Jimmy walks out the outhouse door, and behind him the wall goes up in flames. That was on Tuesday. Cemetery cooled enough by Thursday to put Jimmy in the ground. See, cemetery's right next to the outhouse, so it burned, too. Probably wouldn't have found him, except I was watching when it happened.

Jimmy put the bomb in the outhouse, wouldn't let me do nothing but watch. Bomb was Eddie's; he disappeared after the fire, what Sheriff Mains calls "suspicious circumstances." Me, I want to find him, too, but not for the sheriff, and not till losing Jimmy don't hurt so bad, no sir. Got to keep my mind clear, or God won't trust me, won't let me be His little deputy. I've learned that lesson; cost me my only brother, so I'd best learn real good.

Me being in jail, I can't go look for Eddie; no way to look except for Daddy's devil and I ain't about to ask him for nothing, not more than I have to, not more than I already have.

Outhouse was a community one, mostly a hole in the ground with a shack over it, not like the one Eddie's dad put inside their house. Like I said, it was next to the cemetery, just like it was next to my Daddy's church. Eddie's bomb had worked, we'd have nailed the old man, right at his desk; Jimmy'd still be here, Daddy's devils'd be gone. But Eddie's bomb kills Jimmy instead, and Daddy's got to pay for that right along with everything else. Need Eddie's help for that, so I got to find him.

Outhouse needed to be moved, anyway. Daddy always said it was too close to the church.

Tsk, tsk, you say. The way some people raise their children. Yeah, then fuck you too, sweetums. That's my Daddy you're talking about.

No, you got it wrong about Daddy and me. I respect the hell out of him. Taught me God's rule, he did. You fuck up, you pay for it. Real simple. I like that. So I don't mind lending a hand, once in a while, helping the Old Man Upstairs enforce his rule. Yep, one of God's little deputies, that's me. This time it's my own Daddy that don't want to pay, but the rule is the rule, and I got my job to do.

This business got Jimmy killed, it started on Saturday. I was taking a walk down by Cottonmouth Creek with Sally Cousins, and we're getting to know each other pretty good, or at least good enough. Gets so hot this time of year, air don't move; oaks and willows so thick by the creek, air don't move at all. Hot as it is, I figure Sally be out of her clothes in two minutes flat, but she says she ain't ready. I can wait; all God's little deputies got to know patience, so I can wait.

Now, try and do something with most girls like what I was wanting with Sally, it'd be the wrong thing to do, plus you'd be wasting your time. But it ain't wrong with Sally; ain't nothing she hasn't done forty times before, and forty-one shouldn't matter to anyone, not to Daddy, not to his devils, not to God, not even to the Widder Smith.

It's getting dark, the devil's hour is what Daddy calls it. So I say good-bye to Sally and get on home; there's no devils like the ones Daddy can call up, nowhere in the world above is there devils like his. But I get home, and Daddy's on the porch waiting for me, devil already at his side, a small, light green one with ears like a beagle, except longer, and a pair of stiff cocks sprouting out of his forehead, balls and all. So Daddy knows I've been with Sally. Probably the Widder Smith that seen us and told him everything she saw, and this devil told him what I wanted with her. As if he couldn't have figured it out on his own; what else does anybody want with Sally, for Christ's sakes?

"Son," he says, like that tells me who he's talking to. Momma gave him Jimmy first, then me; then she gave him a girl. She ain't around to make that mistake again.

See, a green devil--not same one; hairy devil, kind of glowing--he came for Momma, walks right in the front door at devil's hour and wraps his tongue round her waist. Momma, I see her flinch, right away. My sister Beth is in her arms; she starts crying, and that devil's tongue grows a bit longer and wraps round her foot. He holds them, tongue must be four feet long, and he starts this deep chuckle that don't ever stop, seems like it goes on for days. I was only five, but I remember; sometimes I still hear that devil laugh.

Momma don't disappear right away. Day or two later, Jimmy and me can see her start to get thin, like you can start to see right through her. Starts round her waist where the devil held her, Momma's waist and Beth's foot. Week passes and they get thinner all the time, till they ain't nowhere to be seen.

"Son," Daddy says, like he's already working up to preach next morning, "I hear you been out with Sally Cousins." That devil beside him, he licks his lips, once, twice, right across this row of pointy teeth glowing pink in the sunset.

"Nothing wrong with that," I say. Like I told you, it was only Sally I was with. Some other girl, me thinking like I was, now that would be wrong.

"She's a devil woman, boy. She'll turn you to evil."

"Looks pretty human to me," I say, "and she's right pretty, too." I glance at Daddy's devil. There's this dark stuff beading up on his tongue, green blood if I was to guess, drawn by those teeth of his, but in this end-of-day light I can't be sure. He reels his tongue back into his mouth, and you can see him sucking on that green goo, a smile on his lips and a far-away look in his eyes. Is he thinking about me, or is he already somewhere else, devil-about-town?

