Jason was already dressed, except for the fact that his pants and briefs were at his ankles. He pulled out of the woman, aided by her spinning around and sitting upright.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she adjusted her skirt, draping it over her legs. “Just a moment!” she called out. She pulled her wavy black hair away from her face, draping it over her back. Wanda—at least that was the name her husband used—was pretty, the short, chubby type, with an incredible butt.

Jason’s problem was that his erection wouldn’t go down. Try as he might to push it down into his pants, it was still obvious. How was he going to explain that to her husband? There was also the issue of something metal hitting the door.

Wanda was nervous, and brushed her skirt out again, then pulled at the hemline, rolling it between her fingers. With an upward jerk of her head, she indicated that Jason should go answer the door, which would put him within arm’s reach of her irate husband. The guy had been informed of what was happening, right? Perhaps the husband had last-minute regrets and was consumed with jealousy. Jason went to the door and drew the sap from his jacket pocket where it hung on the coat rack and held it down at his left side.

Jason opened the door, giving himself plenty of room to move, and his first panicked thought was “Rifle!” when a metal cylinder came up from the floor. To his relief, he realized it was a crutch.

“Come in,” Jason said, and his voice nearly squeaked due to his nervousness.

The man wheeled out on both crutches and spun to look at Jason. He spotted Jason’s erection, but he said nothing. “A mask?”

Jason had forgotten he was wearing a mask. “We take discretion here very seriously.” Jason saw that the man was missing the lower portion of his right leg, and that his pants leg was folded up and safety-pinned to the back of his trousers. “Come in and have a seat.”

The man worked his way to the bed, moving with smooth rapidity on his crutches, stretching them forward to plant them on the floor, and then swinging his body until his left foot could touch down, before repeating the process. Instead of sitting on the bed beside Wanda, he dropped into a chair beside the bed, next to the nightstand.

Wanda looked agitated as she sat on the edge of the bed and didn’t know what to do with her hands.

“I’m sorry,” the man apologized. He was thin, with slick black hair, and a scar at the side of his left cheek. “I know I had the option of meeting you at the outset, but I didn’t want to be in the way. Still, I had to thank you.”

“Thank me?” Jason’s mind reeled at the thought, and he didn’t know where to sit. The man had taken the chair, but Jason didn’t want to sit next to the man’s wife on the bed.

“Go ahead, sit, please.” He gestured to the bed beside his wife.

“No, I should be thanking you for serving your country, and sacrificing so much.” Jason tucked the sap into his pants pocket and sat down on the bed, which was still made, putting a respectable distance between himself and Wanda. “What happened?”

“We were fine in the trenches. We Americans didn’t do the stiff upper lip British charges, which were suicide, and did nothing but get thousands of men slaughtered in a single day. Then we got the call to go over the wire, because the section of the German trenches opposite us had to be taken at all costs. I was in no man’s land, running and yelling with a wave of soldiers, when an artillery shell hit in front of me, sending a spray of shrapnel low that made a mess of my legs. Lost the right leg below the knee—there was nothing they could do with it, except use it as crab bait. Luckily, nothing above the waist was affected, except this stray bit here.”

The man gestured to his cheek where the scar lay. He looked at his wife. “I’m still handsome, though, aren’t I?”

“Yes, as always.” She nodded and struggled to smile.

“It’s the infections that are the worst. Nearly killed me, with all the mud and dirt getting blown into my wounds.” He gestured to his groin. “All the bits and pieces are there—they just don’t work. Stray bit of shrapnel. I told Wanda to find someone else. There’s no sense in a young, healthy, beautiful woman like her being stuck with a cripple who can’t perform.”

“Lloyd, you know I could never do that…” Wanda shook her head.

“I want you to have better.” He looked at Wanda with an expression of concern for her. “When it was clear that she wouldn’t find someone who could give her a better life, I told her there was nothing wrong with her going out and being a woman with another man. I didn’t want her to miss out. If I can’t have a sex life, why should she have to suffer with me?”

“I wouldn’t’ be here, except we wanted a baby, that’s all.” Wanda looked at her husband with moist eyes.

