Page 46 of Grumpy Alien Billionaire

I climb into the passenger seat, the van’s interior smelling faintly of stale coffee and old socks. “Well,” I say, buckling my seatbelt, “this is definitely more your speed.”

Lanz smirks as he starts the engine. “Discrete enough for you?”

“Perfect,” I say, grinning.

The van rattles and groans as Lanz pulls up to St. Mary’s Shelter, the engine sputtering like it’s on its last legs. I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “You sure this thing’s not going to explode?”

He smirks, cutting the engine. “It’s got character. Besides, it’s not like I’m taking you to a gala.”

“Fair point,” I mutter, adjusting the ratty shawl around my shoulders. I grab the cane Lanz handed me earlier—props, apparently, are key to selling the disguise—and shuffle out of the van. The cold air bites at my face, and I hunch over further, leaning heavily on the cane.

The shelter’s front door creaks as I push it open, and the smell of stale coffee and disinfectant hits me like a wall. A nun with a clipboard greets me, her smile warm but tired. “Welcome, dear. Are you here for a bed?”

I nod, doing my best to sound frail. “Yes, ma’am. Just need a place to rest my bones for a bit.”

She hands me a clipboard with a stack of paperwork. “Fill this out, and we’ll get you settled.”

I take the clipboard and shuffle over to a row of plastic chairs, sitting down with a dramatic groan. The moment the nun turns her back, I ditch the clipboard under the chair and start my search.

The shelter’s main room is a sea of cots and sleeping bags, the air thick with the sound of snores and murmured conversations. I move slowly, my cane tapping against the floor, scanning every face for Gordo. Nothing.

I spot a man in a tattered jacket sitting on a cot, rolling a cigarette between his fingers. I hobble over, leaning on my cane. “Excuse me, sir. You seen a fella around here? Short, stocky, kind of a… well, let’s just say he’s got a face only a mother could love.”

The man looks up, squinting at me. “You mean Gordo?”

“That’s the one,” I say, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.

“Yeah, he was here a couple days ago,” the man says, lighting his cigarette. “Asked a bunch of nosey questions, then took off. No skin off my nose, though. I hate that prick.”

I nod, forcing a smile. “Thanks, sir. You’ve been a big help.”

I move on, asking a few more people, and the story’s the same—Gordo was here, poking around, and then he left. I’m about to head back to the van when a sharp voice stops me in my tracks.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Where do you think you’re going?”

I turn to see the nun from earlier, her arms crossed and her expression stern. “I, uh, was just?—”

“You didn’t fill out the paperwork,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she’s already ushering me toward the door. I shoot her a glare, but it’s hard to look intimidating when you’re disguised as a geriatric.

Back in the van, Lanz raises an eyebrow as I climb in. “Well?”

“No Gordo,” I say, pulling off the shawl and tossing it into the backseat. “But he was here a couple days ago. Asked a bunch of questions and then left.”

Lanz nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good work.”

“Good work?” I repeat, frowning. “I didn’t find him.”

“True,” he says, starting the engine. “But you found out valuable intel—Gordo’s not in this shelter, but he was a few days ago. That likely means we might find him at the other shelter.”

I lean back in my seat, crossing my arms. “So, what’s the plan now?”

“Now,” he says, pulling away from the curb, “we head to Good Shepherd and see if our furry friend left any more breadcrumbs.”

The van sputters to a stop outside Good Shepherd Shelter, and I glance at Lanz. “This place looks… friendlier.”

He smirks, leaning back in the driver’s seat. “Less nuns, more chaos. Go on, but keep your eyes open.”

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