Thieving Weasels by Billy Taylor

Author:Billy Taylor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2016-07-21T13:15:42+00:00

18

“THERE HE IS!” MR. DENUNSIO SAID WHEN I WALKED INTO his room on my first night as an employee of Shady Oaks. My hours were twelve at night to eight in the morning, and as far as temporary jobs went, it wasn’t half bad. Yes, I had to mop floors and scrub toilets, but I was totally unsupervised and had plenty of free time to hang out with Mr. DeNunsio and plan a murder I had no intention of committing.

“You wanna drink, kid?” he asked as I closed the door behind me.

“No thanks, I’m not supposed to drink while on duty.”

“On duty?” he said with a laugh. “What are you doing? Guarding the mop bucket?”

“Gimme a break. I just got this job.”

“Then you better start off on the right foot.” He pulled a bottle from his nightstand and held it up for inspection. “Anisette, straight from the old country.” He poured shots into two plastic tumblers and handed me one. I held it to my nose, and it smelled like a combination of licorice and paint thinner.

“Salute!” He threw back his drink with a single gulp and punched himself on the chest. “Damn, I wish my gut was in better shape so I could have a little Scotch once in a while.”

I took a sip of the anisette, and it burned my throat like industrial-strength mouthwash. While I tried to regain the ability to speak, Mr. DeNunsio pulled an asthma inhaler from his robe and sucked the mist deep into his lungs.

“There,” he said with a cough. “That’s better.” Then he grabbed a pack of Virginia Slims off his nightstand and lit one up.

“Just out of curiosity,” I asked. “What’s the point of using an asthma inhaler if you’re going to smoke a cigarette afterward?”

Mr. DeNunsio shook his head and laughed. “What are you? Stupid? The inhaler is to open my lungs for the cigarette.”

I laughed until I remembered what I was doing there, and the laugh died in my throat. This was the part of the job I hated most. The lying. Even at four years old I felt dirty making friends with people I knew I was going to rob. And yet, like most things I did as a kid, I was good at it.

“I almost forgot,” Mr. DeNunsio said. “I have something for you.” He reached into his robe and handed me an envelope. I tore it open and found five twenty-dollar bills inside.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

“Road Runner.”

“What?”

“That horse you told me to bet on last week. That’s your cut.”

I tried to hand back the money. “I don’t deserve this.”

“The hell you don’t. I was all set to lay down a C-note on Sandy’s Pride. Well, guess what? Sandy’s Pride stopped to smell the roses, and Road Runner paid out five-to-one. Your advice made a six-hundred-dollar difference in my finances.”

I put the money in my pocket. All I needed were sixty more Road Runners and I could return to school without pretending to kill someone.

“Thanks,” I said.

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