“Um,” he said.
Mary shook her head and looked down at her shoes. They needed a good buffing. Nice leather. She had a feeling she’d be looking at them quite a bit today.
Out of the corner of her eye, Mary watched as Alice stepped forward and took the man’s hand. “Pardon my brother,” she said, nodding toward Kurt. “He thinks he’s in a comedy sketch.” She twirled her finger around her ear. “Dementia,” she whispered.
Mary accepted the man’s condolences as an older woman spoke to Kurt.
“He’ll be missed,” she said. “It was horrible, horrible what happened to him. I can’t believe he’s dead.”
Kurt took her hand, a look of sincere grief on his face. “Well, I hope he’s dead because we’re going to bury him in forty-five minutes.” Kurt paused, then burst out laughing.
The woman’s face held a look of barely concealed horror. Alice once again tried to explain, while Mary wished she could smoke some of her cousin’s weed.
It was going to be a long, long morning.
Chapter Twelve
St. Hugo’s Catholic Church was sparsely occupied for Brent’s funeral. Because of his ornery personality, Mary was surprised anyone had shown up at all. Then again, from where she was standing behind the altar in the doorway leading to the priest’s quarters, she studied the visitors and saw that most of them were old. There may have been a bus from the old people’s condo where Brent lived, and it was likely that some of its occupants thought they’d signed up for a trip to the farmer’s market.
Mary turned and watched as Alice and Kurt argued about his behavior at the funeral home.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Kurt said. “I was in the zone, on a roll, baby! They were eating it up!” His face was flushed and he looked like he had just come off the field after scoring the game-winning touchdown.
“You made that whole thing about as dignified as one of those hookers down on Crenshaw,” Alice shot back.
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t talk about the priest’s girlfriends like that.”
Mary heard a subtle cough come from behind the priest’s half-open door. Uncle Kurt was definitely going to Hell. No doubt about it.
“Listen, butthead, this is a church. Not a comedy club,” Alice said. “They don’t have a liquor license here. There aren’t any drunks to appreciate your gags.”
“They have wine, dude,” Jason said. He looked at each of them for a response, when he got none, he simply shrugged his shoulders.
“Is it Night Train?” Mary said. “I’m thirsty.”
“Okay, listen goody two shoes,” Uncle Kurt said to Alice. “First of all, there is dignity in good humor.”
“Yeah, good humor. I’m surprised you didn’t ask one of the old ladies to pull your finger,” Alice said.
Cousin Jason snickered and Mary got an even stronger whiff of dope. He must have toked up on the way over from the funeral home.
“Second of all,” Kurt continued. “Some of those hookers are really quite dignified — they put a handkerchief on your lap when they blow you.”
The cough behind the priest’s door was a little louder this time.
“Okay, Uncle Kurt, if you’re finished preparing your sermon,” Mary said, and tapped her watch, but Kurt kept going.
“Listen,” Kurt said. He put his arms around Alice’s and Mary’s shoulders, and pulled them together like a coach gathering his players in the huddle. “We’ve got a good crowd out there. They’re expecting a Cooper style performance, so let’s not disappoint them.”
“It’s not a show, you jackass,” Alice said.
Jason wandered over and picked up a long, brass candle snuffer and turned it upside down. Mary could hear his thoughts; ‘hmm, if I put the weed in here…’
“You think Brent would have wanted a big sob fest?” Uncle Kurt continued. “If we don’t have those people laughing, he’ll send down a curse. So just all of you go sit down. I want to go over my material. I’m gonna blow ‘em away.”
Alice looked at Mary.
“Is your gun loaded?” she said.
Chapter Thirteen
Mary, Alice, and Jason sat in the front pew. When the priest finished his role in the ceremony, Kurt came on to deliver the eulogy. Mary wanted to shrink down lower, but her knees were already pressed up against the front of the pew.
“We’re here to remember Brent Cooper,” Uncle Kurt said with a solemn tone to his voice. His head was bowed. He was the absolute picture of somber sincerity. “If anyone’s here for the Denny’s Early Bird Special — that’s two doors down.”
Mary closed her eyes and fantasized that she had been adopted. That somewhere her real family was wondering whatever became of that sweet little baby girl they’d put up for adoption.
“The cops are diligently following up every lead,” Kurt continued. “And right now, all the leads point in one direction: the Dunkin Donuts on Wilshire.”
Behind her, Mary heard one of the old men snoring.
Chapter Fourteen
This is fantastic.
A tragedy and a farce all rolled into one. I love it! I’d like to get up there and tell everyone how much fun it was to put a bullet into the back of Brent Cooper’s finely shaped head. I could improvise a scene: Brent trying to talk St. Peter into admitting him to heaven.
Were his tickets at Will Call?
St. Peter starts to shut the door.
Brent says — Grandma! I came toward the light!
I want to laugh but despite Asshole Kurt Cooper up there, the crowd is deadly — no pun intended — silent. No wonder I’d never seen Kurt. Brent got all the looks and what little humor ran in the Cooper blood.
That girl, though. Mary. She looked like she had something to her.
I’ve gotta write some of this shit down.
And plan the next one.
Chapter Fifteen
In Studio City, among the office buildings and parking garages put up in the Seventies, sat the condominium complex for the elderly called Palm Terrace. Like its residents, the Palm Terrace had seen better days.
Mary parked the Accord in a visitor’s spot. She’d gotten the car out of storage now that the Buick was history. She went into the office where she found a woman in her fifties playing online euchre.
“Excuse me,” Mary said, after politely waiting the requisite few seconds. The office had cheap paneling and particle board furniture. It looked like a hospital waiting room. In Mexico.
The woman held up a finger. She had a heavy sweater, polyester pants, and gray hair done up in a perm.
“Just one minute,” she said. She anxiously watched the monitor. Mary saw a flutter of movement on the screen and then the woman shot up from her chair.
“You idiot! Goddamn moron!” She thumped her fist down on the desk and the keyboard jumped. Mary caught a glimpse of the screen and saw the card game was over.
“Let me guess — you won,” Mary commented.
“Won? How can I win when my own partner, my own husband, makes the most boneheaded, infantile moves…”