Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [57]
On Friday evening the Timberline was already starting to fill up when Paul and Brandy arrived. It felt like half of Mercer was there, along with lots of Terry’s out-of-town friends and relatives. Someone had put together a decent buffet, and everyone had made at least a gesture toward funeral attire. Even Darryl was wearing black jeans. Paul said hello to Terry’s goth teenage niece, Melinda, who actually looked a little perkier than usual.
Lito showed up just after Paul, and the two shook hands and made small talk. Betty and Wanda hung around the buffet table with Rafael. There were plenty of other locals in attendance. Paul wondered how many of them had known Terry, how many were just there for the free booze, and how many straddled that line. Then again, Terry was not one to deny anyone their rightful share of free booze. The question itself was what Terry would have called a “mute point.”
Tate rang the “Last call for alcohol” bell to get everyone’s attention. “Okay folks, thank you all for coming,” he said stiffly. “We are here to celebrate and remember our friend Terry Jakes. I will now turn it over to Terry’s cousin, Martin Jakes. Martin?”
Martin took Tate’s place behind the bar, which would serve as the evening’s podium. Judging from the eulogy, Martin was a devout Christian and hardly knew Terry. Next up, the goth niece delivered a poem that rhymed “incendiary” with “Uncle Terry.” It wasn’t until Wanda delivered a reminiscence about Terry as a misfit high school kid that the crowd started to choke up. Terry’s old parole officer was up last. He started to say a few words but was too emotional to finish. His wife came up and hugged him around the neck. Tate announced the end of the speaker portion of the evening. It was time for the will.
Paul and Brandy stood together at the back of the bar, with Lacey teetering next to them. All three were bleary-eyed. As Tate popped the videotape into the VCR, Paul just hoped Terry didn’t use the will to send the whole town on a wild-goose chase, like in It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, one of Terry’s favorite movies. After the static cleared and the crowd hushed, Terry’s image appeared on the TV above the bar.
“This is Terrence Leotis Jakes,” he said solemnly, and then slowly panned the room, as though examining everyone in the crowd. “The killer,” he proclaimed, “is among you.” The Timberline went silent. Then Terry burst out laughing.
“Naw, I’m playin’. Chances are I died doing some dumb shit. Hope you all at least got a good laugh out of it, and that somebody caught it on tape. Maybe I’m a YouTube celebrity already. Okay, down to business.” He raised his hand, Boy Scout style.
“This hereby is my final will and testament. It shall taketh precedent over all other documents. Forthwith I disclose my postmortem wishes and intentions as to the disbursement of my earthly possessions and whatnot.” He cleared his throat.
“First, a word of warning. My body may remain in a state of samadhi for five days after my death. Do not be alarmed. This is normal for enlightened ones of the yeshe chölwa. That means crazy wisdom, for those of you who don’t know.” Paul thought he could feel the crowd roll its collective eyes .27
“After such period, I wish to be cremated. Whereupon, at the earliest convenience, my remains shall be scattered upon Mount Fuji, preferably by helicopter. Until such time, my ashes shall be maintained in a container of highest quality above the bar at the Timberline. Up near the good stuff.”
Everyone started to choke up again.
“Okay, let’s get down to who gets the goodies. To Deena Jake . . . er, Dixon,” he stammered. “Girl, we almost made it. You are still my angel. I’ll always love ya.”
Terry cleared his throat and assumed a more officious tone: “Conditional upon the assumption that you are not in jail for killing my ass . . .”
“I tried!” Deena shouted from the back of the bar. The crowd erupted in laughter.
“I leave you my life savings,” Terry continued, “as well as any and all other monetary assets. Seemed like