Jason whirled to his right, and bought his left hand up to his gun. A woman yelped in alarm.

“Sister Belinda,” Jason sighed, “you scared the hell out of me.”

The voluptuous woman lay on his bed, completely naked, with her huge breasts and thick thighs on display, not to mention a black-haired delta between her legs. She was glistening, having coated herself with coconut oil.

“Sorry, I had to sneak in here when I had the chance.” She smiled at him, and he admired every curve of her oiled body. He felt his groin stir, and his python begin to rise in his briefs. He was about to be rewarded for reaching his one-thousand dollar emergency fund. He went back out into the hallway, locked up his gun, and re-entered the room, locking the door behind him.

School had been tough today, but if he came home to scenes like this in his dreams, then he could survive teaching a while longer.

* * *

“I don’t know how this is legal; it ought to be a crime.” Jason’s grandfather shook his head, looking at sheets outlining Jason’s various debts. “Actually, I take that back, I do know how it’s legal. Used to be, credit card companies could only charge you the interest rate allowed by your state, then that got overturned. So Delaware, in order to attract credit card companies, allows interest of up to 22%! The mafia would be too embarrassed, has too strong a sense of ethics, to charge that much money for loan sharking. The state senator, who goes on to become president, is fully supported by the credit card companies in Delaware, charging outrageous interest rates. Yet supposedly that senator is a champion of the working man. If you ever get anything from Delaware in the mail, throw it away. The whole damn state of Delaware ought to be nuked.”

Jason was lying down on the floor, doing scissor kicks to work his abs.

“Every other congressman and senator could step up and try to reign in the credit card companies, but they’re on the take, too. Take a look at your watch real quick,” his grandfather told him. “Just punch the watch stem once.”

Jason followed his grandfather’s instructions, even as he switched to a pedal kick.

“Debt, especially personal, consumer debt, is a financial killer,” his grandfather explained. “Slavery was outlawed, but debt is a form of modern slavery. In the 1920’s New York City of the game, credit card debt didn’t exist. The first real credit card, the Diner’s Club card, didn’t come out until the sixties. The old Las Vegas used to cater to millionaires, who would fly into the city on their private planes to gamble. The high rollers would drop thousands of dollars at poker tables, and spend a thousand dollars a night for a suite. But now Las Vegas is a middle class, family attraction, Why is that?”

Jason thought for a moment, but shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. He was now working on a set of crunches, alternating by bringing each elbow to the opposite knee.

His grandpa hopped down from the couch and held Jason’s ankles as his grandson did old fashioned sit-ups. “Sure, millionaires have more money, but there aren’t very many of them. The average family doesn’t have a whole lot of money, but there are millions of them. That’s what the credit card companies realized, just like Las Vegas realized: with a population that knows nothing about finances, that doesn’t have discipline, and that wants to live the high life now without working for it, it became easy to hook millions on credit card debt, at outrageous rates.”

“Thanks,” Jason said as he finished his sit-ups. He then went into a stretch to loosen up his thighs and groin.

“Take your credit card debt of $1,782.05. What’s your minimum payment on that?” his grandpa asked.

“I think I’m paying thirty a month.”

“As long as you’re making minimum credit card payments—which is what they want—you could be paying for ten years. And by the time it’s paid off, you will have paid double your debt because of interest fees.” Grandpa returned to his seat on the couch. “Plus, the bastards are experts at screwing you, using 28-day billing cycles so you’re late. Then they charge you a late fee and jack up the interest rates.”

“The worst is student loan debt,’ his grandfather said angrily. “The damn colleges will get you to take out huge loans for a major like speech therapy that pays peanuts. You graduate from college, $120,000 in debt for a job that pays $40,000 a year. And you can’t discharge student loan debt through bankruptcy. Where’s congress on that? The university just wants you to take on debt. Once you’ve done that, whether or not you can get a job, let alone a job capable of paying back your massive debt, is not their concern. Now you’ve got people who will work their whole lives and never be free of their student loan debt.”

“Sounds like modern-day slavery to me,” Jason agreed. “Luckily, my student loan debt isn’t that high.”

“There’s a debt forgiveness plan you can apply for,” his grandfather added. “I’ll get the paperwork for that and have you apply, especially because you’re in a Title I school serving low-income students. But for now, we’ll start with your smallest debt, your credit card debt. We’ll focus like a laser on that and get it paid off. That will be a powerful motivator when you’ve paid off that first debt, especially when coupled with a special basket of goodies in the game.”

Jason saw a smile on his grandfather’s face. But then, he was puzzled. “I thought you said the key to wealth is to invest in the stock market, in a low-fee or free index fund. Why am I not doing that?”

“Good question. You can expect the market to give you an average 8% return on your investment, but if you’re paying off credit card debt at the same time, you’re not only missing out on money that you could be investing, but you’re paying at least 12%, maybe as high as 20% on your interest payments. You’ve got to get out of the credit hole you’ve dug before you can start investing, otherwise you’re losing more money than you’re making.”

His grandfather got up from the couch and put on his hat. “We’ll talk about your car loan another day. But for now, let’s focus like a laser on paying off that credit card debt.”

“But what about my credit score? Don’t I need credit?” Jason wondered.

Gramps laughed. “No, that’s bullshit they feed you. If you have cash to make reasonable, well-considered purchases, and a cash reserve, you don’t need a credit card. Dumb people need credit cards because they have no cash reserve and buy stupid shit they can’t afford.”

“But what about a car?” Jason protested. “You’ve got to have credit to buy a car.”

“No!” His grandfather shook his head vigorously. “You should have paid cash for your car. Admittedly, it would have been a clunker, and wouldn’t have impressed anyone like your date Alison…”

“Ashlynn,” Jason corrected him.

