Thieving Weasels

by Billy Taylor

  “That’s the problem,” she replied. “I fell for someone named Cam Smith and now I find out he’s really named Skip O’Rourke. Or,” she pointed to one of my awards. “Is it Stephen James? Or Matthew Trezza? Or Martin Grant?”

  “I’m me,” I said, placing a hand on my chest. “I’m the same person I’ve always been. It’s just that . . . It’s just that—”

  “What?”

  I got up and stood next to her. “Do you remember what it was like to be thirteen years old?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think you could have done what I did and leave everything you knew behind?”

  “Of course not. I was just a kid.”

  “And I wasn’t?”

  “You were,” she said, turning away. “But you were also a thief and a liar.”

  Claire’s words were the equivalent of a guilty verdict. I sat down on my bed and tried to think of the right thing to say, but it was useless. I could talk for a million years, and it would never erase where I came from. I was a liar and a thief, and that’s who I would always be. And now that Claire knew my story it was ridiculous to think she would see me as anything else. My family had won without even trying. But I couldn’t let them claim victory without a fight and said, “Look, Claire, I know I’ve messed up big time, but is there any way we can fix this?”

  “We can start by never lying again.”

  “It’s too late. As far as Wheaton and Princeton are concerned I’m Cam Smith. It’s a done deal.”

  “I understand that, but you have to promise never to lie to me again.”

  “Of course I’ll never lie to you again. I never wanted to lie to you in the first place.”

  Claire turned to me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “And I promise I’ll never lie to you again.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She looked down at the ground. “I never finished my Princeton essay.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, not understanding why she was so upset. “There are still a couple of days left before it’s due. We can work on it together if you want.”

  “Cam, I didn’t finish my essay because I never started it. I don’t want to go to Princeton. I never even applied.”

  “Never even applied? That doesn’t make sense.”

  But of course it made sense, I thought as anger tore through my veins. It made perfect sense. I fell in love with a girl, and she lied to me. It was the story of my life.

  Claire said something, but I didn’t hear her as I sprung up and began pulling the awards off the wall. What was the point of yellow ribbons and calligraphy-covered certificates? What was the point of anything if I couldn’t trust anyone? If every word was a lie, and every emotion a weakness to be exploited?

  “Stop it!” Claire yelled. “You’re not the only one trying to start over.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly how it sounds. You look at my life and see this wonderful thing to aspire to, but all I see is this endless future of drunken affairs and Junior League rummage sales. I want to get away from my family just as much as you want to get away from yours.”

  “Your family is nothing like mine,” I said. “And besides, not everyone who goes to Princeton turns out like your parents. F. Scott Fitzgerald went to Princeton.”

  “And he drank himself to death.”

  “Okay, so maybe he isn’t the best example—”

  “Listen to me, Cam,” Claire said, and took my hand. “Princeton was your dream, not mine. It always has been.”

  “It’s not a dream without you,” I said.

  “That’s bullshit! And if I thought for one second you really believed that I’d walk out on you right now.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Walking out on me?”

  “No. I’m just not going to Princeton. My parents are going to be furious about this. Please don’t be pissed off at me, too. I’m sorry to be dropping this bomb on you now, but I didn’t make up my mind until I went home.”

  “But you had to be thinking it.”

  “Yes, and I felt like I was being unfair to you the entire time. And you know what the worst part was? The more excited you got about Princeton the more horrible I felt.”

  “Why didn’t you just say something to me?”

  “I didn’t know how until you told me about your family, and then I realized we’re kind of going through the same thing.”

  I tried to picture Princeton without Claire, and everything went from color to black and white. “What are you going to do if you don’t go to school?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure yet.” Then a smile crossed her lips and she said, “Maybe I can work at Home Depot.”

  “That’s so not funny,” I replied.

  “Aw c’mon,” she said, poking me in the ribs. “You have to admit it was a little funny.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “I thought you said you’d never lie to me again?”

  “Okay, fine. It was a little funny. Are you happy?”

  “Delirious.”

  And that’s when we kissed.

  • • •

  Later, as we were lying under my Star Wars sheets and basking in the post Possibility of Expulsion glow, I asked Claire how she had found me.

  “Remember that picture you sent me a few days ago? I was looking at it this afternoon and noticed Han Solo and Chewbacca in the background. I’d never seen these sheets on your bed at school so I looked up the metadata on the photo, and it said you were here. It seemed like a mistake, so I turned on the Find My iPhone app, and that said the same thing. It made no sense why you would lie to me about where you were, and I didn’t know if you were dealing drugs, or if there was another woman, or what.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “There is another woman in my life. It’s just that she’s my mother.”

  “Even after everything you’ve told me about her, I almost wish I could meet her.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Because she’s your mother, and you’re my boyfriend, and it’s kind of the normal thing to do.”

  “But my family isn’t normal. They’re a pack of weasels.”

  Claire laughed. “You say it like you don’t love them.”

  “Of course I love them. They’re just better loved from a distance of a few hundred miles.”

