Thieving Weasels Page 9

  “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.

  17

  IN THE MARKET FOR A FUN-FILLED AND EXCITING SPOT TO spend Christmas? Then I recommend avoiding mental hospitals at all costs. Unfortunately, that’s exactly where I found myself on the morning of December 25, sipping fat-free eggnog and watching a conga line of drugged-out zombies doing a yuletide version of the Shady Oaks Shuffle. I could hardly wait until New Year’s.

  To be fair, Christmas was never a big deal around our house. This was for practical as well as religious reasons. With every library, department store, and government office closed for the holidays, there was nothing around worth stealing, and even my mother couldn’t generate much enthusiasm for breaking into people’s homes on Christmas. But there was more to it than that. If there was ever a day when the absence of a father in my life was most heartbreakingly apparent, it was on Christmas. Every December I told myself that this was going to be the year my father slid down the chimney and transformed us into a real family. It never happened, and my mother and I usually spent Christmas morning watching TV, munching on candy canes, and counting the minutes until we could go to Uncle Wonderful’s for dinner.

  Shady Oaks had plenty of candy canes, but the trip to Uncle Wonderful’s was out of the question because my mother was not allowed to leave. This was fine by me. I had other plans, and as mouthwatering as Aunt Marie’s Christmas pork roast and linguine with clam sauce could be, I found the prospect of seeing Claire far more appetizing. Besides, after my fight with Uncle Wonderful, I figured my chances of returning to Wheaton were close to zero, and this would be my last opportunity to be alone with Claire. I tried not to dwell on it as I boarded the train at Grand Central, but with only drunken holiday revelers and spectacular views of the Hudson to distract me on the train ride north, it was all I could think about. We pulled into the Saratoga station twenty minutes late, and when I saw Claire waiting for me on the platform I practically catapulted off the train.

  “Merry Christmas,” she said, wrapping her arms around me.

  “And a very Feliz Navidad to you.”

  Claire took a step back and said, “I can’t believe you’re actually here. C’mon, I have a surprise for you.”

  “Me first,” I said, and handed Claire a small box.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Open it and find out.”

  Claire tore into the wrapping paper, and when she saw what was inside she actually shrieked.

  “Holy Crap Balls! It’s just like the one I lost!” She reached into the box and pulled out a tiny gold horseshoe for her charm bracelet. It cost most of what I’d earned in the cafeteria that fall, but just seeing the joy on Claire’s face was worth it.

  She held up the charm to take a closer look. “How did you know what it looked like?”

  “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill Santa.”

  “No, really. How did you figure it out?”

  “I found an old picture of you on Facebook and blew it up. The charm was a little blurry, but I found a company on the Internet that could reproduce it and I guess they did an okay job.”

  “They did a fantastic job,” she said, hugging me. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “What’s your surprise?” I asked.

  Claire reached into her pocketbook and handed me a small gift bag covered in mistletoe. I stuck my hand inside and pulled out a brand-new iPhone.

  “It’s good to go,” she said with a grin. “I set all the preferences, and it’s linked to my father’s corporate account so you don’t have to worry about the bill.”

  “You sure that’s okay?”

  “There are so many phones on that account he won’t even notice it. Push the button on the front and swipe up from the bottom.”

  I did as she told me, and a music player appeared on the screen. I pressed Play and a Foo Fighters track blasted from the iPhone’s tiny speaker.

  “Wow,” I said.

  “I filled it with all your favorite songs, and there’s a fifty-dollar credit in your iTunes account for apps and more music.”

  “This is awesome,” I said

  “It’s for my benefit as well as yours. Now we can text each other and do FaceTime whenever we want.”

  I followed Claire into the parking lot and looked around for her father’s Mercedes. We stopped in front of a new BMW instead, and Claire pulled out her keys.

  “Is this yours?” I asked.

  Claire nodded.

  “And you got it today?”

  She nodded again.

  My heart deflated. Next to a forty-five-thousand-dollar BMW, the charm I had bought her was nothing.

  Claire must have read my mind and said, “It’s just a car, Cam. I still like your present best.”

  “I guess . . .”

  “No, I mean it. You went to a huge amount of trouble finding that charm. My father probably had his secretary order this over the phone.”

  “Thanks,” I said, not really believing her.

  “Want to drive it?”

  I stared at the car before me. The prospect of driving a spanking new Bavarian pleasure mobile was too good to pass up. “Sure,” I said.

  She tossed me the keys, and we hopped inside. Claire paired my iPhone to the BMW’s sound system, and music poured from the car’s sixteen hidden speakers. I’d thought my Mustang was fun to drive, but Claire’s BMW was even better, and as we blew past the horse farms and palatial estates north of Albany, I forgot all about Princeton and my family and
not going back to Wheaton. It was just the wheel in my hands, the road at my feet, and the beautiful woman beside me. And for a little while I was happy. Really, truly happy.

  It took forty-five minutes to get to Claire’s house, and when I saw where she lived I nearly passed out. At school, Claire’s wealth was way more abstract. Sure, she had expensive clothes and a nice computer, but we both lived in the same dumpy dorms and ate in the same soggy cafeteria. Chateau Benson, on the other hand, told an entirely different story. I eased the BMW to a stop and stared at the twenty-room behemoth before me.

  “You actually live here?” I asked.

  “Just until they finish renovating the big house.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really. Of course I live here. Pull up ahead, we don’t have much time until the party starts.”

  I was hoping this meant we were going to read Claire’s essay (not to mention the Possibility of Expulsion), but for some silly reason she wanted to show me around. I parked the BMW in the four-car garage and followed her down a brick path to the stables.

  That’s right, I said stables.

  “This is Crayola,” she said, trotting out a massive brown stallion. “I’ve been riding him since I was ten and I love him like crazy. So try not to be jealous.”

  I gave Crayola the once-over and froze when I saw what he was packing between his horsey thighs. Damn, I thought. Is there anything about this place that’s not intimidating?

  “What do you think?” Claire asked.

  “He’s, uh, huge.”

  “He’s not that big. Wait a minute. Don’t tell me you’ve never been this close to a horse before?”

  “Does a pony ride count?”

  “My God, what do people on Long Island do all day?”

  “Steal cars. Worship Satan. You know, the usual stuff. But seriously, I can’t believe you actually climb on top of that thing. Do you get nosebleeds from the altitude?”

  Claire pointed at me and smiled. “I think someone here needs a riding lesson.”

  “Not in a million years.”

  “You’re not scared, are you?”

  “Of course, I’m scared. A horse’s brain is way too small for the size of its body. It’s a scientific fact.”