All alone on the WILT News Radio roof, JayJay Bone saw God.

In the midst of his neurosis, a flash of green, yellow and red appeared as an epiphany of sorts. The blur sent the talk show’s life flashing before his eyes. With not much to see, he blinked and wondered where he went wrong. Trying to fit in caused problems but so did trying not to fit in. Insecure and uncertain about his sexuality and masculinity, he overcompensated and just became a loudmouth, know-it-all pain in the ass.

Of course, he had his followers.

People will miss me when I’m gone, he thought.

Hidden in the tree line across the parking lot, Darryl struggled with the trigger on his rifle. If he shot this numbskull but increasingly dangerous white power fanatic, he’d make national news and become a hero in some circles. He’d also set the stage for JayJay Bone to become a white supremacist martyr, a saint of the nationalist movement whose warped belief system would get worse because JayJay Bone would live forever.

Passing on pulling the trigger on the tiny talk show tyrant and opening his eyes, Darryl thought he saw ghosts.

William stood across the parking lot.

Chanise stood beside him.

Darryl dropped the gun and rose from where he laid belly down staring through the rifle’s telescopic lens at JayJay Bone swatting imaginary bugs on the roof.

I’m lost, Darryl said.

Keeping social distance yet moving toward their troubled friend, William and Chanise heard a scream and a screech.

JayJay Bone screamed.

Dillon screeched.

After escaping the Mafia goons who kidnapped Sterling at the cemetery and brought Dillon along for the ride because he asked Raymond the Godfather if they could go out for pizza, Dillon hightailed it home. Following William’s scent, he made his way to the WILT radio station parking lot where pandemonium ruled.

Most birds can’t smell but vultures, seabirds, kiwis and parrots have well-developed olfactory glands, giving them some sense of smell and taste. And William wore strong English Leather after shave that Dillon loved. In fact, Dillon often said that William wears English Leather or nothing at all.

Anyway, JayJay Bone swatted the blur that seemingly came out of nowhere, looking skyward and stumbling as he swung at the buzzing avenger who hated the JayJay Bone Show. Dillon’s high-flying combat skills had improved since his victory over the eagle drone. The airborne bird climbed higher and higher into the sky, turned two full belly rolls in mid-air and dove.

When he skimmed his target, he snared JayJay Bones’ black wavy hair, taking the curly wig right off JayJay Bones’ head.

The few remaining country music fans stretched out drunk in pick-up truck beds waiting for the beer truck that would never come cheered. A woman in a straw cowboy hat with a bite out of the brim videoed the air assault and rooted for the bird.

Go bird, she said.

Dillon climbed like the Space Shuttle, clutching the Walmart hairpiece that sold for $22.99 as a women’s fashion wig. With three fingers of gooey Vaseline, JayJay Bone crafted a 50s-style DA duck’s ass hair style that made him look like Chef Boyardee on the ravioli can but with a full head of hair.

Now he stood bald as a coot, two coots, for that matter.

Go bird, the hick woman repeated.

As if he heard her, Dillon let fly his load.

All that Mafia pizza had worked its way through his system and collected in his bird intestines.

When he let it fly he let it fly.

The load hit JayJay Bone a direct hit on the top of the head, toppling his balance and sending him careening toward the edge. The roof gutter gave way and down came JayJay, bird-brained and all, dead as a doornail, not alive, unequivocally deceased.

Damn, Darryl said.

Crap, Chanise said.

Aw, Dillon, William said.