That old Clash song had been yammering in his head for half an hour: Should I stay or should I go? He’d tried to switch to a less agitated tune, like for instance Tom Petty’s The waiting is the hardest part, but his brain just flipped right back. It knew what he was thinking: If I go there will be trouble; If I stay it will be double.
When he’d told Roosevelt Sherman he might stop by the wake, that wasn’t any kind of promise to complete the mission. What about Sue? Hadn’t he brought her denim jacket to give back? Didn’t he plan to catch up with her out here?—before the question even arose whether to go inside the funeral home?
But then why take a shower and put on his best clothes?
Respect for the occasion. Ha! Celebrate, is more like it. Dance on the bastard’s grave. Rub every Pope’s n
