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1

On a warm and sunny morning in late June, a few days after Dingley Park has reopened, Holly sits at the picnic table where she and Izzy often have lunch. It’s the same one (she doesn’t know this) where Betty Brady stopped, unable to go any further and convinced she had signed her new friend’s death warrant thereby.

Holly is early; she’s always early. The food trucks aren’t open yet, but from the nearby playground, she can hear the shouts of children playing tag and climbing on the monkeybars. The equipment shed is still blocked off with yellow police tape. It was looted at the height of the riot and the stuff inside—uniforms, pads, balls, bats, shoes, even athletic supporters—was scattered across the converted softball field, along with broken bottles, torn-off red and blue shirts, even a few teeth. The bases were looted and carried off, perhaps as souvenirs. Holly can’t understand why, but so much about human behavior (including her own) will always be a mystery to her.

Her friend John Ackerly suffered a broken jaw in the melee. He didn’t realize it until the next morning, when he looked in the mirror and saw the lower half of his face swollen to the point where “I looked like Popeye in one of those old cartoons, only without the pipe.” He was treated at the Kiner ER, waiting his turn among five dozen or so other walking wounded from the Guns and Hoses softball game. The doctor gave him a prescription for oxycodone tablets, which he used for three days and then flushed down the toilet. He told Holly that he liked those pills just a little too much.

She and Izzy used to be able to see the round roof of the Holman from this table, but it’s gone now; nothing is left of the rink but blackened, smoking rubble cordoned off by police tape. Donald Gibson, aka Bill Wilson, aka Trig, apparently meant to burn his victims like seventeenth-century witches. State Police detectives searching Gibson’s home at the Elm Grove Trailer Park have found a stack of notebooks, some labeled Character Defects , as in the AA program, and others labeled Letters to Daddy . The latter make it clear that Annette McElroy’s murder was Gibson’s first.

The Daddy Chronicles (so dubbed by Buckeye Brandon) also accuse Donald Gibson’s father of murdering Bonita Gibson, who disappeared in 1998, when Donald was eight years old. Avery McMartin, a long-retired city detective, confirmed (on the Buckeye Brandon pod) that Mr. Gibson was a suspect in his wife’s disappearance, but the woman’s body was never found and the case of Bonita Gibson has long been consigned to the department’s open-but-inactive file.

Kate McKay is now the most famous woman in America. Her picture—bloody mouth, disheveled hair, tape-burns on her face and neck—has been seen all around the world, including on the cover of People magazine. She refused to wash until that iconic photo was taken back at the hotel. The tour has been repurposed to much larger venues, where Kate’s c’mon, c’mon, c’mon gesture brings roars of approval. Millions of women are wearing tee-shirts with Kate’s face on them, some with bloody mouth, some without, always with the fingers spread in that gesture. More states, two of them deep red, have enacted laws that safeguard a woman’s right to abort.

“Or not to abort,” Kate always says. “Remember that. Life is always the preferred choice, but that choice belongs to the woman.”

There have been rumors that she may run for office. Perhaps even the highest office. Holly finds the idea ridiculous. Kate’s too focused on her own cause to ever be elected. She has tunnel vision. Or so Holly thinks.

Holly has resigned her post as Kate’s security. Three ex-military women have taken her place. They are younger than Holly, and better looking (as the young tend to be). They call themselves the Bod Squad.

Corrie has gone back home to New Hampshire.

The Buckeye City Police and Fire Departments were and continue to be in a heap o’ trouble. A commission has been created to study the causes of the riot, and to come up with sanctions for such behavior. Police Chief Alice Patmore and Fire Chief Darby Dingley have both resigned. Questions about the decision to play the charity game while a serial killer was on the loose continue to be asked. “Better belated than never,” Buckeye Brandon says of those questions. Crows , actually.

The boys in blue and those in red hunker down, probably embarrassed by their behavior (maybe even shocked), but not too worried. Yes, the Softball Riot has become comedy fodder for late-night talk show hosts in their monologues, but that will pass. And really, how many cops and firemen can be suspended when there’s crime to fight and blazing buildings to be put out? Half of the combatants claim they weren’t even there, and the other half claim they were trying to stop it. Which Holly knows, from Tom Atta and Lew Warwick, is utter bullpoop.

