Page 5 of Doozer

“The fact I’ll be expected to make a speech later and I’m already nervous enough about stumbling over my words like a blithering idiot.”

“A speech, huh? Does that mean you’re taking the old man up on his offer?” I asked.

“How do you know about that?” Gia asked.

“Just because Pop and I don’t talk doesn’t mean I don’t hear things,” I replied.

“Carmen,” Gia said.

“Who else would I hear it from?” I laughed.

“What did she say? Was she mad? She was probably pissed off that I made senior partner so quickly, right?”

“Jesus. No,” I said. “She sounded happy for you. Are you okay?” I asked, noticing the color quickly draining from my sister’s face.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Gia replied.

My older sister was as “A type” as they came. As much as Carmen and I may have displayed the traits of middle child and baby, stereotypically, Gia was first born, to the core. Overachieving, in charge, and by the book. She was a great lawyer and would no doubt be a worthy successor at his firm. She was also caring, sweet, and far more sensitive than most people would ever know. Gia also had a sensitive stomach and known to hurl at a moment’s notice.

“Here,” I said, spotting a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket on the table. I removed the bottle and dumped the ice in a nearby potted plant before handing the bucket to my sister.

Gia took the bucket and stuck her face inside. After a few tense moments, she popped out. “All clear. False alarm,” she said, handing the bucket back to me with a smile.

“Marco,” my father’s voice boomed, and I turned to see him standing behind me, arms extended, smiling. If I didn’t know any better, I would have said he looked happy to see me.

CHAPTER TWO

Trouble

ISTARED IN amazement at Dr. Sinofsky’s massive fish tank. It held three hundred gallons of water and dominated almost an entire wall of his office. I watched as various brightly colored, oddly shaped fish swam busily within the safety of their predator free environment. Some fish swimming tightly together in synchronized order, while others cruised alone.

Of all our donation pickup spots, this was by far my favorite, and this time of year meant weekly visits instead of our usual once a month schedule. Usually, I avoided dentists’ offices at all costs, but I loved coming here. Mostly because Dr. Sinofsky’s donation barrel was always full of brand new, top of the line, toys. I suspected the good doctor himself was largely responsible for this. Secondly (and selfishly), I loved looking at his aquarium. I swear I’d do it for hours if I could. Cowboy was always sweet enough to schedule Dr. Sinofsky’s office as our last pickup of the day and instead of our normal “run and gun” operation, he would park the truck so I could stay a while.

“Where are Bonnie and Clyde?” I asked, noticing the absence of Dr. Sinofsky’s prized Discus fish.

“I wondered how long it would take you to notice,” he replied with a grin.

Over the years of visiting his office, Dr. Sinofsky had taught me all about fresh-water tropical fish of South America and Africa. Much like their ocean-going cousins, these fish were exotic and mesmerizing to observe, but required much less tank maintenance than saltwater setups. I’d especially become fascinated by the Discus fish of the Amazon river, who’s bright blue and orange colors glowed like neon. According to Dr. Sinofsky, Discus were as difficult to breed and keep as they were beautiful. He’d been working for almost two years, without success, on mating Bonnie and Clyde.

“I have one more gift for you,” Dr. Sinofsky said, pulling a small, wrapped package from his coat pocket.

“This load’s already full, Doc,” Cowboy said, while loading the overflowing barrel onto the hand truck. “You put anything more in here, and my back may not be able to take it,” he joked.

“This one isn’t for the kids,” Dr. Sinofsky said, handing the package to me.

“For me?” I asked stunned. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given me a gift and I couldn’t imagine what would have possessed Dr. Sinofsky to do so.

“Well, don’t leave me in suspense, go on,” Cowboy said, his Texan accent still evident even though he’d been in Portland for nearly twenty-five years.

“It’s not Christmas yet,” I said, the heat of embarrassment creeping up the back of my neck. I wasn’t a big fan of being the center of attention. Even when among those I liked the most.

“I’d love for you to open it now as well,” Dr. Sinofsky said sweetly.

“I can’t say no to you Dr. Sniffy,” I said, using the nickname his younger patients called him. Dr. Sinofsky was as far as I could tell, a saint. For two days out of every week his pediatric dental practice provided free care for underprivileged children in Portland, and he sat at the head of one of the largest charity fundraising committees in the area. Our club, Bikers for Kids, had worked with him for years and considered him to be our very own bow-tied mascot.

I carefully began unwrapping the box with Cowboy and Dr. Sinofsky looking on.

“Aw, for fuck’s sake. Before next Christmas, shall we?” Cowboy teased.

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