Thieving Weasels (15 page)

O
NCE
LOUIE
JINGO
'
S
HEAD
WAS
BANDAGED
,
I
HAD
TO
MOVE
fast. I didn't know if Roy or Uncle Wonderful were still outside, and as much as I would have enjoyed flipping them off, I had more important things to do. Like getting out of there alive, for example. I drew the curtains over the big glass windows, and while Louie Jingo dug out his good name and made plans to leave Long Island permanently, I grabbed a couple of big plastic garbage bags and filled them with towels, frozen hamburger, and everything else I could find that looked like a dead body. After that, I smeared Uncle Wonderful's gun and false teeth with Louie Jingo's blood and stuffed them in a Ziploc bag. Then, for my last and most important trick, I dragged the bags across the backyard and dove into the canal with them clutched in my arms.

The key to everything was for my family to believe I
had actually killed Louie Jingo. Lucky for me, the tide was going out, and the waves took the “body” with them. Unlucky for me, I had left my neoprene gloves at Louie Jingo's house. I thought I could tough it out instead of going back for them, but by the time I got back to the Cheshire Arms my hands were swollen and burning with frostbite. I managed to drive the Accord to the Taco Bell, but if Claire hadn't picked me up I never would have made it back to Shady Oaks.

“Oh my God,” she shrieked when I emptied out my backpack and she saw the Ziploc bag with the gun and teeth. “You didn't—”

“Kill him? No.”

“But that blood. It has to belong to someone.”

“Oh, it certainly does.”

As we left Taco Bell, I told Claire about Louie Jingo, and how my family planned for me to kill him. From the expression on her face I could see that the gravity of my situation had finally become real to her. This wasn't just a bunch of rich developers indicting one another for fun and profit. It was life and death.

“What are you going to do?” she asked. “Those people—your family—they're still out there.”

“I know, and that's why I need you to do something for me. It's a little dangerous, and if you don't want to do it I totally understand.”

“What is it?”

“I need you to go to Louie Jingo's house, pick up a
million bucks, then go back to school and wait for me.”

It was hell changing out of my wet suit in the front seat of the BMW, but fifteen minutes later I slipped into the Williams Pavilion and raced to the employees' restroom. My hands were still swollen and throbbing, and I held my fingers under warm water to take the edge off the pain. It was just starting to fade when someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“Skip?” came a voice from the hallway. “Are you in there?”

“Yes?”

“It's Valerie from the O'Neil Pavilion. You better come quick.”

“What is it?”

“A nurse found your mother on the floor of her room. They think she had a stroke.”

I followed Valerie to the O'Neil Pavilion, and when we got to my mother's room it was like stumbling upon the scene of a car accident. A doctor, three nurses, and a pair of technicians were circling her bed and shouting at one another in rapid-fire medicalese. My mother looked completely out of it, but when I grabbed her hand her eyes lit up, and she made a croaking noise.

“What did she say?” I asked the doctor.

“I'm not sure, but it's probably not what she intended. Garbled speech is a common symptom in these situations.”

“Is it permanent?”

“Too early to tell. We're just lucky the nurse found her
when she did. If it is a stroke, the sooner she's treated the better.”

“When did it happen?”

“We can't say exactly, but judging from her condition no more than an hour.”

An hour. Right about the time I was supposed to kill Louie Jingo. There was a clattering behind me and two paramedics rushed in with a gurney.

“What's going on?” I asked.

The doctor flashed a light in my mother's right eye and said, “We're taking her to the hospital for a CT scan. Once we assess the extent of the bleed—if it is a bleed—we'll know if we have to operate or not.”

“And if you do?”

“It's going to be a very long night.” He flashed a light in her left eye. “You need to wait outside for the next few minutes. After that, you can ride with her in the ambulance.”

“Okay,” I said, and headed toward the door. Then something occurred to me, and I turned back to the doctor.

“Is it possible to fake a stroke?” I asked.

The doctor stopped what he was doing and looked at me like I was the one who belonged in a mental institution. “Maybe,” he said. “Why?”

“Just curious.” I glanced at my mother, and she quickly looked away. Bingo.

I stepped outside, and Valerie was waiting for me.

“How's she doing?” she asked.

“The doctor's not sure yet.”

“It's a good thing they found her when they did. With stroke victims the sooner they're treated the better.”

“That's what he said.”

Valerie scanned the hallway. “I'm surprised your Uncle Wonderful isn't here.” She grabbed the chart hanging next to the door and flipped it open. “He's listed as her next of kin. They should have called him the minute they found her. It's the law.”

