Set against the backdrop of the 2020 Covid-19 outbreak, a young woman, Gravely Eaton, is stuck working at the family funeral home with a father she hates. The world is dying around her, but there seems no escape from her boring life with no friend...
It's sort of weird when some stranger listens to your conversation, let alone interrupts to add their two cents worth. Healy was more miffed than I was.
"Are you talking to us?" asked my boyfriend.
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One of the gardening guys was taller than the other, mid-sixties, I'd guess. He wore a straw sunhat, a neckerchief, and denim coveralls - very old school. Almost looked like he was wearing a costume, was my first impression. My suspicion was immediately confirmed when he took off the hat, slipped the kerchief away from his neck and pocketed the phony glasses.
While he walked over, he smiled at us, half embarrassed for interrupting, or maybe for his dopey disguise. What did he really look like? Picture the actor from Dr. Who but on in years and with stubble on his face. British accent.
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"Sorry about all this drama," he began. "But when we heard your topic of discussion, it was time to make contact," he said matter-of-factly. "You'll want to understand exactly what you're dealing with. Wouldn't want anybody to get hurt."
Jaws dropped, we didn't have a quick comeback for his rambling. It was a WTF moment, so Healy and I waited for the old guy to explain himself. Right off, the Englishman came across as something of a drama queen. He paused to take an ornate pipe out of his hip pocket. Then he took the time to claim a pinch of tobacco from a bag in another pocket, and fit it into the pipe bowl. A look of frustration crossed his face as he patted his chest pocket. Something was missing.
Pipe in mouth he called out, "Bloody hell, Domagio! Did you pilfer my Peterson again?"
My eyes darted to the other man. He looked ten years older than his Dr. Who side-kick, with a belly paunch, round shoulders, and age-lined face. A New York Yankees baseball cap sat atop his noggin, but he took it off just long enough to salute Healy and me, exposing one of those heads that had nothing on top but hair on the sides. An old-style hearing appliance, the size of your thumb, was plugged into his rather large right ear. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the older guy was Domagio - Italian I guessed. He didn't respond to the Englishman's ire, but a devilish smile was fixed on the codger's face, and he took some delight hitting the tip of his cigar with a fancy looking lighter.
