SO SCARY! — A line of silent bikers stood like a wall at Frank’s funeral, not moving, not speaking, just staring. The air grew thick with fear until a rusted, wheezing car appeared out of nowhere. A thin man in an old jacket stepped out clutching a tattered cloth, and the bikers did the UNTHINKABLE—they parted for him alone. WHO WAS HE, AND WHAT SECRET HAD KEPT THEM WAITING FOR DECADES?
Part 1. The church doors were right there, maybe thirty feet away, but nobody could get through. We all stood on the pavement like frozen statues, the April sun doing nothing to warm the cold knot in my stomach. Black suits, dark dresses, flowers clutched too tight—everything a funeral is supposed to be. Except for…
