EXCERPT FROM THE MAFIA FUNERAL AND OTHER SHORT STORIES--
Upon arriving at the church, he stared in astonishment at the forty black limousines lining the street in front, even extending around the block, waiting to transport mourners to the cemetery. A man dressed in a somber black suit, black shirt and black tie, shouted, “Jerry, over here,” as he sat stopped in traffic. The man approached the car, beckoning to him.
“Uh, you, you’re Jerry, right? Pull over here.” He crooked his finger toward the curb.
As he said that, one of the limos pulled forward and one backed up, creating a space just big enough for the bright yellow convertible to be fourth in line. Jerry inched the convertible into the spot like a daisy sprouting in a sea of black, then called out to the man, “How did you know it was me?”
After a few grunts that passed as a laugh, the man said, “Yellow convertible driven by a guy with auburn hair? Not that hard to miss, my friend. You’re part of the procession.” Then the mountain of a man squinted, taking in the whole scenario. “Hmmm. Wish I had a camera to take a picture of this for the guys back in Cleveland. Ya gotta admit, it’s gonna be a pretty funny lookin’ procession with that yellow rag top of yours and all the black limos.”
Off-duty cops leaned against their motorcycles, killing time until they took their positions as the official escorts. Regal palms swayed in the gentle California breeze. Jerry gulped and ran around the car to let Susan out.
As they entered the church, Angie greeted them, then told the priest that Jerry was one of the pallbearers. Inexplicably, the priest narrowed his eyes to glare at them. As Angie walked them to their pew, he explained in hushed tones that the priest was very upset because five of the six pallbearers were Jewish. The priest had insisted the pallbearers should be Catholic. However, he said, he’d made it clear to the old man in no uncertain terms that these five were his brother’s best friends and religion had nothing to do with it. When the priest protested again, he’d played hardball. The corners of his mouth drew into a wry smile. “I told him that we’d helped build his church and we could take our support elsewhere.”
He patted Jerry on the shoulder. “I added that friends are friends, whatever their religion, and insisted he show respect. The old guy hasn’t said two words to me since.”
Looking around the church, it quickly became obvious that the limos belonged to several “out of town” mourners. Jerry and his wife recognized some very high-profile mobsters from photos they had seen in newspapers through the years. The five Jewish pallbearers and their spouses huddled on the left side of the church, right next to Angie and his friends. To genuflect or not? They whispered among themselves, then finally decided to honor the customs of the church. The priest, now standing at the pulpit, glared laser beams in their direction. Like a scene in a funny movie, the eulogy began.
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