At the funeral, 12

I didn’t expect so many people to come to the committal. At least it’s not as crowded as it was in that church; it’s no wonder Mom got overheated. She’s looking better. She was white as a sheet when they were carrying the coffin out, and I’ve never known her to be squeamish about death. I don’t think it was the funeral. For a moment I thought she might have been having a heart attack, but she recovered so quickly… seeing ghosts, she called it. Trying to laugh it off.

It’s such a damned shame Paxton is up there all alone, though. Except for that guy with her, there’s no one else in the rest of the chairs. No family. Jesus God, at least I’ve got that going for me, even if the rest of my life is fucked up.

Mom was right, this was a quick service. Small miracle. Although with Mom insisting on wearing those crazy heels, it’s going to take forever to get back to the car. Might as well just pick her up and carry her.

Cookie Monster's back. That shaggy blue fucker is just never going to leave me alone, not even at a funeral. He's still there, in the back of my head, singing about sugar cookies. One of these things is not like the other things, one of these things just doesn't belong... like that guy over there hiding next to the Queen's Shrine. That was a nice coat thirty years ago, and I guess you could say the same thing about the guy, although there's no telling with bums. Sometimes they get to be better people the longer they spend outside the system, depending on the system that screwed them in the first place. And sometimes they don't.

Wonder if he knew Mrs. Hollister personally, or if he was just a regular at the Samaritan. Maybe the Lower East Side crowd sent him to pay their collective respects. Day like today, no one would want to be out. Wet and cold can kill you if you live outside, and once you're wet, there's no getting dry. Which explains the boots. Salvation Army special; they look like they could have done time in 'Nam. I'm surprised they couldn't have managed to give the old guy an umbrella, though. Friend of mine had a dog like that, would stand out in the rain getting wet instead of coming inside like a sensible animal, but then that dog had a fur coat, and this guy has a trench.

Yeah, he's hiding, but he hasn't taken his eyes off the tent over the grave. And he's motionless, but there's a tension in the line of his back, like he's about to move forward. Is he hiding a flower to put on Mrs. Hollister's grave? That would be like a lot of the Lower East Siders I've known – can't find a buck for a used umbrella, but they'll all pitch in for something sentimental.

If he's from the shelter or thereabouts, he might know the guy who went after Paxton. It's worth a shot, anyway, because I can't find any other reason for it – guy jumps the woman in broad daylight and doesn't go after her purse, doesn't run when the cops come, it's nuts. But he was waiting for her. And if my guy here has two marbles rolling around in his head, he might know something about why. Hell, I'm a detective. Duty calls.