Voted the Class of ’87’s most likely to succeed, best dancer and biggest bull-shitter respectively, Harry Davies, Gino Maraschino and Timmy Kelly loved high school where they pretty much did as they pleased.

Easy living followed them into adulthood.

Welsh, Italian, Irish and other Caucasian ethnic, working-class Scranton guys always knew somebody in a position to help. So jobs on the police force, the fire department or hanging off the back of a city garbage truck easily came their way. Overtime appealed to them more than wearing a business suit to Wall Street. Prestige often meant free beer, free tickets to ball games or the fights, and a free ride when city cops stopped them for driving under the influence.

Gino used his uncle’s connections to put on a guard’s uniform for the feds at the prison, Harry won a City Council spot at 30 and then election as mayor, and Timmy knocked around from one dead-end sales, security or school custodian job to the next, always landing on his feet.

Now here they were together again.

Let me do the talking, Harry Davies said.

I’m not saying shit, Gino said.

Don’t mention anything about me and Shannon being an item, Harry Davies said.

Timmy will kill you if he finds out you were dating his sister.

Shannon said Timmy doesn’t know anything about her fling with Dombroski, either, Harry Davies said.

Timmy really believes she’s saving herself for marriage.

Shannon’s 47 years old, Gino.

Zerelda answered the door.

Good afternoon, Miss, I’m Mayor Davies and this is my business associate, Gino. We’re looking for Timmy Kelly.

You must have the wrong address.

No, his sister, Shannon, told me he was coming here to talk to the pastor.

Then she must have the wrong address.

Zerelda adjusted the crown of shining armor-piercing bullets she wore snug on her head. Only she knew what really happened to Shannon. But Zerelda wasn’t talking, especially to anybody walking around wearing a penis.

Shannon passed the other day, Harry Davies said.

Zerelda smirked.

Passed what, a breathalyzer test?

Earl Schmidt’s voice boomed from behind a multi-colored plastic beaded curtain hanging between the living room and the kitchen.

Who’s at the door?

A government agent and some spook, Zerelda said.

Gino closed his eyes and bit his lip.

Tell them to come in.

Zerelda stood aside as Harry Davies and Gino stepped into the foyer leading to the chapel. Earl appeared from behind the curtain and shook hands with both men.

What can I do for you boys?

Our buddy Timmy Kelly went missing and his sister said he’s here.

Mr. Kelly is in the back getting ready for the revolution.

Gino perked up.

What revolution?

The Bugaboo.

You mean like that siege at the Capitol?

I wasn’t even there, Earl said.

Gino started to sweat.

You mean like the crazies that wanted to hang Mike Pence?

Bugaboo is different.

Harry Davies seemed skeptical.

How so?

We fight like hell. And if you don’t fight like hell, you’re not going to have a country anymore, Earl said.

That sounds familiar, Gino said.

Earl patiently explained.

The Washington rioters are at war with Nancy Pelosi porn, fake vaccines made from baby blood and Jews bearing laser beams. They follow a mysterious leader named Q. Not us. Bugaboos like us follow U, Earl said.

Gino raised the thick black eyebrow that grew uninterrupted across the center of his forehead.

Me?

No, U.

U who?

Don’t be a smart ass, Zerelda said.

Harry Davies finally had enough.

Knock it off, goddammit. Who’s U?

With that, Timmy Kelly walked in wearing aviator shades and a big Joe Biden grin.

Here’s the deal, man, he said.