"Any woman is evil, boy. They take from you, and what they take, you never get back again." Daddy's eyes close; I know he don't want evil to touch his eyes.

"It wasn't like that, Daddy," I tell him. I don't know why; green devil's got his ears, and what the devil takes, he don't give back, neither. I don't remember that Daddy ever did have ears, just these little holes where ears ought to be. Can't even see that much; Daddy let his hair grow long, hide what some devil done. "Sally wasn't going to take; it was me that was going to give." Now that devil's looking right at me. "It's good to give, Daddy; ain't that what the Lord says?"

"Don't you blaspheme, boy. You touch a woman, you'll be giving your soul to her. You give your soul to a woman, and you can't be the Lord's boy any more. You can't be the Lord's boy, and you can't be mine, either." Daddy looks up at the sky, his eyes still closed so he can't see the devil at his side. "So you'd best not touch a woman, boy, not now, not ever."

Except that this devil, now he's at my side. He pinches me, but I know better than to flinch. Hey, sweetums, devil ever pinches you, licks you, anything, don't you flinch, neither. I tell you that, and you believe me.

"Now you get inside, boy. I don't want you outside, now that it's the devil's hour. Not after what you've done. You go to your room, and you pray for forgiveness." Daddy looks back down, looks at me. The green devil, he's gone. "You go pray, and you don't stop until you're forgiven, you hear?"

I go in and I go to my room, but hey, it was Sally Cousins with me, so I figure I'm forgiven already. Problem's the Widder Smith; she ought to be asking forgiveness. So I look out my window to see if Eddie's home; we got to fix it so I can see Sally again without the Widder Smith getting in the way. Before I jump out my window, I take a look around. It's still the devil's hour, but I don't see that green lump of angel turd anywhere. Safe enough.

They got candles lit in Eddie's house; damn-fool is probably reading those magazines he gets from somewheres--he don't get them from Wallace's Store, I know this--reading how to make bombs and such. Eddie's window is open, so I climb on in. Eddie looks up from his magazine, then puts it down on his bed.

"Widder Smith told Daddy I was out with Sally Cousins," I say.

"Were you?" Eddie says, eyes popping.

"Not long enough to do anything; we was just getting to know each other." I plop down on Eddie's bed, look at his magazine. Pyro! Monthly, cover says. "You don't fuck a woman first time you lay eyes on her. They want you to like them a little, first, you know?" This magazine, comes from a place called New St. Louis, Eddie keeps talking about it like it's a real place.

"You going to fuck her?" Only one thing I know will get Eddie's mind away from bombs.

"Not if the Widder Smith keeps telling Daddy everything I do. Won't be able to get my own shirt off, let alone hers." I pick up Eddie's magazine, start looking through it. Eddie won't normally let me look at his magazines, but now he's stretched out across the bed, his head propped up on the wall with no pillow. There's not much in the magazine; lots of print and a few pictures of things burning. Hell, I hear enough about burning places, all from listening to Daddy.

Besides, it's near dark by now. Daddy says you got to read God's own word by God's own light, so I don't read nothing else by candlelight, neither.

"Then we got to blow up the Widder's house, Peter," he says to me. God, I hate that name. "You got to let me do that."

I should have let him. Jimmy would still be here, maybe. And Eddie, he's a good friend; taught me not to do things half-assed.

"No," I tell Eddie. "All I want to do, I want to fix her so she don't snoop so much."

Next morning, Daddy comes by my room, time to haul me off to church. I tell him I can't leave my room, God ain't forgiven me for wanting to touch Sally, and I can't leave my room. Hell, it might even be true; God don't usually forgive stuff, not until you've paid up, and even then you got to ask Him. But that's good enough for Daddy, and off he goes to collect Jimmy. Only Jimmy's hiding outside my window; him and me and Eddie are going to fix the Widder Smith.

Daddy hollers a bit for Jimmy, then I hear a door open, and Daddy hollers a lot more. There'll be Hell to pay, Daddy says, come devil's hour tonight. I figure I ought to tell Jimmy about last night's devil; he was a good one, after all, one of Daddy's best. Meantime, Daddy goes off for church, still promising to introduce Jimmy to his devil-friends.

Soon as Daddy's gone, I'm out the window. Eddie's already there, too, so off we go, looking for supplies, just some old boards and such. Which ain't hard to find, not in B'burg, they aren't. Hey, God provides for His little deputies, so we got all we need. Eddie's got three of his dad's hammers--me, I'd like to see how Eddie's dad can use them all at once; what does any man need with more hammers than hands?--and enough nails to turn all carpenters everywhere into Christ-our-Lord.

See, the Bible tells us not to bear false witness against our neighbors. Best way to keep the Widder off my trail is to keep her from witnessing anything. So we're doing the Lord's work, keeping the Widder Smith from sin. That's a good reason to miss church; church is something you do when God ain't got something else that needs doing even more.

