Going in Style (17 page)

“Now we can’t tell nobody about this,” continued Al, “because Willie said if his daughter found out she probably would try
and sue to get the money.”

Pete leaned back in his chair. “Is there a will?”

“Nothing formal,” said Al. “Just a sheet of paper, handwritten. But the policy designates us as beneficiaries.”

Pete shrugged. “Seems to me she don’t have a case.”

“Maybe,” said Al. He cracked his knuckles. “But regardless, here’s the point. I talked it over with Joe, and we decided to
give you the twenty-five grand to use as a down payment for your own gas station.”

Pete tensed suddenly. “What? What are you—” He stopped as Moon brought over the beers.

“That be all, gents?” asked Moon.

“That’s fine for now,” said Al.

“I don’t understand,” said Pete, when Moon had gone.

“Look,” said Joe. “We ain’t got too much use for twenty-five thousand dollars. I mean, what the hell we gonna do with it,
buy a Mercedes? Get us a speedboat? Shack up with some call girls?”

“Wait a minute,” said Al, teasing. “Maybe we shouldn’t give him the twenty-five—”

“The thing me and Al
could
use though, is an extra fifteen bucks a week. Just somethin’ to tide us over, you know? Let us take in a movie once in a
while, or buy a paper on Sunday. Kinda like an annuity, you might say. Anyway, we figure we give you the twenty-five grand,
and in exchange you give us fifteen dollars a week till we die.”

“My grandfather lived to a hundred thirty-seven,” lied Al.

Joe reached out and took Pete’s hand. “What do you say?”

Pete, still stunned, said, “I don’t know, I—”

“Just say ‘okay’.”

Pete nodded. “Okay.”

“All right then. It’s settled.”

“And you better start looking for a station right away,” added Al, “because I have a feeling the money’ll be coming through
pretty soon.”

There was a light rain on the day of the funeral. Father Scanlon met the tiny procession at the door of Christ the Savior
Church, and escorted the casket down the center aisle. There were perhaps twenty people in attendance. After the opening prayers
and Bible readings, Father Scanlon delivered a short homily that somehow related Willie’s death to salvation and the rebirth
of Christ. To Joe, the words and rituals were meaningless. Like Willie, he hadn’t been inside a church in twenty years, escept
for deaths and marriages. He sat through the eucharist prayer, did not participate in communion, and would probably not even
have been aware the Mass was over had he not been called on to help carry the casket back outside to the hearse.

In the limousine, on the way to the cemetery, he pointed out at the rain. “Look at that!” he said disgustedly. “Some lousy
day to go in the ground, huh?”

“Don’t bother Willie none,” said Al. “He don’t know nothin’. Only people disturbed is the living.”

Joe twisted around. “There’s hardly any funeral procession. I think there’s only one car behind us.”

“When you get old, that’s the way it is,” Al said. “Old people are supposed to die. Chances are, half their friends went before
‘em, and their relatives—well, it’s like the death of somebody old ain’t that much of a tragedy. If a young person goes, then
you see a procession stretch back for blocks. But, like I said, doesn’t make no difference to the person gettin’ buried.”

Joe mumbled something, then withdrew into deep thought. As the hearse pulled into the cemetery, he piped up again. “Wasn’t
much of a speech that priest gave.”

Al raised his eyebrows. “Wasn’t supposed to be a eulogy. And besides, you yourself told him to keep it short.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Joe. “But there’s short and sweet, and short and empty. That was just a lot of gabble.” He sat
back as the cars wound their way through the aisles of the cemetery. Soon they stopped near a low wire fence, and Al and Joe
got out. They saw patches of straggling weeds separated by clumps of fuzzy crabgrass. The rain was coming down more heavily
now, and Joe turned up the collar of his light jacket.

“I hope the grave ain’t too far away,” said Al, as they walked round to help unload the coffin.

“Terrible section here,” said Joe. “They don’t
even take care of it. What kinds crummy cemetery is this?”

Al shook his head. “Joe, you anlt said one kind thing the whole day. Nothing works out perfect, Joe. It don’t matter spit
whether it’s raining, or whether the procession had only one car, or whether there’s dandelions growin’ on the graves. All
that’s important is that the people who truly loved Willie are here to say their final good-byes. That’s the only thing that
counts. Willie’s in our memories now, not in this box. The box holds only the shell where he used to live.”

Joe nodded grumpily. At the grave, he listened dazedly to the brief committal prayer, then lingered a bit as the small group
of friends and neighbors began to depart. The gravediggers were lowering the casket into the rain-softened hole, balancing
it on two pieces of heavy white cloth slipped under the ends.

Joe felt Al’s hand on his shoulder. “Seems a shame,” he said.

“What?” said Al.

“The coffin. Two thousand dollars, used one day, then buried.”

“It’s not a shame,” said Al. “It’s a symbol, a sign of our respect.”

Joe turned, his eyes tearing. “I wanted him to have
one
nice thing,” he said. “One show of class.”

“It’s a beautiful coffin,” said Al.

The gravediggers pulled out the cloth slings. They began to fill back the hole from the nearby mound of dirt. Joe and Al returned
to the limousine.

“It had ten separate coats of stain,” said Joe. “Imagine, ten separate coats.”

They made the limousine driver let them off at the park. The rain had stopped during the ride back, and the sun now peeked
through large rents in the cover of gray clouds. Joe and Al crossed slowly to their usual bench and found it unoccupied. Al
pulled a newspaper out of a garbage can and used it to wipe the droplets of water from the slats of the bench. Both men sat
down heavily.

“Whew!” said Joe. “Am I glad that’s over with.”

“Me too,” said Al. “Well… I suppose it had to be, one way or another, sooner or later.”

