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AMY GOTTSCHALK JUROR 4 (KATE MCKAY) BELINDA JONES JUROR 10 (SISTA BESSIE)DOUGLAS ALLEN PROSECUTOR (CORRIE ANDERSON) IRVING WITTERSON JUDGE (BARBARA ROBINSON) ALL GUILTY. DONALD “TRIG” GIBSON JUROR 9 GUILTIEST OF ALL.
Some of them don’t understand. Many do. Jerry Allison, the Mingo’s janitor since time out of mind, is one who does, and not just because he listens to Buckeye Brandon. He’s noticed Don Gibson getting a little… call itodd… over the last few weeks. Plus, there’s Gibson’s paperweight, the ceramic horse. Jerry is of an age when he can rememberThe Roy Rogers Show, Roy’s pal Gabby Hayes, and Roy’s horse.
Trigger.
3
7:20 PM.
Sitting on the bench outside the equipment room, Red looks at Young Man Jerome and thinks,I should tell him.But then he thinks,Bets can’t get out of here unseen anyway, not with all these people congregated around. I don’t need to tell.
Which is a relief.
4
7:23 PM.
At the Mingo, the audience that came to see Kate McKay do her firebrand routine is instead gathered around the signboard over the lobby doors or the bigger one facing Main Street. Pro-choice and pro-life attendees are united in their puzzlement. The first State Police cruisers begin to arrive, with no way to know they’re on the wrong side of town. An ecstatic Buckeye Brandon is filming everything and dreaming about his star turn on the cable news networks.
On the field, the game is moving briskly. The first FD batter in the home half of the second, a squirt named Brett Holman, steps in and waggles his bat. On the mound, Izzy takes a deep breath, telling herself to settle, settle. She winds and throws a perfect dropball. The squirt waves three inches above it. The PD fans cheer. The leatherlung on the FD side bawls, “Show us your SKYYYYLAB pitch, honeybabe!”
Not likely, Izzy thinks, and throws another perfect dropper. The squirt just about swings out of his shoes, to no result. Coslaw puts one finger between his legs, calling for a straight fast pitch. Izzy has her doubts, but throws it. This time the squirt, expecting the drop, swingsunderthe pitch, actually digging up a puff of dirt with the head of his bat.
“Siddown, bush!” a fan on the PD side yells as the squirt trudges back to the bench. The FD fans boo. Middle fingers are displayed. The next Hoses batter steps in.
I can do this, Izzy thinks. She brushes her hair back and leans in for Coslaw’s sign.I can really do this.
She winds and fires. A perfect dropball.
“Strike one!” the umpire calls.
In her dressing room, Betty Brady stands up. Fuck the autograph hounds. She can’t just sit in here. She has togo.
Izzy throws another dropper. The batter lets it go past knee-high, but the umpire raises his fist. Darby Dingley leaps from the FD dugout and strides onto the grass, nearly transgressing the foul line, which would have gotten him tossed. His face is almost as red as his too-short shorts. “You homer!” he yells at the ump.“That wasn’t even close!”Those on the Fire Department bleachers take up the cry. The PD fans beg to differ, telling the FD fans to shut the hell up. Good sportsmanship has taken a hike.
Holly—still indecisive, now back on the left of the rink doors, still with the revolver drawn and the barrel pointing toward the darkening sky—cocks her head, listening. Sounds are coming from the softball field. She thinks at first they’re cheering, but then changes her mind. That’s not cheering. It’syelling. Someone—no, a great many someones—sounds pissed off.
In the arena, Trig is also listening. “Daddy? What’s that?”
But Daddy doesn’t answer.
5
The audience is rapt, living and dying with every pitch. There’s two down, both strikeouts, in the bottom of the second when George Pill, Izzy Jaynes’s wiseass nemesis, steps into the batter’s box. She doesn’t fear him; is actually glad to see him. The dropball is working like a charm, and every time Milt Coslaw calls for the straight hard one, the Hoses have been foozled.I can do this, she tells herself. Her arm feels loose and warm and strong.
George Pill makes a gesture that’s almost McKay-like:C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, throw the fucking ball, and then cocks the bat. Is he sneering at her? Good. Great. He can sneer all the way back to the dugout. She throws strike one.
“She’s cheating!” the leatherlung calls. From the foul line, where he’s still glowering, Darby Dingley adds his two cents’ worth.“Check the ball, ump!”
Izzy throws the dropper. Pill flails and misses. The PD side cheers. Now all the FD fans are chanting along with Darby: “Check the ball! Check the ball!”
The ump waves them off. He knows the ball isn’t the problem; he checked it himself before tossing it to Izzy to start the bottom half of the second. That sneaky drop pitch is the problem, and it’s nothisproblem.
The PD fans chant, “Strike him OUT! Strike him OUT!”
Betty opens the door of her dressing room and steps into the equipment room.
Jerome, John, and Red get up from their bench and saunter to the corner of the building to see what all the shouting is about. All but the most dedicated autograph seekers—the eBayers, in it for money rather than love—do the same.