the building. “Where are we going?”

“Coney Island,” Jason replied. “There’s something there I’ve always wanted to see.”

On the subway ride she sat right beside him, weaving her arm through his. They felt the breeze come in through a small crack in the partially open window, and soon they could smell the salt air of the ocean, coupled with the sight of an enormous Ferriss wheel. This was the way a date should be, Jason thought, with Betty sitting right next to him, leaning in to him, and happy to be with him, even if they were just riding the subway.

Earlier in the day Jason opened a bank account to cash his check, and after keeping six dollars and fifty cents, he deposited the other twenty dollars into his checking account. Still, a look at his watch revealed $26.20 in the GAME $ column, which reflected the thirty cents in subway fares he’d paid so far, and the game wealth column still read zero.

Jason paid the admission for both him and Betty, then found his way to the hot dog stand. “Hot dogs okay?” Jason asked.

“Are you kidding?” Betty replied. “I love hot dogs, and Coney Island hot dogs are the best.”

Jason had to wonder if there were some kind of a Freudian slip in Betty’s “love hot dogs” line. The two of them got hot dogs, and Jason was surprised by how many extra fixings Betty managed to heap onto hers.

“So how did you come to work with the derelicts?” Betty asked him as they walked along the beach.

Jason had to remember that this was an era before political correctness and language police, when people called things what they were. It was a time when a guy who couldn’t walk was called a cripple.

“I used to be one myself,” Jason grabbed a napkin from his back pocket and wiped the corner of his mouth. “Well, maybe not a derelict, but I had no money. My first night here in the city I found myself with nothing, sleeping on the sidewalk in a cardboard box.”

“Really?” she looked at him wide-eyed.

“It wasn’t as bad as I feared, and I learned some valuable lessons about survival and self-reliance. The next day I found my way to the Healing Hands Rescue Mission, and I’ve been working to help Pastor Roy.” Jason took another bite of his hot dog as they strolled along the beach, even though it was chilly this time of year. “Today I made $26.50 for helping to bring the men in for physicals. I figure I can repeat the same thing all over town.”

“So that’s why you’re rich today.” Betty laughed and slapped him lightly on the arm.

“Which feels as good as being with you.” Jason smiled, and noticed the jealous glances that the guys who passed the two of them gave him. “Up here.”

Jason paid their admission, and he and Betty sat inside a small room with an elevated stage at the front. Once the room had filled, a small man in a top hat came out, and began grabbing coins out of the air and dropping them into a bucket that he held. Next, he invited a boy up from the audience, and began pulling coins from the boy’s ears, pockets, armpits, and so on. The boy’s bewildered look was hilarious, coupled with a string of sausages pulled out of his pants pocket. The act was fast-paced, moving from one-liner to one-liner. The magician had the boy catch an invisible coin and dump it into the bucket, which he did, followed by the line, “No, all of them!” at which point the magician shook the boy’s hand over the bucket and a stream of coins fell with a clatter. The magician ended by holding his hand to the boy’s nose and telling him to blow, which caused a stream of coins to pour from the boy’s nose to the bucket.

Jason and Betty applauded, as did the rest of the crowd, and Jason realized his sides hurt from laughing.

“That was Al Flosso,” Jason told Betty. “One of the greats in magic. I always wanted to see his act.”

They walked out and Betty huddled against Jason to shield herself from the cold. Jason swung his arm over her shoulder and the two of them walked said-by-side in silence. “Want some hot chocolate?” Jason asked.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Betty replied, and looked up at him with her green eyes.

“You have beautiful green eyes,” Jason told her, which was the truth, but still failed to express just how mesmerizing her emerald eyes were.

“I’m staying in a ladies dorm, with eight other women in the same room,” Betty told him. Was she trying to tell him that she had no apartment that they could go to?

Jason laughed. “Me, too. I’m in the dorm room at the mission, but the pastor was nice enough to give me the bunk closest to the radiator, the water cooler, and the restroom.”

When they reached the gate, Jason handed her a dollar. “I had a great time. Why don’t you take a cab?”

Betty waved her pale, freckled hand. “Thanks, but I can’t; I’ve still got fare for the ride home.”

“It’s getting dark,” Jason noted. “Do you feel safe on the subway this late? I’d feel better if you took a cab.”

“No, I’ll be fine.” Betty pushed Jason’s dollar bill back toward him, then stood up on her toes and kissed him.

Jason became lost in the luxurious feel of her soft, voluptuous lips, and he realized that in spite of how intimate he and the candy striper had been in the doctor’s office, they had never kissed. There was also no way she could kiss him without jamming her massive breasts into him. Jason found himself cheating and peeking at her taut calves as she stood on the toes of her high heels, and at the firm glutes packing the back of her rounded skirt. She broke off the kiss and descended the steps to the subway. Jason watched her butt bounce in her tight skirt as she bounded down the steps, and then she shyly smiled and waved to him before disappearing.

Jason was afraid it would be just a matter of time before he found himself flip-flopping and cursing the old man as a clueless old fart, but for right now, his grandfather was a genius, and this game was the greatest invention since mankind discovered fire. If The Midas Game was Jason’s inheritance, then he was happy.