I hadn't spoken much since the Pigman's death one week earlier. John hadn't spoken much in the last week, nor did he take a smoke, drink, or partake in any of his usual pastimes, which I found very unusual. John and I had been invited to attend his funeral, and I was shocked to discover that he did, however distant, have relatives who would be taking care of his funeral arrangements.
"John", I called out, spotting him in the throng of students. I adjusted my pace to match his. "John, we have to be there in," I glanced at my watch, "Thirty minutes". "Meet me at our usual spot, ok?". No response. "Y'know, the bench by the Library?". I was rewarded with a curt nod. I felt as if I had to spell out every little thing out for John, as if he had the mental capacity of a four year old. I knew he didn't of course, but he was acting very subdued, and that worried me. Very much.
Half and hour later, we were walking side-by-side to the casket containing the soulless husk of a loved one. He may not have been actual flesh-and-blood family, but we both considered him more of a family than our real ones. Hesitantly, I extended my hand for John, feeling the blood rush to my face as John peered at me through a microscope. Seeing his questioning look, I clarified for him, "I want to feel you with me here. This feels all too surreal. First that mentally-ill Norton kid, then Mr. Pignati passing. You are going to be my anchor to this plane of existence. It also doesn't hurt that you look the opposite of Bobo." It was his turn to flush and turn away.
The actual ceremony was over after about an hour. Then the next bomb dropped. His lawyer, the executor of his will, approached us, "Are you two one Miss Lorraine Jensen and one Mister John Conlan?" We nodded our confirmation. "The both of you are the primary beneficiaries of his estate," he informed us. We were shocked, and didn't even entertain the thought of something like this happening. One of Mr. Pignati's nephews turned around in shock. He was green with envy, "How come those absolute strangers get to have his money?" he whined to the lawyer. "Well, it is stated in Mister Angelo Pignati's will that they stand to inherit his fortune." he shot back, nipping the issue in the bud.
"Come with me to sort out the state of affairs for Mister Angelo Pignati," he beckoned at us. Wearily, we followed him to his office at the funeral home. "You two stand to inherit quite a lot, I understand. Millions, if I'm not mistaken," he stated. We were stunned at this revelation. I had never seen a single hint that Mr. Pignati possessed wealth of that amount, but looking back, I realized that normal people, even lonely ones, don't just give money away to strangers on the telephone. The lawyer opened his attache case, which I humorously observed John looking at it with a sense of disdain. He removed an official looking stack of papers, and at the top of the stack, I was able to glean the bold heading, 'LAST WILL & TESTAMENT of ANGELO PIGNATI.
Then he began to read from it. "I, Angelo Pignati, a resident of the County of New York, State of New York, being of sound and disposing mind, memory and understanding, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all wills and codicils at any time heretofore made by me," he quoted. I tuned him out as he blathered through all the painstaking and meticulous legal jargon. However, I quickly tuned back in when I heard my name and John's. "All the rest, residue and remainder of my estate, of every nature and kind, which I may own at the time of my death, real, personal and mixed, tangible and intangible, of whatsoever nature and wheresoever situated, I give, devise and bequeath to Lorraine Jensen and John Conlan, whom shall each receive one half of my gross estate," he intoned.
I was on high alert for anything that might indicate what exactly half of his gross estate denoted. I was not disappointed as the lawyer reached the end of the will and speaking English instead of all that complex legal jargon. He pulled out a sheet of paper that listed all of Mr. Pignati's worldly possessions and their current market value, including his liquid assets. I nearly had a heart attack as I stared at the eight digit number indication is liquid assets. Forty-four million, three-hundred sixty-eight thousand, nine-hundred-eight dollars, and seventy cents. I felt light-headed and faint from the shock, and I could tell John was too.
I hastily let the lawyer know my stance on this stunning revelation, "I can't, never mind that, won't steal from Mr. Pignati like that," I spluttered. This seemed to finally fully wake John up for the first time since Mr. Pignati's demise. "I agree with Lorraine," firmly stated a lucid John. The lawyer seemed almost amused, "Well then, would you rather this money fall into the hands of the government, or would you like to accept it, not even for your own gain, but for philanthropy?" he asked. This gave us pause. I could see the wheels turning in John's head, just as I could feel them churning away in mine.
The lawyer, seemingly a mind reader, pushed two pieces of paper over John and I, accordingly. It basically stated that we accepted our respective halves of the estate, and that we would sign for it. I quickly skimmed through the document, and seeing nothing with bad intent, signed it with a flourish. I glanced over at John who hadn't even bothered to read it, and just scribbled his name at the bottom.
The lawyer took our signed documents, and stored them in his attache case, as the room we were in was only a temporary office provided by the funeral home, "I suppose we are finished with this matter," he concluded. With that, he ushered us out of the office and into the funeral home. Everybody else had left, so John and I began the trek home, thinking about our newly acquired vast fortune.