Clancy’s Funeral
Harry Clancy was an imposing man any way you looked at him. He stood three inches over six feet and tipped the scales at a solid 265 pounds. He filled doorways when he entered and had been known to use his bulk in this way to prevent the escape of someone whom he had decided needed to be taught a lesson about doing whatever Clancy said. In his early years he did the dirty work of this kind himself, but when he became rich and powerful he delegated the tasks to his subordinates. Privately though, he admitted that he missed the excitement and satisfaction of doing it himself.
His clothes were always expensive and well cut. The best was none to good for him. He had money to burn - most of it other people’s - so he could do pretty much what he pleased.
Convention and the approved styles meant little to him. He asserted that he made the conventions and set the styles, he didn’t follow them. When one newspaper commentator made a snide remark in print about Clancy’s affectation in wearing top hat and tails at all hours of the day and every day of the year, he quickly found himself without a job. No explanations were given or needed. Not always that sensitive to comment in the news media, Clancy did tend to provoke speculation there by his refusal to grant any interviews although he was regularly approached by journalists.
Kids would line up when his chauffeured limousine pulled up so they could see the famous diamond rings that he wore at all times. He always got a charge out of flashing them at the waving crowds. Two large sparkling stones in nests of gold, one on each of his beefy hands. They were without question the largest gem stones of any kind that most people would ever see worn as rings and speculations about their value kept many a conversation going until the wee hours of the morning.
What fueled many more discussions was the question of where Clancy’s money had come from. No one seemed able to account for the money that had allowed the man to make the many investments that now generated most of his income.
Clancy had risen from a semi-literate laborer to the owner of four of the largest businesses in town, treading on and stomping down many people who got in his path, but without ever having any job that would account for his accumulating wealth.
The combination of his physical strength, his lack of reluctance to express his displeasure at anything in very physical terms, and the appearance of wealth and financial security that his expensive clothes and accessories projected, assured him ready credit any place in town. In fact more than one businessman had noted that Clancy had outstanding bills with almost every shop within miles. These he paid off, but always only in part, at irregular intervals that suggested that the payments were prompted entirely by whim. Dunning Clancy about his bills was neither productive nor safe. More than one shopkeeper prayed that Clancy would take his business elsewhere since being honored with it usually meant losing money.
Clancy’s wife was as well known about town as he was. She had earned the sobriquet “the Silent Lady” by seldom saying more than a few words to anyone. The nickname was also appropriate in another sense since conversations among the other ladies inevitably trailed off at her approach and didn’t pick up again until she was well past.
She also dressed in expensive finery, but always in somber black with only a touch or two of fine white lace to relieve the austerity. She wore her hair in a tight bun on the back of her head and many commented behind her back that she apparently pulled her hair back so hard to do it that it produced her perpetually solemn look. No one could be found who had ever seen her laugh or say an unessential word.
All were aware though that she was always well informed about what was going on in Clancy ‘s businesses. Often she would appear at one of the factories or shops to deliver some important instructions about operations and no one was ever sure if she was merely acting as Clancy’s messenger or if she was actually the one making the decisions and he was only a figurehead. Since none could get close to her, none could learn enough about her to be sure. Some believed she deliberately fostered this doubt in order to keep people uncertain, and therefore deferential. Whether deliberate or not, it worked.
Clancy’s death came as a surprise to all. One night he sat down at his special reserved table in the hotel dining room for one of the huge meals that were his pleasure and simply fell forward into his snapper soup stone dead. No one ever found out exactly what killed him. It was enough that there were several witnesses to confirm the fact of his demise for any skeptics. Few tears were shed, although there were many unctuous displays of grief. The Silent Lady withdrew behind a heavy black veil.
From the beginning McMullen knew that Clancy’s would probably be the biggest funeral he would ever arrange so he had to do it right. Everything would be big and flashy so he could charge the widow plenty. Everybody knew that she had it, so he might as well get his share of it. Simply enough, even if he did it for free - and there was no way he was going to do anything such thing - the local publicity that went with being selected as the establishment to handle the funeral-of-the-year would be worth many times the total cost of even Harry Clancy’s funeral.