“But you wouldn’t be in debt, and you could be building wealth, right now. I want you to envision buying a car worth thousands of dollars, and paying cash for it. If you’re disciplined, and build wealth, you can do that.” Grandpa nodded his head and waved good-bye as he went out the door.

Jason showered and changed, then drove into work. His grandfather didn’t usually show up in the morning, but then, Jason never knew exactly what the old guy was going to do. Jason got through his first three classes okay, even if third period was a little rough. One of his students was the son of a member of the board of education, and was smart-alecky, always walking a line just short of getting sent out of class.

It was near the end of fourth period, when Jason saw a woman in the doorway, wearing an ID badge. She motioned for him to join her outside. There was an in-service scheduled for tomorrow, with a group coming in from off-campus, and Jason thought maybe they wanted to talk to him with regard to an upcoming accreditation.

When Jason went out into the hall, the woman immediately lit into him. She had short, curly hair, and her face was twisted in rage. “I’m Sean’s mother. Why are you trying to fail him? He’s trying to cope, and I’m doing everything I can to help him keep it together, but he comes to your class and you’re tearing him down.”

“Ma’am, I don’t have anything against Sean,” Jason pleaded, referring to the kid in his fourth period speech class. “I’d like to see him get an ‘A’ in my class. It’s just that he has some speeches to make up.”

“He’s having a hard time, but now you’re working to bring him down, told him his speech was no good.” She wagged her finger at Jason. “This is the only class he’s failing.”

Jason was aware of students edging toward the door to listen in on the conversation. “I’m certain I didn’t tell him his speech was no good. That’s not how I give feedback.”

“Oh, yes, you did. Sean told me himself, and other students have told me how you dislike my son.”

“Look, ma’am, I have students redo speeches all the time. Rather than fail a speech, I give students advice and a chance to do it over. Once Sean makes up those speeches he’s missing, he’ll be doing fine in the class.” Jason raised his hands palm up. “The problem with missing work is that if I don’t count it, and I’ve given Sean several weeks, then it looks like his grade is just fine, but once I add those missing assignments, and eventually I’ve got to do that, then it becomes clear that he’s failing—at least until those assignments are made up.”

“I just don’t know why you have it out for Sean. He’s been struggling, and you’re the only one dragging him down.” She gave Jason a long, nasty look, and then stomped out of the building.

Sure, Sean was a little talkative, and not a real scholar, but Jason had no problems with the kid. Students and parents didn’t seem to understand that for a teacher, selecting students at random to persecute took entirely too much effort. Most teachers, like Jason, just wanted to teach without troubles and go home at the end of the day. Sean was a tough case, though, because he and a classmate experienced a horrifying accident at a ski resort several weeks ago. They were driving down one of the resort’s roads, with snow piled up on either side, when a snowboarder lost control, sailed across the road and was struck by the truck driven by Sean’s friend. The snowboarder died on the spot, and understandably, Sean and his friend were traumatized.

For the last several weeks, Sean missed a good deal of school, and Jason was walking a line between giving the kid some space to recover, and subtly urging him to get the work in. Jason wanted to help Sean, and would do what was necessary, but the bottom line was that there was work that needed to be done.

The bell rang, and Jason locked up the room before heading to the principal’s office. “Mr. Ochoa, got a moment?” he asked.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Mrs. Delaney blindsided me, just showed up in my classroom toward the end of fourth period. She had an ID, so I thought she was with tomorrow’s group. As soon as I got into the hall, she starts yelling at me, accusing me of hating her son Sean, being out to fail him, etcetera.” Jason let out a long breath. “I told her I’d like to see Sean get an ‘A’, which is true, but then she basically calls me a liar. I’m trying to help him get caught up after the accident, but he’s still missing speeches. Once he makes those up, he should be fine.”

Mr. Ochoa rubbed the stubble on his fat chin. “I’ll have a talk with her, and let her know that there’s a process—that she can’t just barge into classrooms. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Thanks, Mr. Ochoa.” Jason waved and headed to the lunch room, where he had a salad with tuna and olive oil that he’d brought from home waiting for him.

* * *

“Who did this to you?” Jason asked, looking at the swollen eye of Cecil, one of the frequent residents of the Healing Hands Rescue Mission, but who, like all the other men, tended to wander and disappear for days or weeks at a time. People like Jason, or Pastor Roy, or Sister Belinda or Jamie, worried that the guy was dead somewhere; maybe he drank too much, and failed to find shelter on a night that got too cold, or got rolled by toughs who got a little too enthusiastic or careless in their beating.

Jason looked closely at Cecil’s red eye, which was starting to darken. There were marks on the man’s ear and jaw, too.

Cecil remained mute, and merely looked away as the men started to line up to get on the bus after their medical checkup at Dr. Steinman’s, this one to prescribe maintenance medications that they needed. The cold wind whipped through Cecil’s thin black hair, and caused the tip of his nose to turn red.

“Look, Cecil, I don’t want to go around beating people at random and hope one of them is justice,” Jason pleaded. “You know I can keep my mouth shut, too.”

Cecil looked around him, including over both shoulders, then stared at the pavement, where a colorful little Bazooka Joe comic skittered over the street. “Dominican, bald.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, and patted the man on the shoulder, then walked over to the driver of the Department of Health bus. “As soon as the men get on the bus, go ahead and take off. I’ll catch up later.”

Jason set off down the sidewalk, and wrapped a red scarf around his nose to mask his face. He thought it made him look like the Shadow, the superhero from the hit pulp novel and radio show, but it was inconspicuous on a cold winter day in New York City. He had his hand on the sap in his right outer jacket pocket.

Someone was going to pay for rolling Cecil, and hurting him in the process, and pay right now.