“Ah, but it could’ve waited,” said Joe. “Poor Willie didn’t even get to spend any of the dough.”

“Yeah, true. But what’s there to do with all that money anyways?”

“I
dunno.” Joe yawned. “You wanna go to the movies?”

“I don’t mean what should we do with it right now,” Al clarified. “I mean… you know…”

“No, I don’t know,” said Joe with surprising vehemence. “What, twenty years from now? When I’m ninety-eight? I don’t think
they show movies in hell.”

Al shrugged.

“Maybe you want to go out to the track and bet a couple of races?” Joe suggested.

“Too tired.”

“How about OTB? There’s an office two blocks away.”

“Ah, that’s no fun. If you don’t see the actual horses, what’s the point?”

“How about bowling?”

Al grinned. He and Joe together could barely lift one ball. “I think I’d rather take a snooze.”

“Maybe you oughtta take some vitamins instead,” said Joe. “You’re always tired lately. Now that we got some money we can afford
it.”

“They don’t really do nothing, do they?”

“I hear they do,” said Joe. “Like vitamin C. They say it prevents colds.”

“Mrs. Spelios said it gave her diarrhea,” said Al.

“Ah, you know her,” scoffed Joe. “Ask her about vitamin E.”

“What’s that do?”

“Supposed to be good for the heart. Also helps your sex life.”

“I don’t got a sex life,” said Al, “so how’s it gonna help? So far, these vitamins don’t seem worth a damn.”

“Vitamin B,” said Joe. “That’s the one for you. Keeps you alert, stops you from goin’ senile.”

“Who told you?”

“Old guy in the luncheonette. You know, works sometimes behind the cash register. Seymour, his name is.”

“Him? His brain’s gone to mush. He’s got more loose wheels than the Long Island Rail Road. Don’t see where vitamin B done
him any good.”

“Oh, he knows that,” countered Joe. “Said that’s because, till now, he ain’t been taking
enough.”

“Ah, that’s what they always say.”

“Who?”

“Whoever’s tryin’ somethin’ that don’t do ‘em no good. Pill poppers, joggers, dieters—it’s never enough.”

Joe grinned. “Listen, I now what we both need, a real lift for the two of us.”

“What’s that?”

“For the first time in fifteen years, I really crave a vacation.” Joe’s voice became animated suddenly. “Hey! Why don’t we
take some of that money and go someplace, someplace nice?”

Al tilted his head. “Like where?”

“Mmm, I dunno. How about Miami?”

“Too hot.”

“Canada?”

“Ah, I ain’t one for touring. Besides, I read that Quebec is gonna revolt soon. I don’t wanna get caught in no fighting.”

Joe looked at him accusingly. “You don’t wanna do nothing. You ain’t interested in the movies, you pooh-pooh every vitamin,
the track is too far away, and no vacation place is perfect enough for your
tastes. Fine. Then sit here on the bench and watch your fingernails grow.”

“And what will you do?”

Joe twisted his neck uncomfortably. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go to Las Vegas.”

“Vegas?”

“Yeah, why the hell not? I’ve always had to be a two-dollar bettor. Now I can do some real gambling.”

Al nodded slowly. “You know, that don’t sound too bad.”

“Damn right. And you can get some rest besides.
If
you come along, that is. I mean, there’s no real touring around there, no sights. You just go, and you gamble, and then come
home.”

Al was nodding rapidly now. “All right, all right. Good. Real good. So how do we get there?”

Joe grinned. “Well, we can eliminate boats. A car is out, since we don’t drive. I’d say the choices are plane, bus, and train.”

“Let’s take a train,” said Al.

“Plane’s better,” said Joe. “Few hours, you’re there. Train takes days. Also, it’s tough to sleep on a train.”

“Mmm,” said Al. “Uh, trouble is, I never been on a plane.”

“Me neither,” said Joe brightly.

“And you ain’t scared?”

Joe grinned. “Can’t be worse than pullin’ a bank robbery.”

Al chuckled. “No, I suppose not.”

“Besides, said Joe, “we’re only young once.”

When the fourth knock failed to produce any response, Al pushed open the screen door and walked into the living room.

“Hello-o? Anybody?”

Colleen peeked out from the kitchen.

“Hiya, sugar princess?” said Al.

“Mommy’s not here,” said Colleen, seeming unsurprised by his presence. She fingered her hair. “I got a haircut.”

“You did?”

“Uh, huh. Mommy said my boddles were too long.”

“Your what?”

The little girl rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“Boddle
curls. Don’t you know what
boddle
curls are?”

“Oh,
bottle
curls…”

“That’s what I said.”

“Ah, I see. Your bottle curls were too long, so Mommy took you for a haircut.”

“Mmmm, hmmm.”

“Very pretty,” said Al. “You look gorgeous. Where is Mommy, by the way?”

“She went next door.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“She said”—Colleen’s face wrinkled with the effort of concentration—“’If anybody calls, I’ll be right back.’”

Al walked to the basement door. “That’s good. You wait up here, darling. I have to go downstairs and get something.”

“I’ll come,” said Colleen.

“Uh, no, no. You wait. I’ll be right up.”

“But I wanna come,” insisted Colleen.

“Well, if you do, who’s gonna be up here to watch the house if someone else walks in the door?” Al lingered while Colleen
considered this.

“Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll stay here.”

“That’s a good girl.”

“But you come up soon.”

“Right,” said Al. He flicked on the light and started down the stairs. In the closet, he wrestled a moment with the suitcase
before hauling it out onto the tiled basement floor. He pressed open the snaps, raised the cover, and removed the brown paper
bag that held the money. He heard the screen door open upstairs and close. Footsteps drew closer overhead; he could make out
Colleen’s voice. Then: “Al, is that you?”