possible. But I could need some help."
"I've got three private detectives with me. But I don't want any shooting."
"Shooting. Mrs Sourpuss. This is a solemn ceremony. There are cemetery regulations. I'd be fired if there's shooting. Shoving and pushing, that happens at lots of funerals. But Mr Vine absolutely would not want gun fire."
Went that way with Helen. The economically priced graves. Row after row. And this way to where teeth may be socked like dice all over the tomb. If bullets haven't shattered everybody's bicuspids first. All round here, edifices rear in their snowy elegance. Right behind any one could be Mrs Sourpuss's second husband. His telescopic high powered rifle aimed. The rest of his football team coming charging out with tomahawks. Not much has changed on this old Indian hunting ground.
Ahead eight men in green uniforms. A canopy leading up an incline of path. A mausoleum dome held by columns and arched windows of stained glass. Cedar trees by the entrance. Cortege stopped. Whoops. Another two cars added to the funeral. Clarance I know would want me to use my own judgement. Prostrate myself on the floor of this vehicle. After the massacre is over take the survivors to the hospital. And Charlie can take the dead to Vine.
"Mrs Sourpuss I don't want to appear as if I'm ungallant but before we get out. Do you see your second husband anywhere. In that car. There's someone sitting in it. For your own safety we ought be sure before you get out.''
"Willie has a glass jaw. Just sock him. You scared Cornelius."
"No I'm not. I'm a little rusty. I mean I should speak to an official of the cemetery. If there's some kind of unfortunate incident that could mar the dignity of the occasion. They don't let things like that happen here.''
Charlie pulling and twisting the door handle of the hearse. Which sneer faced Glen jammed closed. If Vine were here he'd be climbing screaming up the walls of a mausoleum. Charlie now prizing with a spanner. And has just landed backwards on his arse in the snow. Putting a deep frown on that cemetery official's face. This could be my first and last funeral. Three of them pulling now. Whoops. Another down. Cemetery official scowling. Four tugging. Budging. A squeal. It's open. The whole door bent. Fanny squeezing my hand. I'll be stepping out of this car prick first.
"Boy Cornelius. What a bunch of rubes.''
Attendants taking the flowers laden down their outstretched arms. Six more in their green capes drawing out the casket. Neatly heft it on their shoulders. Charlie stands watching ashen faced, his grey wisps of hair catching snowflakes. On that little green post it says Paradise Avenue. Instead of way up Shit's Creek. Fanny patting on her makeup. Snaps a gold case shut. A little fragrant powder up my nose. Here we go now. Vanity first. Before violence.
"Please tell me if you see him Mrs Sourpuss.''
"Who."
"Willie."
"Don't worry you can't miss him he's six foot eight.''
Mrs Sourpuss in high heeled black rubber galoshes. Christian shivering. Pause under the awning just like the one that goes into Vine's. Left my coat back at the office. Smell her perfume stronger out here in the fresh air. Her black legs against the white. Everyone waiting. A strange group getting out of the two other cars. Four women in black head dresses and long black veils. Three dark swarthy men, one in flowing robes. Three detectives, two at the top of the steps and the other across the road.
''Who are those people in black Mrs Sourpuss.''
"Peasants. My husband's relatives. I'm just letting them have their own little jamboree. Because that's all they're getting. Bunch of immigrants. They should go back to Bulgaria.''
Take her furry elbow. Winds blow through my tweed. Along with a feel of her right tit. Cool down my perpendicular. Stands every time she stands. Steps swept clean. A moment to extend her a little amiability. Before any conduct unbecoming explodes.
''You look very pretty Mrs Sourpuss.''
"I
"I've got three private detectives with me. But I don't want any shooting."
"Shooting. Mrs Sourpuss. This is a solemn ceremony. There are cemetery regulations. I'd be fired if there's shooting. Shoving and pushing, that happens at lots of funerals. But Mr Vine absolutely would not want gun fire."
Went that way with Helen. The economically priced graves. Row after row. And this way to where teeth may be socked like dice all over the tomb. If bullets haven't shattered everybody's bicuspids first. All round here, edifices rear in their snowy elegance. Right behind any one could be Mrs Sourpuss's second husband. His telescopic high powered rifle aimed. The rest of his football team coming charging out with tomahawks. Not much has changed on this old Indian hunting ground.
Ahead eight men in green uniforms. A canopy leading up an incline of path. A mausoleum dome held by columns and arched windows of stained glass. Cedar trees by the entrance. Cortege stopped. Whoops. Another two cars added to the funeral. Clarance I know would want me to use my own judgement. Prostrate myself on the floor of this vehicle. After the massacre is over take the survivors to the hospital. And Charlie can take the dead to Vine.
"Mrs Sourpuss I don't want to appear as if I'm ungallant but before we get out. Do you see your second husband anywhere. In that car. There's someone sitting in it. For your own safety we ought be sure before you get out.''
"Willie has a glass jaw. Just sock him. You scared Cornelius."
"No I'm not. I'm a little rusty. I mean I should speak to an official of the cemetery. If there's some kind of unfortunate incident that could mar the dignity of the occasion. They don't let things like that happen here.''
Charlie pulling and twisting the door handle of the hearse. Which sneer faced Glen jammed closed. If Vine were here he'd be climbing screaming up the walls of a mausoleum. Charlie now prizing with a spanner. And has just landed backwards on his arse in the snow. Putting a deep frown on that cemetery official's face. This could be my first and last funeral. Three of them pulling now. Whoops. Another down. Cemetery official scowling. Four tugging. Budging. A squeal. It's open. The whole door bent. Fanny squeezing my hand. I'll be stepping out of this car prick first.
"Boy Cornelius. What a bunch of rubes.''
Attendants taking the flowers laden down their outstretched arms. Six more in their green capes drawing out the casket. Neatly heft it on their shoulders. Charlie stands watching ashen faced, his grey wisps of hair catching snowflakes. On that little green post it says Paradise Avenue. Instead of way up Shit's Creek. Fanny patting on her makeup. Snaps a gold case shut. A little fragrant powder up my nose. Here we go now. Vanity first. Before violence.
"Please tell me if you see him Mrs Sourpuss.''
"Who."
"Willie."
"Don't worry you can't miss him he's six foot eight.''
Mrs Sourpuss in high heeled black rubber galoshes. Christian shivering. Pause under the awning just like the one that goes into Vine's. Left my coat back at the office. Smell her perfume stronger out here in the fresh air. Her black legs against the white. Everyone waiting. A strange group getting out of the two other cars. Four women in black head dresses and long black veils. Three dark swarthy men, one in flowing robes. Three detectives, two at the top of the steps and the other across the road.
''Who are those people in black Mrs Sourpuss.''
"Peasants. My husband's relatives. I'm just letting them have their own little jamboree. Because that's all they're getting. Bunch of immigrants. They should go back to Bulgaria.''
Take her furry elbow. Winds blow through my tweed. Along with a feel of her right tit. Cool down my perpendicular. Stands every time she stands. Steps swept clean. A moment to extend her a little amiability. Before any conduct unbecoming explodes.
''You look very pretty Mrs Sourpuss.''
"I
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