What we do is we board up the Widder Smith's windows, every one of them. She's got these fancy curtains, all draped up so they don't let you know when she's looking out, watching you. Hide them curtains, and the Widder ain't a problem any more. We finish up about ten minutes before church is due to let out, so that gives us time to stop and admire God's handiwork.

"Aw, Peter, why can't we nail her door shut, too?" Eddie asks.

"Because, Eddie, what's the point of blocking her view if she can't get inside to where she can't see out?" Hallelujah, them windows is a beautiful sight!

"I don't think the Widder Smith will be spying on you today." Jimmy grins at me.

"Yep," I say. "Another sinner, turned back to God. Praise the Lord!"

"Praise the Lord!" Jimmy says. "And nail Sally once for me, brother." Thank God he knows not to call me Peter.

"Can I watch?" Eddie asks.

What do I do with this boy? I should've brought one of his bomb magazines for him to read. "No, Eddie, it ain't right to witness the miracle of love. Tell you what, though; soon as I'm done, I'll introduce you to Sally. How's that?"

"Hot spit!" he says. It's like feeding a stray dog; I got a friend for life.

So it's our turn to be surprised when the widder woman walks out of her house and sees us there, sitting in her yard. This woman always goes to church; I don't ever recall not seeing her there. Course as much as God calls me out on Sunday mornings, I don't say my record of her attendance is entirely complete. All the same, I'd have been less surprised to see Daddy's little green friend up there on the Widder's porch, licking his chops and sucking his tongue.

"Why, it's you!" she says, looking right at me. Eddie and Jimmy might as well leave now; Widder don't even know they're here. "All that pounding, house getting blacker and blacker, and I'm afraid that something awful is about to happen. But it's just you; all the time, it's just you. Well, young Peter Dunleavey, your father will hear about this!"

Daddy will indeed hear about this. I know this now, I tell you, but I know it when I hear the Widder Smith say these words, too. I want to ask if she'll forget all about it if we take the boards down and patch up the holes, but I know she'll thank us for making amends for our sin, then she'll still tell Daddy. That don't leave much to do but slink off like dogs, tails between our legs, and leave her there shouting at me.

So fuck her. Use someone else's dick, thank you, but fuck her all the same.

"Sally, she's waiting for me right now," I say, "over the other side of the cemetery."

Jimmy says, "Shit, you might as well go on. We're in enough trouble now; Daddy can't make you pay much more than he already will."

"You're probably right, Jimmy." I kick a rock that happens to get in my way. "I don't know, though; kind of hard to think about Sally when I know Daddy's got a devil waiting for me." What can Jimmy say to that? We walk in silence for a ways. Jimmy takes his turn kicking my rock.

"Tell you what, Eddie," I say. "I'll take you over to meet her. Widder says you were with us, I'll tell your dad she's lying. Widder don't know you all that well, anyway."

"Hot spit!" Eddie's like that stray dog, drools on the grass.

Sally's just as happy to go off with Eddie as I figured she would be for me. I thought she liked me good enough; shows what I know.

All that's left for Jimmy and me is to go down to Cottonmouth Creek. For that we got to go through town, past the Widder's house, past our house. We pass home, we'll stay on the other side of the street, and maybe we won't hear Daddy doing the Lord's work, praying, calling up devils for us.

Widder's house is already half-open again. These two little orange devils, short shits, got arms like blacksmiths, they're all over that house. Pulling boards off with their hands, stacking them neat as Auntie Anne's pancakes.

Devils ignore us, so we stop to watch. Might as well--can't no more harm come to us, no more than we've already earned. Orange devils, they always work for someone else. They're fixing the Widder's house, they can't be after us. Daddy don't got to wait for devil's hour to call up these orange fuckers; call them up any time. So we watch. Devils finish, and they carry the boards back toward Daddy's house.

Jimmy looks at me and I shrug; we start off again for the creek, kind of following these orange devils. We never get to the creek. We get to where we're across from our house, and them devils is already out of sight, round back. Between us and the house is everything I own. My bed's right square in the middle of the street, turned crossways and upside-down, so's anybody trying to ride a horse down the street'd have to go into our yard or Old Man Sanderson's, just to get around it. I know it's my bed; I got this blanket--Eddie calls it an Indian blanket, I don't know why; only Indian I know buys his blankets from Wallace's, like most everyone in B'burg--and even through the mud from the street and all the water puddled up, I can see the fancy patterns in the blanket. Peddler Daddy bought it from said it was the only one in the world.

Some devil, probably another orange shit, he must've drained Daddy's well dry, dipping water and hauling it out to the street.