Most members of the PD and FD will skate. There are two notable exceptions. Ray Darcy, the Guns first baseman, has been suspended for six months, the first three without pay. George Pill has had his ass canned from the Fire Department. From all that Holly has heard from Warwick and Izzy, that dismissal was better than the assault charge Pill so richly deserved. Izzy declined to press charges. Russell Grinsted tried to convince Izzy to sue Pill, but Izzy declined. She never wants to see George Pill’s face again. Or Grinsted’s, for that matter.

Jerome had his novel filed away on his desktop and has gone back to it. His close call—he hobbled on crutches for a week because of first-degree burns on his feet, and showed Holly the constellation of burn-holes in his shirt—seems to have delivered a needed jump-start to his creativity. He plans to work on the Army of God book when he’s finished his private eye novel. He says nonfiction is where his heart lies. He stays in touch with Corrie, telling her that her bad dreams will pass. Corrie says she hopes he’s right.

There were no Sista Bessie shows in Buckeye City, of course; even if Betty hadn’t suffered a minor heart attack, the Mingo was a crime scene. It is currently closed, with a few June and July shows—George Strait, Maroon 5, Dropkick Murphys—rescheduled to the fairgrounds. Others have been canceled.

The Mingo, with Maisie Rogan now at the helm, will reopen in August with a very special show.

2

Frankie’s Fabulous Fish Wagon opens for business. Sitting and waiting for Izzy, hands folded neatly before her (she has finally stopped biting her nails), Holly thinks: I have killed five people now, and do they keep me awake at night? They do not. With four, I was in fear of my own life. With Donald Gibson…

“I was doing my duty as a bodyguard.”

A job she will never, ever , do again.

Betty Brady, also known as Sista Bessie, has flown back to California in her private jet, and with Barbara Robinson to keep her company. They have grown very close, but Barbara stays in touch with her old friends, and will be back… at least for awhile. Holly FaceTimed with her just last night. It’s Barbara’s second close call with death, and she’s suffering her own nightmares, but says that, on the whole, she’s doing quite well, partly because she has a basis for comparison. She tells Holly that at least Donald “Trig” Gibson was an ordinary crazy, if there is such a thing; not like the other one. They don’t refer to the other one by his name, Chet Ondowsky, but simply as the outsider.

She says she’s writing poetry again, and poetry helps.

3

From behind her: “I’m hungry as hell, but you might have to help me with the food.”

Holly looks around to see Isabelle Jaynes walking—with great care—toward their favorite table. Her arm is in a sling, and her shoulder is practically mummified. She clearly hasn’t been to the beauty parlor since her injury; Holly can see two inches of gray growing out of her dye-enhanced red hair. But the eyes are the same; misty gray and good humored.

“And get the food, of course. Fish tacos for me.”

Holly helps her sit down. “I want scallops, if he has them today. Do those pins in your shoulder hurt?”

“Everything hurts,” Izzy says, “but I’ve got another ten days’ worth of heavy-duty painkillers. Beyond that I’m not looking. Feed me, woman. I need vittles and a gallon of Coca-Cola.”

Holly goes to the fish wagon and brings back the chow. She doesn’t have to help her friend eat after all. Izzy’s a righty, and it’s her left arm and hand that are incapacitated.

Izzy turns her face up to the sky. “The sun feels good. I’ve been spending too much time indoors.”

“Are you doing physical therapy?”

“Some. There’ll be more once they unstrap me.” Izzy makes a face. “Let’s not talk about it.” She starts on her second fish taco.

“Will you ever pitch again?”

“Fuck, no.”

“Okay, next subject. Do you know anything about the Real Christ Holy Church?”

“Ah. As a matter of fact, I do know some stuff, and it’s dee -lightful. Lew Warwick told me. You know he’s acting Chief of Police now, right?”

“I heard that.” From Buckeye Brandon, actually, who’s always got the biggest scoop of the newest poop.

“It’ll only be for a short while, until they bring in some hotshot from one of the bigger cities. He’s okay with that. Lew got this from ATF. It’s not public yet. Want to hear the story?”

