Curiosity Industry
Part Eleven

The air rushed in waves through Herman's ear canal. Cincinnati now lay just beyond what the headlights could see. The black surrounding him felt heavy and his eyelids drooped.

"We'll be in Cincinnati soon boy," Jim raised the whiskey to his lips. "This Greasy Tit's weak. No wonder you like it. Look, I got to stop and see a business associate." He signaled right and pulled off the paved road. The road sign read that Cincinnati was dead ahead, they were on the way to Pempleston.

"Where we going mister?" Herman asked.

"A man who owes me money lives at the end of the road. You got to have money in the big city. Everything costs."

Jim handed Herman the jug. "You want any more of this shit? No? I'm going to dump it then. It's a waste of a perfectly fine jug to put that weak shit in it. My debtor here has some first rate whiskey. Kind’ll make your head spin."

"Just let me out mister."

"Easy son, I'll take you right into the city."

They pulled behind an abandoned brick warehouse. Broken windows breathed dust from their frames, the top third of the building had the name Emperiles painted on it. Trails of fine particles were touched with rusty hues in the morning's first light. The day had settled in as a quiet mist. Birds called from tree to tree in the small wooded area behind the building, the only sound at that hour except for the voices coming from inside. Deep laughter shook through the building's red brick walls. Echoed in the morning stillness, Grady McDowell's laugh now emerged from that buried place inside of Herman.

"Hen-ree are you tryin to be stupid?" He would chortle at him. Grady never got the satisfaction of a reply. His victim knew him well enough to realize that whatever he said would be used against him.

"Henry why don't you go at him?" Herman would plead. “He ain't so much you couldn't take him."

"No, Herman. Don't let him make you mad. Don't let him get you."

"You could take that fat horse’s ass," he encouraged his brother.

In time, Herman embarrassed his brother by fighting his fights for him. Henry never wanted him to get involved. He stuck close to the words of his ma and pa. And what he heard in church about loving your enemy and turning the other cheek.

"Hey dimwit you want to play checkers with Embry (his dog). I bet he beats ya." McDowell called out from his porch. An unbearably hot September morning snaked its way through town. Coils of heat unraveled down the short hill that the boys had to climb to get to school. McDowell glared at them from his lawn and spat black tobacco from between his teeth in their direction.

"Look," he called through the yellow cracks of teeth. "Its the stupids, little stupid and b-i-i-i-g stupid."