Thieving Weasels (8 page)

I
T
TOOK
TWO
BUSES
PLUS
A
TWENTY
-
MINUT
E
WALK
TO
GET
to Shady Oaks the next morning, and by the time I arrived I was as depressed as I had ever been in my life. I know it sounds crazy, but even after Uncle Wonderful kidnapped me, and my cell phone went dead, and I read the e-mail obliterating my scholarship, I still thought I could somehow beat my family at their own game. But as I rode the N81 along Sunrise Highway and watched the parade of unhappy souls trudge on and off, I knew the O'Rourkes had won. No matter how I looked at it, I was back to being a thief.

“That son of a bitch!” my mother yelled when I told her about my car getting towed.

“Who?” I asked.

“Who do you think? My no good, lousy brother.”

“I don't understand.”

“He was supposed to keep up the payments until I got out of here. I gave him power of attorney and everything.”

“You signed over power of attorney to Uncle Wonderful?” I said with a laugh. “No wonder you're in Shady Oaks.”

“Save it, and hand me your phone.”

I did as my mother asked, and as she put my temporary cell phone to her ear I leaned in a little closer to make sure she was talking to a real person and not just faking the conversation.

“Wonderful?” she shouted into the phone. “What's this I hear about Sonny's car being clipped? I don't know what you're trying to pull here, but it's stopping right now. You hear me? What?” A look of concern crossed her face. “Really? It costs that much a week? Couldn't you have found someplace cheaper?” She listened for a moment and said, “No, no, I'm sure you did the right thing.”

It was an excellent performance, and I couldn't tell if she was lying or not. Not that it mattered because I knew I would never see that Mustang again.

“I'm sorry,” she said, handing me the phone. “Wonderful used your car money to pay for this place. You wouldn't believe how expensive it is.”

“Doesn't your insurance pay for it?”

“Yes and no. We tried to pull a Medicaid scam—which was why we used my real name in the first place—but it doesn't cover half as much as we thought. The way things are going, I might even lose the house.”

“I'm sorry, Ma.”

She looked down at the floor and sighed. “I'm the one who should be sorry. The house and car were for you. It all was.”

“I know and I really appreciate it,” I said, taking her hand. “It's not your fault Uncle Wonderful got to Grandpa Patsy's storage locker first.”

I could feel her grip on my hand tighten ever so slightly and she asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Grandpa Patsy's money. I just assumed Uncle Wonderful took it. I mean, otherwise paying for this place wouldn't be a problem, right?”

“Riiiiiiiight.”

The best thing about lying to a liar is watching their face as they try to measure the angles. Maybe my mother wasn't 100 percent certain that I'd taken the money, but she
was
100 percent certain that Uncle Wonderful would have taken it given the opportunity. She put an unlit cigarette in the corner of her mouth and said, “Then I guess it's a good thing I ran into Sal DeNunsio. He could be the answer to all of our problems.”

Nice comeback
, I wanted to reply. Instead I said, “Yeah, talk about winning the Irish Sweepstakes.”

We put on our coats and went outside to hit the gazebo. The sun, the breeze, and the barking dog were still there, but they now felt as inviting as the view from a jail cell. I tried to keep a smile on my face and was doing a pretty good job of it when Roy appeared.

“Hello, Royston,” my mother said. “What brings you to Shady Oaks so early?”

Roy handed her a bag of M&M's and said, “Somebody's gotta give this car-less loser a ride home.”

“You always were a good boy.”

“Thanks, Aunt Sheila.”

We dropped off my mother at the O'Neil Pavilion, and I followed Roy to the employees' parking lot.

“What's up?” I asked as we climbed into his Lexus. “Something tells me you didn't come here to give me a ride home.”

“Of course not. We have to plan the job.”

“Oh goody. I've been wondering how we're going to pull off this magic trick without Mr. DeNunsio finding out Fat Nicky is still alive.”

“That's the beauty of it,” Roy replied. “DeNunsio wants this done on the down low. Part of the deal is that we're supposed to make the body disappear after we cap him.”

