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“You’re looking in the wrong direction,” he said, close behind me. “He’s standing off to the side, by the maple tree.”
I turned and picked out Jimmy Poletti, partly hidden by the tree, dressed in a dark suit, looking solemn.
“I feel bad that we’re taking him down at his mother’s funeral,” I said.
“Babe, he shot a firebomb into your apartment.”
“We don’t know for sure that it was him.”
“Do you want to let him walk?”
“No, but it would be nice if we could wait until the ceremony is over to grab him.”
“I’m willing to wait, but I can’t speak for the undercover guys.”
“Do you think they see him?”
“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time, because he’s creeping closer.”
“How did he get here?”
“He has a car parked on the other side of the hill.”
“And he’s alone?”
“He was the only one in the car.”
“How is it that you know all these things and I don’t?” I asked.
“I know where to look.”
I couldn’t hear the priest from where I was standing, but I could see that he was going through the ritual. Briggs looked bored, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He couldn’t see much in front of him. He was looking around, up at the sky, back at me, over to the maple tree. I saw him stiffen, and I knew he’d spotted Jimmy Poletti.
“Briggs!” I said to Ranger. “He sees Jimmy.”
Ranger moved forward, but not in time to stop Briggs.
“It’s him!” Briggs yelled, pointing to Poletti. “You son of a bitch!”
The priest froze midblessing, mouth open, eyes wide. Every head swiveled to the maple tree. Poletti went deer in the headlights.
“I got a gun,” Lula said, shoving her hand into her purse. “Just everyone hold up until I get my gun.”
The plainclothes guys were on the move, and fifty geriatric mourners scrambled to get away from the action, pushing and shoving, heading for their cars.
Poletti turned to go up the hill, saw a cop running down the hill toward him, and changed direction, running straight for the grave. A shot was fired and everyone hit the deck, except Lula, Grandma, and Briggs, who were holding their ground.
Lula had a two-handed grip on her Glock and was trying to get a sight on Poletti. Briggs was enraged, his face bright red, his eyes crazy.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Briggs yelled at Poletti. “You blew up my apartment, you moron!”
“You fucked my wife!” Poletti yelled back, running full-tilt at Briggs. “I hate you.”
“Everybody fucks your wife,” Briggs shouted. “I don’t see you blowing up everybody’s apartment. It’s because I’m short, isn’t it?”
Lula fired off a shot that went wide, and Poletti charged Briggs. Grandma swung her purse just as Poletti swept past her. The big black patent leather bag caught Poletti on the side of the head, and Poletti staggered and crashed to the ground. Ranger cuffed him, and the three cops took over.
Lula and Grandma did a complicated high five.
