The members of the army returned to their vehicles. What they had just done was illegal, Chet knew, but damn if it didn’t feel good to do it. It felt right, and they drove off, looking for other wrongs to rectify, other places where they could focus their collective energy on problems that needed solving.

On the side of the highway, a short-haired overweight woman wearing masculine clothes was crouched by the side of an old Pontiac trying to change a tire. Melvin honked at her. “Get right with God, dyke!”

“Butch bitch!” someone yelled from the back seat.

The woman looked up at them, confused.

Melvin sped away, kicking up dust and gravel that no doubt spattered her, the pickups behind them following suit.

They were all laughing, and Chet thought that he hadn’t had this much fun in years.

Tonight on the show, he decided, he was going to issue a real call to arms, tell his listeners about the adventures the army had had today and proclaim a state of emergency, order them to meet up with Melvin and his men so they could set this town right.

“Hey, let’s stop by the bank for a minute,” one of the men in the back seat suggested. “I’d like to pick up my hunting knife.”

Chet frowned. The bank?

“He works there,” Melvin explained. “In fact this little excursion today was his idea.”

A warning bell sounded at the back of Chet’s mind. He turned in his seat to look at the man, and realized that he was the person who’d actually taken down Chet’s account information when he’d applied for his loan. Chet hadn’t recognized him in camouflage gear.

The apprehension he’d felt upon hearing about the involvement of the bank was superseded by an embarrassment that this man knew about his financial troubles.

The man smiled at him. “Proud to be here, sir. I’m a listener and a fan and a patriot.” He leaned forward in his seat. “Not to toot my own horn, but I helped write some of your commercials.”

“Good job,” Chet said before facing frontward again. “Thank you.”

They stopped by the First People’s branch that was next to the mayor’s law office. “You don’t have to get out,” the man from the bank said. “This’ll just take a minute. But you have to get out,” he told the man to his left, since he was sandwiched in the middle of the back seat.

“Let him out, Del,” Melvin ordered.

Del opened the rear passenger door and got out. The other man hurried into the bank, emerging moments later with a large knife.

Where in the bank do they store knives? Chet wondered.