"Kurt," he said pulling aside the blanket, handing a double-double coffee over to Kurt as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was wearing a white T-shirt that was the grimy grey of everything in his domain, and baggy jockeys. He gathered his blankets around him and sipped reverently. Kurt cocked his head and listened to the soft discussions going on on the other side of the blanket. "Christ, they're at it already?" "I think your volunteers showed up a couple hours ago -- or maybe they were up all night." Kurt groaned theatrically. "I'm running a halfway house for geeky street kids." "All for the cause," Alan said. "So, what's on the plate for today?" "You know the church kittycorner from your place?" "Yeah?" Alan said cautiously. "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. He swallowed hard. He and Kurt hadn't spoken of that night since. "I sometimes wonder if it really happened," Kurt said. Alan nodded. "It's hard to believe. Even for me." "I believe it," Kurt said. "I won't ever not believe it. I think that's probably important to you." Alan felt a sob well up in his chest and swallowed it down again. "Thanks," he managed to say. "When are you leaving?" "Tomorrow morning. I'm going to rent a car and drive up," he said. "How long?" "I dunno," he said. He was feeling morose now. "A couple days. A week, maybe. No longer." "Well, don't sweat the Bishop. He can wait. Come and get a beer with me tonight before I go out?" "Yeah," he said. "That sounds good. On a patio on Kensington. We can people-watch." # How Alan and his brothers killed Davey: very deliberately.