Choke by Kaye George

got his pack of Virginia Slims out of his shirt pocket and fingered the wrapper.
    So, maybe he still didn’t know Hugh was dead. She bet he didn’t know she and Hortense were wanted either. That was a relief anyway. He wouldn’t be likely to rat them out.
    “I’m glad now that damn Hugh never hired me.”
    “I didn’t know you applied for work at the restaurant.”
    “Yeah, but he wouldn’t take me on.”
    “Can’t you work in your own family’s restaurant? Don’t some of the Laramies own The Tomato Garden in Wymee Falls?”
    “It’s a franchise, and my Uncle Guido has it. He’s not exactly a Laramie. He’s a Giovanni, Ma’s brother. No way I’d work for him, though. He’s a slave driver.” Meaning, Immy thought, Frank would like a job but wouldn’t actually like to work. He hadn’t had Hortense for a mother.
    “Is that who I used to see talking to Hugh up in his office, your Uncle Guido?”
    “You know the interstate loop they keep talking about?” Immy nodded. “It’s supposed to go awful close to Huey’s Hash. Guido thought that would be a good location for another Tomato Garden. He’s been trying to get Hugh to sell it to him.”
    Should she tell Frank? Oh, go ahead. It might be interesting to see his reaction.
    “Frankie, Hugh was dead when Xenia got in her wreck. He was found dead the day before that, probably killed even earlier, the day before that.”
    “Huh? She sounded hysterical when she ran out of there. Wasn’t making a whole lot of sense. I thought she said she was pissed at Hugh, but maybe it was someone else she was mad at. Who else would have been there?”
    “Clem?”
    Frank glanced at his Timex. “I gotta get going. I need to go to the unemployment office and fill out my monthly paperwork.” The ideal job for Frankie, money and no work. And you need a smoke, thought Immy.
    He shambled out through the revolving door, and Immy hightailed it up to Xenia’s room. Maybe Xenia would wake up.
    * * *
    SHE DIDN'T, AND IMMY LEFT after watching Xenia breathe for about ten minutes. She looked like a nicer person when she wasn’t awake, but maybe most people do, thought Immy. Her bleached blonde hair fanned out on the white pillowcase, below the bandages framing her pale face. She looked especially washed out without her usual cotton candy pink lipstick. Her breasts, two huge mounds under the thin sheet, rose and fell, so Immy knew she was alive.
    Also, the machines pulsed and beeped with what they called on TV her vital signs, but Immy didn’t know which one was for her brain, if any of them were. If Xenia’s brain was dead, and she had killed Uncle Huey, it might never be known for sure who bumped him off.
    Immy made her way out of the hospital slowly, hanging onto her wig when she got outside and trying to put some possibilities together in her mind. Maybe Frank had been trying to throw Immy off by telling her Xenia saw Hugh after he was dead. Maybe Frank killed Uncle Huey. Would she know if he was lying to her? She would have to see if there was a chapter in either of her books about how to tell when people were lying.
    She tried to imagine how this scenario might have come about. Frank doted on Xenia, and Hugh fired Xenia. Would Frank be angry enough to kill Hugh? It didn’t seem like it, but maybe Frank’s hot temper got the better of him. His mother’s family was Italian, after all, Giovannis from El Paso. Everyone knew Italians were hot blooded.
    Her head was down, pondering how to determine Frank’s guilt or innocence, as she entered the bottom floor of the dark, cool parking garage, glad to be out of the wind. The smell of cigarette smoke made her stop and fan the air in front of her. Then she heard the whispers.
    “What the hell you think? I told you a million times, I’m-a retired.”
    Where were the whispers coming from?
    “Just one more, Uncle Guido. You used to do this in Naples. I know you could do it.” That was Frankie Laramie’s voice. He had raised his