Jack Connolly Goes Dark, The Inappropriate Mortician, and 11,004 Words

I have two excerpts I think you all will like. I am 11,004 words deep on this novel, and Reggie is now into her father's viewing. Her description of the viewing is this : "And it was becoming clear that the experience of attending her father’s wake was not unlike the experience of being shit on by a flock of seagulls."

I think I quite possibly have completely screwed up any chance at legitimacy this novel has with the introduction of Jack Connolly and the Inappropriate Mortician. My first excerpt is Jack Connolly. This occurs as he drives Reggie and her mother to the funeral home for the viewing:
From the depths of his suit jacket, Jack draws a cell phone. He keeps his eyes on the road as he flips it open with one hand, hits a button and places it to his ear. After a moment’s pause, he speaks tersely into the phone.
“Heintzman. We are approaching the location. The eagle will be landing in approximately 5 minutes. Is everyone in position?” His eyes scan the road as he speaks. Apparently Heintzman’s response is not to Jack’s liking. He sighs deeply in frustration.
“Alright, alright, alright. Turner can do recon from the inside. But I want two at each entrance, and I want 5 on the floor at all times. All eyes on the rabbit, I repeat, all eyes on the rabbit. And Heintzman, I want you on the front door, that will be the chokepoint... no, no, I want Torres in the cam-car.” He pauses, nods.
“Okay, zero radio contact from this point forward. I’m going dark.” He snaps the phone shut without saying goodbye."

And this second excerpt unveils the identity of the Inappropriate Mortician:
He hears a soft knock at the door, and then the door cracks open, and a short, but very energetic man enters the room. He, like Will, is dressed in an inoffensive suit and tie, but on this man, it looks out of place, like he is not entirely comfortable. He looks like he is bored by his own clothes. The man is slender, with longish wavy hair that he goes to great lengths to control. It curls becomingly at his ears and at the nape of his neck. This is a man who puts some care into his appearance.
“Seth, hey,” says Will. Though he is friendly enough, Will doesn’t seem particularly thrilled to have this visitor. Perhaps we shouldn’t read too much into this. Will wants to stay focussed on the Grubauer service, maybe that’s all it is. But then again, perhaps not.
“Okay, just wanted to check in, the Floater’s getting juiced downstairs, I’m heading over to Mr. Crispy’s service, everything’s good to go,” Seth says, pointing with both hands. As he does this, his suit jacket lifts slightly, revealing a white belt. It’s almost as though he couldn’t stop himself from adding one slight touch of personal flair to his otherwise quite boring, sombre, ensemble. Will is disturbed.
“Seth, we have talked about this... if you want to take a more active role up front here, you have got to stop using disrespectful language to refer to corpses! Mr. Crispy’s name is Mr. Taylor. Okay? And the ‘Floater’ is Mrs. Swanson.” Seth nods emphatically.
“Yeah, yeah, definitely. I get it. I will definitely stop doing that.” Will waves him out of the office. Seth leaves and the room, taking his boundless, contagious energy with him. The room seems emptier.
“Not a good start,” Will says to himself, to fill the silence. Another quiet knock at the door. The Grubauers have arrived.