Thieving Weasels - Billy Taylor Page 0,64
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