Thieving Weasels by Billy Taylor Page A

asked. “Your voice just got all funny.”
    What I should have said was “Funny? Funny how?” but I was so freaked out by my financial aid fiasco that I accidentally told the truth.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said. “This thing with my mother has me totally freaked out.”
    â€œYour mother?” Claire said after a pause. “I thought your mother was dead.”
    Busted.
    I shifted into Weasel Mode and tried to figure out my next move. I hated lying to Claire, and if there was ever a time to tell her the truth about my family this was it. Then I thought about my mother, and Uncle Wonderful, and the hundreds of people I’d robbed, and knew I couldn’t tell her. It didn’t matter how much she cared about me, Claire was an honest and upright person and would have dumped me before I had even finished my story.
    So, I lied. I lied hoping I would never have to lie to her again.
    â€œMy mother
is
dead,” I said. “Today is the anniversary of her death.”
    â€œOh, Cam, I’m so sorry. You never talk about her.”
    â€œI know,” I replied truthfully. “It’s just too hard.”
    We finished our conversation, and as I walked out of the library I remembered something Grandpa Patsy told me the day he gave me my good name.
    â€œRemember, Skipper,” he said, pulling my passport and birth certificate out of his storage locker, “your good name is the most valuable gift I can ever give you so take very good care of it.”
    His words still echoed in my ears, and I looked up at the sky and said, “I tried, Grandpa Patsy. I really did.”
    Then I got in my car and went to kill Uncle Wonderful.

10
    T EN MINUTES LATER I PULLED UP TO UNC LE WONDERFUL ’ S HOUSE ready to pound his nose through the back of his head. After all he’d done for me, it was the least I could do. I barreled up the front walk with my fists squeezed tight and was about to kick down the door when it flew open and Uncle Wonderful appeared holding a gun.
    â€œHello, Skipper.”
    â€œHi, Uncle Wonderful. Could you do me a favor and put that gun away so I can beat you to death without getting shot?”
    â€œBeat me to death and you won’t be going back to that fancy school of yours.”
    â€œI’m already not going back to that fancy school of mine, thanks to you.”
    He held up his hands like a scale. “Uncle Wonderful giveth and Uncle Wonderful taketh away.” Then he loweredhis arms and said, “Actually, it’s more like the other way around.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œI’m saying come inside and maybe, just maybe, we can come to an arrangement that’s beneficial to both of us.”
    Seeing no alternative, and not wanting a murder conviction on my permanent record, I unclenched my fists and followed him inside.
    â€œYou want a biscotti?” he asked, leading me into the kitchen.
    â€œNo, I don’t want a biscotti.”
    â€œSuit yourself.”
    He set the gun on the counter and pulled a package of Stella D’oro from the cabinet. As he crumbled two biscotti into a bowl and poured milk over them, I glanced down at his gun and thought about all the times Roy and I had played with it when we were kids. It seemed like every time Uncle Wonderful and Aunt Marie left the house one of us would sneak into their bedroom and get it from the closet shelf. It was a miracle we didn’t shoot each other.
    Uncle Wonderful sat down at the kitchen table and mashed up his biscotti with a spoon. “So, here’s the deal,” he began. “We need a second man for a job Roy’s planning and we want that man to be you.”
    â€œNo way,” I replied before the last word was out of his mouth.
    â€œBut you haven’t heard the terms of the deal yet.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter. I’m out of the game. End of story.”
    He sighed then stuck his fingers deep in his