“I hope you had fun. Your friend the masked man seems to be very excited, or was, until I showed up.”

Jason didn’t know what to say. The man reminded him of his grandfather, a man without bitterness or judgment, who possessed a clear ability to see things as they were and to accept them. Jason felt low, that this man had sacrificed so much, but Jason, a fake priest, screwed the veteran’s wife, and loved every moment. And he was going to get paid for it.

“I don’t want to interrupt anything. If it’s okay, dear, I’d like to see you feel pleasure.” The man leaned back in his chair.

“No, Lloyd, I couldn’t do that. Are you asking…”

“It would make me happy,” the man said simply. “I know it would make him happy, too.”

Jason was slow to get what the man wanted, because it seemed so incredible. Yet it made sense that if the man couldn’t pleasure his wife sexually, that he might want to see her enjoy herself in a sexual experience.

Wanda nodded her head yes, and motioned for Jason, who stood up beside the bed. She dropped to her knees and began unfastening Jason’s pants.

* * *

“Is that Ancient Age? Come on, Dad, you can do better than that.” Jason shook his head and watched in the rearview mirror as his dad took a swig of bourbon from the half-pint bottle he removed from his inner jacket pocket.

“Well, Mr. Keystone Lite, sorry if I don’t meet your fancy standards. You’re the one who was giving me shit about Idaho Gold.” Randy slipped the half pint bottle back into his jacket.

“Okay, I’m sorry. Ancient Age is a big step up from Idaho Gold, and Keystone Lite isn’t exactly handcrafted by Bavarian monks.” Jason maneuvered through the slow traffic, and despite the fact that it was night, the area was flooded with light.

“Up there is the turnoff.” Gramps, who sat in the front passenger seat, pointed to the offramp ahead.

The three of them decided to go to a nice residential neighborhood in the foothills near Boise where the wealthy residents pulled out all the stops to put up magnificent Christmas light displays.

Jason leaned over the front seat to address his father. “Grandpa has been trying to talk me into getting a nice rum, say a Flor de Caña, but I’m not drinking.”

“Floor day what?” his dad asked.

“It’s Spanish for ‘flower of the cane,’ because it’s made with sugar cane.” Jason slowly drove past crowds enjoying the brightly lit homes and the sight of the towering displays, plus the animatronic Santas and elves. “Now if I can find a place to park.”

“You said you’re not drinking?” Randy asked from the back seat.

Jason found a stretch of curb to park, where he eased to a stop. “I’m boxing in grandpa’s video game, and my health in the game is directly proportional to my health in real life.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, if I’m weak in real life, out of shape, too fat, drink too much, I’ll be weak in the game, but if I’m strong in real life, and have good endurance, I’ll be strong in the game.” Jason got out and moved around to the back to help his dad.

After Jason opened the back door, his dad groaned as he turned to face the curb. Jason took his father’s hand and steadily hauled him up. His father stepped into the snow, which made Jason worry that his dad might slip. With another groan, Jason and his grandfather pulled Randy up, and he stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Watch your step on the sidewalk there,” Gramps cautioned. “It snowed, and the foot traffic has turned it all to mush.”

“So that video game works, huh?” Randy’s voice dripped with skepticism.

“When Gramps first brought me the game, I thought he was crazy—I told him that.” Jason helped his dad navigate an icy patch of sidewalk. “But it works, and it’s insanely addictive because it’s so exciting.”

The entire neighborhood glowed from all the light, so the three of them could easily see where they walked, and once they reached the corner and turned onto the principal Christmas lane, the light grew brighter still.

Gramps looked up and marveled at the lights. “A lot of people dislike Christmas, want to put an end to it, but if it weren’t for Christmas, situated in the coldest, bleakest, most dismal part of the year, why not just walk out into the snow and end it all?”

“I’ve thought of that, to be honest,” Randy confessed. “But face it, when you’re dead, you’re just like a dog or a cat.”

“Does that give your life meaning?” Gramps asked.

“No sense clinging to fairytales,” Randy said. “Who was that guy, said he believed in Star Wars, like a Jedi religion or something? Why not?”

“’Cause the last few Star Wars movies have been pure shit,” Jason replied. “How do you know what happens to dogs or cats after they die?”

