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dang-a-dang-dang, ding-a-dong-ding,” and into the Marcels’ “Blue Moon,” not just a mere hit but a monster back in 1961. And they ran through the song, Slim taking the lead, and the crowd began to yell like mad halfway through. And Leroy—smiling, singing, rocking back and forth, doing James Brown tantrum-steps in front of the mike—knew, could feel, that they had them; that no matter what, they were going to win. And he ended with his whining part and Cornelius went “Bomp-ba-ba-bomp-ba-bom,” and paused and then, deeper, “booo mooo.”
    The lights came up and Bobby and the Bombers hit the stage. At first Leroy, sweating, didn’t realize what they were doing, because the Bombers, for the first few seconds, made this churning rinky-tink sound with the high voices. The bass, Letus, did this grindy sound with his throat. Then the Bombers did the only thing that could save them, a white boy’s song, Bobby launching into Del Shannon’s “Runaway,” with both feet hitting the stage at once. Leroy thought he could taste that urine already.
    The other Kool-Tones were transfixed by what was about to happen.
    “They can’t do that, man,” said Leroy. “They’re gonna cop out.”
    “That’s impossible. Nobody can do it.”
    But when the Bombers got to the break, this guy Fred stepped out to the mike and went: “Eee-de-ee-dee-eedle-eee-eee, eee-deee-eed le-deeee, eedle-dee-eed le-dee-dee-dee, eewheetle-eedle-dee-deedle-dee-eeeeee,” in a splitting falsetto, half mechanical, half Martian cattle call—the organ break of “Runaway,” done with the human voice.
    The crowd was on its feet screaming, and the rest of the song was lost in stamping and cheers.
    When the Kool-Tones jumped out for the last song of the first set, there were some boos and yells for the Bombers to come back, but then Zoot started talking about his girl putting him down because he couldn’t shake ’em down, but how now he was back, to let her know . . . They all jumped in the air and came down on the first line of “Do You Love Me?” by the Contours, and they gained some of the crowd back. But they finished a little wimpy, and then the lights went down and an absolutely black night descended. The stars were shining over New York City for the first time since World War II, and Vinnie said, “Ten minutes, folks!” and guys went over to piss against the walls or add to the consolation-prize bottles.
    It was like halftime in the locker room with the score Green Bay 146, You 0.
    “A cheap trick,” said Zoot. “We don’t do shit like that.”
    Leroy sighed. “We’re gonna have to,” he said. He drank from a Coke bottle one of the Purple Monsters had given him. “We’re gonna have to do something.”
    “We’re gonna have to drink pee-pee, and then Vinnie’s gonna denut us, is what’s gonna happen.”
    “No, he’s not,” said Cornelius.
    “Oh, yeah?” asked Zoot. “Then what’s that in the bottle in the clubhouse?”
    “Pig’s balls,” said Cornelius. “They got ’em from a slaughterhouse.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I just know,” said Cornelius, tiredly. “Now let’s just get this over with so we can go vomit all night.”
    “I don’t want to hear any talk like that,” said Leroy. “We’re gonna go through with this and give it our best, just like we planned, and if that ain’t good enough, well, it just ain’t good enough.”
    “No matter what we do, it just ain’t good enough.”
    “Come on, Ray, man!”
    “I’ll do my best, but my heart ain’t in it.”
    They lay against the loading dock. They heard laughter from the place where Bobby and the Bombers rested.
    “Shit, it’s dark!” said Slim.
    “It ain’t just us, just the city,” said Zoot. “It’s the whole goddamn U.S.”
    “It’s just the whole East Coast,” said Ray. “I heard on the radio. Part of Canada, too.”
    “What is it?”
    “Nobody knows.”
    “Hey, Leroy,” said Cornelius. “Maybe it’s those Martians