Bed ain't all that's here. My table and my dresser, the only other furniture I got. Dresser wasn't too sturdy to begin with, and it's broke in pieces, chewed apart from the looks of it, and now I see that the bed frame's been chewed on, too. All my clothes, they're like the blanket, scattered in the road, watered down, stomped and muddy. Looks like someone did ride a horse through here, spent a lot of time walking around on my clothes; must have been Daddy. Even my Bible is here; horse stepped on it, pushed it into the mud. Had to be Daddy's horse; devil wouldn't touch no Bible.

I don't need Jimmy telling me to know what he tells me next. "Brother," he says, "that's everything you own. Daddy throwed you out."

"Yeah, and I don't need to try going inside to know he's already got a devil guarding the door, small light green one I met last night." I can feel that little fucker's presence. He's waiting inside, waiting for a chance to pinch me again.

"A green one, you say." Jimmy looks at me, eyes narrowed. "Like Momma's devil?"

"Not the same one," I tell him. "This guy's uglier; little more yellow in him."

I get Jimmy to help pull the bed off my blanket. Blanket's pretty heavy, bed was on top of it; might be something there to save. My clothes, they're all torn from rocks and horseshoes. I pick up a couple of shirts, but they're ruined; Daddy and his horse and his devils done a real fine job. I let the shirts drop.

"Don't worry, brother," Jimmy says. "I got more shirts than I can wear all at once."

"Daddy will know. You can't hide that." Only thing I can do is look at him. Jimmy don't need my trouble, not when Daddy starts throwing his sons out.

Jimmy shrugs. I nod; Jimmy just chose sides, and he's in with me. Sweetums, I tell you this, I miss him.

We circle back toward Eddie's house. I don't want to get too close, you understand. That little green feller, he's around, I know it.

We get back to where we can see my window. It's boarded up, just like the Widder's windows. Looking at the boards, I recognize one; it's got a knothole knocked out. We left the Widder Smith one window with a view--only through that knothole, you understand--right into Eli Russell's bedroom, next door. She wants to watch something, I figured that old prune was more her type. But now that same board is over my window. I don't think that's an accident; devils must know I picked that board, want me to know that.

I go let myself into Eddie's room; I know he won't mind. Jimmy, he don't know Eddie like I do, so he fidgets a while before coming in. I mean, none of his stuff is in the street, and his window ain't boarded up. But he don't want to go home right now, and he knows he don't have to tell me for me to know it, too.

Eddie comes back maybe two hours later, almost at the end of the devil's hour. During which time Jimmy and I haven't spoken more than once or twice. He don't act surprised to see us, so I figure he's seen the mess in the street.

He could stop smiling, though. He and Sally must've gotten on real good.

"What are you going to do, Peter?" he asks, flopping down on the floor with his head against the bare wall. I suppose we should have made room for him on his own bed, but good manners wasn't exactly the thing we were thinking about, not right then.

"I should've listened to you, Eddie," I say. "We should've blown up the Widder's house, with her in it. No one would've known it was us."

"Does that mean we can do it now?" Eddie smiles even bigger, wrinkling his ears; I didn't know he could do that.

"No, Eddie; ain't the Widder we got to settle up with." Jimmy and Eddie both look at me; Eddie even stops smiling, almost. "Daddy shouldn't've throwed me out, not like that."

"No, not using devils to do it," Jimmy says. "I'd say Daddy has fucked up."

Jimmy and I look at each other. I know we've both thought about saying that, almost every time he calls up a devil. And now it's truth; we say this, and it's true.

"So what are we going to do, Peter?" Eddie asks. "You got any ideas yet?" I swear, first thing happens when I leave B'burg, nobody calls me Peter, ever again.

"What I think, I think we ought to bomb the church," I say. "Some time when Daddy's in it. How's that sound?" Eddie looks at me like he's still waiting for me to tell him what to do. Like he's suddenly turned deaf and didn't know he hadn't heard a thing I said.

"Hey, sweetums, you been wanting your chance; here it is."

"Thinking," Eddie says. He's got this same stare like he's forgotten his name; makes me wonder if I've ever seen him think before. "The outhouse, behind the church. Peter, we got to bomb the outhouse!"

This thinking business, it's not good for Eddie. He must have snot for brains; snot dries out, he don't think so good, shouldn't ought to do it anymore. "Eddie, have you gone nuts? I don't give rabid skunk spit about the outhouse."

Life returns to Eddie's face. "It's our cover, Peter. We bomb the outhouse; it burns down. Who gives a fuck? Church catches fire in the process, and it burns down, too. Folks will say it's a damn shame, but they won't know that's what we intended in the first place."

"Makes sense, brother," Jimmy says. "We're trying to get out of trouble, not dig in deeper. This way, worst that can happen is they'll make us help rebuild it."

It does make sense, I got to agree. Course, maybe I had snot for brains right then, like Eddie. "Just one thing, kid. I want that church to go down fast. Can you do that?"

