the Pallbearers (2010) Read Free Page B

terrible circumstances."
    It was always like that at funerals. Even common pleasantries seemed out of place.
    "We're having a preservice pallbearers' meeting in the rectory building over there beside the church. There's only one who hasn't showed yet. Hope he doesn't duck out."
    "Who's missing?" I asked, thinking maybe it was someone from my days there.
    "Jack Straw. He's coming from Long Beach. Do you know him?" I shook my head. "I don't know him either, but like all of us, he once lived at Huntington House and was on Walt's list. He said over the phone that his boss wouldn't let him off 'til noon." She frowned at her watch. "He should have been here by now."
    "I'll just go on into the rectory and introduce myself," I said.
    "Good. I'll be there as soon as this guy Straw shows."
    Just then a shiny, red-and-black, custom Softail Harley came roaring up the hill, pipes blaring. I could tell from the deep growling sound that the engine was a big V-twin. Astride the brightly painted bike, arms outstretched to clutch shoulderwide ape hangers, was a young guy with no helmet, long black hair, dirty jeans, and leathers. Not what I'd choose to wear to a funeral, but Huntington House wasn't exactly an Eastern finishing school, so you had to be ready for anything.
    The rider pulled to a stop in the parking lot, put down a foot, shut off the bike, and racked the kickstand. Then he climbed off and walked up the path toward us.
    "Jack Straw. Sorry I'm so late," he said, addressing Ms. Peterson. "You look pissed, so you must be Diamond."
    She looked at his outfit then flicked her gaze at me. "That's what you're planning on wearing?"
    "All I got, Toots." When he smiled, he showed us one gold-boxed tooth in front.
    I'm a cop. My job is to read people, and from jump this guy was coming off as dirt. He had a career criminal vibe. If I ran him through the system, I was sure his package would contain a fat list of priors. At least, that was my instant take. He was twenty-eight or thirty and handsome in a greasy, Tommy Lee way. His attitude suggested he thought he was pretty damn hot.
    Then he took off his heavy leather biker jacket. Underneath, he had on a white tank. Tattoos covered both arms and confirmed my suspicions--spiderwebs at each elbow, crude drawings, and the names of old girlfriends written on both forearms. A walking billboard. It was mostly prison work, done in that hard-to-miss, strange, green - blue ink that the California penal system uses.
    He turned and looked me up and down.
    "You a cop?" he asked, making me as quickly as I had just made him. Cops and cons can do that.
    "Yeah, but I'm only here as a friend of Walter Dix," I said coldly. "I won't tell your P . O . you skipped out of work early."
    "Hey, come on. Don't bake me, dude. I just asked." Then he put his hand out to me, and since I had no choice, I shook it. He turned back to face Diamond.
    "I work at a motorcycle shop in Long Beach. My boss is a dick and made me finish a ring job I was doing on a flathead Harley." He looked over at Alexa.
    "This is my wife, Alexa," I said. He held his appraisal for a few seconds too long. A frank sexual inventory. He'd made me as a cop quickly, but seemed to have missed the fact that, besides being gorgeous, underneath her simple black sheath Alexa was also LAPD blue. I watched as he mentally undressed her. If Mr. Straw didn't cut it out, he was soon going to be keeping that boxed tooth in a tooth box.
    "Let's go inside. We need to pick our spots," Diamond said. "Mrs. Scully, you can wait inside the church. It's starting to fill up, so you better get a seat."
    Alexa nodded and moved toward the little chapel. I followed Diamond Peterson and Jack Straw into the small rectory beside the church. Three other people were waiting. Apparently, there were just going to be the standard six pallbearers.
    It was a strange bunch, all veterans of the group home. We were all dressed differently, and all of us were from different time periods at