CHAPTER 1

The Gang's All Here

A cold rain falls heavily on Berkeley at the end of February. Dark,moisture-filled clouds loom overhead as an unending torrent of large dropsshakes evergreens and fills rain gutters. The loud clatter on rooftops and fullpuddles in pot-holed streets force most inside. To the south over Hayward,beyond large, dark clouds, daylight can be seen. On Durant, a block awayfrom the university, Hamilton House is shuttered tight, and the commondriveway with Mayor Sain's old Craftsman has a steady stream runningdownhill toward the street. Bessie, the mayor's seventy-year-old motherrecovering from experimental surgery that gave her parts of the mayor's andher grandson Michael's livers, stands at the stove, making breakfast for theboarders who haven't started the day yet. Pregnant lesbians Stephanie—latetwenties, shapely—and Judy—twenties, heavyset—wait at the block, anoversized cutting board serving as a table for twelve.

"You lesbians looking for a place to move today in this fucking monsoon?I got your door fixed after the FBI broke it down looking for the whacker,Ainsley Bassette."

"We are," Stephanie says. "And thanks for fixing the door. What everhappened to that guy anyhow?"

"Don't know and don't care. I never want to see him again. He mightpoint his dick at me, and who knows where it's been. Ainsley Bassette—oneof a kind!" Bessie says.

"He did save your life," Judy says.

"On a cell phone from the inside of a trash bin while a real surgeon didthe work."

The kitchen door opens and Jack R. Abbott—fifty, scraggly beard, thin,wearing holey green tennis shoes and baggy walking shorts—and middle-agedDoreen—African American, bosomy—walk in.

"The interview on yet?" Jack R. Abbott says.

"Get your butts in here!" Bessie yells. "The show will start pretty soon.You leave that smelly bulldog in your apartment?"

"No," Jack R. Abbott says. "I tied him up to the tree by Trojan'sgrave."

"One good thing about this fucking rain, I guess," Bessie says. "Hissmell has disappeared."

"He got off a good one a while ago, on the way over," Jack R. Abbottsays. "A gull tried to grab a piece of muffin I threw him at Bel Fornos so heblasted a foul one. The wind and rain took care of it."

"Doreen," Bessie says, "I thought you were going to do something aboutthat dog's butt. Didn't they teach you that in vet school?"

"To fix Winston's problem I'd have to clean out his whole insides, allthe way to his two buck teeth," Doreen says.

"Just like my naked-ass commie son—full of shit up to his eyebrows!"Bessie says.

"How's your son's liver?" Doreen asks.

"Liver?" Bessie snarls. "He's gone way past worrying about his liver,unless you call that dangler hanging in front of him his liver."

"Is he ready for the interview?" Jack R. Abbott says. "I tried to writehim a few lines but didn't finish."

"Add them to your piles of unfinished books and scripts," Bessie says."He'd probably forget them anyhow."

Jamal—African American, seventeen, buff—walks down the stairs,trying to wake up.

"Get your black ass over here," Bessie yells. "Eat some food before yourfather, Willie the leach, arrives and there's nothing left."

The kitchen door opens and Willie Williams—African American, fifty,slightly paunchy—walks in wearing his Berkeley police uniform.

"Am I too late?" he says, looking at the food Bessie has placed on thetable.

"Speaking of the devil," Bessie says. "Never missed a meal here sincehigh school. Glad I got extra this morning, with the others in Virginia Citywaiting to be interviewed."

"Where?" Jamal asks.

"Virginia City is in Nevada," Jack R. Abbot says. "It's where my idolMark Twain worked on a newspaper and wrote novels."

"It's where Asia was born and worked as a whore before she shot thatbastard Johnny Blood's pecker off and came to Berkeley," Bessie says. "WishI could have been there to pull the trigger myself."

"Miss Asia a murderer?" Jack R. Abbott says. "She doesn't look thetype."

"And what type is that?" Doreen says, leaning into Jack R. Abbott'sshoulder. "You never got past looking at her tits."

"What color are her eyes?" Bessie asks.

"Asia has eyes?" Jack R. Abbott says.

The kitchen door opens again and Jefferson—fifty, bearded—andSylvia—fifty, long gray hair, stoned—walk in.

"The show hasn't started yet," Bessie says. "Sit down and have somebreakfast. Shoulda had Jamal's girlfriend Jazzleen here to help me cook.You're all putting a strain on my new liver."

"Yours is the best food I've ever had," stoned Sylvia slurs.

"Anyone want weed" Jefferson asks. "Harvested a new crop this morningand the mayor's not here to scoop it up."

A sudden, ghastly odor creeps through the cracks in the door.

"Shit!" Jack R. Abbott says. "The rain has stopped and Winston hasfired one off."

"Can't you take him downwind and tie him to a parking meter orsomething?" Bessie says. "The quacks won't let me have any Jack for a couplemore weeks to deaden my nostrils."

"I'll take care of it," Jefferson says. "The smell of skunk will cut Winston'shandiwork. You want to join me, Jack?"

"Shit!" Bessie says. "Nothing like having the whole gang around! All Ineed now is Ainsley Bassette and my naked-ass commie son here, and mymorning would be complete. Thank God for little favors."

"How many Virginia City bordellos you think the mayor has visited?"Willie asks Jack R. Abbott. "One, two, three?"

"All of them," Bessie says. "He's Johnny Blood's son, isn't he?"

* * *

It is a bright, clear, and crisp morning in Virginia City, four hours eastof Berkeley. The roads from Nevada's capital, Carson City, and Reno arebumper-to-bumper as the curious try to enter the Old West town to witnessthe scene of the "crime of the century," as it has been labeled by internationalmedia. The murder of Johnny Blood, the father of mR. bERZERKELEY,by his daughter the whore has grabbed the public, the airways, and theInternet.

Asia—a Chinese and white mix, twenties, black hair, handcuffed anddressed in the orange jumpsuit of an inmate—sits in a hard chair insideMadame Bulette's Saloon. Her top three buttons are undone, exposingher bulging breasts. Her hair blows slightly from a floor fan. All the tablesand chairs have been moved in front of large windows overlooking lowerVirginia City, consisting of several closed mines and Six Mile Canyon. Theroom is crowded with men and women sitting on benches.

The wooden sidewalks outside the saloon and on both sides of C Streetare jammed with men and women trying to get a look at Virginia City'smost famous resident, Lily Liu Lu. Four news trucks with satellite boomsraised in the air are parked in a lot next to the Bucket of Blood saloon.Storey County sheriffs attempt to control the mass of motorcycles andautomobiles that have brought the main drag to a standstill.

Lady Gretchen—forties, big-boned, oversized breasts—Lily Liu Lu'sfriend and bordello associate, sits with her legs crossed ten feet away.Hamilton House boarders Josh, Sarah and Michael sit at the end of therow.

Bright lights and three television cameras are on and ready. Two youngmen and two young women, all wearing headsets, move impatiently, lookingat the front door and the glass...