"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.