Eddie starts thinking again. You only got to see that look once, you know what it means. "Yeah, I can do it," he says. "Look, Peter, I got to go. I can't get the good stuff for making bombs around B'burg. That stuff old Wallace sells, it's just crap. In New St. Louis, man, you can buy any kind of explosives you want. You walk into a store and there it is. Meet me back here, tomorrow night. Okay?"

He's out the window, disappeared; don't even wait for us to agree.

Sometime during the night, I hear a bit of commotion outside. I don't get up to look, but I can hear good enough; got to keep Eddie's window open, case Eddie comes back, and to get a bit of air now and then.

What I hear is Daddy, but not close by, not like he's right near the house. "Almighty God," he says, "in whom Heaven and Hell have become one, have mercy upon the soul of my son Peter, who this day has committed himself to your forces here on the face of this Earth."

Like Hell I have. I ain't flinched for no devil, no sir, and he knows that. Ain't been no devils come close to me; all day long, not one been after my ass.

Then this cackling springs up--deep, like from chickens big as a hen house--and I know Daddy's got his audience. I can tell by the cackling, they ain't none of them human; voices so rough, they'd grate your skin down to the bone, you was to get too close.

"Have mercy, O Lord, while there is still time to lead him to Thee," Daddy calls out.

"Half murr-chee!" Must be one of them orange devils from the Widder's house; ain't much an orange devil likes better than to help trouble along when trouble is doing fine by itself. Cackling gets louder, and I hear this stone-deep voice say, "Leet im tomb-bee!" and I know my green devil thinks he's done staked his claim on me. He don't know so much; ain't going to let him have me, not then, not now, not ever.

"I make this offering in thy name, Lord, for the soul of my son," Daddy says, and if he says any more I don't get to hear it; this roaring starts, like fire to burn a house, like a devil calling for help from the bottom of Daddy's well. Except Daddy wouldn't do that to his devils, not when he thinks his devils come from God. His devils got to be cared for; that's what devils want when they come for Daddy's work.

Commotion goes on a bit, dies down. Me, I think I'm done sleeping for the night. Devils still around past the devil's hour, I know I got trouble.

Next morning Jimmy and me go back home, after Daddy leaves for the church. We get Jimmy's clothes, all of them, last time we ever set foot in Daddy's house. We get a few other things, a blanket Momma left behind; Jimmy says he hid it from Daddy.

Now I can see what happened during the night. All my clothes and stuff, out in the street, is burned. Wet as it was, I know it didn't burn very good, but then it didn't have to. Place stinks now; air stings so bad, trying to breathe, I know devil-piss got to be what started the fire. I missed anything not ruined yesterday, no point in looking now, none.

About devil's hour, Eddie shows up again, grin on his face but not much else to show for all the time he's been gone. All he's got is a tube wrapped in some kind of heavy gray paper and a small black box of some kind. The two are attached by a couple of strings of something that looks like rope, and not at all like rope, I don't know how to describe it any better. Hell, I never seen a bomb before, how should I know what to expect?

Eddie picks up the tube. "This is what's called a directed charge. It only blows up in one direction, out this way." He points out from one end of the tube, which has an extra ring of that heavy paper. "In an open space, all you need is a special glove, and you can hold this in your hand while it blows. Inside, though, I think this time-delay fuse will be safer." He taps the box.

"See, what we'll do is put the bomb in the outhouse, this end toward the church. When the timer tells it to go, the charge will blow out the back wall of the outhouse--hell, it'll probably blow it right through the church--and it'll keep going. Church will go up like a firecracker." Eddie grins, and his ears wrinkle again.

Jimmy starts to pick up the box, but Eddie slaps his hand away. "I got to show you how it works, Jimmy. This thing can blow us up right here; then we won't have to worry about the church."

"Jimmy," I say, "I'm the one got throwed out. This is my job."

"No it ain't, brother," he says. "You do it, that's revenge. I do it, it's justice." Got to admit, he's right. God's little deputies don't act in anger, not ever. Except I think Jimmy's mad, too, but won't let on about it.

"Something else," Jimmy says. "I remember from before Momma went away. Weren't no devils then. Got to put an end to devils; ain't no way to do that except for Daddy going away, too." Me, I don't remember a time before devils, so I got to take Jimmy's word.

So Eddie shows Jimmy what to do, which I guess means Jimmy's going to set the damn thing in the outhouse. Eddie says this box has a fifteen-minute variable timer and a short, fixed timer--something like that; Eddie, he stops making sense sometimes--and a couple of other things I don't even want to know about. He actually starts the timer; I never seen a machine that can count, but it starts counting backwards, right there in Eddie's hand. He touches it somewhere else, and the numbers go away.

Daddy sees this, he'd call a devil down on it. Clock on the church, it points at numbers, but that ain't the same. This box, it's got real numbers and counts better'n I do; ain't the sort of thing for machines to know about. I start to see why Daddy likes having devils at his call. That box, Eddie's time-delay fuse, it needs to get gone; devils be the best to do it.

"Eddie, ain't there something simpler, just make the whole place go at once?" I ask.