That's because he was too busy trying to get me killed
, I wanted to reply. Instead I asked, “Who should have called him?”

“The nurse on duty.”

I was 90 percent sure Uncle Wonderful was the person who had been hiding in Louie Jingo's backyard, but I needed proof and dialed Uncle Wonderful's house on my iPhone.

“Hello?” answered the scratchy voice of my aunt Marie.

“This is Skip. I'm sorry for calling so late, but is Uncle Wonderful there?”

“No, the bastards took him away.”

“What bastards?” I asked. “Who took him away?”

“The Federal Bureau of Idiots, that's who.”

“The FBI? What did they want?”

“How am I supposed to know? You think Wonderful tells me anything? He could be the president of the United States, and I wouldn't know about it until two weeks after the inauguration.”

“When did they take him?”

“This morning while I was out shopping. They waited for me to leave so there wouldn't be any witnesses if he fell on his way out the door.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“No, he called his lawyer, and his lawyer called me.”

“I'm really sorry, Aunt Marie.”

“What do you expect? You play with fire long enough and sooner or later you get burned.”

“Did the people from Shady Oaks call?”

“Yes, that's terrible news about your mother. I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow at nine fifteen, but I'll try to drop by and see her after that.”

I pushed End and stared up at the ceiling. Damn. Bloody gun or not, with Uncle Wonderful in federal custody there was no way I could frame him for killing Louie Jingo. Talk about the perfect alibi. There were probably a dozen people who could have vouched for his whereabouts every second of the last fifteen hours. Add to that video surveillance, police logs, and other irrefutable evidence, and my plan was totally shot. Who would have thought that getting arrested by the Feds could turn out to be a good thing?

“Hello, son.”

I turned, and Mr. DeNunsio was standing beside me. My first impulse was to kick his canes out from under him, but there were too many witnesses around. Instead I bit my lip and kept my feet planted firmly on the ground.

“I'm sorry to hear about your mother,” he said. “I came as soon as I heard. How's she doing?”

“The doctors say it's still too early to tell.”

“Thank God they found her. The thing about strokes is the faster they treat you the better.”

“So I've heard.”

He took a step closer. “What about that other thing? Everything work out okay?”

“Check your garbage can,” I said.

“What?”

“The garbage can in your room. Go look inside it.”

His eyes grew wide. “Why?”

“Because there's only one glass there. Remember when you slapped me across the face? You were so full of yourself you didn't notice I took your glass with me. A friend of mine has it now, and it's got your fingerprints all over it. So listen up. If anything funny happens to me—and I mean anything—that glass and the gun that did the job go straight to the cops.
Capisce?
”

Mr. DeNunsio glared at me.

“So where's the picture?” he asked after a moment.

“I didn't see the point in taking it.”

“Why?”

“Because my cousin Roy saw everything. You want proof? Go ask him.”

The paramedics wheeled my mother out of the room, and I slapped Mr. DeNunsio on the back. “Thanks for the anisette, Chaz.”

I followed the paramedics down the hallway and straight out the front door. There was an ambulance waiting, and I
watched as they rolled my mother inside. I climbed in beside her, and the paramedics closed the door and pulled out. There was an IV bag hanging from a pole on the gurney, and I followed the tube down to my mother. She was staring at me with large, questioning eyes, and I smiled.

“Hello, Dolores,” I said.

She blinked.

“That's your name, isn't it? Dolores Spencer? Or should I say your
good name
?”

She said nothing, but I could tell she wanted to.

“Just so you know, I have it all. The license, the passport, the Social Security card. Don't worry; it's all in a safe place. In fact, it's in the same place as a pair of Uncle Wonderful's false teeth, a glass with DeNunsio's fingerprints, and the gun that killed Fat Nicky. That's right. If one of us goes down, we all do. Any questions?”

She didn't answer, and I leaned in closer.

“And just so we're clear, after we get to the hospital, you and I are finished. If you try to contact me in any way—and I mean so much as a birthday card—I'm giving that package to the police. Got it?”

She still didn't answer, and I was beginning to think that she really did have a stroke. Just to make sure I said, “And in case you're wondering, I'm the one who stole Grandpa Patsy's money. I've had it in a storage locker upstate the entire time.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“What's that?” I asked, putting a hand to my ear.

“You heard me,” she growled as she grabbed my throat. It happened so quickly I had no time to defend myself, and the paramedics in the front of the ambulance didn't hear a thing. Her thumbs dug deep into my Adam's apple, and I tried to pry her fingers away, but my hands were still useless from the cold. She was killing me. I couldn't believe it. My own mother was killing me.

