Jason and the capuchin monkey walked down the streets of New York City. The little monkey looked festive in his gray vest with the red embroidered trim and the red fez. His long gray tail curled up behind his back as he looked at passersby with large eyes and a wide grin. The people who passed them were few in number, and either wore surgical masks or had scarves or gaiters wrapped around their faces.

“Why does the whole city shut down over a disease that kills the smallest fraction of one percent?” Jason asked, “And those who die—God bless them—are people who are already near death or susceptible to die. Yet the whole damn city goes into lockdown.”

“This isn’t like the New York City of the 1900s, when people weren’t scared, and leaders encouraged citizens not to give into fear,” the monkey explained. “This is the New York City of the twenty-first century, where people are scared of everything, and the government encourages it. The news doesn’t help, saying thirteen people died today. Well, how many people died on a normal day a year ago? How many people died of the flu each year before the Mitral virus came out? In a city of six million, what percentage is thirteen? They never tell you that.”

A woman in a blue surgical mask dropped a dime into the tin cup which the monkey extended to catch.

“I thought we were in ghost mode.” Jason gave the monkey a stern look.

“What, and miss the chance to make money?” The monkey flashed his broad, toothy smile. “Plus, the Mitral virus crackdown is an opportunity for politicians to exercise power, and the vaccine companies will make a fortune.”

“What if I thought we were in ghost mode, and exposed myself, flipped off an old lady, or flashed a gun?” Jason asked.

“That would be funny,” the monkey replied, then saw Jason’s angry expression. “Or maybe not.”

“Okay, different subject,” Jason began, switching topics. “You’ve been warning me how women have agendas with pregnancy and marriage that can wreck a man financially and romantically, I get that. But what about the redheaded bombshell in Dr. Steinman’s office, Betty. She doesn’t seem to have an agenda, or is that just an act?”

“Party girl,” the monkey said matter-of-factly. “Some women, especially young and attractive ones, are just not ready for the responsibility and burden of having kids and being married. They’ve learned that, being young and good looking, that they can get invitations to parties, free food, free drinks, free vacations and plane rides, hang out with rock stars, athletes, and celebrities, so they’re going to enjoy that life.”

“Makes sense,” Jason agreed. “If I were a young, attractive woman, I’d sure like to get free food, drinks, and attend lavish parties. It beats working.”

“The downside is that some of those women are going to get addicted to drugs or booze. Some are going to sleep around, and can’t handle the shame, so they use drugs and booze to cope, and get hooked.” The monkey hopped over to a passerby to collect a nickel that someone tossed into his cup with a clank. “Most commonly, she reaches a point where her looks have faded and she’s lost her figure. The invitations aren’t there any more, especially because there’s a new crop of young, fresh, good-looking women, so now she decides it’s time to settle down.”

“Let me guess, some poor dope will invest everything he has to marry her and provide for her, and risk losing half of everything he owns, for a woman who isn’t nearly as attractive as she used to be.” Jason pulled his jacket more tightly around him, and drew his scarf up over his nose. “But when she was younger, and much better looking, she was practically free.”

“Yes. I call it the Used Car Syndrome,” the monkey said. “Imagine someone driving around in a brand-new Mercedes for free, but several years later, when the car has hundreds of thousands of miles on it, and has been in an accident and tumbled down a gorge, you get the car, but you’re paying full price for it.”

“That’s the guy who marries the party girl,” Jason observed. “Or I’ve seen the girl who is addicted to the ex-con drug addict on a motorcycle, a woman who wouldn’t give the time of day to the decent guy who has a crush on her. But once the hoodlum gets her pregnant and leaves her, and she’s several pounds heavier and a few teeth short, she suddenly turns to Mr. Nice Guy to clean up her mess and start paying her bills.”

“Nailed it,” the monkey agreed. “Often the women who talk the loudest about commitment, and no sex until marriage are former party girls who have aged out and had to change their tune. The party girl, when she’s in her prime, is care-free and fun, but once she gets too old, like any other woman whose biological clock is ticking too loudly, she wants commitment now, she wants to know what your plans are now, she doesn’t have time for fun, but needs to get married today and is only interested a man who’s serious, because she can’t afford to waste her time. Then she wonders why no guy wants to date her.”

Jason saw the Healing Hands Rescue Mission up ahead. An Italian man with a handle bar mustache approached with a box on a stick, and began cranking the handle on the organ.

“There’s my ride,” the monkey announced.

“Is that Smoke on the Water?” Jason wondered, but the capuchin had already scampered off to join the organ grinder.

Jason went through the double doors and climbed the stairs to the central room of the rescue mission, where pews were lined up for church services, and tables and benches were laid out for meals, with a kitchen and a serving window running along one wall. Two big goons in face masks, with greasy hair and pinstripe suits were talking to Pastor Roy, or more accurately, were haranguing him over something. Jason immediately recognized them as agents of the mayor’s RAPE force.

Jason followed the two brutes and Pastor Roy as they walked to the men’s dorm room. Pastor Roy looked even more uncomfortable and sweatier than usual in his face mask, which he scratched and dropped down below his nose. One of the men shoved the door open with a beefy hand, and the two of them surveyed the bunk beds filling the room.

“This room here is a super spreader,” one of the big men announced in a booming voice.

“That was my girlfriend in high school,” the other replied with a leering grin. “Super spreader, huh huh.”

“You can only operate this at 30% capacity,” the first goon informed Pastor Roy.