"No, Peter; I told you. This blows out the back wall of the outhouse, and the church goes up by accident. Even if they catch us, all they can blame us for is the outhouse."

"We can still put the bomb in the outhouse, sweetums. Only I don't understand why we got to leave the other three walls alone. Way I figure, outhouse with one wall missing is as good as one with no walls at all. Leave three walls up, we might as well go squat in the woods like a Penitent."

Eddie stops smiling, tries to look serious--not something I'd ever believe. "Peter, this'll work."

Fucker went all the way to New St. Louis for his toys. Me, living on his bedroom floor, least I can do is let him play.

Tuesday morning we're in the cemetery come dawn, all God's little deputies here in B'burg. Daddy always leaves the house at quarter after seven, always walks to church, gets there about seven-thirty. Widder Smith always opens up the church for him at seven; hadn't planned it this way, but she gets to pay up with Daddy. But we're there, quarter of seven by the church clock, nothing to do but get nervous. Eddie shows Jimmy three times again how to set the fuse, walks him over to the outhouse four times to show him where to put the bomb. Jimmy wasn't going in there with him, I'd say Eddie's got the nervous shits.

Widder shows up at seven and unlocks the church. I got to hold Eddie back from one of his trips to the outhouse, keep the Widder from seeing us.

I see something else I don't want to see. Eddie's got our lookout spot all picked out--the Turner family crypt, off to the side of the outhouse, where we can see the back blow out. And this little, light-green devil, real familiar looking except that his horns are back to ordinary devil's nubs; he's leaning against a tombstone right next to us. He ain't nervous at all; leans there, licks his teeth and sucks the goo off his tongue. Sweetums, that goo is glistening green in the sun, I tell you.

About five minutes before Daddy's supposed to get here, Eddie goes over the fuse with Jimmy one more time, then Jimmy walks toward the outhouse, and Eddie and I settle in behind the Turner crypt, me watching through some binoculars that Jimmy stole, I forget where from. Jimmy could tell you where, he could still tell you anything.

That little devil, he comes over and joins us, hunkers down right beside me. He's going to pinch me when that bomb goes off, I know it.

Jimmy walks into the outhouse, only stays long enough to put down the bomb and set the fuse. It's supposed to be set for ten minutes, gives him plenty of time to get out and join us, plenty of time for Daddy to get here, get settled in to work.

Outhouse door opens, Jimmy takes one step, and Hell breaks loose like Daddy never imagined. That devil, he's ready, and he pinches me right on the ass. So help me, I wasn't going to let him have me. But the bomb went off early, Jimmy's in flames, and I flinch. Damn him back to the Hell he came from, he pinches me and I flinch.

I don't look at him; I don't give him that. I can't be worrying about some devil, not with Jimmy down, flaming blue-white. Daddy never told me about flames like these, and he ain't here to share them with Jimmy.

That bomb, it took out the back wall of the outhouse. Eddie had that much right. This spear of flame--I know that don't make sense, but I don't know what else to call it--cuts right through the church, all the way through. Fire is blue, but it's also white, so white it hurts to look. Daddy's church almost comes to life for a second, like it takes its first breath ever, expands out to half again its size. Buildings ain't made to breathe, though, so instead it comes apart, board from board, and each piece falls on its own, falls away from every other piece. And every piece of the church is its own separate fire.

Problem for Jimmy is, outhouse did the same, except quicker. Guess it wasn't built as good as the church. "Jesus, what a backwash," Eddie says. I'll let Eddie talk that out with Jesus. Right now even my devil don't mean nothing, and I bet he knows that, too. Ain't nothing means anything, except Jimmy dead and Daddy still alive.

"Sweetums, we really fucked up this time."

"I'm sorry, Peter," Eddie says, over and over. "I'm sorry, Jimmy."

Church is flat now, and the blue-white flame is gone. All that's left is burning wood. Something inside tells me that this wood shouldn't ought to burn, it's too scattered, you don't make a wood fire like this, wood's got to be stacked. But after that bomb, I know I didn't know anything about fire, not till today. Watching Jimmy burn, I know more than I'll ever want to.

"What went wrong, Eddie?" I ask.

"I don't know, Peter," he says. He won't look at me. Face white, all he sees must be his fire. "I know I showed him how to set the fuse. And I know it's a good fuse; all the magazines say it's the best." Eddie turns even whiter, sits down and leans against the crypt. "Unless he hit the fixed timer, too. Oh, Jesus, Jimmy, I shouldn't have let you be the one to set the fuse."

Eddie is fucking useless, sitting against the crypt, mumbling. Fire's coming our way, so I drag him out of there. I don't drag the devil away; he can burn if he wants. Ots'otl, his name is; he told me that later. He might be my devil now, might not, but either way that don't mean I got to watch out for his ass.

