Johnny Gruesome (17 page)

Lawrence gestured to a leather-bound book. “Would you care to sign the memorial book?” He offered a black pen to Eric, who accepted it and signed the book.

Much to Eric’s surprise, dozens of signatures preceded his. He set the pen down and Lawrence handed him a miniature envelope. Eric opened it: a memorial card, with Johnny’s name and dates of birth and death printed on the front, and the Twenty-Third Psalm inside.

A combination of scents greeted him as he entered the parlor: flowers, perfume, and room deodorant. He gaped at the three dozen people before him, most of them high school students who had never given a rat’s ass about Johnny.

Hypocrites,
he thought. Some people would do anything to skip class for an afternoon. A few heads turned in his direction, but he ignored them. Canned organ music descended from ceiling speakers and double doors opened into the Slumber Room, identified by a gold plaque on the wall. Through the crowd, he glimpsed empty fold-out metal chairs facing a horizontal black shape. He averted his gaze from the coffin.

Mr. Milton and Mrs. Crane stood speaking before the parlor’s ornate fireplace. Two boys from Johnny’s auto mechanics class, Ron Miller and Tony Salemi, chatted in the middle of the room. Eric paced before the floral arrangements along one wall. Which one had his parents sent? He didn’t care.

“Eric—?”

Turning, Eric felt his skin prickle at the sight of Father Webb. With his short hair, square jaw, and broad shoulders, the priest resembled a cop or a soldier. Eric had felt intimidated by the man the few times he had attended Saint Luke’s with Johnny. It had never occurred to him Father Webb would conduct Johnny’s memorial service. He thought of Johnny rolling down his car window and spitting out it every morning as they passed the church. “Um, hi, Father Webb.”

“Are your parents here?”

“No. They couldn’t make it.” The sound of the man’s deep voice made him uncomfortable.

“It seems very few parents are in attendance.”

Eric said nothing. What does he want?

“You’re a Baptist, aren’t you?”

No, I’m an atheist,
Eric thought. “We’re Methodists.”

“That’s right. How’s Reverend Belmer these days? I haven’t seen him since winter started. You know how the snow isolates us.”

“I haven’t seen him, either.”

The priest’s eyes narrowed a centimeter. “I see. Well, I’m sorry about Johnny.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s always sad when someone dies so young, especially if that person has gone astray.”

Eric felt trapped. He didn’t want a sermon, especially from Father Webb, so he kept quiet.

“Oh, well. I imagine the vandalism of the church will finally stop.”

Eric resisted the urge to swallow. “What do you mean?”

Father Webb scanned the faces of the mourners. “I think you know what I mean. Obscene graffiti scrawled on the church walls. Broken windows. Filthy voice mails. It’s been going on for years, ever since your friend abandoned Christ.”

Eric felt his voice tighten with anger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Father Webb’s eyes burrowed into him. “Whenever I hear that damned car’s engine late at night, I know to expect trouble the next morning. And I’m never wrong.”

Eric was speechless. He had been with Johnny once when Johnny had scrawled graffiti on the church doors in a drunken rage, so he did not entirely discount Father Webb’s accusation. Seeing Charlie enter the parlor, he relaxed. Charlie’s suit jacket bulged around his waist, and he had applied a small Band-Aid near his chin. He bypassed Ron and Tony with a courteous nod, his forehead slick with perspiration.

“There’s Johnny’s father,” Eric said, turning his back on the priest. He met Charlie in the middle of the parlor before Father Webb could interrogate him further.

Charlie’s voice sounded strained. “Thanks for coming, Eric.”

“You’re welcome.”

Charlie appraised the room. “Quite a turnout. I never realized Johnny was so popular.”

Eric grasped for words. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay. Don’t say anything. A funeral is no place for honesty. Hey, thank your folks for the flowers, will you? That was real nice of them.”

“Sure.” He wished at least one of his parents had attended.

Charlie loosened his tie. “Christ, I need a drink.”

Noticing the older man’s shaking hands, Eric clasped Charlie’s shoulder. “Take it easy. You can go home in a little while.”

Charlie shook his head. “Home to what? An empty house? I don’t have anyone left, Eric. I was a rotten husband and a lousy father, and now I’m alone. I got what I deserved.”

Eric bit his lip.
Say something, damn it.
“Charlie, Johnny loved you. He may not have shown it much, because—well, because he was Johnny. But he understood how difficult things were for you, and he respected you for holding things together.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“Thanks, Eric. I needed to hear that. You always were a good friend to Johnny. Who knows? He might have had this funeral a lot sooner if it hadn’t been for you.”

Eric’s mouth turned as dry as cotton. Carol and Mr. Milton joined them.
Thank God.

“Hello, Eric.”

“Hi, Mrs. Crane.” He ignored Mr. Milton, who regarded him with a disapproving stare. He had to admit the principal looked formidable dressed in black.

Carol held out her hand to Charlie. “Carol Crane, Mr. Grissom. I was Johnny’s English teacher.”

Charlie shook her hand. “Oh, right. Matt’s wife. We’ve spoken on the phone. Johnny liked you a lot.”

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Johnny was a unique boy.”

“Thank you.”

Mr. Milton stepped closer, extending the sausage-like fingers on his right hand. “Michael Milton. We’ve spoken on the phone, too—many times.”

Looking down at the principal’s hand, Charlie shook it without enthusiasm.

“I’m going to propose to the school board that we give Johnny a memorial plaque in the commons area outside the school lobby.”

“That would be nice,” Charlie said in a flat tone.

Eric looked away in disgust just as Gary entered and pocketed his psalm card without looking at it. “Excuse me. Charlie, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, Eric.”