“Ever read the poem, The Heaven of Animals, by James Dickey?” Gramps asked.

“What’s a poem got to do with anything, and who wants to read a poem by some homo named Dickey? This is why I drink.” Randy reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out the half-pint bottle, then took a surreptitious slug.

“Their instincts wholly bloom and they rise. The soft eyes open,” Gramps quoted the poem. “Maybe there is a heaven for animals. But the point is, there’s something greater than all of us, and there’s meaning to life. The trick is finding it.”

“Yah, tell me ‘bout it.” Randy put back his bottle, then wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his plaid shirt.

“When’s the operation?” Jason asked his dad.

“Thanks for reminding me.” Randy cautiously rolled his shoulders.

Gramps volunteered, “Nothing’s open until after the holidays, so we scheduled the 7th of January. You’ll need to take your dad in.”

“No problem.” Jason carefully rested his hand on his dad’s back. “Sorry, dad, I don’t want to be Debbie Downer, but you’ll be glad to have that surgery behind you.”

“Even if I’m paralyzed?”

* * *

“Five of my men get blipped off by some kind a fuckin’ ghost dat nobody sees?” Mayor Buttafuoco picked up the couch with his black hands and threw it across the room. The couch plowed through a table nd knocked over several chairs. A vase fell to the floor but was saved by the carpet. The gorilla stood on his hind feet and pounded his hairy chest with both hands. Then he paced back and forth on all fours. “Stahtin’ now, everybody packs heat.”

The chimpanzee sat at the bar in the mayor’s suite, calmly watching the mayor rage. He knocked back a shot of bourbon, which easily slid over his wide lips, and sipped his frosted mug of beer. His shirt collar was unbuttoned, allowing long black hairs to slip out, and his tie was loose at his neck. His slacks lacked a belt, which he found needless and uncomfortable. He held a butterfly knife with his toes, and absent-mindedly flipped the blade opened and closed.

The chimpanzee waited until the mayor calmed down and took a seat on the carpet where the couch formerly sat. “The four men who got popped were armed with nightsticks, and I don’t think they ever got a chance to use them. Fifth one got zotzed by a hand grenade. I don’t think a Tommy gun would have made any difference.”

“So what ah dey suppose to do, jus’ let demselves get croaked?” The gorilla slapped the floor in his frustration.

“We bring in the mandrill,” the chimpanzee suggested. “He surveys everything from above, and he’s got a keen sense of smell. He moves faster and is stronger than the mugs you’ve got now.”

“Aw right, sounds good. Git ‘im over deah.” The mayor walked on all fours to the couch and picked it up one-handed, then returned it to its former spot.

“There’s just the matter of the priest. He roughed up one of your men the other day.” The chimpanzee spun in his stool. “Joey wasn’t going to say anything, but he had to go to the doc to get his mitt fixed ‘cause the priest busted it up. They’re still serving meals, and he’s holding mass this Sunday.”

“I thaht I shut the sonofabitch down!” Mayor Buttafuoco picked up the couch, and the long black hair on his arms waved as he slammed the couch onto the floor, snapping it in two. “Nobody touches my men, evahh! How the fuck does a fuckin’ priest rough up my men?”

“The guy’s no daisy.” The chimpanzee twirled the butterfly knife with his foot and took a sip of his beer. “He knocked out Maxie Rosenbloom in the second round.”

The chimpanzee nodded to the two big goons standing nervously at the far side of the room. “Go downstairs and get the mayor another couch.” Caesar made a point of getting cheap furniture, no glass, which broke easily to satisfy the mayor’s anger, but wouldn’t destroy the suite. He also bought duplicates, so broken furniture could easily be replaced, as was often necessary.

“Yes, sir.” The two men spoke as one and jogged to the elevator.

Buttafuoco pointed a long black finger at Caesar, his advisor. “Dat priest needs a lesson. Somebody needs to go down deah and paste him, so everyone sees him get his ass beat. And I mean beat.”

Caesar flicked the butterfly knife open with his foot and locked it, then stabbed it into the side of the bar, where it stayed embedded while he finished his beer. “Consider it done.”