“He was a good boy.” Mama Lee was the first to speak. “No matter what he done, he was a good boy and didn’t need to get gunned down like that.”

Sissy sniffed; her eyes were red from crying. Her voice wavered a little. “I told him that gun was going to get him in trouble. He wouldn’t listen. He . . .” Her voice disinigrated into new sobbing, then, hiccoughs.

“Drilled one of the deputies before the other one killed him,” Bubba Ray commented. “Hit him in the leg. Boy never could shoot.”

Pappa Lee cuffed Bubba a stout slap upside the head and growled, “Be respectful of the dead, boy.”

Bubba made a face but said nothing more.

“Pizza’s here,” Junior Lee, the youngest said brightly. Sure enough a smiling perky uniformed Pizza Hut Hostess approached and laid out two extra large pepperoni pies, then retreated.

“He was cooking meth in that motel room,” the guy at the next table commented.

Instantly five pistols were drawn, now pointed at the stranger.

Every Lee at the wake said in unison, “Do we know you?”