All furniture was removed from the parlor where the casket would be displayed so there would be as much room as possible for people. For an occasion like this everybody in town was sure to show up to see and be seen. A team of women scrubbed and polished for two days until the place gleamed.
When the flowers began to arrive it took three assistants working all afternoon just to position them. When the casket was put in place it stood against a solid wall of blossoms and greenery, with other flowers lining the front porch because there wasn’t enough room for them inside. McMullen was delighted with the visual effect. It all looked so nice, so dignified, that surely not even Clancy’s widow would have any comment about the size of the mortician’s bill.
When the wake started, the parlor, and then the other rooms on the first floor of the mortuary, filled quickly. People kept arriving but few departed.
The whole crowd was abuzz. He wasn’t wearing his rings! Where were they?
At one time or another every man in town had heard Clancy swear that he liked his rings so much that he would be buried with them. “Nobody will tell me that I can’t take them with me!” he would roar. He often joked that they were everyone else’s insurance of peace after he was gone, since with those stones for weight there would be no chance of him bobbing back to the surface and haunting anybody.
Many a comment passed back and forth about the parsimonious wife ignoring the wishes of the tyrant that she couldn’t defy while he was alive. And where was the widow? It was more than an hour into the official wake and she was nowhere to be seen. No one wanted to leave until they had seen her even though it was now uncomfortably crowded. Rumors were circulating that she had been seen smiling several times since Clancy died and many wanted to see this previously unheard of event for themselves.
No one was more disappointed that the rings weren’t present than McMullen. Never in his life had he done anything larcenous or crooked - but if asked under oath he would have been forced to admit that was due to lack of opportunity, not virtue,. From the moment he had received the call to pick up Clancy’s body from the hotel dining room he had been able to focus on little besides the rings. Those famous rings.
He was surprised and disappointed to note that the Silent Lady had removed them even before he arrived at the hotel so he didn’t get a chance to see them up close. He had had a fleeting thought about having reasonable duplicates made and switching them but he couldn’t do that without a good look at the originals so he let that thought evaporate from his mind.
When he asked the widow about the rings she told him only that, “They will be put on him at the appropriate time.” McMullen had now repeated that quote a hundred times by way of answering the continuous chorus of questions about the whereabouts of the famous rings. He wanted it fully understood that the responsibility for depriving these people of one of the principal items of interest in their evening’s diversion was
the widow’s, not his. There was no point in losing the benefit of the public attention by having any misunderstanding about that.
The crowd was getting so large that McMullen was beginning to worry about his property. Outside, groups trampled all over the lawn, a patch of grass and weeds that wasn’t all that tough and healthy to start with. Inside, the crowd was now so packed and overheated that any minor incident might turn into a shoving match and no one could predict where that might lead. He even had a twinge of concern about the integrity the building since it hadn’t been designed to support this large a mass of bodies.
Terry O’Malley was among the disappointed viewers in the main parlor. He was more disappointed than most because he had decided that at twenty-five he had nothing to lose and everything to gain by making a rapid departure from this area - taking Clancy’s diamonds with him. He had arrived at 6:30 this evening, one of the very first, prepared to grab the rings at gunpoint and make a run for it.
Now he stood with his back against the wall, afraid to try to leave the room because the bodies were packed in so tight that someone was sure to notice the gun tucked in his belt. He was frustrated and angry. He had been cheated out of his big chance and he was looking for someone to take it out on.
He heard the whispered rumors that the rings would arrive with the widow but that just made him angrier. There would be too many people present then. He would never be able to get through the crowd fast enough to get away. But then inspiration struck him. They would all go home in a while and he would have his chance then. So he settled in to wait.
The big wait came to an end at 8:30. The mortuary was packed so tightly that people were having considerable difficulty getting in and out. Several women fainted in the hot, stale air. The buzz of voices had started off appropriately muted and hushed, but as the evening wore on the restraints slipped and the crowding increased and the noise level rose to a dull roar.
Those inside had no way of knowing what was going on outside so their first inkling that something was happening came when the main doors sprang open and were held that way. Few noticed at first, but gradually a ripple of comment passed through the crowd. More and more people stopped talking and turned to see what was happening. The silence spread to all corners of the room until everyone’s attention was riveted on the door.