  “Do you really think they’ll leave you alone after tonight?”

  “Probably not, but I think they’ll let me finish Wheaton if I go through with the job. Right now that’s the best I can hope for.”

  The alarm on my iPhone chimed telling me it was time to go. I got up to look out the window and saw that it was snowing.

  “Damn it,” I said.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The storm got here earlier than it was supposed to. Riding my bike in this weather is going to suck.”

  “I can drive you.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, but the last thing you need is to get involved in my family’s nonsense or get arrested. Stuff like that follows you around the rest of your life.”

  “My father was arrested, and it turned out okay for him.”

  My mind flashed to the life-sized Ken doll I’d seen in the Wheaton parking lot and shook my head. “That’s impossible.”

  “Okay, so technically he was only indicted, but it’s practically the same thing.”

  “Why was your father indicted?” I asked.

  “He develops real estate for a living. Sometimes projects require money, kickbacks, or other . . . things.”

  “What kind of other things?”

  “Bribes, jobs for idiot nephews, you name it. One time he even hired a hooker for a city councilman. When my mother found out about it she didn’t talk to him for a mon
th. So you see, Skip, your family isn’t all that different from mine.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “You can go as far as you want, but you need help, and I’m going to help you.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head. The only intelligent change to make to a plan at the last minute was to abandon it entirely, but that wasn’t going to happen. I had to go through with the job, and as much as I hated involving Claire I needed her help.

  “Okay,” I said, opening my eyes. “Let’s do this.”

  “All right.”

  “But first,” I said, reaching for my iPhone, “could you turn off that Find My iPhone app? The last thing we need is anyone knowing where we are tonight.”

  28

  NOW THAT CLAIRE WAS PART OF THE JOB, MY CHALLENGE was to keep her exposure to a minimum. The original plan had been to park the Accord near The Cheshire Arms and ride my bike back and forth to Shady Oaks. Claire drove instead, and by the time we got to Shady Oaks there was an inch of snow on the ground. If that wasn’t bad enough, according to the weather app on my iPhone the storm was sending ice-cold water into the canals. It was going to be a frosty night.

  I clocked in for my shift and after I checked to make sure no patients were wandering the halls, I pulled out a ladder and set all the clocks ahead two hours. This wasn’t the most sophisticated trick in the book, but if a patient happened to see me and was later called to testify, they might—I repeat, might—say I was at Shady Oaks at 2:00 a.m. instead of at Fat Nicky’s. Sometimes it’s the little things that wind up saving you.

  Claire’s revelation about not going to Princeton totally destroyed my ability to focus, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had forgotten something. I stopped by Mr. DeNunsio’s room for a glass of anisette I didn’t drink, but it was something to kill the time because I was nervous, nervous, nervous. My mind kept bouncing between Claire and the job and the job and Claire, and at some point I realized Mr. DeNunsio was whistling the same three notes over and over.

  “Will you cut that out!” I barked.

  “Why?” he asked. “What’s the matter?”

  “What do you think is the matter? I’m scared.”

  “You should be. Killing a man is scary business.”

  I swished the anisette around in the glass and said, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe I’m the wrong guy for this job.”

  “No, you’re the right guy.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because, son or no son, you had the stones to say yes.”

  I sat on the edge of Mr. DeNunsio’s bed. “And another thing. Fat Nicky’s an old man. Realistically, how much time does he have left? Two years? Three? Maybe we should let him slide.”

  “Not in a million years,” Mr. DeNunsio replied with dead certainty. “If he had only one minute left to live. I’d take it away from him in a heartbeat.”

  “Why?”

  “You want to know why? I’ll tell you why.” He sucked on his inhaler and lit a cigarette. “The night before I put my family in the ground, I got drunk and broke into the funeral home. And there they were. Three coffins. Two big and one small. Ever see a kid’s coffin?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “Well, let me tell you, it’s the saddest thing in the world. And drunken fool that I was, I opened it. God help me for doing so, but I had to see what was inside. You know what was in there?”

  I shook my head.

  “A shriveled up foot in a black patent leather shoe. That’s it. One foot. That was all that was left of my baby.” He blew some smoke out of his nose and said, “Any more questions?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  There was nothing left to say, and we stared at our glasses in silence. Then, in the distance, I heard the sound of metal tapping on glass.

  “What’s that?” Mr. DeNunsio asked, looking up.

  “I don’t know. But I better go find out.”

  But I knew exactly who it was. It was Claire dropping by to say she had changed her mind! She had decided to apply to Princeton after all, and all her talk about affairs and rummage sales was a mistake. Her timing couldn’t have been worse, but I didn’t care and raced down the hallway to meet her. I skidded into the lobby, but instead of finding Claire I found Frank. He was leaning against the door and banging his keys against the glass. He looked drunk, stoned, or some combination of the two.

  “The Pavilion’s closed,” I said. “Come back in the morning.”

  “I know the Pavilion’s closed. Let me in.”

  “Sorry. It’s against the rules.”

  “Screw the rules,” he slurred. “And when did they change the locks?”