I held up my hand like a traffic cop. “Wait a minute. You just said
we
? Mr. DeNunsio doesn't know I'm involved in this, right?”

“That would be correct.”

“Good, because like I told your dad, I don't want anyone outside the family knowing I'm part of this thing. One word gets out, and I'm gone. You understand?”

“I wouldn't have it any other way.”

“Good.”

I didn't believe Roy for a second, but at least I'd drawn a
line in the sand. If someone in my family crossed it, I now had the perfect excuse to quit the job and flush my life down the toilet forever.

“Just out of curiosity,” I asked. “With no body and no pictures in the paper, how do we prove we killed Fat Nicky? Or is Mr. DeNunsio just going to take our word for it?”

“Of course not. He wants a scalp.”

“He wants us to scalp the guy? How do we do that without killing him?”

“No, doofus. A scalp is something that absolutely, positively belongs to the victim. In this case, DeNunsio wants a picture.”

“What kind of picture?”

“An autographed picture of Frank Sinatra.”

“The singer?”

“Old Blue Eyes himself. Sinatra was like a god to these guys. They practically worshipped at his feet.”

“That doesn't sound very hard,” I said. “There must be a million pictures of Frank Sinatra on the Internet. Let's just print one out and autograph it ourselves.”

“Not so fast. The picture DeNunsio wants is a Polaroid of Fat Nicky and Frank Sinatra taken backstage at Caesars Palace. It's Fat Nicky's most prized possession, and there's only one like it in the world.”

“That makes things a bit more challenging.”

“Only a little. But don't worry, I've got it all figured out. Fat Nicky has a hard time breathing from all the lead in his chest, and twice a month he gets these big oxygen tanks
delivered. I slipped the guy who drops them off fifty bucks, and he told me the picture of Frank Sinatra is hanging above the TV in the living room. It's the perfect setup. All we need is a van, some uniforms, and a couple of oxygen tanks. That way we can pretend to work for the oxygen company and steal the picture when Fat Nicky isn't looking.”

I thought about it a second and said, “That's the dumbest plan I've ever heard.”

“Why?” Roy replied, looking hurt. “What's the matter with it?”

I held up a finger. “One, uniform or no uniform, Fat Nicky isn't letting a total stranger into his house. The first thing he's going to do is call the oxygen company and—boom—we're busted. Two, let's say we do get lucky and steal that picture. All roads still lead back to the oxygen company, and do you really think your guy will keep quiet if Fat Nicky puts a gun to his head? And three, there's no way I'm letting Fat Nicky see my face. Sorry, cuz, your plan stinks.”

“Fine. You got a better one?”

I thought about it for a minute and said, “Why don't we just break into Fat Nicky's house and steal the picture while he's asleep.”

“You can do that?”

“Not me.
You
.”

“No way.”

“Why not? You've broken into a thousand houses. Why should Fat Nicky's be any different?”

“Because the guy's a mobster.”

“I thought you said he was retired. And besides, he's hooked up to an oxygen tank. How dangerous could he be?”

Roy chewed on a thumbnail. “You know,” he said after a minute. “You might be on to something here.”

T
HE
ONLY
GOOD
TH
ING
ABOUT
TAKING
ROY
'
S
JOB
WAS
THAT
my old cell phone started working again. I'm not saying Uncle Wonderful had anything to do with it, I'm just saying that the person responsible for it was probably named Uncle Wonderful.

“Hello,” I croaked a couple of mornings later when the phone in question rang and woke me from a sound sleep.

“Yo, Skip. It's Vinny.”

“What's up?”

“Bad news, man.”

“What?”

“Roy was in a wreck last night.”

I sat up in bed and tried to force myself into something resembling consciousness. “Is he all right?”

“He got thrown from the car and both his legs are broken, but that's not the worst of it. Jackie was killed.”

“What?”

“Jackie's dead. They were driving back from the Shooters in Quogue, and Roy hit an ice patch.”

