breathing relief.

"Aye, that I shall," sighed the dead man sitting in the back of the hearse. The junkie whine had vanished from his voice now, replaced with a resigned flatness, as if the words were being broadcast from a long, long way away, dead words being sent out on a dead frequency. The light turned green and Shadow put his foot gently down on the gas."But give me a wake, nonetheless," said Mad Sw     eeney. "Set me a place at table and give me a stinking drunk wake tonight. You killed me, Shadow. You owe me that much.""I never killed you, Mad Sweeney," said Shadow. It's twenty dollars, he thought, for a ticket out of here. "It was the drink and the cold killed you, not me."

 

There was no reply, and there was silence in the car for the rest of the journey. After he parked at the back, Shadow wheeled the gurney out of the hearse and into the mortuary. He manhandled Mad Sweeney onto the embalming ta Shadow had done three years in prison. He was big enough and looked don't-fuck-with-me enough that his biggest problem was killing time. So he kept hims     elf in shape, and taught himself coin tricks, and thought a lot about how much he loved his wife.The best thing-in Shadow's opinion, perhaps the only good thing-about being in prison was a feeling of relief. The feeling that he'd plunged as low as he could plunge and he'd hit bottom. He didn't worry that the man was going to get him, because the man had got him. He was no longer scared of what tomorrow might bring, because yesterday had brought it.