All of B'burg comes to the church, everybody at a dead run. Sheriff Mains pulls people into fire crews, keep the fire from burning everything. I find Eddie's dad, tell him what happened, let him take Eddie. No point in hiding what we did, not with everyone here to see us, not with Jimmy dead.

Mid-afternoon, and it's over. Church is gone, not a thing left of it. Cemetery is black, too; grass, tombstones, everything, black and smoking. Daddy's standing in the street, looking at empty ground that used to be his church. I go over and tell him where to find Jimmy. He don't move or look at me, don't show any sign of listening. I know he heard, though; devil may have pinched me, but I ain't gone yet.

"My church and my son," he says, staring at the black ground. "Both of them gone, and this boy Peter took them away from me."

"Wasn't me took Momma away, not Momma and not my sister, neither." I know he don't want to hear that; ain't his choice, he's got to hear. Hell, it was Daddy drove his sons away, that's what bombing the church was supposed to tell him. Ain't nothing going to tell him that now, and you can believe it.

"I never had a daughter," he says. His back, it goes stiff, hard and straight as any tombstone. "God gave only his son to this world. So a man of God has an obligation; he only gives sons to God's world."

Daddy's holding his back so stiff, it starts to shake. I was a devil, pinch him right now, Daddy'd be mine.

"Your Momma had an obligation to me and to God, but she broke her word. She told me that her daughter was mine, just as much as it was hers. She lied, Peter; she laid down with a devil and received her daughter from Hell, and I had to send her back." Daddy's back starts shaking again; he ain't about to bend.

I walk away from Daddy and I see my devil, still hunkering by the Turner family crypt. He looks at me, licks his teeth. I don't stay for the rest of his show; I got the act memorized by now.

No place to go but Eddie's room, so that's where I go. It's empty except for Jimmy's clothes, stacked in the corner. Whole house is empty, except for Eddie's dad, what must be his bed, and another small stack of clothes. No way they could have moved everything out since morning; where'd they go to?

I sit against the wall in the hallway, outside Eddie's dad's bedroom. Eddie's dad comes out to the hall, sits down across from me. I want to ask, but I can't. Sweaty, black from the fire, exhausted, asking a question takes more effort than I can give.

"Hello, Peter," he says.

That's something my Daddy never did. Never talked to me on my own level, never.

"Where's Eddie?" I got to know where, even if I don't know why or how.

"Eddie needs some special care, Peter. We had to take him away. We all have to leave; I'm staying for the funeral, but that's all."

"Wasn't Eddie's fault, Jimmy dying like that," I say.

"No." Eddie's dad looks down the hall; ain't nothing there, but he looks anyway. "It's my fault, Peter. I'm sorry." That don't make sense; Eddie's dad didn't even know what we planned. Got to ask what he means, soon as I figure out how to ask.

"You coming back?" I know the answer. I guess I need to hear Eddie's dad say it.

He shakes his head. "Probably not."

"What's it like, this place you come from? New St. Louis, is it?"

"Where'd you hear that?" There's an edge in Eddie's dad's voice.

I shrug. "Eddie. He mentioned it once in a while"--all the time, but I get the idea I shouldn't say that--"but he never said much more."

"I'm sorry, Peter. I can't talk about it. I'm afraid I can't take you there, either. If it helps, Eddie's been asking about you."

"Then maybe I'll come visit sometime, after I get out of B'burg." I look away; something in his eyes I can't look at.

"I don't think so, Peter. I doubt you can find it on your own."

"Hmm," I say. Well, sweetums, what would you say to that? "I tried to find it on a map once; didn't see it anywhere. Closest I could get was this place up across the line in Missouri. That anywhere close?"

"No, Peter; it's farther than that." I could swear he is laughing, not at me, but laughing all the same. All I hear is his words, real quiet. "It's not so much where New St. Louis is. It's kind of like a question of when."

I shake my head; now I know how come Eddie's got snot for brains. "Way Eddie tells it, New St. Louis sounds pretty good. How come you left?"

Eddie's dad looks away. "It's not," he whispers. "We couldn't raise our kids there. Kids weren't safe. We weren't safe. The whole world wasn't safe. So we decided to go someplace quiet; that's why we came to Bakersburg."

I ain't been out of B'burg much, but quiet ain't the word I'd use for this place. "What you got in New St. Louis, worse than devils?"

Eddie's dad laughs; hushed laugh, like he's about to choke. I'd rather hear a devil laugh, I tell you; devils at least got something to laugh about. "I don't know, Peter," he says. "I keep asking that, myself. I don't have an answer."

I stand up, can't talk anymore. Eddie's dad gets up, too. It's about the devil's hour; day's done, and I feel like I am, too.

I don't leave Eddie's house until Thursday, time for the funeral. After two days, I think I know him better than I ever knew my own Daddy; not enough to understand him, but pretty good all the same. What really hurts is that about the time I figure this out, he leaves, too, and I'm alone in what used to be Eddie's house, Eddie's and his dad's.

