Page 126 of Never Flinch

“I know it very well, Sista Bessie.”

“Call me Betty. The Sista is strictly show-and-blow. Come on, Barb, let’s get this done so we can all go home and I can rest my weary dogs.” To the band she hollers, “No work tomorrow, guys and dolls!” They cheer that.

Holly watches, mesmerized, Tones Kelly and Donald Gibson forgotten, as the band launches into “Dear Mister,” one of Sista Bessie’s early hits, then “Sit Down, Servant,” and then a verse of her biggest hit, “Let’s Stay Together.”

A roadie flips Betty a towel. She mops her broad, makeup-free (tonight, at least) face with it, then addresses the band again. “In honor of our special guest, Barbara’s friend Miss Holly, we are going to do ‘Lowtown Jazz’ reet and complete. I want you to make that muthastrut!” She turns to Barbara. “Get out front, girl, and count us off!”

This time the chills go all the way up Holly’s body, from her heels to the nape of her neck as Barbara—who she can still remember as a gawky teenager just out of braces—faces the empty seats. She raises her fisted hands and pops up a finger from each.“One… two… you know what to do!”

The drums start, a tom-tom beat low and steady. The bass kicks in, then the brass. Barbara does a Michael Jackson slide back to Sista Bessie as the Crystals, now a trio again, start singing, “Jazz, jazz, bring that shazz, do it, do it, show me how you move it, get on down and groove it, do that Lowtown jazz.” Sista Bessie and Barbara sing the verses together, dancing in perfect step, trading the mic, singing words that Holly knows not just from Barbara’s published book but from a coffee-stained legal pad where the first draft was jotted.

The song goes on for almost five minutes, a show closer for sure, and Holly is mesmerized, especially by the end, where everyone in the band falls out except for the driving drums.

“Let me hear you, Buckeye City!” Sista Bessie exhorts the empty seats. On Saturday night, Holly knows, five thousand people will be on their feet, singing,Jazz, jazz, bring that shazz, do that Lowtown jazz.Singing her friend Barbara’s words. Holly feels like she’s dreaming awake, the sweetest dream ever, and when the drums stop, she doesn’t want to wake up.

Onstage, Betty and Barbara embrace.

“She really loves that girl,” Tones says.

“She certainly does,” Donald Gibson says, almost dreamily. “My, my, my. She certainly does.”

5

Chrissy totes her suitcase behind the snackbar and sits on it, because she doesn’t want to get the seat of her Kamala suit dirty. She has four bars on her Nokia burner. Most of the local news outlets are paywalled, but one indie site, operated by someone calling himself Buckeye Brandon, is free. There’s a transcript for each of his podcasts. Chrissy selects the one for “The Surrogate Juror Murders: What We Know So Far,” and reads it with great interest.

It confirms what she was already quite sure of, based on news reports she’s listened to while traveling from Davenport to Buckeye City: she has, by either fate or pure accident, stumbled upon one of the Surrogate Murderer’s victims. Buckeye Brandon’s recap includes the names of the judge, the defense attorney, the prosecutor, and all the jurors—the twelve who actually decided Alan Duffrey’s fate, plus two alternates. One of the primaries was Corinna Ashford, which is the name Chrissy found in the poor dead girl’s hand. Buckeye Brandon doesn’t seem to know that someone has been murdered in Ashford’s name, probably because the police don’t know or because they’re holding it back.

Chrissy thinks the Surrogate Juror Murderer may be tempted to use the rink again. Possibly to gloat over his kill, possibly as a place to dump another body.Because, Chrissy thinks,the trees around this place would be the perfect hunting ground for someone like this monster. Lots of homeless people dumpster-diving behind the food wagons, probably addicted to drugs and always looking for more. For all I know, cruising for drugs is how the dead girl in the old rink ran into her killer. What better place to put another kill than a condemned building? Did he send the police a picture of Corinna Ashford’s name in that poor girl’s hand?

“I bet he did,” Chrissy murmurs.

She can’t be sure the Surrogate Murderer will be back, but he might be. All Chrissy knows is that she herself intends to stay here untilKate McKay’s lecture tomorrow night. If the man who killed that girl should return to the scene of the crime before then…

She unzips her purse. Inside are cosmetics, lotion, a mirror, a wallet with pictures of her mother inside (but no credit cards; Christine Stewart has none), safety pins, bobby pins, a little writing pad, a snack-sized bag of Doritos, and a .32 ACP. It’s fully loaded, and that should be enough to take down Kate McKay. Plus the assistant and the bodyguard if necessary… but only if necessary. The last shot she’s been saving for herself.

Now the gun has another purpose. It may be possible for her to serve the Lord not only by killing the female monster who advocates the murder of helpless babies; she may also be able to kill the crazy person who is murdering innocent strangers. She thinks that crazy person will come.Mustcome.

She thinks God put her here for more than one purpose.

6

The band has left, the star and the backup singers have left, the roadies and the techies are gone, the stage is dark. Only Trig remains, and he means to go back to his trailer-park home soon.In all probability for my last night, he thinks. There’s some sadness in the thought, but no real regret. More and more he believes that he was lying to himself all along. It was never about creating guilt in those that caused Alan Duffrey’s death; that was just an excuse. It was killing for the sake of killing, and since there is no Murderers Anonymous, there’s only one way he can stop. And he will, after finishing the job… or at least as much of it as he can manage.

But the world must know.

He sits at his desk, bouncing the ceramic horse—Trigger—up and down, thinking about how to proceed. Then he puts it back in its place and opens an app on his desktop. It’s titled MINGO SIGNBOARDS and controls the digital readout over the lobby doors and the huge signboard out front on Main Street, where passersby can readthe current schedule. Right now those signs read FRIDAY MAY 30 7 PM KATE McKAY and SATURDAY-SUNDAY MAY 31 AND JUNE 1 SISTA BESSIESOLD OUT.

The computer is asking him NEW SIGNBOARD? Y N.

Trig clicks on Y. A new field appears.

He types: AMY GOTTSCHALK JUROR 4 (KATE McKAY) BELINDA JONES JUROR 10 (SISTA BESSIE) DOUGLAS ALLEN PROSECUTOR (CORRIE ANDERSON) IRVING WITTERSON JUDGE (BARBARA ROBINSON) ALL GUILTY. He pauses, then adds: DONALD “TRIG” GIBSON JUROR 9 GUILTIEST OF ALL.

DONE? Y N.

He clicks on Y.

POST NOW N OR HOLD H?

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