Things were getting fuzzy fast. I thought about praying, but decided against it. I had chosen my path, and it was time to pay for my choices. I kept my mind focused on Claire and tried to picture what it would have been like growing old together. I saw beaches and sunsets, horses and rainbows. Yes, I know it sounds corny, but I was too busy dying to paint a
Mona Lisa
. Everything went black, and just when I thought my life was over, someone grabbed my ankles and pulled me out of the ambulance.

“Are you okay?” a paramedic asked, snapping an ammonia capsule under my nose.

“What?” I replied, still not fully conscious.

“I said, are you okay?”

I heard my mother scream, and everything came rushing back. I scrambled to my feet and peered inside the ambulance. A second paramedic was strapping my mother to the gurney, and she was kicking and screaming like an insane woman.

“Will you look at that,” I said with a cough. “Is that the world's fastest stroke recovery, or what?”

I
JAMMED
THE
GUN
I
GOT
AT
RED
LOBSTER
INTO
THE
BACK
of my pants and climbed the stairs to Roy's apartment. My hands were throbbing and my throat felt like I'd gargled with drain cleaner, but I was alive. Or at least I was for a few more minutes. I still wasn't sure what to do about my cousin. Half of me wanted to shoot him, and half of me wanted to give him a high five for pulling off such an outrageous scam. But what I really wanted was to get as far away from Long Island as possible, which was exactly what I planned on doing once I was finished with Royston Patrick O'Rourke.

Music was blasting from his apartment, and I peered through the curtains to see if Jackie was in the middle of another performance. Not even close. Roy was asleep on the couch with a beer in one hand and a bong in the other. I thought about kicking my way inside but decided against
it. If Roy did have a gun, the last thing I needed was to spook him. I gave the door a friendly knock, and when he didn't answer, I gave it a not-so-friendly punch.

“Who is it?” he yelled.

“Your favorite cousin.”

The door opened, and Roy appeared holding a baseball bat.

“Hello, Killer,” he said.

“Getting ready for spring training?” I asked.

“This is for protection.”

“From who? Me?”

“Maybe.”

“I have a gun, Roy. If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead.”

Roy tossed the bat on the couch and said, “Then I guess you might as well come in.”

I followed him inside, and the first things I noticed were two plastic casts on the floor.

“How are the legs doing?” I asked.

“Good as new.”

“And Jackie?” I asked, collapsing on a chair.

“What about her?”

“Are you two, like, dating?”

“I don't know. I mean, she's hot and everything, but the girl has serious anger issues.” He sat on the couch and fired up a bong.

“So, now what?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” he asked, releasing the smoke into the room.

“Is this thing over, or not?”

“Of course it is. Fat Nicky's dead.”

“No, he's not.”

“Bullshit. I saw you cap the guy.”

“That wasn't Fat Nicky.”

“Then who was it?”

“Some nobody named Louie Jingo.”

Roy leaned forward. “You mean DeNunsio double-crossed us?”

“Don't look so surprised,” I said. “It's not like he was the only one getting double-crossed last night.”

“Sorry about that. If it was up to me, I would have gotten somebody else to do the job, but Dad and your mom had their hearts set on you.”

“Just out of curiosity, when did you guys figure out I was at Wheaton?”

“About thirty seconds after you left. We knew your good name, so it wasn't that hard.”

“Then why did you wait so long to come and get me?”

“Dad was waiting for the right job. But honestly, I think your mom wanted to make you think you got away with it. Life sucks, huh?”

“What's done is done,” I said. “What I really want to know is whether you guys are going to leave me alone now.”

“You're family, Skip,” Roy said with a smile. “You know that's impossible.”

I reached into my pants and pulled out the gun.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of a threat?” he asked.

“No, it was poking me in the kidney. But if you'd like, it could be a threat.”

Roy shook his head. “I'll pass.”

“Suit yourself, but we still have to figure out some amicable way for you to leave me alone for the rest of my life.”

“It's not just me. It's the entire family.”

“Let's not worry about them right now.”

Roy thought about it for a moment. “If it's just the two of us, then maybe there is a way to work things out.”

My face erupted into a grin. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Bikes or cars?” Roy asked, grinning back.

“If this is a fight to the death, then we better make it cars.”

• • •

It took less than an hour to find what we needed. I stole a Camaro 2LS, and Roy opted for a Challenger SXT. We switched license plates, pulled the air bags, and loaded up on gas and munchies at a Citgo station. My hands were still a burning mess, but I figured the adrenalin and insanity would pull me through.

“What's the plan?” Roy asked, biting into a microwave burrito. “Where do you want to do this thing?”

