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“I’d like to believe it, but I don’t think so. She wanted my gun.”
“What?”
John Ackerly staggers through the centerfield gate with blood gushing from his nose and mouth. “Fuckingdrunks!” he screams. “Some asshole sucker-punched me and laughed and ran the fuck away! I hate fuckingdrunks!”
Jerome ignores him. He takes Red by his skinny shoulders. “What gun? Why did she want it?”
“My .38. I don’t know why. Something gone wrong with her. I should have told you sooner. Stupid old man couldn’t make up his mind. I was gonna after the Anthem, then I thought, ‘Shucks, all these people wantin pictures and autographs, she’ll never be able toget out.’ But now…” He shakes his head. “Stupid old man, gravy where my brains should be. That gun is loaded and I think she means to shoot somebody.”
Jerome can’t believe it. They go back to the equipment room, leaving the Guns and Hoses fans to sort themselves out. The dressing room door stands open. The sequined bellbottoms and starry sash are heaped on the floor. Betty is gone.Thenhe can believe it.
He backs out and sees a bespectacled man running toward the softball field, trailing a poster behind him like the tail of a kite. He looks from Red to Jerome and says, “I asked for an autograph and she pointed agunat me! She’s crazy!”
“Where is she?” Jerome asks.
The bespectacled eBayer points. “I know some celebs don’t like autograph hunters, but agun?”
Jerome runs for the trees. Once in them he sees Betty just ahead, sitting on the bench of a picnic table, head hanging down, looking pale and exhausted.
9
In the arena, Trig is sitting on the bleachers shoulder to shoulder with Kate McKay. The tape over her mouth is soaked with blood and has come loose, helped by her tongue.
“You know,” he says, “you make some good points.”
“Let them go,” she says. Her voice comes out in a rough growl. She tries to nod in the direction of the two young women taped to the penalty booth. Her head is bound too tightly to move more than an inch or two, so she settles for casting her eyes in their direction. “I’m the one you want, the famous one, so let them go.”
Trig has been lost in memories of how he sat on these very bleachers with Daddy. How Daddy would grip his arm hard enough to leave bruises. How he’d sometimes hug Trig during the intermissions. Kate’s voice brings him back. He looks at her with surprise. “How did you get so conceited, woman? Did you grow into it, or were you born that way?”
“I just—”
“You’re not the one I want, you were justthere. This isn’t about fame, it’s aboutguilt. Which is what brought you here, right? Plus some half-assed notion of rescuing your buddy.”
“But… you… I thought…”
“When I say you make good points, I think that’s probably because my father killed my mother.”
Kate stares at him.
Trig nods. “Said she wasgone, but I know what I know.”
“You need help, sir.”
“And you need to shut up.” He slaps the tape back across her mouth, but it won’t stay.
“Please, if we could just talk about this—”
He puts the Taurus against the center of her forehead. “Do you want to live another few minutes? If you do,shut up.”
Kate shuts up. Trig looks at his watch. It’s 7:38.
I don’t think the Black singer’s coming, Daddy. I’ll have to be content with these three. Plus me, of course.
10
Jerome reaches Betty and drops to one knee beside her. A pistol with a taped handgrip lies on the bench next to her.
“Cain’t,” she says. “Thought I could but I cain’t.”