Westlake, Donald E - Novel 41 (35 page)

 
          
 
"Everybody dies," the M.E. said.
"It's a thing I've noticed."

 
          
 
Crawley
turned and looked back at his partner. Abe was braced between the car and the
tree, arm out straight, revolver just visible to the boat. He had died that
way, his heart stopping forever but his body not moving. Sirens sounded,
approaching.

 
          
 
"How do you like that,"
Crawley
said. "He was dead, and he finished
the job anyway. His corpse held that punk covered until we could get
here."

 
          
 
"Maybe they'll give him a medal,"
the M.E. said, and grinned, showing uneven teeth.
"A
posthumous medal.
The first legit posthumous medal
ever, for performance above and beyond the call of death."

 
          
 
The hearse and ambulance were arriving.
Crawley
looked at the M.E. and pointed at Abe.
"No plastic body bag," he said. "He gets a blanket."