“You know I do.” Holly’s eyes are sparkling.

“There was a woman in the church named Melody Martinek, okay?”

“Does she sound like she’s singing when she answers the phone?”

“I’ve never talked to her. Just shut up and listen, okay? She was a close friend of Christopher Stewart’s mother, and one of the few who knew Christopher liked to dress in female clothes. It was in honor of his sister. Or because he sometimes thought he was his sister, Martinek had no opinion on that. Eventually, after both his parents had died, it became general knowledge in their little cult. Martinek got disillusioned and left the church when Mrs. Stewart died. Said they wouldn’t let Stewart go to the doctor because they were going to pray the cancer away.”

“Like they probably tried to pray Christopher Stewart’s female half away,” Holly says.

“Yeah, probably. You know, Holly, I think the religions of the world are responsible for a shitpot of trouble.”

“Finish your story.”

“Martinek talked to the cops in Baraboo Junction. The local cops talked to the state cops, and the state cops talked to the ATF. ATF got a search warrant based on the Martinek woman’s sworn statement and found a huge cache of weapons in the church basement. Big stuff, including rotary-barrel 50-caliber machine guns, M67 fragmentation grenades, mortars… you get the picture. Real Christ Holy was preparing for a Real Christ Holy War and has been shut down.”

“What about Andrew Fallowes?”

“Not such good news there. He’s all lawyered up. I mean a platoon of legal beagles. The lawyers say he knows nuttin about nuttin. Not about Chris Stewart, not about the weapons, either. I guess Fallowes thinks Gunnery Sergeant Jesus brought all them shootin irons down from heaven.”

“The federals or the Wisconsin State Police or… or anybody … they have nothing on Fallowes concerning Christopher Stewart?”

“No.”

Holly says, “That’s crap! No, it’s shit ! Fallowes wound Stewart up. Set him in motion. I fracking know it.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but he’s walking free and will probably continue to walk free. There’s mucho megabucks behind that church, and you know how it goes, right? Money talks, truth walks.”

Izzy fumbles a bottle of pills out of her jeans pocket and gives it to Holly. “Will you open that for me? It’s a two-hand job. The blue ones are antibiotics. I’m supposed to take them with food. The white ones are painkillers. I’ll take two of those after the food.”

Holly gets them out and Izzy swallows a blue pill with Coke. She looks at the two white pills and says, “I can’t wait.”

“You don’t want to get addicted.”

“Right now the only thing I’m addicted to is pain. And fish tacos. Would you get me another one?”

Holly is happy to, because her friend has clearly lost weight. When she comes back, Izzy is grinning. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“About Sista Bessie? She’s going to open the Mingo with a show in August?”

“It’s true.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I got it from Barbara. She’s staying in Betty’s guest house, and she’s agreed to be an honorary Dixie Crystal, at least once, and right here.”

“Can you get me tickets?”

Holly smiles. She’s radiant when she smiles. The years fall away and she’s young again.

She says, “You bet I can. I’ve got friends in the band.”

4

The janitor’s cubicle and adjoining equipment room at the Mingo Auditorium is in the basement, and eventually Jerry Allison is allowed back in there. The Mingo was locked down by the cops, and forensics people in white Tyvek suits have been through it with their brushes, fingerprint powder, and their Luminol. Three videographers accompanied their every step, photographing it all, including Jerry’s basement hidey-hole.

“Be careful of that,” Jerry said when one of the Tyvek guys bent to examine the ceramic horse on Jerry’s cluttered desk. “It’s a family hair-loom.”

Bullshit, of course. He filched it from Don Gibson’s desk before the cops descended. He always liked that old horsey, that old Trigger.

On the day Holly and Izzy have their lunch in Dingley Park, on his way back to his room, nothing on his mind but the Baby Ruth in his pocket, Jerry stops outside the door. Someone inside says, low: “Where’d you bury her, Daddy?”

Heart beating so hard it thrums in his scrawny neck, Jerry goes into his cubbyhole-sized room. Which is empty. Only the ceramic horse on his desk.

Staring at him.

August 28, 2024