Access to Power
“He’d been following the car since it left McLean, Virginia and he found it hard to keep up with. Frank Miles had hit the George Washington Memorial Parkway at eighty-five miles an hour, weaving in and out of traffic like a madman until he crossed the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge. Raymond thought that there might be a problem at the office, some kind of political emergency, whatever that was. But now they were rolling through a run-down section of the city that gave even Raymond pause. Why?
There w...as a church on the right, free of graffiti. He could see the Lexus pulling into the lot.
Raymond parked at the curb, watching Frank get out of his car and walk up the steps to the church.
Why?
As Raymond thought it over, he looked at the people on the street and hit the door locks. It wasn’t that they were black. He wasn’t stupid and didn’t give a shit about that. It was that they were poor. Poverty had a way of turning the ground meat of your soul into a Sloppy Joe. He knew because he had been there himself and eaten a lot of Sloppy Joes.MoreLess
There w...as a church on the right, free of graffiti. He could see the Lexus pulling into the lot.
Raymond parked at the curb, watching Frank get out of his car and walk up the steps to the church.
Why?
As Raymond thought it over, he looked at the people on the street and hit the door locks. It wasn’t that they were black. He wasn’t stupid and didn’t give a shit about that. It was that they were poor. Poverty had a way of turning the ground meat of your soul into a Sloppy Joe. He knew because he had been there himself and eaten a lot of Sloppy Joes.MoreLess
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