“But where are the men going to stay?” Pastor Roy protested. “There’s a quarantine, and they can’t stay outdoors, plus it’s too cold. These men are here because they don’t have any place else to stay.”

“You want to spread Mitral, and get a bunch of people killed?” the other brute chimed in. “Those are the rules, deal with it. Super spreader, huh huh.”

“Damn Mitral virus panic,” Jason thought. For the time being, he kept his mouth shut. “Can’t have anybody catch Mitral, which is rarely fatal, so men have to freeze to death out in the cold.”

Jason followed the two hulks from RAPE and the pastor as they inspected the healing room, the prayer closet, the room that Sisters Belinda and Jamie shared, until they finally reached Jason’s room at the end of the hall. The door was locked, so Jason used his key to open the door. The huge men looked around the room, and when they spotted the mannequin in the corner, they exchanged knowing looks.

“You sick bastard.” One of the men gave Jason a contemptuous look while shaking his head.

Jason wanted to ask what gave them the authority to inspect a citizen’s living quarters, but he decided it was best to keep quiet, especially because he was conscious of the fact that he had a bunch of guns and ammunition in the drawer of his stand-up closet. Jason decided that he needed to secure those guns at his first opportunity, so that no one would find them, especially if Jason had to use them some day and someone decided to search his apartment, or got a warrant. The brutes looked around briefly, then quickly decided they’d seen enough.

On their way back to the stairs leading out of the rescue mission, the two large men stopped at the pews that were lined up in front of the pulpit. “Oh, and no church services until the quarantine is lifted,” one of the men said with a dismissive sneer.

“Has the city been getting its share of the revenue from the collection plate here?” the other man asked, casting a suspicious look at the pastor.

“Why, yes, certainly,” Pastor Roy mumbled through his mask while nodding his sweaty head vigorously.

Jason couldn’t help but speak out. “But wait, isn’t there a constitutional right to freedom of religion, and a right to assembly?”

One of the toughs from RAPE seized Jason by the lapels and raised him up to his tiptoes. “Are you contradicting the mayor? You wanna get people killed? It’s a public health emergency, and people are dying. It’s temporary, just two weeks, you candy ass.”

Up close, Jason could see the stubble sprouting from the edges of the man’s face mask, and his dirty fingernails. He felt the man’s thick hands digging into his chest. The brute’s eyes turned red with anger, and Jason could smell the cheap cologne masking an even cheaper bourbon.

“Oh, and there’s a liquor ban in effect,” the goon yelled, loudly enough for the men to hear, and hurting Jason’s ears.

Jason wanted to kill the thug clutching him, kill them both, but he couldn’t do anything without bringing massive retaliation onto his head and everyone else at the rescue mission. He smoldered, desperately wanting to wipe the smug grins off of these animals’ faces, but he was forced to do nothing, and had to act powerless while they shoved him around and dictated to Pastor Roy what to do.

The brute shoved Jason so that the young man flew backward, stumbling as he tried to regain his footing, until the back of Jason’s calf knocked into a pew, and he fell, knocking the next pew forward onto the floor with a thunderous clack. The two men looked at each other, grinned, and then broke into laughter before turning and bulldozing their way through the double doors to the stairway leading down to the street.

Pastor Roy helped Jason to his feet, and the men gathered round, as did Sisters Belinda and Jamie.

“You okay?” Sister Belinda asked, and embraced him, shoving her motherly bosom into his chest.

Jason could see concern in Sister Jamie’s brown eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jason replied, straightening out his coat, and looking at his lapel, which was torn at the stitching. Jason and Harold picked up the wooden pew that had been knocked over and set it upright.

Everyone in the rescue mission was huddled in a circle, anxiously looking at each other.

“30% capacity,” Pastor Roy repeated, and took the mask off of his sweaty face. “We can’t turn away 70% of the men, not in this kind of weather.”

“Pastor,” Jason suggested, “I think we can move some of the bunks out into the dining room and out here into the worship area, say putting a third of the bunks in each area and spreading them out.”

“It’s pure voodoo,” Reginald objected. “Like spreading bunks apart or these bloody masks are going to stop the Mitral virus.”

“But the voodoo priest and his minions have the power to shut us down,” Pastor Roy observed.

“I never thought I’d say this,” Gerald said, and he was one of the few men in the rescue mission who was fat, “but I’ll miss the church services. I mean, they gave me hope. You still gonna preach, Pastor?”

“Yeah, I’m still going to preach, and minister to every one of you for as long as I can, as long as you want me to.” Pastor Roy threw an arm over Gerald and squeezed his far shoulder.

“And I wanna hear Sister Belinda and Jamie sing,” someone shouted from the back, drawing a chorus of yeah’s and amens.

Jason thought that the issue of the liquor ban still hung over the room. None of the men wanted to bring it up, and Pastor Roy was too tactful to admit the obvious: that the men were hooked on booze and depended on it. For these men, alcohol was the one ray of light in an otherwise bleak and hopeless day. What did a liquor ban have to do with a virus? How is it that the virus could spread at a bar or a church, but not at a grocery store or a pharmacy? Jason realized, just as the monkey said, banning liquor was an exercise in raw power. Jason was certain that the mayor, his RAPE henchmen, and the well-to-do residents of the city had their stockpiles of booze, and could send someone out to buy hooch, regardless of the liquor ban.

“I’m going to my room,” Jason said to everyone assembled. “Good night.” But the truth was that he had other plans, and a score to settle.