Sometimes Todd would be working at Fouche’s Mortuary in West Oakland and would hear the gunshots and call Marilyn to ask if she’d heard them. And they would know they’d be going out that night -- that's what they called it; they called it "going out" - to the scene of another killing, looking to connect with family and friends of the victim, survivors of the killed who by the news, by the sudden violence, would have been transported to a different place than where you and I live, to a place in their minds, a dark deserted back country of the mind where it becomes impossible for some to really function in the what-we-might-call real world, though the world where they exist is more real than anywhere. Marilyn, her husband Jesse & Todd were like trip guides who show up out of nowhere to take you by the hand, to care for you in any way you ask, or any way they can think of. “One crime scene we went to,” said Todd, “it was a 72 year old in Sobrante Park. They blew his brains all over the sidewalk. His mother was like 87 years old, it was right in front of her house, on a little street. So me and Jesse scraped his brains off the street. We went over there, had shovels, Marilyn had a napkin, Jesse had something, we went out there, 4 or 5 in the morning we’re at the family’s house after the body was picked up by the coroner, we get to the house and oh man, but we cleaned it up, and I had to be at work back at the mortuary at 9 in the morning. And when I got there I was told to go pick up the old man’s body at the coroners and bring it to the mortuary.”
James O'Brien
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