“Holy shit. We just saw her the other night.”

“I know. It just doesn't seem real. It's like—I don't know—something out of a nightmare. Roy just got out of the emergency room, and they're taking him to his parents' house. I'm going over there now. You want me to pick you up on the way?”

“Absolutely.”

Vinny hung up, and I stared at the pile of dirty laundry on the chair in front of me. Jackie dead? How was that possible? She was just telling me what an asshole I was. I climbed out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom.

Can life really be that random?
I wondered as I splashed some water on my face. After all, if Vinny hadn't gotten his disability check on the day Uncle Wonderful kidnapped me, Jackie wouldn't have met Roy, and she'd still be alive. Was that all it took? The chance approval of a forged form? I felt sick to my stomach and sat down. Grandpa Patsy was the only other person I knew who had died, but he was old and drank like a fish. At least that made sense. But Jackie was young. She was vibrant. She was a bitch. It seemed terrible and wrong in a thousand different ways, and I kept hoping Vinny would call me back and say it was a joke.

But it wasn't a joke, and as we drove to Uncle Wonderful's house I couldn't shake the feeling that Jackie's death was partially my fault. That by accepting Roy's offer I had
somehow opened a Pandora's box of bad luck. Deep down, some part of me hoped Roy was just scamming us and that this was part of some elaborate con and Jackie was still alive. But that hope evaporated the moment we pulled up to Uncle Wonderful's house and saw a sheriff's car parked in the driveway.

“What's that all about?” I asked.

“Roy was DWI.”

“Damn.”

“Tell me about it. Roy was too banged up to be arraigned, so he has to wear a monitor on his ankle until he can appear in court. There was also a little problem with his car.”

“What kind of problem?”

“It was accidentally stolen.”

“How can a car be accidentally stolen?”

“He accidentally forgot to scratch the VIN number off one of the windows.”

“That'll do it.”

We got out of Vinny's car, and as we walked up to the house a fat sheriff stepped out and blocked the path to the door. “Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked.

“We're with the bride's family,” I said.

He held out his hand. “Let's see some ID.”

We gave him our licenses, and he stared at them at least five times longer than necessary. When he was finally through he handed them back and said, “Enjoy the ceremony, smart ass.”

We walked inside and found Roy lying in a hospital bed in the living room. There was an IV in his arm, and his legs were suspended from a metal contraption attached to the bed. Aunt Marie was slouched in a chair next to him and jumped up when she saw me.

“Skip,” she said, wrapping her arms around my chest. “I was so sorry to hear about your poor mother.”

I tried to reply, but the combination of Aunt Marie's bone-crushing hug and industrial-strength perfume made speaking impossible. Not that this was anything new. Aunt Marie had been shattering my vertebrae for as long as I could remember. She was black Irish—which was our way of saying Italian—and everything about her was big: her hair, her hugs, and especially the trays of ziti she cooked every Sunday. When she was finished dislocating my spine, she took a step back and gave me the once-over.

“Look at you, Skip. You're all grown up.”

“Getting older will do that to a guy.”

“Not every guy,” Uncle Wonderful said, and punched Roy's arm. “Some guys get older, and they still act like they're five years old.”

“Be careful,” Roy whined. “You break that IV, and the needle could go straight to my heart and kill me.”

“We should only be so lucky.” Uncle Wonderful grunted and punched him even harder.

“So, how's it going?” Vinny asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Not too bad,” Roy said. “And after meeting so many
amazing doctors and technicians I'm seriously considering a career in the medical arts. Did you know it takes only two years to become a licensed respiratory specialist?”

Roy's drugged-out blabbering was more than Aunt Marie could take, and she grabbed her purse off the floor. “C'mon, Wonderful. If we don't get to the pork store by ten thirty, they run out of the sausage with the broccoli rabe you like.”

Roy perked up. “You guys going to the pork store? Can you bring me back some soppressata?”

“You want soppressata?” Marie shouted, stomping out of the room. “After what you did to that poor girl you can eat Oscar Mayer for all I care.”

