"Its spire is just about the highest point in the Market. An
omnidirectional up there..."
"The church?"
"Yeah."
"What about the new condos at the top of Baldwin? They're tall."
"They are. But they're up on the northern edge. From the bell-tower of
that church, I bet you could shoot half the houses on the west side of
Oxford Street, along with the backs of all the shops on Augusta."
"How are we going to get the church to go along with it. Christ, what
are they, Ukrainian Orthodox?"
"Greek Orthodox," Kurt said. "Yeah, they're pretty conservative."
"So?"
"So, I need a smooth-talking, upstanding cit to go and put the case to
the pastor. Priest. Bishop. Whatever."
"Groan," Alex said.
"Oh, come on, you're good at it."
"If I get time," he said. He looked into his coffee for a moment. "I'm
going to go home," he said.
"Home?"
"To the mountain," he said. "Home," he said. "To my father," he said.
"Whoa," Kurt said. "Alone?"
Alan sat on the floor and leaned back against a milk crate full of
low-capacity hard drives. "I have to," he said. "I can't stop thinking
of..." He was horrified to discover that he was on the verge of
tears. It had been three weeks since Davey had vanished into the night,
and he'd dreamt of Eugene-Fabio-Greg every night since, terrible dreams,
in which he'd dug like a dog to uncover their hands, their arms, their
legs, but never their heads.
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