kept going until he saw the Exxon station on the right, no cars at the pumps, and rolled toward the shade of the canopy. Restrooms would be on the other side of the station. He ' d pull around and back in, like he was getting air for the rear tires and sneak Amelita into the Women ' s.
There was a caf+! across the road, four young guys between a car and a pickup truck, hanging out, looking this way now. He could give St. Gabriel something to talk about all week. This girl, honest to God, gets out of the back end of a hearse . . .
I don ' t think it ' s open.
He braked to a sudden stop near the row of gas pumps and Sister Lucy reached out to the dashboard.
You see anyone around?
No, he didn ' t and the service doors were down. He should ' ve noticed that, no business, nobody home. They ' d left a light on inside the station. He could see it through the big spring tire special painted on the window. There were credit card emblems on the glass door and another decal he knew something about: VAS, black letters on a gold field, vidette alarm systems guarding the place against breaking and entering. The place looked old, run-down, not the kind you ' d bother with.
Now what? There was the caf+! across the road, the farm boys still looking this way. He glanced at the outside mirror and his gaze held on a car parked directly behind them even with the gas pumps.
A black Chrysler sedan. One of the cars that had followed them out of the center. A guy in a tan suit came out from behind the wheel. Now another guy joined him at the front of the car. Dark-haired guys, Latinos. Now they were out of sight, behind the hearse.
Tell Amelita to play dead and lock your door. Right now. Quick.
Sister Lucy did, just like that, without looking at him or asking questions. She straightened around again as one of the Latinos appeared at her window looking in. A little guy. He touched the window and said something in Spanish. She said in English, I can hear you. What is it? The guy began speaking in Spanish again, Sister Lucy looking up at him about a foot away from her, listening.
Jack turned as the other one came up on his side, past him and around to the front of the hearse. Both were little guys, 130-pounders. Jack liked that. What he didn ' t like were their suit coats and open sport shirts. Not migrant bean pickers, were they? The one on Sister Lucy ' s side wore sunglasses, his print shirt was silk and his hair was carefully combed. The other one was Creole-looking, a light-skinned black guy with pointy cheekbones and nappy hair. He stared at the windshield of the hearse while the face close behind Sister Lucy continued to speak to her in Spanish.
He wants you to open the back. He says they ' re friends of the deceased and would like to see her a last time before she ' s buried. It has to be now because they have business, they ' re unable to come to the funeral.
Jack said, How does he know who ' s in there? Ask him. He waited while Sister Lucy spoke to the face with sunglasses. The guy said something, one word, and hunched over trying to see into the back of the hearse, squinting, shading his eyes against his reflection in the glass.
Sister Lucy looked at Jack quickly, about to speak. But the face with the sunglasses straightened and began talking again, his expression solemn.
He says they want to say a prayer for the departed. He says they ' re determined to do this, or they wouldn ' t be able to live with themselves.
Jack waited because she kept looking at him, her eyes alive, as though she wanted to say more but couldn ' t, the face so close behind her. Jack nodded, taking his time, making a decision. Tell him I wish I could help him, but it ' s against the law to show a body on the street. She started to turn and he said, Wait. But tell him he ' s gonna see one if his partner doesn ' t move out of the way, now, ' cause we ' re leaving. He saw her eyes, for a moment, open wider and saw the guy ' s face staring at him. Jack said,
There was a caf+! across the road, four young guys between a car and a pickup truck, hanging out, looking this way now. He could give St. Gabriel something to talk about all week. This girl, honest to God, gets out of the back end of a hearse . . .
I don ' t think it ' s open.
He braked to a sudden stop near the row of gas pumps and Sister Lucy reached out to the dashboard.
You see anyone around?
No, he didn ' t and the service doors were down. He should ' ve noticed that, no business, nobody home. They ' d left a light on inside the station. He could see it through the big spring tire special painted on the window. There were credit card emblems on the glass door and another decal he knew something about: VAS, black letters on a gold field, vidette alarm systems guarding the place against breaking and entering. The place looked old, run-down, not the kind you ' d bother with.
Now what? There was the caf+! across the road, the farm boys still looking this way. He glanced at the outside mirror and his gaze held on a car parked directly behind them even with the gas pumps.
A black Chrysler sedan. One of the cars that had followed them out of the center. A guy in a tan suit came out from behind the wheel. Now another guy joined him at the front of the car. Dark-haired guys, Latinos. Now they were out of sight, behind the hearse.
Tell Amelita to play dead and lock your door. Right now. Quick.
Sister Lucy did, just like that, without looking at him or asking questions. She straightened around again as one of the Latinos appeared at her window looking in. A little guy. He touched the window and said something in Spanish. She said in English, I can hear you. What is it? The guy began speaking in Spanish again, Sister Lucy looking up at him about a foot away from her, listening.
Jack turned as the other one came up on his side, past him and around to the front of the hearse. Both were little guys, 130-pounders. Jack liked that. What he didn ' t like were their suit coats and open sport shirts. Not migrant bean pickers, were they? The one on Sister Lucy ' s side wore sunglasses, his print shirt was silk and his hair was carefully combed. The other one was Creole-looking, a light-skinned black guy with pointy cheekbones and nappy hair. He stared at the windshield of the hearse while the face close behind Sister Lucy continued to speak to her in Spanish.
He wants you to open the back. He says they ' re friends of the deceased and would like to see her a last time before she ' s buried. It has to be now because they have business, they ' re unable to come to the funeral.
Jack said, How does he know who ' s in there? Ask him. He waited while Sister Lucy spoke to the face with sunglasses. The guy said something, one word, and hunched over trying to see into the back of the hearse, squinting, shading his eyes against his reflection in the glass.
Sister Lucy looked at Jack quickly, about to speak. But the face with the sunglasses straightened and began talking again, his expression solemn.
He says they want to say a prayer for the departed. He says they ' re determined to do this, or they wouldn ' t be able to live with themselves.
Jack waited because she kept looking at him, her eyes alive, as though she wanted to say more but couldn ' t, the face so close behind her. Jack nodded, taking his time, making a decision. Tell him I wish I could help him, but it ' s against the law to show a body on the street. She started to turn and he said, Wait. But tell him he ' s gonna see one if his partner doesn ' t move out of the way, now, ' cause we ' re leaving. He saw her eyes, for a moment, open wider and saw the guy ' s face staring at him. Jack said,
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