I checked the time on my phone. “It's almost nine a.m. Unless you want to get civilians involved, we'll have to find a place where there's no traffic.”

“This is Long Island. All we got is traffic.”

I thought about it and said, “What about Ocean Parkway? Nobody's going to the beach this time of year.”

“Good idea. We can race from Jones Beach to Captree State Park. The first person to die loses.”

Roy climbed into the Challenger, and I followed him down Sunrise Highway and onto Wantagh Parkway. Traffic was nonexistent, and we blew past the Jones Beach tollbooths, skidded around the water tower, and hit Ocean Parkway doing eighty.

I had been dreaming of this moment for years and couldn't wait to make the first move. I cut my wheel hard to the right and plowed straight into Roy's fender. He gave me the finger, and I was about to nail him again when he hit the brakes. I had zero time to react and smashed into the Challenger with my gas pedal pressed to the floor. Pain shot up my neck as my head snapped forward, and I almost bit off the end of my tongue. Roy blasted his horn and was gone before I could even look up.

“You son of a bitch,” I screamed.

My mouth filled with blood, and I guzzled some soda and spat it out the window. As bad as my tongue hurt, my pride hurt more. I couldn't believe I had fallen for such a sucker move. We may have been equal on bicycles, but Roy had way more experience behind the wheel of a car.

I hit the gas and aimed the Camaro straight for him. The car inhaled the distance between us, and I was just inches from his bumper when he slammed on the brakes again. This time I was ready for him and cut my wheel
hard to the left. I shot past Roy doing eighty, and in less than a minute I was a quarter mile in the lead. The Camaro shook like an unbalanced washing machine, and I prayed it would hold together long enough for me to get out of there. I'd been planning to send Roy to a fiery grave, but my new strategy was to stay as far ahead of him as possible and either outrun him or bore him to death. I was hoping for the latter when a voice came over the Camaro's sound system.

“This is OnStar operator Kevin. This vehicle has been reported stolen, and the police have been notified. We are currently in the process of disabling it.”

“Wait a minute!” I shouted. But it's impossible to size up a mark you can't see, and I tore open the glove compartment in search of the car's registration.

“Are you still there?” I asked.

“Yes, I'm here.”

“That's great. Uh, Kevin was it?”

“Yes.”

“That's a great name, Kevin. In fact, you're not going believe this, but my father's name is Kevin.”

“You're right,” he replied. “I don't believe you.”

The words ENGINE POWER REDUCING flashed on the dashboard, and the Camaro began to slow down. I checked the rearview mirror, and Roy was racing up behind me.

“Listen,” I said. “How do you know the person who reported this car stolen was the actual owner and not some knucklehead pulling a prank?”

I dumped the contents of the glove compartment onto the seat beside me. The registration had to be there somewhere.

“Because he gave us his account number.”

I slapped the dashboard and said, “Now I know what happened. I lost my wallet at a Rangers game last month, and my account number was in there. My wife must have forgotten to call you. Can we update my information now, or is that something I have to do at the dealership?” I found the registration and almost died when I saw the name on it. “I mean, what do I have to do to convince you I'm . . . Magnus Kjartansson.”

“It's pronounced K-JARtansson,” Kevin said with a snort.

“That's what I said.”

“No, it wasn't.”

So much for fast-talking my way out of the situation.

I checked the rearview mirror, and Roy was practically on top of me. Worse, a cop was practically on top of him. The Camaro was losing power by the second, and my only hope of escape was abandoning the car at Cedar Beach, which was coming up fast. The turn into the parking lot was crazy sharp, and I had serious doubts that my frostbitten fingers could handle it. I hit the brakes and slapped the steering wheel with the palms of my hands. Time stood still, and I hit a divider and crashed into a boarded up parking booth. The booth exploded, and wood and wire flew everywhere as I bounced into a parking lot and slammed
into a sand dune. I held my breath and waited for Roy or the cop to race in behind me.

But nothing happened. Nothing at all.

I got out of the Camaro and climbed onto the sand dune to see where everyone was. I shielded my eyes from the sun and saw Roy racing down the parkway with the cop on his tail. This meant either Roy couldn't make the turn or had decided to try and outrun the cop. Either way, I wasn't waiting around to see if they were coming back. I buried my gun in the sand, wiped down the Camaro for prints, and dashed across Ocean Parkway to the westbound lanes.

There was very little traffic, and I slogged through marshes and sea grass until I came to the town of West Gilgo Beach. Most of the houses were closed for the winter, but a few looked occupied, and one of them even had a Honda Accord parked in the driveway.

“Wow,” I said, not believing my eyes. “Today must be my lucky day.”