“We’ve all made peace with our differences.” He looked up, engaged Decker’s eyes. “We’ve run far afield.”

“I’ll take that introduction to Grease Pit, Father. Sorry to have monopolized your time.”

“Actually, you did a mitzvah…distracted me from these unreal circumstances for a short time. Isn’t that what shivah is all about?”

Decker said, “You know Hebrew.”

“Yes, I do.”

Guy was probably more fluent than he was. Seems the world was more fluent than he.

Decker pushed aside his jealousy and thought about what the priest was saying. There were some similarities between this gathering and shivah, the required seven days of Jewish mourning. The grieving family of course, the somber dress, visitors offering words of comfort to the bereaved, even the ample supply of finger food.

But there were also distinct differences. Namely the lack of religious rituals. Jewish law requires that the mourners wear torn clothing, sit on low stools or the floor instead of chairs, and refrain from greeting visitors. They were not permitted to leave the house—even to pray at synagogue. Which meant a minyan—ten adult men needed for public prayer—was usually brought to the mourners’ house. Bathing was prohibited during shivah. So was shaving. All mirrors were covered, usually with taped-to-the-wall sheets. And of course, the official mourning period was intense for seven days, followed by thirty lesser days, followed by eleven months of reciting the mourner’s Kaddish in a minyan.

Bram said, “Actually, the one thing I wished we would have incorporated into our memorial service was a recitation of Kaddish. It’s a very beautiful prayer.”

“I didn’t realize that priests studied Jewish liturgy.”

“In general, we don’t give it more than a superficial glance.”

Decker met the priest’s eyes. “Perhaps you learned it at the shivah of an old friend.”

“Perhaps.” Bram cleared his throat. “From the sublime to the ridiculous. Let’s go find Grease Pit.”

The man was pushing three hundred pounds with an enormous gut and a face as large and round as a globe. Tanned skin with noticeable pores and a sweeping black mustache that topped his lip like a boa. His hair was straight and black, and fell halfway down his back. Tall sucker, too. Almost Decker’s height. He had on a black shirt, too-tight black jeans that exposed a crescent of hairy belly, and scuffed riding boots. He held a spangled leather jacket. He pumped Decker’s hand.

“Manny Sanchez, Lieutenant. Call me Grease Pit. Or call me Manny. I don’ care. Good to meet you, good to meet you. I wanna tell you somethin’ right off the bat, right off the bat, know what I’m sayin’?”

“I know what you’re saying.”

Bram said, “If you two would please excuse me, my attention is needed elsewhere.”