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"I'd hate to tell you what it smells like," she said.
And then he was out the door.
He walked purposefully toward Broad Street until he was certain his mother, sure to be peering from behind the lace curtain on the door, couldn't see him anymore, and then he cut across the street and went back to the McCarthy house, where he quickly climbed the steps and rang the bell, hoping it would be answered before his mother made one of her regularly scheduled, every-five-minutes inspections of the neighborhood.
Mr. McCarthy, wearing a suit, opened the door.
"Hello, Charley, what can I do for you?"
"Is Margaret around?"
"We're going to pay our respects to the Magnellas," Mr. McCarthy said.
"Oh," Charley said.
"You been over there yet?"
"No."
"You want to go with us?"
"Yeah," Charley said.
"I thought maybe that's what you had in mind," Mr. McCarthy said. "You're all dressed up."
"Yeah," Charley said.
"Goddamn shame," Mr. McCarthy said.
"Hello, Charley," Margaret McCarthy said. "You going with us?"
She was wearing a suit with a white blouse and a little round hat.
Jesus Christ, that's a good-looking woman!
"I wanted to pay my respects," Charley said.
"You might as well ride with us," Mr. McCarthy said.
The ride to Stanley Rocco and Sons, Funeral Directors, was pleasant until they got there. That is to say, he got to ride in the backseat with Margaret and he could smell her- an entirely delightful sensation-even over his after-shave. He could even see the lace at the hem of her slip, which triggered his imagination.
But then, when Mr. McCarthy had parked the Ford and Margaret had climbed out and he had in a gentlemanly manner averted his eyes from the unintentional display of lower limbs and he got out, he saw that the place was crowded with cops, in uniform and out.
"Jesus, wait a minute," he said to Margaret.
He took out his wallet and sighed with relief when he found a narrow strip of black elasticized material. He had put it in there after the funeral of Captain Dutch Moffitt, intending to put it in a drawer when he got home.
Thank God I forgot!
"What is that?" Margaret asked.
"A mourning stripe," Charley said. "You cut up a hatband."
"Oh," she said, obviously not understanding.
"When there's a dead cop, you wear it across your badge," he explained as he worked the band across his. "I almost forgot."
He started to pin the badge to his lapel.
