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Vardaman?”
    “It’s more his kind of show,” Stagg said. “I just handle the introductions around here. I’m what you call a facilitator.”
    “You’re also the man who pledged a half-million dollars to rebuild Jericho before any of this happened,” Ringold said. “If I were you, I’d at least say a few words and take a fucking bow.”
    “People know what I done,” Stagg said. “That’s enough.”
    “Tupelo paper this morning called it an overall story of redemption,” Ringold said. “They referred to you as the former owner of a roadside strip club turned entrepreneur.”
    “Is that a fact?” Stagg said. “‘Former’? Bless their hearts.”
    The chamber of commerce president, Wade Mize, waddled on over with five folks who looked to be dressed for Sunday service. He wore a blue suit and bright gold tie, fat jowls recently shaved and smelling of cologne. He introduced a minister from Southaven, a couple businessmen from Memphis, and a couple women from Oxford who were looking to start a restaurant and maybe a boutique. Stagg grinned and shook their hands, smiling to all their praise, especially when the minister told him that most often miracles sprout from unlikely places. Stagg winked at the man and continued walking with Ringold. “Uh-huh,” Stagg said.
    “Mize sure seemed happy to see you.”
    “Funny, the people who call me Mr. Stagg these days,” Stagg said. “Wade Mize’s mother is a stone-cold crazy woman who’s made it her personal mission to drive me from this town. I could take all the newspaper columns she’s written about the old Rebel being a den of iniquity and we could wallpaper the whole truck stop. And you know what? I hadn’t heard a damn peep from her after the storm. She still won’t speak to me, but at least she shut her dry old mouth.”
    Stagg and Ringold walked on up to the gazebo where Stagg would stand behind Vardaman and the boys from the automotive company. There’d be talk about the opening of the production line and a grant tofinally complete the industrial park right off Highway 45 that would bring jobs, money, and growth to northeast Mississippi. People had flyers and big blown-up pictures of the architectural drawings and such.
    There would be a short prayer for the nine dead souls and a bell rung from the Baptist church at noon. After, the way Stagg understood things, they’d all go on over to city hall for a plate lunch of barbecue and catfish catered by Pap’s.
    Stagg looked out on the town square, taking a lot of pride in how much had been done in such a short amount of time. The broken shit had been hauled away and already a new row of four storefronts was being built. Stagg had offered the owners of the old stores a solid price for the destroyed property, telling them the recovery might take years—if at all. And now he already had agreements from a bank from Tupelo, a steak restaurant, and a combo coffee shop and tanning parlor.
    “You think a dozen girls is enough?” Ringold asked. “For tonight?”
    “Depends on the girls.”
    “Best we got.”
    “Make sure you got a couple real young ones,” Stagg said. “That’s been requested direct by one of the guests. Young, black, and happy.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Gonna be a hell of a party out at the ole hunt lodge tonight,” Stagg said. “You better believe it. Those sonsabitches couldn’t wait to get back to ole Jericho.”
    Stagg started to step down from the gazebo, walk across the park, and say hello to the meat manager of the Piggly Wiggly when he heard a guttural growl that nearly made him swallow the rest of his candy. He stopped cold on the steps and held up a hand for Ringold to do the same. “You hear that? You fucking hear that?”
    He looked into the distance to see a half-dozen motorcycles with big engines and big pipes rip and vibrate the town square. The men had broadbacks and leather vests worn over denim jackets. They had long hair and beards and looked as if they’d just