I scanned the crowd for Nicole, opened my nostrils, searching for that familiar, sweet scent. I searched for others as well, others come not to mourn, but to gloat, to drink the sadness and anger of those assembled. Truck's killer would no doubt find such a taste as sweet as the blood of the most innocent of virgins.
The attendees clustered themselves in factions defined by their relationship to Truck. A quartet of large-boned, heavy-set women sat in silence, huddled on a couch next to the chapel entrance, their faces puffy, eyes bloodshot, their expressions stunned, eerily similar to the fear-grimace frozen upon Truck's face.
A trio of bikers flanked the chapel entrance. One could have been Truck's brother, except his long hair and shaggy beard were blond. He wore a green polyester blazer and stood next to a tall, skinny fellow, his ribs nearly visible underneath a too-tight jacket, his Adam's apple bobbing violently as he listened intently to a rather short, muscular gentleman dressed in leather and a denim vest bearing their club's emblem. His raven hair was pulled back tightly, accentuating high cheekbones and prominent scars.
"We ride tonight," the short one said, his voice a hissing whisper. "Tonight. Every night."
"Until we find the fucker who did this," the fat one said. He patted his chest where something bulged underneath his blazer. The short one nodded, eyes narrowed to vicious slits.
"We'll get that fucking bastard," the tall one said.
Someone tapped my shoulder. It was Kern, along with Maureen, the general manager, and the operations manager, Kevin. Maureen wore a rather conservative beige dress, Kevin a navy blue suit, his tie hopelessly askew. Kern's appearance was sloppy as always, but his grin was conspicuously absent.
"Hey, Al," Kern said.
I greeted my fellow cooperative members. Maureen shook my hand firmly. Her flesh felt cold and clammy. Underneath the scent of her lilac perfume lurked the astringent aroma of perspiration.
"Thanks for coming, Al," Maureen said.
"It is important." These were all the words I could muster forth. How to put this into words! It seemed a prudent thing to do, to attend Truck's funeral, but with more and more consideration, it became obvious that I wanted to be there as much as anybody else to share my outrage and grief.
"I hate funerals," Maureen said. Kern nodded. Kevin twitched and shifted his feet back and forth. "I hate having to bury the people that helped make the co-op into something."
"Yeah," Kevin said, pulling at his tie. "Like Benny."
"Like Benny," Maureen repeated, her astringent scent suddenly becoming more prominent. I could almost feel each individual bead of sweat pierce her skin. "Benny - " She shook her head. "Hell, the whole cooperative was his idea. If it weren't for him, we'd all be at somebody else's cab company, slaving for dirt wages."
Kevin laughed dryly. "Hard to believe. Hell, I knew Benny way back at Yellow Cab. Seems like forever."
"It was," Maureen added, a wistful smile on her face. "That must've been twenty years ago."
"Yeah," Kevin said, "and Benny was just a fuckhead of a college-dropout."
"Just like you," Kern added, the grin finally returning for just a moment.
Silence. A quick glance throughout the lobby. No sign of Nicole. No stranger cowering from the sun's beams, feeding off the emotions of those in attendance. The circle of bikers grew, their whispers still angry, their bodies pressed closer together. The short biker broke from the circle and approached Truck's female relatives. "Anything I can do," he told them, "anything at all, don't be afraid to ask."
"Fucking sucks," Kern said finally, fists clenched at his side. Kevin nodded. Maureen sighed, then greeted a couple rookies whom I did not know.
More stunned silence for a few long moments. "At least people like Truck and Benny leave us with significance," I said finally. "The memory of what they did, who they were, it lives on in those who remain, for as long as they remain."
"I hate funerals," Maureen said bitterly, her lilac perfume completely obscured by the scent of her own perspiration.
"Well, at least Truck had the pleasure of throwing out a U-Ride passenger at least once," Kern said.
Kevin twitched even harder. Maureen glared at Kern. "I never heard about that," the general manager said.
"Good," Kern replied. "It means the little fucker never called to complain. Probably 'cuz he was too busy cleaning up his underpants."
"What the hell happened?" Maureen asked.
Kern retold the story, which drew laughter at its conclusion, even from Maureen, who commented that, off the record, Truck should have