the Pallbearers (2010) Read Online Free
Author: Stephen - Scully 09 Cannell
Huntington House.
The oldest was a stocky Hispanic man in his early fifties with a low forehead and a full head of thick black hair, silvering at the temples. He must have been from Walt's early years at the home in the late sixties. He was wearing an inexpensive off-the-rack black suit. His knuckles were scarred and looked like long ago he'd had old gang tattoos removed. They were big bony hands that could hurt you.
He introduced himself as Sabas Vargas and said he was an attorney in East L . A . My guess from the scraped knuckles and the hardline set of his mouth was that his practice in the barrio probably involved getting vato killers their prison walking papers.
Standing next to him was a woman in her mid-to-late thirties. Trim body, short hair, conservative print dress. She was very mannered, tightly wrapped, and efficient looking. Her name was Victoria Lavicki. Diamond made the introductions and said that Victoria was a CPA with the well-known downtown accounting firm of Kinney and Glass. From her approximate age, I figured we'd probably just missed each other at the home. She said she'd been at Huntington House for six years in the eighties, which was a long stay, but I still held the record.
The last introduction was Seriana Cotton, an imposing specimen about six feet tall and twenty-three years old. She was African American and wore an Army corporal's dress uniform with a row of combat ribbons. The uniform patch on her shoulder identified her as a soldier in the Third Armed Cavalry Division. Seriana was physically fit and had a no-nonsense demeanor. She was one of those rare women who could accurately be described as handsome. Corporal Cotton did not smile as she met us but said that she was about to return to Iraq for her second tour.
"Okay," Diamond said. "We'll put the men on three of the four corners because that's where the weight is. I need one woman to take the last corner. You look like the best bet, Corporal," she said, smiling at Seriana Cotton.
"IYrfgood for it, ma'am," Seriana replied.
"Victoria and I wall take the middle."
I didn't know who put Diamond Peterson in charge, but she was organized, so no one was complaining.
"You can decide who takes the front and who gets the back, but let's do it now because the service needs to start. Once it's over, the hearse will be waiting out front. Carry the casket out the door and the driver will instruct you on how best to slide it into the hearse. He told me there's rollers in the back to help get it inside."
We spent a minute lining up in our correct places, around an imaginary coffin, then nodded to each other. We were ready.
It was strange looking into their faces. All of them had started right where I had, all had come out someplace completely different. Six graduates of Huntington House. Pops favorites.
Or at least that's what I thought at the time, even though I couldn't understand why he'd picked me. Why else, I reasoned, would he have wanted the six of us to carrv his coffin?
Chapter 5
The Catholic priest was Father Mike Leary. He was a surfing buddy of Walts, and he kept the service loose and unstructured to go with Pops hang-ten personality. He started with a benediction and a few prayers, then launched right into a free-form discussion.
Memories of Walter Dix. Old surf stories, starting with the one about Pop almost getting eaten by a tiger shark just outside the break at Rincon. After the tigers first pass, Pop had started stripping off his wet suit, throwing it in the water. The suit ballooned with air and the tiger shark hit it hard, taking it to the bottom.
"That bad boy musta been shitting rubber for a week," our priest joked.
That loosened up the atmosphere and got the ball rolling. One by one, members of the congregation came up and added to the memories.
Jack Straw told a story about stealing candy out of a market tw o w eeks after he was put in Huntington House. Pop found him hiding in his room that night, chowing down. He
The oldest was a stocky Hispanic man in his early fifties with a low forehead and a full head of thick black hair, silvering at the temples. He must have been from Walt's early years at the home in the late sixties. He was wearing an inexpensive off-the-rack black suit. His knuckles were scarred and looked like long ago he'd had old gang tattoos removed. They were big bony hands that could hurt you.
He introduced himself as Sabas Vargas and said he was an attorney in East L . A . My guess from the scraped knuckles and the hardline set of his mouth was that his practice in the barrio probably involved getting vato killers their prison walking papers.
Standing next to him was a woman in her mid-to-late thirties. Trim body, short hair, conservative print dress. She was very mannered, tightly wrapped, and efficient looking. Her name was Victoria Lavicki. Diamond made the introductions and said that Victoria was a CPA with the well-known downtown accounting firm of Kinney and Glass. From her approximate age, I figured we'd probably just missed each other at the home. She said she'd been at Huntington House for six years in the eighties, which was a long stay, but I still held the record.
The last introduction was Seriana Cotton, an imposing specimen about six feet tall and twenty-three years old. She was African American and wore an Army corporal's dress uniform with a row of combat ribbons. The uniform patch on her shoulder identified her as a soldier in the Third Armed Cavalry Division. Seriana was physically fit and had a no-nonsense demeanor. She was one of those rare women who could accurately be described as handsome. Corporal Cotton did not smile as she met us but said that she was about to return to Iraq for her second tour.
"Okay," Diamond said. "We'll put the men on three of the four corners because that's where the weight is. I need one woman to take the last corner. You look like the best bet, Corporal," she said, smiling at Seriana Cotton.
"IYrfgood for it, ma'am," Seriana replied.
"Victoria and I wall take the middle."
I didn't know who put Diamond Peterson in charge, but she was organized, so no one was complaining.
"You can decide who takes the front and who gets the back, but let's do it now because the service needs to start. Once it's over, the hearse will be waiting out front. Carry the casket out the door and the driver will instruct you on how best to slide it into the hearse. He told me there's rollers in the back to help get it inside."
We spent a minute lining up in our correct places, around an imaginary coffin, then nodded to each other. We were ready.
It was strange looking into their faces. All of them had started right where I had, all had come out someplace completely different. Six graduates of Huntington House. Pops favorites.
Or at least that's what I thought at the time, even though I couldn't understand why he'd picked me. Why else, I reasoned, would he have wanted the six of us to carrv his coffin?
Chapter 5
The Catholic priest was Father Mike Leary. He was a surfing buddy of Walts, and he kept the service loose and unstructured to go with Pops hang-ten personality. He started with a benediction and a few prayers, then launched right into a free-form discussion.
Memories of Walter Dix. Old surf stories, starting with the one about Pop almost getting eaten by a tiger shark just outside the break at Rincon. After the tigers first pass, Pop had started stripping off his wet suit, throwing it in the water. The suit ballooned with air and the tiger shark hit it hard, taking it to the bottom.
"That bad boy musta been shitting rubber for a week," our priest joked.
That loosened up the atmosphere and got the ball rolling. One by one, members of the congregation came up and added to the memories.
Jack Straw told a story about stealing candy out of a market tw o w eeks after he was put in Huntington House. Pop found him hiding in his room that night, chowing down. He
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