Eric felt guilty leaving Charlie at Mr. Milton’s mercy, but he could no longer stand to be in his principal’s presence. Gary’s chocolate brown suit and scuffed shoes had seen better days.

“You check out the crate yet?” Gary said, nodding at the Slumber Room.

“No, and I’m not going to.”

“Don’t be a schmuck. You have to pay your respects. We don’t want to draw any attention to ourselves, do we?”

“No one’s going to notice if I don’t look inside the coffin.”

“Oh, no? Think again. And this time, take a good look at
Chief Crane
over there.”

Turning, Eric saw that Matt had joined Carol, Charlie, and Mr. Milton. The police chief glanced in their direction, and Eric’s body stiffened.

Gary slid one arm around Eric’s shoulders, drawing him toward the Slumber Room. “That’s right. Nice and easy. Nothing to worry about. Hey, why do you think they call it the Slumber Room, anyway? It’s not like anyone in there ever wakes up.”

Eric stared straight ahead. The casket stood on a pedestal in the viewing room, its lid raised. He recognized the emotion swelling inside him: fear.

“You ever hear the one about the Jewish undertaker?” Gary said.

“Shut up.”

As they closed in on the casket, Eric saw nothing else. Their reflections grew larger on the coffin’s lacquered black surface. Johnny came into view, his arms folded over his chest. His hair had been shaped and styled, and his body appeared thinner in the black suit. The bruise on his throat had been covered with makeup, and his flesh had a waxy look. The expression on his face lacked any trace of personality, and his rosy cheeks and full lips seemed to belong to someone else.

“That doesn’t even look like him,” Eric said.

“You have to look presentable before they’ll throw you in the ground and cover you with dirt.”

“At least the coffin is black. He’d have liked that.”

“Yeah? The suit is black, too, and he’d have hated that.”

Eric studied Johnny’s features. “It almost looks like he’s smiling.”

A deep chuckling sound caused Eric to recoil and step back. He turned to find Lawrence standing with his arms folded behind his back. He had merely cleared his throat.

“Boys, I wonder if I might ask you for a favor?”

They exchanged glances.

“Sure,” Gary said.

“Are you attending the burial?”

“Yeah.” Suspicion edged Gary’s voice.

“I wonder if you’d serve as pallbearers.”

The hair on the back of Eric’s neck stood on end.
Not a chance.

“Sure thing,” Gary said.

“Excellent. Those other two boys volunteered, as well.” He gestured at Ron and Tony. “With my son, Willard, only one vacancy needs to be filled.” He wandered off in search of a sixth pallbearer.

“Are you insane?” Eric said in a hushed tone.

“We were Johnny’s friends. Do it for him.”

Eric felt himself flushing with anger. “Whatever you say, Gary.”

“There’s Karen.”

Karen entered the parlor with her mother, Shelley Slatter, who had purchased the town diner after working there as a waitress for ten years. Karen’s black dress made her look older than usual, and Eric guessed it belonged to Shelley. She had pulled her hair back, downplaying her usual look. She made eye contact with Eric first, then Gary, and pressed her lips together in a straight line. She and Shelley joined Charlie, who looked pleased to see them. Karen embraced him, and when they separated, she had tears in her eyes.

Shelley said, “I’m so sorry, Charlie.”

“Thank you, Shelley.”

“I have to go to work, but I wanted to at least pay my respects.” She faced the Cranes. “Hi, Matt. Carol.”

“Shelley,” Matt said.

Shelley and Carol shook hands, and Mr. Milton introduced himself. Then Shelley and Karen made their way to the Slumber Room. Standing at Johnny’s casket, Karen’s body shook and her mother comforted her.

Opening the front door, Eric stared out at the falling snow. Large flurries sliced the air at a forty-five-degree angle, much as they had the night of Johnny’s murder. Karen and Gary stepped behind him and Karen touched his arm.

“Eric, I have to talk to Gary alone for a minute. Do you mind?”

He did mind. He didn’t like the idea of Karen and Gary discussing matters without him. “Whatever.”

“Wait here,” Gary said. “I’ll bring the truck around.” He stepped outside, flipping up the collar of his coat, and Karen walked beside him, her long black coat flapping in the wind.

A few minutes later, Gary’s truck rolled into view, and Eric climbed in beside Karen. She stared straight ahead, avoiding his gaze.

The funeral procession crept through town, led by Matt’s Pathfinder. The vehicles filed through the Green Forest Cemetery gates, and Eric spotted two workers loitering near a large toolshed, one of them smoking a cigarette. The procession navigated various loops. The bark of the barren trees flanking the road looked black against the snow.

By the time Matt and the hearse pulled over to the right side of the road, all of the streets surrounding the grounds had vanished behind hills. Willard got out of the hearse, wearing an elegant black coat over his suit. He opened the passenger door for Lawrence, who opened an umbrella and walked to the limousine. Lawrence opened the limo door for Charlie, and held the umbrella over Charlie’s head.

“What a goon that Willard is,” Gary said inside the truck. “And that geezer looks like he belongs in the back of that hearse, not the front.”

Eric jumped out of the truck’s cab and landed in snow up to his shins, most of it icy. Karen slid out the driver’s side, so he closed the passenger door and joined her and Gary at the front of the truck. Ron and Tony caught up with them, pensive expressions on their faces, and the four boys approached the hearse, leaving Karen behind. Willard opened the hearse’s hatch, revealing Johnny’s coffin.

“Is it just the five of us?” Ron said.

“Naw, you got to have six people,” Tony said. “It’s a rule or something.”