Death by Sarcasm

Six

The Voor Haven Funeral Home was a modest building two blocks west of Santa Monica Boulevard. Mary stood in the stuffy, overly perfumed parlor next to Alice and her uncle, Kurt Cooper, Brent’s brother.

Looking at Uncle Kurt, Mary was reminded again what a cruel puppet master genetics can be. Uncle Brent had been a dashing ladies man. Uncle Kurt looked like Burl Ives after a three-month crack binge.

Kurt’s son, Mary’s cousin, was a twenty-three year old hipster named Jason. He had thick greasy brown hair and a thick greasy monobrow. Best of all, even with the nauseating stench of potpourri, Mary could detect the scent of marijuana that enveloped him.

In the casket next to them Brent lay in peace, with his hands across his chest and a microphone in one hand. The microphone had been Kurt’s idea.

“It’ll give him something to do with his hands,” he’d said.

One of Brent’s buddies from his condo complex stepped up to pay his respects. He held out his hand to Kurt, who stood at the head of the line.

“He was a good man,” the old man said.

“Nice try,” Kurt said. “I already called dibs on his stereo.” Kurt then beamed and clapped a hand on the man’s back. The man was caught off guard, looking at each of them in turn, and then back to Kurt.

“Um, yeah, okay,” he said.

Mary shook her head and looked down at her shoes. They needed a good buffing. Nice leather. She had a feeling she’d be looking at them quite a bit today.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary watched as Alice stepped forward and took the man’s hand. “Pardon my brother,” she said, nodding toward Kurt. “He thinks he’s in a comedy sketch.” She twirled her finger around her ear. “Dementia,” she whispered.

Mary accepted the man’s condolences as an older woman spoke to Kurt.

“He’ll be missed,” she said. “It was horrible, horrible what happened to him. I can’t believe he’s dead.”

Kurt took her hand, a look of sincere grief on his face. “Well, I hope he’s dead – we’re going to bury him in forty-five minutes!”

The woman’s face held a look of barely concealed horror. Alice once again tried to explain, while Mary wished she could smoke some of her cousin’s weed.

It was going to be a long, long morning.

St. Hugo’s Catholic Church was sparsely occupied for Brent’s funeral. Mary was surprised anyone had shown up at all. Then again, from where she was standing behind the altar in the doorway leading to the priest’s quarters, she studied the visitors and saw that most of them were old. There may have been a bus from the old people’s condo where Brent lived, and it was likely that some of its occupants thought they’d signed up for a trip to the farmer’s market. But being old people, they probably figured they had plenty of time and would just see what this whole guy in the casket thing was all about.

Mary turned and watched as Alice and Kurt argued about his behavior at the funeral home.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Kurt said. “I was in the zone, on a roll, baby! They were eating it up!” His face was flushed and he looked like he had just come off the field after scoring the game-winning touchdown.

“You made that whole thing about as dignified as one of those hookers down on Crenshaw,” Alice shot back.

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t talk about the priest’s girlfriends like that.”

Mary heard a subtle cough come from behind the priest’s half-open door. Uncle Kurt was definitely going to Hell. No doubt about it.

“Listen, butthead, this is a church. Not a comedy club,” Alice said. “They don’t have a liquor license here. There aren’t any drunks to appreciate your gags.”

“They have wine, dude,” Mary’s cousin said. He looked at each of them for a response, when he got none, he simply shrugged his shoulders.

“Is it Night Train?” Mary said. “I’m thirsty.”

“Okay, listen goody two shoes,” Uncle Kurt said to Alice. “First of all, there is dignity in good humor.”

“Yeah, good humor. I’m surprised you didn’t ask one of the old ladies to pull your finger,” Alice said.

Cousin Jason snickered and Mary got an even stronger whiff of dope. He must have toked up on the way over from the funeral home.

“Second of all,” Kurt continued. “Some of those hookers are really quite dignified – they put a handkerchief on your lap when they blow you.”

The cough behind the priest’s door was a little louder this time.

“Okay, Uncle Kurt, if you’re finished preparing your sermon-” Mary said, and tapped her watch, but Kurt kept going.

“Listen,” Kurt said. He put his arms around Alice’s and Mary’s shoulders, and pulled them together like a coach gathering his players in the huddle. “We’ve got a good crowd out there. They’re expecting a Cooper style mass, so let’s not disappoint them.”

“It’s not a show, you jackass,” Alice said.

Jason wandered over and picked up a long, brass candle snuffer and turned it upside down. Mary could hear his thoughts; ‘hmm, if I put the weed in here…’

“You think Brent would have wanted a big sob fest?” Uncle Kurt continued. “If we don’t have those people laughing, he’ll send down a curse. So just all of you go sit down. I want to go over my material. I’m gonna blow ‘em away.”

Alice looked at Mary.

“Is your gun loaded?” she said.

Mary, Alice and Jason sat in the front pew. When the priest finished his role in the ceremony, Brent came on to deliver the eulogy. Mary wanted to shrink down lower, but her knees were already pressed up against the front of the pew.

“We’re here to remember Brent Cooper,” Uncle Kurt said with a solemn tone to his voice. His head was bowed. He was the absolute picture of somber sincerity. “If anyone’s here for the Denny’s Early Bird Special – that’s two doors down.”

Mary closed her eyes and fantasized that she had been adopted. That somewhere her real family was wondering whatever became of that sweet little baby girl they’d put up for adoption.

“The cops are diligently following up every lead,” Kurt continued. “And right now, all the leads point in one direction: the Dunkin Donuts on Wilshire.”

Behind her, Mary heard one of the old men snoring.