Donald Westlake - The Busy Body

Engels knees hurt. This was the first time hed been inside a church in twelve years, and he wasnt used to it any more. Hed come in here, all unknowing, and the first thing he knew he was on his knees on this hard wooden plank, and pretty soon the kneecaps had started burning, and then shooting pains had developed up and down the legs, and by now he was almost sure something was broken down there and hed never walk again.

To his left, blocking the aisle directly in front of the altar, was Charlie Brodys casket, draped with a black cloth bearing a gold embroidered cross. It was really very fancy-looking, and a nutty rhyme began to circulate around in Engels head: A tisket, a tasket,/A black and yellow basket,/Charlie Brody kicked the bucket/And now hes in a casket,/A casket,/And now hes in a casket.

The rhyme struck him funny, and he grinned a little, but then out of the corner of his eye he saw Nick Rovito giving him the fish-eye, so he dummied up again. Then his left knee suddenly gave him a particularly vicious twinge, and he got on his face an expression Nick Rovito couldnt possibly object to. He leaned as much weight as possible on his forearms resting on the back of the pew in front of him, and he wondered how much longer this foofaraw was going to take.

In a way, none of this was even necessary, since Charlie Brody hadnt kicked off in the line of duty, hadnt been gunned down or anything like that. All hed had was a heart attack. Of course, hed had it just when he was putting some water on to boil for instant coffee, and hed fallen over with his head in the flame, so he was just as much a mess now as if he had been rubbed out closed coffin and all, no viewing the remains, the whole bit but nevertheless, in the old days this sort of big-shot funeral had been reserved either for VIPs or guys sliced down on the job.

It was because of the New Look, thats what it was. With the New Look, practically nobody ever got rubbed out any more, not sos the body was left around, not since Anastasia, and that was just some guys showing off. With the New Look, there werent any rival organizations to have gang wars with, because the Central Committee gave everybody a territory and then settled all jurisdictional disputes itself at the conference table down in Miami. And with the New Look, nobody shot it out with the cops any more, they just went along nice and quiet and let the organization lawyers handle everything. So, because of the New Look, it had been years and years since the organization had been able to throw a really first-class supercolossal Cecil B. DeMille extravaganza of a funeral.

And now here was Charlie Brody, not much more than a punk. A courier is all he was, between the organization here in New York and the suppliers down in Baltimore. But he was dead, and he was the first active member of the organization to kick off in three or four years, and when Nick Rovito heard about it hed rubbed his hands together and got a gleam in his eye and said, Lets us give old Charlie Brody a send-off! What I mean, a send-off!

The other guys around the table had all looked pleased and said sure, good old Charlie Brody, the guy deserved a good send-off, but it was obvious they hadnt been thinking about good old Charlie Brody at all, theyd been thinking about the send-off.

Engel was still pretty new at these meetings, so he hadnt said much of anything, but he too had been pleased at the idea. Hed joined the organization too late to have any memories of send-offs himself, but he could remember his father talking about them when he was a kid. That was a grand send-off, his father used to say. The church packed to the rafters, five thousand people on the sidewalks outside, mounted cops all over the place. The Mayor showed up, and the Sanitation Commissioner, and everybody. That was a great send-off!

Not that Engels father had ever been high enough in the organization to rate a seat at a send-off like that, but more than once hed been a part of that crowd of five thousand on the outside. At his own funeral, three years ago, thered been only twenty-seven people. None of the bigwigs in the organization had shown up except Ludwig Meyershoot, whod been Engels fathers boss for eighteen years.

But now, nostalgia in their eyes, the boys were deciding to give the recent Charlie Brody a grand-slam all-stops-out good old-fashioned send-off. Nick Rovito rubbed his hands together and said, Somebody call Saint Pats.

Somebody else at the table said, Nick, I dont think Charlie was Catholic.

Nick Rovito looked indignant and said, Who cares what the hell Charlie was? No church on earth can give you a send-off like the Catholic Church. Whadaya want, a bunch a Quakers sitting around, looking gloomy, spoiling the whole occasion?

Nobody had wanted that, so Charlie was getting a good Catholic send-off, with Latin lyrics and sharp costuming and good strong incense and a lot of holy water and the whole complete routine. It wasnt Saint Pats, that had already been reserved, but it was a church over in Brooklyn, almost as big, and nearer the cemetery anyway.

Only if hed remembered about the knees, Engel told himself, he would of come down with a virus this morning and let somebody else play pallbearer, the hell with it.

Well. The service was anyway grinding to a close. Nick Rovito got to his feet, and the other five pallbearers got to their feet right after him. Engels knees cracked so loud you could hear an echo bounce back off the stone wall of the church. Nick Rovito gave him the fish-eye again, but what could Engel do? He couldnt stop his knees from cracking, could he?

His legs were so stiff he was afraid for a second he wouldnt be able to walk. They were all over pins and needles, like there hadnt been any blood getting down there in quite a while. He flexed them, doing half a deep-knee bend before he realized he was in the front row of the church practically and everybody could see him, so he straightened quick and went on out to the aisle with the others.

His place was at the left rear. They all stood there in position a second, their backs to the altar, and Engel could see all the people jammed into the church. Not counting the undercover FBI agents and the undercover Crime Commission agents and the undercover Treasury agents and the undercover Narcotics Squad agents, and not counting the newspaper reporters and the wire service reporters and the photographers and the lady reporters to write the human interest stories, there were still maybe four hundred people in the church that had been invited by Nick Rovito.

The Mayor wasnt there, but hed sent the Housing Commissioner in his place. Besides him there were three Congressmen that had come up through the ranks and gone on to represent the organization down in Washington, and a few singers and comics that were owned by the organization and fronted night clubs and restaurants for the organization, and a lot of lawyers in very conservative suits, and a few doctors looking fat and dyspeptic the way doctors do, and some sympathetic-looking people from the Department of Health, Education & Welfare, and some television and advertising executives that hadnt known Charlie Brody at all but did know Nick Rovito socially, and a lot of other notables. It was a very distinguished crowd, all in all, and Charlie Brody would have been flabbergasted if he could have seen them.