Collateral(26)
Once I’m done with my breakfast, I find both of them fussing over Ernie in the lounge area. They don’t see me for a moment, and watching them scrubbing their hands through the dog’s fur, scratching his belly and roughhousing with him, makes me break out into a smile. Neither of these men would have struck me as dog people, and yet the evidence is right there in front of me. They love that freaking dog.
Zeth sees me first. He stands up, wiping his hands on jeans. He clears his throat, pointing at Ernie. “We were just checking him for…intestinal worms.”
“Right. How did that go?”
“All good.”
I can barely keep a straight face. “That’s reassuring. I’m going to get ready now. It looks like we have a long day ahead of us.”
St. Finnegan’s Catholic Church is a tall-spired, ancient-looking building on the outskirts of Hunt’s Point. The bells are tolling as we arrive, which means the Duchess’s casket has already been taken inside. Michael parks the car on the street outside the church—there’s plenty of space available—and Michael, Zeth and I head inside. The dress Michael bought for me is respectful yet clings to my figure at the same time, perhaps showing a few too many curves considering the setting. It’s not as though I ever met the Duchess, though. And despite the stressful nature of our reason for being here this morning, Zeth’s hands strategically brush those curves as he helps me out of the car, a gentle, burning reminder of our little cane game. We make our way up the pathway to the church entrance, and I do my best not to enjoy his touch a little too much.
The interior of St. Finnegan’s is typical of any Catholic church. Lots of dark wooden pews, stained-glass windows, gold filigree, and a ten-foot-high depiction of Christ on the cross at the far end of the building in the apse. The smell hits me like a blast from the past. Dusty books, wood, wax, incense, shirt starch—these are the scents of my childhood.
There aren’t many people sitting in the pews. Guess that explains the ample parking space outside. The front two rows are taken, perhaps twenty or so backs facing us as we walk down the aisle. My modest heels send echoing footsteps up to the high, vaulted ceiling as we try to sneak into the service unnoticed. No one turns around to see who the latecomers are. The priest at the front of the congregation pauses in his words and gives us a tight, inconvenienced smile as Zeth directs me to one of the empty pews on the left, halfway down the length of the church. He only continues once we’re seated.
None of us pay any attention to the service. Of the three of us, I’m perhaps the least subtle as I crane my neck, looking for a flash of familiar blonde curls. I can’t see Lacey anywhere. Zeth’s knee starts to bounce up and down—he can’t see her either.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath. Cursing in church? Even though my faith’s been absent for quite some time now, I still feel my cheeks reddening. “She’s not here.” He leans to whisper in Michael’s ear. Michael does his own job of scanning the paltry collection of people sitting at the front of the church. He shakes his head. Zeth looks like his blood has started to boil in his veins.
“Fucking Charlie isn’t here. None of his boys. Not a single one of them,” he hisses. That doesn’t make any sense.
“But Michael said Charlie posted the obituary? Why wouldn’t he come?”
Zeth clenches his jaw, cracking his knuckles one after the other. “Because he knew we would.”
Someone turns around and shushes us, holding their index finger to their lips—an old woman with her hair coiffed into a urine-yellow beehive. Zeth slips his hand under my arm and gently guides me to my feet. Michael doesn’t need any encouragement. He stands and the three of us slip back out the way we came. Less than a minute. We were at the funeral less than a minute, and it appears the whole thing was a massive waste of time. As soon as the church doors close behind us, Zeth pinches the bridge of his nose and swears. Loudly, this time.
“What the fuck is his game? I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
“We shouldn’t be hanging around out here,” Michael says. “He could have men ready to pick us off one by one or something.”
Zeth’s sharp eyes flicker from left to right, as though searching out the mystery snipers. “You’re right.” He takes hold of my hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
My pulse is racing when we reach the car. Paranoia has kicked in, big time. There are no suspicious-looking cars idling on the curb. No dodgy men in suits hiding behind the headstones in the church’s leafy courtyard. But I can’t shake it…I feel like something bad is about to happen. Michael has the keys to the car ready. He’s about to open the car door when Zeth drops my hand and grabs him by the arm. “Wait. Wait a second.”