. ."
He paused to give directions, but Jared was already turning left onto Main--without being told where they were going, now or anytime before.
Boyd gave him a look, but then had to hunch down a s they passed the John Weld Peck Federal Building, Boyd trying to see up to the seventh floor of the nine-story building, where the IRS office was located. All he saw was a wall of tal l rectangular windows up no more than a few floors. Sitting u p again Boyd said, "Take a left on Sixth and come around th e block."
They passed the Subway sandwich shop on Sixth his reco n man Devil Ellis had told him about. Boyd didn't mention i t or say a word the rest of the way around the block, not unti l they were coming up on the federal building again.
"Lemme off on the corner over there and make your circle. I'll be waiting."
Jared turned left, pulled up in front of the yellow Subwa y awning, and Boyd got out. He went inside the shop--no on e here but the woman behind the counter--and stood at th e plate-glass window smelling onions. The view showed mos t of the John Weld Peck Building diagonally across the way.
From here, Devil Ellis said, he'd have a clear shot at the corne r windows up there. Which was how much Devil--what the y called him--knew about firing a grenade rocket at a targe t this close and high up. It was the kind of stunt Devil woul d try, stoned or just crazy, stand here chewing on a roast bee f sub dripping onions and decide, yeah, shoot through this bi g window.
Devil was the one drove down to the Tennessee line on e night and set off a charge in the Jellico post office, and all th e pissed-off retirees had to wait and wait to get their social security checks, which didn't help the cause. Got the post office bombing listed with the abortion clinic Boyd was supposed t o have blown up--the dumbest thing he ever heard of. Wha t did you gain by it? Rob a bank and spray-paint White Powe r on the wall, you make your point and get away with a bag o r two of cash.
It was Devil told him to keep an eye on Jared--both Devi l and Boyd's baby brother, Bowman, suspecting Jared had bee n planted among them by the FBI, the Federal Bureau of Imperialism, or was an agent himself, although pretty dumb.
Boyd walked out to the corner and stood watching for unmarked cars creeping around, vans parked where they shouldn't be, spotters inside. It was getting dark already.
The muddy Blazer rolled up. Boyd got in and Jared said , "Which way?"
"Straight ahead."
Boyd sat there and didn't speak again until they were u p Main Street a ways, crossing East Central Parkway now, an d Boyd said, "We coming to it, Niggaville," Boyd looking a t dingy old buildings, run-down storefronts, people he saw a s winos on the street. Another couple of blocks and he spotte d the place Devil told him to look for. Sure enough, up on th e right. "There it is," Boyd said. "Go past slow." He could rea d the sign now sticking out from the front of the building: TEMPLE OF THE COOL AND BEAUTIFUL J . C . A thin coat of whitewash covered the front, the place a dump, the sign blasphemous, calling Jesus cool and beautiful , for Christ sake.
"Turn left that next street and stop. I believe I can take 'e r from over there." Boyd stuck his butt in Jared's face pushin g his way between the seats to get in the back. Jared raising hi s voice now: "You gonna blow up that church?" Sounding surprised , then in kind of a panic. "Boyd, we're in the middle of fuckin g Cincinnati."
Now Boyd, in the back end of the Blazer, getting his Chinese grenade launcher unwrapped, raised his own voice to tell Jared, "You always have a secondary target, just in case." H e looked out the rear as Jared came to a stop. "This is good, I' m gonna have a clear shot."
"Boyd, there's people on the street." "I don't see none. Just some niggers."
"They gonna see us. I . D . my car."
Boyd loved times like these he could show how cool he wa s under fire, so to speak. "You worried about your car,
He paused to give directions, but Jared was already turning left onto Main--without being told where they were going, now or anytime before.
Boyd gave him a look, but then had to hunch down a s they passed the John Weld Peck Federal Building, Boyd trying to see up to the seventh floor of the nine-story building, where the IRS office was located. All he saw was a wall of tal l rectangular windows up no more than a few floors. Sitting u p again Boyd said, "Take a left on Sixth and come around th e block."
They passed the Subway sandwich shop on Sixth his reco n man Devil Ellis had told him about. Boyd didn't mention i t or say a word the rest of the way around the block, not unti l they were coming up on the federal building again.
"Lemme off on the corner over there and make your circle. I'll be waiting."
Jared turned left, pulled up in front of the yellow Subwa y awning, and Boyd got out. He went inside the shop--no on e here but the woman behind the counter--and stood at th e plate-glass window smelling onions. The view showed mos t of the John Weld Peck Building diagonally across the way.
From here, Devil Ellis said, he'd have a clear shot at the corne r windows up there. Which was how much Devil--what the y called him--knew about firing a grenade rocket at a targe t this close and high up. It was the kind of stunt Devil woul d try, stoned or just crazy, stand here chewing on a roast bee f sub dripping onions and decide, yeah, shoot through this bi g window.
Devil was the one drove down to the Tennessee line on e night and set off a charge in the Jellico post office, and all th e pissed-off retirees had to wait and wait to get their social security checks, which didn't help the cause. Got the post office bombing listed with the abortion clinic Boyd was supposed t o have blown up--the dumbest thing he ever heard of. Wha t did you gain by it? Rob a bank and spray-paint White Powe r on the wall, you make your point and get away with a bag o r two of cash.
It was Devil told him to keep an eye on Jared--both Devi l and Boyd's baby brother, Bowman, suspecting Jared had bee n planted among them by the FBI, the Federal Bureau of Imperialism, or was an agent himself, although pretty dumb.
Boyd walked out to the corner and stood watching for unmarked cars creeping around, vans parked where they shouldn't be, spotters inside. It was getting dark already.
The muddy Blazer rolled up. Boyd got in and Jared said , "Which way?"
"Straight ahead."
Boyd sat there and didn't speak again until they were u p Main Street a ways, crossing East Central Parkway now, an d Boyd said, "We coming to it, Niggaville," Boyd looking a t dingy old buildings, run-down storefronts, people he saw a s winos on the street. Another couple of blocks and he spotte d the place Devil told him to look for. Sure enough, up on th e right. "There it is," Boyd said. "Go past slow." He could rea d the sign now sticking out from the front of the building: TEMPLE OF THE COOL AND BEAUTIFUL J . C . A thin coat of whitewash covered the front, the place a dump, the sign blasphemous, calling Jesus cool and beautiful , for Christ sake.
"Turn left that next street and stop. I believe I can take 'e r from over there." Boyd stuck his butt in Jared's face pushin g his way between the seats to get in the back. Jared raising hi s voice now: "You gonna blow up that church?" Sounding surprised , then in kind of a panic. "Boyd, we're in the middle of fuckin g Cincinnati."
Now Boyd, in the back end of the Blazer, getting his Chinese grenade launcher unwrapped, raised his own voice to tell Jared, "You always have a secondary target, just in case." H e looked out the rear as Jared came to a stop. "This is good, I' m gonna have a clear shot."
"Boyd, there's people on the street." "I don't see none. Just some niggers."
"They gonna see us. I . D . my car."
Boyd loved times like these he could show how cool he wa s under fire, so to speak. "You worried about your car,
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