(such as me, my friends, or my potential employers) to gain riches and power.
Yes, I’ve seen things.
And now there was
this
situation, where I was afraid that Quinn, the gun-toting person with whom my mostly off-again boyfriend spent all his working hours, was mystically dangerous—a phrase which, based on what I’d encountered since meeting Max, rarely meant “might cause someone a migraine” and very often meant “will terrorize people and take lives.”
The possibility that Quinn was animating the dead for some nefarious purpose filled me with dread. We had previously encountered someone who was raising zombies, and that was a
very
dangerous situation—and a ruthless, deadly foe. I was extremely worried about the prospect of Lopez spending his time with someone like that.
A wave of cold washed through me as I suddenly recalled something Quinn had said to me recently about Lopez.
“I swear, there are days he’s so hard to live with, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to be carrying a loaded gun.”
He’d been complaining to me of Lopez’s prolonged bad mood, caused mostly by problems between us. At the time, I assumed Quinn was being facetious. Now I found myself wondering if the comment was, instead, an indication of how lightly he viewed the prospect of killing his partner.
Between my fears about Nelli’s powerfully negative reaction to Quinn and my anxiety about Nathan’s description of the reanimated corpse that Max was currently examining right in front of me, I was feeling a little overwrought—so I almost jumped out of my skin when my cell phone rang.
“That’s mine,” I said a little breathlessly, feeling my heart pound.
I fumbled in my purse for my phone. In my agitation, I was all butterfingers, and it flew out of my hand and skittered across the floor to hit Mr. Capuzzo in the head. I gasped and put my hand over my mouth as the phone slid into the cradle of his neck.
The men all looked at me. So did Nelli.
“Are you okay?” John asked.
“Fine,” I lied. “Fine. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know why I was apologizing. It wasn’t my fault that I was the only person in the room who wasn’t comfortable around dead bodies.
John picked up my still-ringing phone and handed it to me. “Here you go.”
“No! I don’t want it
now.
”
They all looked at me again.
I took a steadying breath and said, “It
touched
him.” I realized I didn’t sound as calm as I’d intended.
The phone stopped ringing as the call went to voicemail.
John looked uncertainly at Lucky, as if expecting him to know what to say.
Fortunately, Lucky did know. “The lady don’t want to handle a phone that just touched a dead body. Can you . . . sterilize it or something?”
“Oh! Of course. Sure,” said John. “Right away.”
John went over to a worktable and found some cotton pads and alcohol which he used to wipe down my phone. While he was doing that, Max rose to his feet, assisted by a hand from Lucky.
“I find absolutely nothing unusual or untoward about this body. Which, if I may say so,” he added politely to Nathan, “will make a most decorous presentation at the wake.”
“If he stays in his coffin,” John muttered.
After a glance at me, Lucky said, “Maybe we should put him back in there now.”
“All right.” John handed me my phone, which now smelled of rubbing alcohol. “You take the legs, Uncle Lucky.”
While they returned the departed to his casket, Max asked Nathan, “What can you tell me about Mr. Capuzzo in life?”
“Let’s see . . . He was raised in Little Italy and knew Lucky’s uncle, who brought my father into the business. His widow says it’s why he wanted his wake to be here.” Watching his son settle Capuzzo into his coffin, Nathan said, “John, the suit needs—”
“I know.” John straightened one sleeve of the suit, then the other. “I’ve got it.”
Nathan nodded and returned his attention to Max. “We handled his brother’s
Yes, I’ve seen things.
And now there was
this
situation, where I was afraid that Quinn, the gun-toting person with whom my mostly off-again boyfriend spent all his working hours, was mystically dangerous—a phrase which, based on what I’d encountered since meeting Max, rarely meant “might cause someone a migraine” and very often meant “will terrorize people and take lives.”
The possibility that Quinn was animating the dead for some nefarious purpose filled me with dread. We had previously encountered someone who was raising zombies, and that was a
very
dangerous situation—and a ruthless, deadly foe. I was extremely worried about the prospect of Lopez spending his time with someone like that.
A wave of cold washed through me as I suddenly recalled something Quinn had said to me recently about Lopez.
“I swear, there are days he’s so hard to live with, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to be carrying a loaded gun.”
He’d been complaining to me of Lopez’s prolonged bad mood, caused mostly by problems between us. At the time, I assumed Quinn was being facetious. Now I found myself wondering if the comment was, instead, an indication of how lightly he viewed the prospect of killing his partner.
Between my fears about Nelli’s powerfully negative reaction to Quinn and my anxiety about Nathan’s description of the reanimated corpse that Max was currently examining right in front of me, I was feeling a little overwrought—so I almost jumped out of my skin when my cell phone rang.
“That’s mine,” I said a little breathlessly, feeling my heart pound.
I fumbled in my purse for my phone. In my agitation, I was all butterfingers, and it flew out of my hand and skittered across the floor to hit Mr. Capuzzo in the head. I gasped and put my hand over my mouth as the phone slid into the cradle of his neck.
The men all looked at me. So did Nelli.
“Are you okay?” John asked.
“Fine,” I lied. “Fine. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know why I was apologizing. It wasn’t my fault that I was the only person in the room who wasn’t comfortable around dead bodies.
John picked up my still-ringing phone and handed it to me. “Here you go.”
“No! I don’t want it
now.
”
They all looked at me again.
I took a steadying breath and said, “It
touched
him.” I realized I didn’t sound as calm as I’d intended.
The phone stopped ringing as the call went to voicemail.
John looked uncertainly at Lucky, as if expecting him to know what to say.
Fortunately, Lucky did know. “The lady don’t want to handle a phone that just touched a dead body. Can you . . . sterilize it or something?”
“Oh! Of course. Sure,” said John. “Right away.”
John went over to a worktable and found some cotton pads and alcohol which he used to wipe down my phone. While he was doing that, Max rose to his feet, assisted by a hand from Lucky.
“I find absolutely nothing unusual or untoward about this body. Which, if I may say so,” he added politely to Nathan, “will make a most decorous presentation at the wake.”
“If he stays in his coffin,” John muttered.
After a glance at me, Lucky said, “Maybe we should put him back in there now.”
“All right.” John handed me my phone, which now smelled of rubbing alcohol. “You take the legs, Uncle Lucky.”
While they returned the departed to his casket, Max asked Nathan, “What can you tell me about Mr. Capuzzo in life?”
“Let’s see . . . He was raised in Little Italy and knew Lucky’s uncle, who brought my father into the business. His widow says it’s why he wanted his wake to be here.” Watching his son settle Capuzzo into his coffin, Nathan said, “John, the suit needs—”
“I know.” John straightened one sleeve of the suit, then the other. “I’ve got it.”
Nathan nodded and returned his attention to Max. “We handled his brother’s
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