Two days to the funeral, that gives me time to think, too much time. Time to think about Momma's green devil, the laughing one. Keep checking my ass; kind of hard to see, but it's still all there, near as I can tell. Ain't getting thin, yet.

It was a nice funeral Jimmy got, best as I could see; Daddy wouldn't let me in the funeral tent, not to see my own brother one last time. But I stand outside and watch. Daddy, he says the right things by Jimmy, how he always tried to do God's will. Makes me proud, and I got to call out, "Amen." Old Man Sanderson, he turns and stares. He'd best be careful; he might fuck up soon, have to pay.

Daddy won't let Sally Cousins in, either, so she finds me, asks me about Eddie. Gone, I tell her, wish I knew where.

People start moving toward the grave, I can see there's a casket for Jimmy and only flowers for the Widder Smith. Hey, I helped that much to put my own brother to rest, telling Daddy where to find him; I can't be all bad.

So they put Jimmy in the cemetery. Ground ain't smoking any more; seems like it ought to, tribute to Jimmy.

Next morning, Sheriff Mains comes by, arrests me for killing the Widder Smith. Trial's already set up for this afternoon, so I'll be seeing Judge Camp real soon now. I know it wasn't Daddy set me up. Got his devils, he don't need the law. Hell, could've been anybody; ain't like we hid or nothing, not after Jimmy died.

It fucking figures; I shouldn't have expected any less. God don't pay His little deputies not to think; I should've seen this coming.

Don't know why they worry about the Widder Smith. Judge Camp puts on his robe, they could be twins. Sat next to her in church, too. So trial's over already, been done since the Widder died on Tuesday. Might as well be the Widder herself up on the bench, trying me for her own murder. Hell, Judge Camp could even be the next Widder Smith, seeing as how B'burg don't got one just now.

Sheriff Mains has the courtesy to tell me I can ask for a trial somewhere else; tells me the evidence against me is pretty tight. I tell him I don't care where the trial is, long as I get a real kangaroo for a judge, not Judge Camp. Give me a chance for a fair trial that way.

Hey, sweetums, what's the worst Judge Camp can do to me? Send me home to Daddy's devils?

Go to court, there's Judge Camp behind the bench, robe as black as Auntie Anne's fried chicken, time she set her kitchen on fire. Got a U.S. flag behind one shoulder. Judge needs a flag to prove he's one of God's little deputies, he ain't up to the job. I know this to be true.

I go up to the bench. "Judge Camp, I want to be tried by a kangaroo, real one. You got that?" Should have used Judge Camp to blow up the church, he gets so mad. Might've saved Jimmy that way; church'd be just as flat today. For a second, I think he might come over the bench after me. Fucker is hopping mad, you might say.

See, you want a kangaroo, go ahead and ask for one. Judge Camp, it's like he's starting to get this hopping tail; thick, long tail and good, strong legs. They're just starting to show up, mighty thin yet, but real. Probably got a pouch starting under that robe. Wheels of justice always move fast in B'burg, but that ain't nothing compared to what the hoppy-tails of justice are going to do now.

Things getting so strange, I think maybe I ought to check my ass, see if it's still all there where I got pinched. Question is, my own butt gets thin, would I be able to see that?

So while Judge Camp hops on his chair--can't sit; got that big tail--I go back to my seat, try to pass time. Think of something pleasant, like Sally Cousins' boobs. I know Eddie got to see them, I know it. I think hard for a bit, I can see them, too.

Ain't my own mind, seeing Sally's boobs; I get some help. Got my own devil, now, sitting on the bench next to Judge Camp's gavel. He's got boobs, and they got to be Sally's. Except for one thing.

Sweetums, you got boobs, don't ever paint them green. You paint them green, don't show them to me. Promise this, I tell you.

Devil sits there, licking his teeth. He's my way out of B'burg; we both know this to be true.

Judge Camp stops bouncing long enough to sentence me. Says I'll hang tomorrow morning. Ain't so bad; means I don't have to go home again. And I know I ain't going to hang; Ots'otl tells me this. You got to believe a devil; you got to.

Only thing is, people in court, they look at me like maybe I'm on fire. All except Daddy; he sits and stares, don't watch me, don't watch Judge Camp, don't watch my devil, don't seem to know anybody's here at all. Makes me want to check my ass; it's got to be either bare or gone.

Come the devil's hour, I'm back in my cell; butt looks fine to me. My little green friend, he's here too, boobs gone, licking his teeth. Except this time, he don't suck the goo, no sir. He wraps that tongue around a bar of my cell. Cloud of smoke--Jesus, does it stink--and that bar melts apart. Few more bars, couple of licks on my leg-irons, I'm out.

Tonight, I leave B'burg. Like I say, first thing happens when I leave, nobody calls me Peter, ever again. I tell you this, and you believe me.

Ots'otl, he starts laughing.