When she was gone, Uncle Wonderful turned to Roy and asked, “You want the sweet soppressata, or the hot?”

“Both.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“And some Peroni if they got it.”

Uncle Wonderful sighed. “Do you really think drinking beer is a good idea right now?”

“Why? It's not like I can go anywhere.”

I followed Uncle Wonderful outside and said, “What the hell was that stunt with my Mustang?”

The sheriff was still parked in the driveway, and Uncle Wonderful nodded toward the side of the house. “Step into my office.” I followed him behind a pine tree, and he jammed a finger in my chest. “First off,” he hissed, “I'm getting a little tired of your attitude. I run this family now,
and you better start showing me a little respect.”

“Grandpa Patsy never asked for special treatment.”

“I'm not Grandpa Patsy.”

“You can say that again.”

“And second, there's been a little change with the job.”

“Of course there has. It's off.”

“The hell it is. It's your job now. You start Monday night at the Williams Pavilion.”

I wrapped my hand around his finger, and it took all my self-control not to bend it backward until it snapped. “First off,” I said, “even if I was doing this job—which I'm not—why would I want to work at the Williams Pavilion?”

“Because Sal DeNunsio wants to walk you through the particulars of the deal himself.”

“You told him I was involved?”

“Of course I did. It was the only way I could keep this thing from falling apart.”

I let go of his finger and bunched my hands into fists. “I told you, nobody outside the family was supposed to know I'm involved.”

“Things changed.”

“You're damn right things changed, because I'm out and I don't care what you do. You can turn off my phone, you can mess with my financial aid, and you can wipe your shoes all over my good name. I don't care anymore. You're a piece of garbage, Uncle Wonderful, and you always have been.”

“You ungrateful little—”

The rest of his words were cut off when he took a swing
at me. I dodged the punch, but I didn't see the knife in his other hand until it was too late. He aimed it straight at my solar plexus and backed me against the house.

“You know something,” I said in the calmest voice I could muster. “In ten years of scamming people no one has ever pointed a weapon at me. Not once. And since I've been home you've done it twice and I'm still alive. You know what that tells me, Uncle Wonderful? You're a coward. So, here's the deal. Either be a man and kill me, or get the hell out of my way.”

He didn't say a word.

“Well?” I asked. “I'm waiting.”

Uncle Wonderful stepped aside and said, “Get the hell out of here.”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

I went back inside and found Roy and Vinny smoking weed with a one hitter. They blew the smoke into a plastic garbage bag, and Vinny released it out a side window.

“Pretty ingenious, huh?” Vinny said, closing the bag. “If that sheriff comes back, he won't have a clue.”

He's not the only one without a clue
, I wanted to say. I turned to my cousin and there was a tear rolling down his cheek. “Okay,” I said. “Now that your mom's gone tell me how it's really going?”

Roy let out a long, dope-scented sigh and said, “Like the world just ended, and I'm the one responsible. Thank God I'm high on Oxy, otherwise I'd be seriously depressed right now.”

“That sounds more like it,” I said. “What happened last night?”

“Jackie was giving me a foot job, and I lost control of the car.”

“Really?” Vinny asked. “You didn't tell me that part.”

“That's because it didn't happen, you idiot. Jesus, Vinny, you're the most gullible person I've ever met.”

Roy was starting to lose it, and I put a hand on his shoulder. “So, how
is
your mom handling this?” I asked.

“You saw her. I mean, what would your mother say if the cops pulled you out of a car and there was a dead girl beside you?”

“I'll let you know next time it happens.”

“Do that.”

I was surprised by how easy it was to joke about Roy's crash, but that's what life had begun to feel like—one big joke. Jackie was dead, my mother was in a mental institution, and Roy was going to jail. And thanks to my fight with Uncle Wonderful, I had just said good-bye to my future. I tried to picture a happy alternative, but all I saw was despair.

Can things get any worse?
I wondered.

Don't answer that
, I immediately thought.
Things are bad enough already
.