“Godzilla Vs. Monster Zero,” said the Reverend. “Godzilla, Rodan, and Ghidra. And it’s thirty-seven minutes into the movie before both Godzilla and Rodan first show themselves.”

Linus was visibly crushed. “I thought for sure you’d miss it. A three-parter. I’d’ve bet money you’d miss at least one of them.”

“Try another one.”

Linus shook his head. “No, thank you; one disgrace a night is my limit.”

“I got one,” I said. Both the Reverend and Linus looked at me in surprise. I shrugged, then said: “What was the name of the giant rose bush that Godzilla fought with?”

“Biollante,” they both said simultaneously; then Linus chimed in with: “The best special effects they save for the dumbest story line. It’s a damn shame.”

“Well, I tried.”

Linus reached over the seat and patted my shoulder. “It was a good question, though, Sam. Most people don’t know that any new Godzilla movies were made after Terror of Mecha-Godzilla. And I don’t count that big-budget abortion from ’98…although Jean Reno kicked ass in it.”

“Yeah, he’s great,” said the Reverend.

After that, the three of us fell silent for a few minutes. The rain was turning into serious sleet, and a few pebble-sized chunks of hail bounced off the windshield. I turned up the defrost and ran the wipers, turning the world outside into a liquid blur of shapeless colors.

“A fit night for neither man nor beast,” said Linus.

I turned around and grinned at him. “That’s a line from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, right?”

Linus rolled his eyes and sighed. “We three are just a fount of useless information this evening.”

“No, I fixed up the VCR back at the shelter so this woman and her kids could watch Rudolph before we left.”

“That’s some truly unnerving syntax,” said the Reverend.

“I work hard at it.”

The Reverend poured Linus some hot coffee and gave him a sandwich, and while he ate I checked the time and saw it was about time to move onto the next pickup point. I put the van into gear and was just pulling away from the curb when a police cruiser rounded the corner doing about sixty, its visibar lights flashing but the siren turned off: silent approach. It sped past us, followed by an ambulance whose lights were flashing but whose siren was turned off, also.

“Okay, that’s interesting,” said the Reverend.

Both of the vehicles stopped at the mid-way point on the East Main Street Bridge. One of the police officers got out and looked over the side of the bridge.

Without being told to do it, I spun the wheel and headed in that direction. There’s an old fisherman’s shack on the banks of the Licking River below the bridge that some of the homeless folks in town use as a flop when the weather’s bad and they can’t make it to the shelter.

By the time we got to the bridge, two more squad cars had pulled up and I could see that there was already another ambulance and at least three other squad cars parked down near the river bank.