Only when the last whisper had fallen away and all movement had stopped did the Silent Lady appear in the doorway in black silk and her heavy veil. Immediately behind her were two uniformed private security guards. Even in the crowded conditions, a path opened for her and the guards. It disappeared again as soon as they passed as people jockeyed for position to see what she would do.
The widow stood by the casket without moving, veil lowered, for a full minute. There was considerable jostling for a better view by those behind her but no one spoke even in a whisper. Finally she lifted the veil, removed her gloves, and took the rings, the famous rings, from her handbag and slipped them on Clancy’s fingers. She nodded to the armed guards and they took up positions by the casket were they could scrutinize all who approached. The widow turned and left, veil lowered. There were those who claimed that she was indeed smiling under that cover but the view of her face wasn’t clear enough to be certain. The arguments went on and on.
Relieved of the necessity, and deprived of the opportunity, of making an emotional statement of condolence to the widow, the members of the crowd filed passed the casket for a good look at the rings under the alert eyes of the guards and then went home to speculate over their coffee cups. It didn’t take long for the large crowd to disperse now that the element of mystery had been eliminated from the proceedings.
One of the last to leave was Terry O’Malley. He wanted a close look at the rings but couldn’t risk having the guards notice the gun under his coat. He went across the street and stood in the shadows waiting for the guards to leave. There would still be a chance for him to make his big move and then it would be the big city and the big times for him. Those diamonds would keep him comfortable for the rest of his days.
At midnight other armed guards arrived to relieve the first pair and it became clear that the mortuary would be guarded until the funeral service in the morning. O’Malley was furious. He was also realistic. Stealing the diamonds with no one present or with only a few unarmed witnesses was one thing; attempting a robbery with two trained and armed guards on duty was another. His chances of success dropped significantly and his chances of getting killed increased greatly when those men came on the scene. He went home to toss and turn on his hard bed as he tried to think of a way around the obstacle.
In the morning many people arrived at the mortuary for another look at the rings before the scheduled service. Even McMullen hadn’t been able to get close enough to actually touch the stones. The guards had very explicit orders. In the daylight they had more sparkle and were even more impressive that they had been in the poor artificial lighting the night before.
The funeral procession promised to be a mile long as more and more cars joined the line that was forming. Everyone who was anyone wanted others, particularly the widow, to see them there paying their respects.
At the last minute McMullen had changed his plans and decided to use the closed hearse rather than the one with the glass sides that he had made arrangements to rent from a large establishment in another city. He also changed the driver assignments so that his trusted associate Timothy Sullivan would drive the hearse and McMullen would ride with him.
When the widow arrived she was accompanied by a middle-aged man whom no one in the crowd knew. He followed deferentially behind her and waited for her signals.
The Silent Lady went to the casket and stood absolutely still several feet from it for a full minute before she raised her veil and stepped right up to it. She motioned to her shadow and he advanced to her side, took a jeweler’s loupe from his pocket and, bending low over the body, examined both rings. After carefully viewing the stones from several positions he stood and nodded to the widow. She then pulled a document from her handbag and handed it and a pen to the man. He signed it with a flourish and returned it to her. She folded the paper and returned it to her handbag.
Now she nodded to the guards and they stepped out of the way to let McMullen and Timothy Sullivan to move in and close the casket. The man who had examined the rings left immediately, his job done.
It took twice as long as usual to get the funeral procession started on its slow journey to the cemetery at the far end of town. For effect - and to drag things out a bit - they took the long route through the center of the business district.
The procession was hardly a block from the mortuary when McMullen slipped from his seat and crawled into the back of the hearse. It was cramped but he managed to position himself in the blackened out back section so that he could open the sealing screws on the casket lid and lift it partway. It took but a second to slip off the rings, to shake the dead man’s hand in thanks, and to close it all up again. Long before they reached the cemetery McMullen was back in his seat looking properly severe and funereal.
The interment went without a hitch or a question. There were again those who swore that the widow was smiling under that thick veil but no one could be certain.
Squirrel Bait and Other Stories Page 11
