'You think you could take me?' Luis said, still smiling. 'Bring it on, momma. I do Pilates. I'm toned perfection.'

'I've got two inches and ten pounds on you. And if I have Lula get out of the car you'll be nothing but a grease spot on the pavement.'

Luis did a frustrated arm flap and slid into the back seat. 'I don't know why you bust my balls. I'm just out here making a living.'

'You need a new corner.'

'I like this corner. It got sunshine.'

'It's also got cops.'

'I know, but I can't move until I tell all my regulars.'

'You need a mailing list,' Lula said, heading for the courthouse. 'You should get a Web site.'

Luis opened the Pleasure Treasures bag on the back seat. 'Looks like you ladies been shopping. Whoa, baby, that's a monster. I think I'm blushing.'

'You can drop me at the office,' I told Lula. 'Then you can pick Connie up and take her to the courthouse with you and Luis, so she can get him released again.'

Fifteen minutes later I swapped seats with Connie.

'Don't forget your toys,' Luis said, handing me the bag.

I took the bag, waved Luis and Connie and Lula away and crossed the street to the SUV. The window slid down, and Carmen looked out at me.

I decided to try friendly. 'How's it going?'

Carmen didn't say anything.

'Can I get you something? Lunch? Water?'

Nothing.

'I'd really like to ask you a few questions. I don't think-'

The gun came up.

'Okay then,' I said. 'Good talk.'

I crossed the street, angled into the Mini, cranked it over, and eased into traffic. I drove two blocks on Hamilton and turned into the Burg at the hospital with Carmen close on my bumper.

I've had occasion to lose people, and I had a route that worked. I wound through the Burg, took Chambers to Liberty and returned to the Burg. Between traffic and lights and the back alleys of the Burg I was always able to lose the faint of heart. And I lost Carmen. Probably she'd eventually go to my apartment building, but I thought eventually was better than now.

I had the phone beside me while I worked at the dining room table. I was prioritizing the skips, making calls to check on addresses and employment histories, trying to determine who was where. And I was hoping for a call from Ranger. The call that finally came in was from my grandmother.

'Big news,' she said. The funeral parlor is having a viewing tonight. It's the first viewing with the new owners. Catherine Machenko is getting laid out. Dolly did her hair, and she gave me all the dirt. She said the new owners are from Jersey City. Never owned a funeral parlor before. Fresh out of mortuary school. Dolly said they were a nice young gay couple. Dave and Scooter. Dave is the mortician, and Scooter makes the cookies for the viewings. Isn't that something?'

Some communities have country clubs, some have senior centers, some have shopping malls and movie theaters. The Burg has two funeral parlors. Only Thursday night bingo occasionally draws a bigger crowd than a well-run viewing in the Burg.

'I tell you those homosexuals are all over the place,' Grandma said. 'And they get all the good jobs, too. They get to be cowboys and morticians. I never wanted to be a homosexual, but I always wanted to be a cowboy. What do you suppose it's like to be a homosexual? Do you think their privates look different?'

'All privates look different,' I told her.

'I haven't seen too many. Mostly your grandfathers… and that wasn't a real pretty sight. I wouldn't mind seeing some others. I'd like to see some minority privates and maybe some blue ones. I was listening to one of them late-night radio shows and they were talking about blue balls. I thought that sounded colorful. I wouldn't mind seeing some blue balls.'

My mother groaned in the background.

'Hold on, dear,' Grandma Mazur said. 'Your mother wants to talk to you.'

'I'll do your laundry if you take your grandmother to the viewing,' my mother said. 'And I'll iron it if you make sure she doesn't get into trouble. If it's closed casket, I don't want her trying to get it open.'

Grandma thinks if she made an effort to come out to a viewing the least they can do is let her take a look at the dead guy. I guess I understand her point of view, but it makes for a scene when the lid is nailed down.

'That's asking a lot,' I said to my mother. 'I'll give her a ride, but I can't guarantee no trouble.'

'Please,' my mother said. 'I'm begging you.'

Carmen was in my lot when I exited the building. She was parked one space over from my Mini, and her windows were down to allow air into the car.

I waved when I walked past. 'I'm going to pick up my grandmother,' I said. 'I'm taking her to a viewing on Hamilton. Then I'll take her home and probably stop in to see Morelli.'

Carmen didn't say anything. She was wearing mirrored lenses, and she wasn't smiling. She followed me out of the lot, into the Burg, and she parked half a block down while I went in to get Grandma.

Grandma was at the door when I arrived. Her grey hair was tightly curled. Her face was powdered. Her nails were newly manicured and matched her red lipstick. She was wearing a navy dress and low-heeled patent leather pumps. She was ready to go.

'Isn't this exciting,' Grandma said. 'A new funeral director! Catherine is lucky to be his first. There'll be a real crowd there tonight.'

My mother was in the foyer with my grandmother. 'Try to behave yourself,' she said to my grandmother. 'Constantine had years of experience. He knew how to manage all the little disasters that happen when people get together. These two young men are brand new at this.'

For as long as I can remember, Constantine Stiva owned the funeral parlor. He was a pillar of the community and the funeral director of choice for the Burg bereaved. As it turned out, he was also a little insane and had a homicidal past, and he's now spending his remaining years in maximum security at Rahway prison.

I've heard rumors that Con prefers prison life to seeing Grandma Mazur walk through his front door, but I'm not sure they're true.

My father was in the living room watching television. His eyes never left the screen, but he mumbled something that sounded like 'poor unsuspecting bastard funeral director.'

My father used to keep an old army-issue.45 in the house as protection against intruders. When Grandma Mazur moved in, my mother quietly got rid of the.45, fearing someday my father would lose patience and blow Grandma away. If it had been me, I would have also gotten rid of sharp knives. Personally, I think Grandma Mazur is a hoot. But then, I don't have to live with her.

'We'll be fine,' I said to my mother. 'Don't worry.'

My mother made the sign of the cross and bit into her lower lip.

I drove the short distance to the funeral parlor and dropped Grandma in front of the building. 'I'll find a parking place and meet you in there,' I said.

Grandma tottered up the stairs to the big wide front porch, and I motored slowly down the street, followed by Carmen. I parked one block north, Carmen chugged past me, hooked a U-turn, and parked across the street.

I was in no rush to get back to the funeral parlor, so I called Ranger again. 'Hi,' I said to his answering service, 'it's me. Things are looking up. Your wife is tailing me, but she hasn't shot at me yet today, so that's a good thing, right? And you need to answer your damn phone calls.'

I cracked my knuckles and looked at my watch. I hated viewings. I hated the cloying smell of too many flowers. I hated the small talk I'd be forced to make. I hated the inevitable dead person. Maybe I could procrastinate with another phone call.