  “Right after they fired you. Now get out of here before I call the cops.”

  The C-word made him take a step back and he said, “Okay, but do me a favor, will you?”

  “What?”

  “You know Sal DeNunsio in room 128?”

  “Yeah?” I croaked.

  “Next time you cross paths tell him I said hello. Okay?”

  “Tell him you said hello?” I repeated in a lifeless voice. “Anything else?”

  “No. That’s it.”

  Frank walked away, and I raced back to Mr. DeNunsio’s room. There had to be a reason for Frank to appear out of nowhere, and my anxiety-riddled brain latched onto the most obvious reason I could find.

  “You had a visitor,” I said, throwing open the door.

  “Who?”

  “Frank.”

  Mr. DeNunsio looked confused. “Frank? Who used to work here? What did he want?”

  “He said to tell you hello. Now what do you suppose that means?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  I knew just what it meant and grabbed a fork off the nightstand. I jammed it against his throat and said, “You asked him to kill Fat Nicky first? Didn’t you? Didn’t you?”

  Mr. DeNunsio barely blinked. “I said think, not go crazy. Now be a good boy, and try to use your brain for a second. Why do you think Frank got fired?”

  “For stealing drugs.”

  “And why did that happen?”

  “He said somebody didn’t know how to keep their mouth shut.”

  “Right. And who do you think that somebody was?”

  I thought about it a moment and said, “You?”

  Mr. DeNunsio smiled. “Bingo.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “So I could spend some quality time with members of the O’Rourke family.”

  I exhaled loudly. “Ohhh . . .”

  “Now, will you do me a favor and take that fork away from my throat before I soil my dignity pad?”

  I set the fork on the nightstand and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. DeNunsio. I totally freaked out.”

  “Don’t worry. It happens to everyone. Now hold out your hands and let me see how steady they are.”

  I held out my hands, and Mr. DeNunsio slapped me across the face.

  “You little punk,” he growled. “I don’t care if you are my kid. You threaten me again, and I’ll tear your fucking lungs out.”

  I put a hand to my cheek and it felt hot.

  “Did that hurt?” Mr. DeNunsio asked.

  “Of course it hurt.”

  “Good. A little pain keeps you on your toes. Now get the hell out of here and go kill that bastard.”

  Seeing no alternative, I picked up the empty glass of anisette and headed for the door.

  “Oh, and Skip?”

  I turned around, and Mr. DeNunsio was holding up his hand like a gun.

  “Remember. Two in the head.”

  29

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER I WAS COVERED IN DARK BLUE neoprene and diving into the icy waters behind the Cheshire Arms Apartments. The Accord was parked two blocks awa
y, and Uncle Wonderful’s gun and false teeth were in a Ziploc in my backpack. Claire, meanwhile, was sitting in her BMW at a Taco Bell in Amityville. The plan was for me to steal the picture, swim back to the Accord, and meet up with Claire who would drive me back to Shady Oaks. A fast food restaurant wasn’t the best place in the world to ditch a getaway car, but it was a safe place for Claire to wait, and therefore a good compromise.

  I had never jumped into freezing water before, and even with a neoprene hood covering two-thirds of my head, it was like getting smashed in the face with a block of ice. My lungs contracted and my testicles shot so far up my gut I thought they would shoot out of the top of my head. Ice-cold water slipped into the nooks and crannies of my wet suit, and I began to shiver. I tried to warm myself by swimming as fast as I could, but between my tensed up muscles and contracted lungs it was slow going.

  “Why didn’t they have a thicker suit?” I asked the darkness, but the darkness didn’t answer, and I kept swimming until I reached Fat Nicky’s dock.

  I grabbed onto an aluminum ladder and as I pulled myself up I half-expected a dog to bark, or a security light to pop on. Nothing happened. This should have been my first clue that something was wrong, but I was too cold and scared to give it much thought. There was a large glass window at the back of the house, and as I moved toward it I was struck by how normal it looked inside. It could have been my house or Uncle Wonderful’s or anyone’s. A TV was on, and the light from the screen danced over the furniture and walls.

  I followed the light across the room, and that’s when I spotted the man I’d been hired to kill. He was asleep in a recliner with a newspaper in his lap and his mouth hanging open. I stared at him for what felt like an eternity, but no matter how long I stood there he just didn’t seem capable of the crimes Mr. DeNunsio had described. Then again, I didn’t look like a professional killer, so I guess that made us even.

  I slunk to the back of the house, and my heart thumped harder with every step. I pulled a penknife out of my backpack and with surprisingly little effort popped the lock on a side window. It had been years since I’d broken into a house and I felt out of practice, but once inside, it was just like old times. My eyes adjusted to the light, and as I swapped my neoprene gloves for a latex pair I saw that I was in a bedroom. Like the rest of the house it looked as normal as normal could be. I got the gun out of my backpack and clicked off the safety. Even through my gloves the gun felt colder than death, and as I made my way into the living room I had to breathe through my nose to keep from hyperventilating.