“He’s either sick or dead-on-his-feet tired. I hope he has someone else to watch the store with…”
“Else, he’s just a tired wildebeest and the lions are waiting for him to nap,” Dranko interjected.
They continued down the street. As a handful of cars passed them they saw a motley collection of firearms and other weapons in several cars. Mostly, they were pistols and shotguns. However, as an old, yellow, beat up and rusted VW bus drove by, Dranko let out a low whistle.
“Will you look at that!”
The passenger was a man in his thirties, long flowing blonde hair, striking features. He was dressed in a green plaid kilt, without a shirt, and the kilt gathered at his shoulder with a dull gray metal broach. In his hands was clutched the biggest sword Cooper had ever seen. The tip reached outside the rolled down window.
“What is that?”
“I think it’s what our good friends the Scots called a Claymore, a traditional fighting sword,” Dranko responded.
“It must be three feet long!” Cooper exclaimed.
As the two vehicles passed, the occupants all turned to look at one another. The driver was a beautiful woman, also in her thirties. Her brown hair was well done, with bits of ribbon and small brass bells woven in. She wore a tight fitting, brown, English woolen peasant-style dress. Her face was rocked with worry and she was holding onto the steering wheel so tightly, her knuckles were white. The passenger raised his sword just a bit and glared at them with wide open eyes and barred teeth.
Cooper almost burst out laughing, but restricted himself to a curt smile, “Do you think he’s trying to menace us?”
“Me dothinks!” Dranko retorted.
“Ren Faire run amok,” Cooper said, referring to the oft-staged Renaissance Faires where people re-enacted various scenes and events from the Middle Ages.
They drove in silence the rest of the way to the funeral home. When it came into view, Cooper immediately wished that he had left Jake at home.
Fuhrmann’s funeral home loomed large in front of them several hundred yards further down the road. The parlor had been converted from a large, two story early Victorian. The dark, blue-gray paint was highlighted with the scallops painted copper and the trim in a deep silver. The house sat on an acre of pristine emerald grass, finely groomed. A massive oak tree was perfectly positioned in the middle of the lawn, its limbs thick as a man, reaching skyward.
There were several cars lined up in front of the home and a man in a white lab coat stood out front with a clip board. As they pulled in, Cooper could see that he had a pencil thin mustache and his hair was slicked back. He wore blue latex gloves and had an industrial grade mask with filters on either side attached firmly to his face. He was shaking his head vigorously back and forth to a woman standing in front of him. She had inclined her head towards him in a half bow, and clasped her hands in front of her, fingers locked together.
He waved his hand firmly and appeared to shout at her, but they could not hear anything due to the distance and his mask.
Sobbing deeply, the woman turned back towards her car, got in and drove away. Cooper saw the unmistaken shape of a body wrapped up in a flower bedecked drapery lying in her backseat.
“I wonder what the hell is going on here,” Dranko asked himself.
“I’m going to find out. Jake, you stay here with Dranko.”
Cooper’s feet hit the pavement, even before the Jeep had completely stopped. Cooper strode up just as another man was getting in his car to drive away.
The clipboard wielding man had a smug look on his face as he scribbled some notes down. He didn’t see Cooper’s fast approach.
“What’s going on here?” Cooper demanded.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” He looked up in surprise from the clipboard.
“You heard me. What is going on here? Are you turning these people away?”
Recovering from his momentary surprise, a wry smile reappeared on his face as deliberately shifted the clipboard in his hands, “That depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“On who is coming to seek our services.”
Cooper was already weary of this man’s coy attitude. His fists clenched, “Just what does that mean?”
“Well, you may have noticed that there is an overwhelming need for our services at the current time. Our ability to process remains in a safe and efficient manner, while meeting the quality standards that Fuhrmann’s has maintained for generations, is quite limited. So, under these circumstances, we are only able to meet the needs of our pre-paid customers at this time.”
Cooper’s head swam amidst the prepackaged sales pitch, “Pre-paid what?”
“Our pre-paid customers, sir. Those foresighted individuals who have made pre-arranged funeral plans for their loved ones in the event of someone becoming deceased. Are you one of those customers?” The man’s self-assured smile said he knew the question was only rhetorical.
Rage flashed and Cooper slammed the man up against a pearly white column, his forearm across the man’s throat. The clipboard hit the ground with a loud clatter, the papers rustling in a sudden breeze.
“No, I’m not. But, what I do have are the remains of my wife who died this morning and you’re going to give her a proper burial. I’ll pay whatever the charges are, but it’s going to be done!”
“I’m afraid I c-c-can-not do that. We need to keep our spaces open for our P-P-Pre-Paid customers only,” the man stuttered in fear.
Cooper pressed firmly with his forearm and the man began choking, “How about I pull your gas mask off? Will that change your mind you pompous ass!”
“I ca-nnnn-not do anything… p-p-o-li-cy.” He choked out between shallow breaths.
Cooper flushed with rage. He moved in closer to bring his eyes just a scant inch from the other man’s. Losing control, he drew his pistol and buried the muzzle against the man’s temple. “Damn you! Don’t you understand anything? My wife just died. I loved her since I laid eyes on her. My son is here. She needs a proper burial, you bastard!” The man cried out in pain and began whimpering.
From behind, an iron grip tore Cooper’s pistol away from the man’s head. Another hand gripped him around the belt, restricting his movement. “Ease up, brother.” Dranko’s quiet, calm voice rang louder than a gunshot in his ear.
Cooper regained himself. He now caught sight of two black-clad men standing outside the funeral parlor’s main entrance, one with a shotgun and the other with a military-style AR-15. Both guns were leveled at Cooper. Both wore mirror finish aviator sunglasses that video games and soldier of fortune magazine made popular with the wannabe soldier crowd. Cooper had little doubt they were ill trained with their weapons. But, at this range, it wouldn’t matter.
“You’d be wise to heed your friend’s words,” the one on the left, slightly taller than the other, said.
Cooper eased up on the other man’s throat and slowly raised his hands above his head. “Alright, I get it.”
The man leaned down, picked up his clipboard from the ground. He made a grand gesture of straightening his clothes and brushing himself off.
“You,” his voice was shaky. He cleared his throat, “You need to leave right now or we’ll call the police.”
“You know damn well you wouldn’t see the police for five days,” Cooper shot back.
“Well, Brian and Gary can handle things just fine. You just move along now.”
The man’s patronizing attitude angered Cooper again, “Brian and Gary? Are you kidding me? Were you guys guarding the mall last week? And, today you are full blown mercenaries? Is that it?”