Till Death Do Us

A STORM IS BREWING

Outside the sky was the color of slate and a heavy moist wind blew. Phineas pulled the collar of his jacket tight against his throat.

"Feels like a storm coming," said Cousin Rudy as he poked a half-smoked cheroot between his lips and ducked behind the corner of a building to light it. "We'll have to keep an eye out."

"Something to do with kinetic efflux?" Phineas guessed.

"Precisely."

A few minutes later they arrived at the art gallery. Parked on the street outside was a maroon funeral lorry covered with images of scantily clad female grim reapers airbrushed in pale whites, dark maroons, and midnight blues. Rather than the traditionally skeletal reaper portrait, these reapers displayed all the fleshy charms that men entered bawdy houses like the Lux to enjoy.

Phineas did a double take. "Please tell me that's not our funeral lorry."

"That's not our funeral lorry," Cousin Rudy said.

"Yes, it is," said Phineas. "Why is it painted like that?"

"It needed a new coat."

"But why like that?" Phineas pressed.

"Wait until you see the artist," said Cousin Rudy with a wink.

"That's what you said back at the office," Phineas reminded him.

"Nothing's changed," said Cousin Rudy.

Phineas run his fingers over the glossy finish of the guadily-painted funeral lorry. It was outlandish, outrageous. If they ever tried to use it for a funeral, Stiffs & Sons would instantly be the object of ridicule. They'd be the laughing stock of the entire mortuary world. He'd have to have it repainted all black immediately. But if there weren't even sufficinet funds in the company account to provide Cousin Rudy with a salary, would there enough to pay to have the lorry repainted?

Cousin Rudy must have seen from Pineas's expression that he wasn't happy. "You're the one who said the lorry needed a paint job, Finny. And Myst said it would help pull people in for her art show. Best of both worlds, right?"

"Myst?"

"The artist."

"Wait, I thought you haven't met her yet," Phineas said.

"Just briefly, at the roadster repair garage. You know. The ones who fixed the Serpollet. That's her regular job, at least until she makes it as an artist."

"She repairs roadsters?"

"No, stupid, she paints them," Cousin Rudy said.
"And what about tomorrow when we need to use the lorry to perform the solemn task of transporting the deceased to their final resting place?" asked Phineas.

"Don't you think it looks better than it used to?" Cousin Rudy asked.

"Covered with paintings of the grim reaper as a busty woman in a bikini?" Phineas let out a long, deep, and very weary sigh. He could just imagine what his father was going to say when he returned from wherever he was and saw it.

Inside the art gallery heavy pipe organ music reverberated. Gas lights glowed on the walls, and tables were set with glittering candelabras. Most of the attendees favored the Roque fashion, dressing in dark maroon, with hair dyed either black or deep red hues, maroon makeup and abundant piercings and tattoos. Hanging on the walls were large, dark canvases of Roque gods and goddesses adorned in tight leather or furs, all striking provocative poses reminiscent of the semi-naked figures that now embellished the Stiffs & Sons funeral lorry.

A young woman in a skimpy maroon and white maid's outfit had just offered them hors oeuvres of red sushi wrapped in nori when Phineas felt Cousin Rudy grip his arm: "There she is!"

As usual, his cousin had spoken loudly enough to be heard three territories over. The entire crowd turned to see what he was referring to. Phineas looked across the room expecting to see the artist, the one called Myst, whom Cousin Rudy was so interested in.

Instead he found himself looking into the dazzling green eyes of the lovely Miss Theodosia Boudreaux.