“I hadn’t stopped once since leaving Cullen’s house. Breaking five red traffic lights, driving on the wrong side of the road, and three times touching on 140 kph, I managed to squeeze the twenty-minute journey into an even eleven minutes. By the time I got to the church, I was sure I’d be pulling up to a mob of angry mourners, but as I approached the doors of the Romanesque monstrosity of a church, it was miraculously free of people. I slunk past the main doors as the coffin was being marched down the steps and inched to a stop as if it was as methodical a procedure as the tightly linked cogs in a clock keeping time. I killed the engine just as Frank turned the handle on the back door and opened it up for the coffin, which was slowly pushed up to a stop just behind my head.
I got out of the hearse only to be immediately met by Frank, who took a firm grip of my arm and led me around the corner to the side of the church, where he stopped short of pinning me to the wall.
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