Secondhand Souls (Grim Reaper 2)
Brian laughed.
Rivera laughed and said, “You’ve done this before.”
“Inspector, I’m gay, I’m fifty, and I’ve lived in the Castro for thirty-two years. I buried half a generation of friends and lovers before the cocktail. Yes, I’ve done this before. Not like this, though.”
“You can call me Alphonse,” Rivera said.
“I’ll call you ‘Inspector.’ Nick liked that. He was proud of being an inspector, a detective, a working cop.”
“He wouldn’t even take the tests to move up,” Rivera said.
“He was where he wanted to be, and for that we can both take comfort.”
“I’m going to get them.”
“I know,” Brian said.
Rivera nodded and moved on. He walked by his partner’s open casket but could only bring himself to look at Cavuto’s tie, and smile, because someone, probably Brian, had put just the slightest smear of mustard there.
Across the room, Sophie waited with Auntie Cassie for her daddy and Audrey to get through the line, and for Auntie Jane to return from the bar. Among all the cops, the mayor, city councilmen, firemen, EMTs, nurses, prosecutors, jailors, and friends, was the occasional junkie, or hooker, or ex-gangster, most of them standing off to themselves, or trying to, not feeling as if they fit in, but feeling like they needed to be there, because as much as Nick Cavuto had been a rough, profane, bull of a cop, he had also been a kind, fair man, and in the course of his long career had touched a lot of people’s lives. Standing out from those, though, were three man-nuns from the order of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, a group who did their service and performance for the community with good humor and, of course, in drag.
The three were all in Kabuki-style whiteface makeup with three different styles of habits. The one closest to Sophie wore a wimple with wings.
“Are you a nun?” Sophie asked.
“Why yes, darling, we all are,” said the sister.
“The nuns at my school are mean.”
“I’m a different kind of nun.”
“Flying?”
“No, but thanks for asking.” The sister primped his wings.
“A booty nun?”
“I don’t know what that is, honey, but I like where you’re going with it. No, we’re more like—like fairies.”
“Fairies?” She grinned in a kid-rictus and pointed to a vacant spot in her lower gum. “You bitches still owe me some money for this.”
“Oh my. We’ll see about that. Sister has to go do good deeds now, honey.” The nun led her sisters a few feet to the right, where they turned their attention to others in need of mercy.
“Who was that?” asked Cassie.
“Just a fairy.”
“Honey, we don’t use that term, it’s not nice.”
“Like Magical Negro?”
“Auntie Jane really has ruined you. Come, let’s go blame her.”
Lily finished in the reception line first and headed for Cassie and Sophie. As she passed the Sisters, one of them looked at her corset-elevated cleavage and tsked-tsked her as she passed.
“Really, doll, the devil’s pillows at a funeral?”
“Only dress I had that was clean,” Lily said. Which was not entirely true, but even she knew it was ill-advised to throw down with drag nuns at a funeral, and she felt very mature for the lie.