He hopped back into his truck, sparked up a joint, and cranked up the music. Billy Idol was snarling his lip and singing "White Wedding." Dwayne couldn't help but snarl his lip and sing along.

Perhaps if he'd snarled his lip a bit less, he might have noticed Dave the umpire watching everything he'd done from the perch behind the scoreboard, where he'd pa.s.sed out hours earlier after a two-day bender of crystal meth and bowling.

Dwayne pulled into his driveway at 5:03 a.m. He wasn't going to sleep for more than forty-five minutes, and he knew it. He didn't care. He still had a crazy rush running through his body, and he was insanely high from the ma.s.sive joint he'd just smoked.

He felt great.

He hoped to sneak into the house without making a sound, but the front door creaked when he opened it. Dwayne slithered through the living room and dining room and through his bedroom door in silence. He slipped into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

The nearly scalding water felt fantastic running over his head and down his back. He let the water run over him until the last bit of blood-tinged water had swirled down the drain. The shower door opened. The soap on his face kept Dwayne from opening his eyes, but he didn't need to. He knew who it was. He knew what she wanted. Two hands reached around his chest from behind and worked their way down. There was a light nibble at his earlobes as the hands reached their destination.

"Well, good morning, cowboy," Estelle whispered in his ear. "What were you up to last night? I missed you."

Dwayne hadn't heard that in years. It felt good. All of it felt good. "I was out there being a rock star, babe, just the way you like it." He picked her up, pushed her back against the shower wall, and made her toes and feet curl up. He then flung the shower door open and carried Estelle to the bathroom counter, where he finished the job.

When Dwayne was done, he made his way to the bed and flopped down, face first.

"Get some rest, baby," Estelle said. "Because I'm coming back for more later."

Dwayne sprung upright several hours later. He'd slept much longer than he'd wanted to. He felt something stuck to his a.s.s. He reached back and grabbed it. It was a sticky note.

"I took Alex to school for you. See you at the funeral, rock star.Estelle"

"Oh, s.h.i.t!" he exclaimed as he looked at the clock. It was 11:36 a.m. The funeral had started at 11:00 a.m. He ran into the bathroom and grabbed his phone. He'd missed a s.h.i.tload of text messages from the guys.

STEVE:.

Where the h.e.l.l are you guys? Are you at the funeral? Anyone see Dwayne?

RUSS:.

We're sitting in the front row. Ran to the restroom. Grab a seat up there & we'll see you in a second. Haven't seen Dwayne.

There was a several-minute break from the texts, and then: STEVE:.

Very funny, I just sat down in the front row & got asked to leave. Only family is allowed up there.

RUSS:.

LOL.

TOMMY:.

STEVE:.

G.o.ddammit. Where are you guys?

RUSS:.

We're checking out the hot grieving nieces. Lobby.

STEVE:.

Bulls.h.i.t! I was just in the lobby.

STEVE:.

h.e.l.lo???

STEVE:.

Really funny, guys.

STEVE:.

Briefcase! Briefcase! Holy s.h.i.t!

TOMMY:.

WTF?.

RUSS:.

Is that the code word?

STEVE:.

Yes! Briefcase! Briefcase!