Black House

"From that point on," Jack told his friends repeatedly in the days leading up to the press conference, "it’s vital that you remember the three little words that lead to most acquittals in criminal trials. And what are those words?"

" ‘I can’t remember,’ " Dale said.

Jack nodded. "Right. If you don’t have a story to remember, the bastards can never trip you up. There was something in the air inside that place — "

"No lie," Beezer rumbled, and grimaced.

" — and it messed us up. What we do remember is this:Ty Marshall was in the backyard, handcuffed to the clothesline whirligig." Before Beezer St. Pierre and Jack Sawyer slipped through the police barricades and vaporized Black House with plastic explosive, one reporter got out there and took numerous pictures. We know which reporter it was, of course; Wendell Green has finally realized his dreams of fame and fortune.

"And Burnside was dead at his feet," Beezer said.

"Right. With the key to the handcuffs in his pocket. Dale, you found that and released the boy. There were a few other kids in the backyard, but as to how many — "

"We don’t remember," Doc said.

"As to their sexes — "

"A few boys, a few girls," Dale said. "We don’t remember exactly how many of each."

"And as for Ty, how he was taken, what happened to him — "

"He said he didn’t remember," Dale said, smiling.

"We left. We think we called to the other kids — "

"But don’t exactly remember — " the Beez chips in.

"Right, and in any case they seemed safe enough where they were for the time being. It was when we were putting Ty into the cruiser that we saw them all streaming out."

"And called the Wisconsin State Police for backup," Dale said. "I do remember that."

"Of course you do," Jack said benevolently.

"But we have no idea how that darn place got blasted all to hell, and we don’t know who did it."

"Some people," Jack said, "are all too eager to take justice into their own hands."

"Lucky they didn’t blow their heads clean off," said Dale.

"All right," Jack tells them now. They’re standing at the door. Doc has produced half a joint, and four quick, deep tokes have calmed him visibly. "Just remember why we’re doing this. The message is that we were there first, we found Ty, we saw only a few other children, we deemed their situation secure due to the death of Charles Burnside, also known as Carl Bierstone, the South Side Monster, and the Fisherman. The message is that Dale behaved properly — that we all did — and he then handed the investigation off to the FBI and WSP, who are now holding the baby. Babies, I guess in this case. The message is that French Landing is okay again. Last but far from least, the message is that Henry Leyden’s the real star. The heroic blind man who I.D.’d Charles Burnside and broke the Fisherman case, mortally wounding the monster and losing his own life in the process."

"Amen," Dale says. "Sweet old Uncle Henry."

Beyond the door of the Winnebago, he can hear the surflike rumble of hundreds of people. Maybe even a thousand. He thinks, This is what rock acts hear before they hit the stage. A lump suddenly rises in his throat and he does his best to gulp it back down. He reckons that if he keeps thinking of Uncle Henry he will be okay.

"Anything else," Jack says, "questions that get too specific — "

"We can’t remember," Beezer says.

"Because the air was bad," Doc agrees. "Smelled like ether or chloro or something like that."

Jack surveys them, nods, smiles. This will be a happy occasion, on the whole, he thinks. A love feast. Certainly the idea that he might be dying in a few minutes has not occurred to him.

"Okay," he says, "let’s go out there and do it. We’re politicians this afternoon, politicians at a press conference, and it’s the politicians who stay on message who get elected."

He opens the RV’s door. The rumble of the crowd deepens in anticipation.

They cross to the jury-rigged platform this way: Beezer, Dale, Jack, and the good Doctor. They move in a warm white nova glare of exploding flashbulbs and 10-k TV lights. Jack has no idea why they need such things — the day is bright and warm, a Coulee Country charmer — but it seems they do. That they always do. Voices cry, "Over here!" repeatedly. There are also thrown questions, which they ignore. When it comes time to answer questions they will — as best they can — but for now they are simply stunned by the crowd.

The noise begins with the two hundred or so French Landing residents sitting on folding chairs in a roped-off area directly in front of the podium. They rise to their feet, some clapping, others waving clenched fists in the air like winning boxers. The press picks it up from them, and as our four friends mount the steps to the podium, the roar becomes a thunder. We are with them, up on the platform with them, and God, we see so many faces we know looking up at us. There’s Morris Rosen, who slipped Henry the Dirtysperm CD on our first day in town. Behind him is a contingent from the now defunct Maxton Elder Care: the lovely Alice Weathers is surrounded by Elmer Jesperson, Ada Meyerhoff (in a wheelchair), Flora Flostad, and the Boettcher brothers, Hermie and Tom Tom. Tansy Freneau, looking a bit spaced out but no longer outright insane, is standing next to Lester Moon, who has his arm around her. Arnold "Flashlight" Hrabowski, Tom Lund, Bobby Dulac, and the other members of Dale’s department are up on their feet, dancing around and cheering crazily. Look, over there — that’s Enid Purvis, the neighbor who called Fred at work on the day Judy finally high-sided it. There’s Rebecca Vilas, looking almost nunnish in a high-collared dress (but cry no tears for her, Argentina; Becky has stashed away quite a nice bundle, thank you very much). Butch Yerxa is with her. At the back of the crowd, lurking shamefully but unable to stay away from the triumph of their friends, are William Strassner and Hubert Cantinaro, better known to us as Kaiser Bill and Sonny. Look there! Herb Roeper, who cuts Jack’s hair, standing beside Buck Evitz, who delivers his mail. So many others we know, and to whom we must say good-bye under less than happy circumstances. In the front row, Wendell Green is hopping around like a hen on a hot griddle (God knows how he got into the roped-off area, being from La Riviere instead of French Landing, but he’s there), taking pictures. Twice he bumps into Elvena Morton, Henry’s housekeeper. The third time he does it, she bats him a damned good one on top of the head. Wendell hardly seems to notice. His head has taken worse shots during the course of the Fisherman investigation. And off to one side, we see someone else we may or may not recognize. An elderly, dark-skinned gentleman wearing shades. He looks a little bit like an old blues singer. He also looks a little bit like a movie actor named Woody Strode.