Steve dropped Madison at her parents’ house. He had not shaken the feeling of unease since having his picture taken at the miniature railroad, not even with another noseful of ground up Oxycontin. The drug had no effect on his apprehension, but it did make him feel strangely weepy.
As he drove, he watched traffic and the streets warily. He thought about the things he knew from reading the Conservative Cave, and the things he imagined must be true about the Conservatives. His mental pictures became more disjointed. At one point, he was convinced that Big Dog was an actual talking dog who smoked cigars. “Dog’s can’t smoke cigarsâ€, he finally told himself, “they don’t have thumbs!†He laughed involuntarily, a strange and high-pitched giggle. He choked off the laughter, however, when he thought about franksolich again. Steve thought about the similarities between franksolich and Big Dog. He knew both had talked about their hearing, both were writers, and both knew Nebraska like natives. With a start, Steve concluded that franksolich and Big Dog were
the same person. How could he have missed it for so long? He drove faster toward home, his mind racing. He would finally be the hero of Democratic Underground! But, which person was real, and which was the alter ego? He pondered that question as he pulled up to his house.
Marta’s car was not in the driveway. Steve’s mind started to go to the dark place again, that place inhabited by Marta and franksolich alone. Or was it Big Dog? He didn't know anymore. His face reddened as he walked through the house, calling her name. No answer. By the time he reached the second bedroom he liked to call his “officeâ€, he was in a red rage. He grabbed the Walther pistol and stuck it in his belt. He left the box of cartridges; he really didn’t know how to load the pistol anyway.
Steve drove around Bellevue, looking for Marta’s car. The more he drove, the more he saw the faces of his imagined tormenters in every car, and in every shop window. He became more frantic as he drove, failing to be reassured by not seeing Marta’s car parked at a bar or motel.
Meanwhile, Marta came home from the grocery store. Steve’s car was not in the driveway, and she didn’t feel like calling him to see when he’d be home. For a little bit, she would enjoy the time to herself. She carried in the groceries, unpacked and put them away, then walked through the house. She had noticed that the door to the spare bedroom was open, and when she looked inside she saw the Walther pistol was gone. She cried for a few minutes, and then sat waiting for the inevitable phone call.
Steve was still driving through Olde Town. He drove past Bear’s Bar and saw a big blue motorcycle parked right in front.
Steve remembered through the Oxycontin haze that Big Dog said he rode a big blue motorcycle. He told himself, “that must mean franksolich is here!†He thought of Marta saying
“one of the nicest guys you could ever meetâ€, and the last bit of sanity left him. He drove up onto the curb, and barreled into the bar.
Bear’s Bar was quiet that afternoon. A few regulars sat at the bar, and a small group shared drinks and talk at one of the tables. Steve looked around wildly, and reached into his pants for the pistol, which had slipped from his belt down into his underwear. He shouted “I know you’re here, Frank Solich!†The bartender wondered why he was calling out a former University of Nebraska football coach while sticking his hand down the front of his pants. But, before the bartender could ask Steve what he was talking about, Steve got his hand on the grip of the Walther. In the next instant, all heads turned at the sound of the gunshot.
All heads, that is, but one.
Two sounds broke the stunned silence which followed. The first was a high-pitched strangled scream, which Steve realized was coming from him. The second was the voice of a man at the small table, a man who was sitting with his back to the door, the only person who didn't turn his head at the sound of the shot. The man said laconically, still without turning, "looks like Omaha Steve shot himself in the foot, again."
