The Millionaires

13

“Please don’t…!” I yell.

It’s too late. The shot hisses like a dart from a blowgun. Then another. And another. All three explode in Shep’s chest, sending him crashing back into the concrete wall. He grabs at the wounds, but the blood’s already everywhere. It covers his hands and bubbles up from his mouth. He tries to breathe, but all that comes out is an empty, wet wheeze. Still, he’s on his feet… staring back at Gallo… at all of us… with a dead man’s gray eyes. They’re wide with fear – like a child who knows he’s hurt, but hasn’t yet decided to cry. He staggers, trying to take a step forward… struggling to keep his… c’mon, Shep… you can make it…

Gallo raises his gun again, but quickly realizes he doesn’t have to.

Unable to hold his own weight, Shep’s legs buckle, and like a giant oak, the big man falls forward, straight for the creaky wooden slats in the floor. But just as he hits – as the thud thunders through the tunnel – the wood shakes, but somehow, it holds.

“Shep!” Charlie screams, racing out and sliding knees-first next to Shep’s facedown body. “Are you okay? Please, buddy… please be okay!” Squinting through a rush of tears, Charlie nudges the back of Shep’s shoulder, searching for a reaction. Nothing – not even a twitch. “C’mon, Shep… I know you’re there – please be there!” Ignoring the puddle of blood that’s seeping out below Shep, Charlie shoves his hands under Shep’s shoulder and waist, and tries to flip him on his back.

“Charlie, don’t touch him!” I shout.

“Both of you – nobody move!” Gallo barks.

Charlie abruptly lets go, and Shep’s body sinks face-first, back to the ground. The pool of blood is already seeping between the grooves in the wood planks. I look away and gag from the tinge of pre-vomit in my throat. That’s when I spot the hypodermic needle right next to Shep’s head. Charlie spots it too. His eyes are wide. He sees it as a break; I see it as a dumb way to get himself killed.

Don’t do it, I warn with a glance.

Charlie doesn’t care. Right there, a surge of adrenaline turns anguish to blood lust. He goes to grab it and…

“I said, don’t move!” Gallo explodes, rushing in behind him. There’s a quiet click and Charlie looks over his shoulder. Gallo’s got his gun aimed at my brother’s back. DeSanctis, who’s still blocking the door, has his pointed at me.

“Charlie, listen to him!” I plead, my voice cracking.

“Finally, someone with some sense,” Gallo says, turning his gun toward me. He steps in close and shoves the barrel into my cheek. “Now I’m going to ask you again, Oliver. You know what we’re after. Just tell us where it is.”

Unable to move, I stare over Gallo’s shoulder. Behind him, Charlie’s still down on his knees, primed to explode. Scouring the room, he searches for another out. But no matter where he looks, he still sees Shep. So do I – which is why I’m not letting it happen again.

“Don’t be stupid, Oliver,” Gallo warns. “Give it up and you can walk out of here.”

“Don’t tell him squat!” Charlie shouts. “You give him a dime and he’ll leave us lying here with Shep.”

“Shut your mouth!” Gallo snaps, pointing his gun at Charlie.

Stiffening with fear, I’m completely paralyzed. Charlie slaps me awake with a look. Don’t say it, he warns. Don’t give him anything. The problem is, no matter how good my poker face is, Gallo already knows my weakness.

With a ferret’s grin and his gun still pointed at Charlie, Gallo pulls back the hammer and studies my response. “How much is he worth to you, Oliver?”

“Please don’t…!” I beg, barely able to get the words out.

Leaving nothing to chance, DeSanctis moves in behind me, his gun digging into the back of my neck.

Behind Charlie, Gallo flicks his finger against the trigger. The gun’s pointed at the back of Charlie’s head, but Gallo’s watching me. Still kneeling next to Shep’s body, Charlie cranes his neck around and fights to get my attention. My eyes glaze and a hot spasm scratches up from my throat. We both know the outcome. No matter what we give Gallo, he’s not letting us leave. Not after everything we’ve seen. Still, Charlie searches my face, looking for something… anything… to get out of here. It doesn’t come.

Stubborn to his last breath, he turns away and stares back at Shep’s broken body. But it’s not until I notice Shep’s blood seeping down through the wood in the floor that I actually see it – our one way out. Charlie has his back to me, but I spot the sudden pitch in his shoulders. He sees it too. Hunched over as if the pressure’s too much, Charlie kneels in close to Shep’s body… and carefully wedges his fingers around the edges of the loose wood plank that’s in the floor.

“You know how to save him,” Gallo warns, still focused on me. “Just tell us where the money is.” From where Gallo’s standing behind Charlie, he can’t see a thing. Three feet away, I see it all. As quickly as I can, I angle my body so DeSanctis can’t get a clear view.

“Please don’t hurt him,” I beg. “The information’s all yours – I just need to get it from the bank – I don’t have it on me.”

It’s all I can do. Keep trying to stall.

Pretending to brace himself for the gunshot, Charlie curls down even tighter – and curls his fingers around the sides of the wood. It wobbles slightly, but not enough. There’s still a nail barely holding it in place. Focused on the thin gaps between the planks, Charlie wedges his fingers in as deep as they’ll go. If he digs any deeper, his knuckles’ll bleed. He doesn’t care. He needs the leverage. With one final shove, his skin is rubbed raw. The tendons in his forearm twitch, and I can tell his fingers are wrapping around the bottom edges of the plank. Almost there – keep going, bro. He pulls as hard as he can without revealing himself. It quickly starts coming loose.

“Oliver, you’re too smart not to’ve memorized it,” Gallo warns as he takes aim at my brother. “Do better.”

Behind Gallo, Charlie turns just enough to shoot me a look. Don’t say it, he tells me. The wood’s about to give way.

“Three seconds,” Gallo says. “After that, you sweep up his brains yourself. One…”

Just give me another second, Ollie. That’s all I need.

“Two…”

Just one more second…

Gallo’s finger slips around the trigger. “Thr-”

“Please – don’t do it! If you want it, it’s in an account in An-”

Ollie, move! Charlie motions with nothing but a glance. There’s a sharp crack as the wood comes loose.

Following the sound, Gallo turns away from me and spins toward my brother. He looks at the ground, but Charlie’s already on his feet, swinging the wood plank like a baseball bat. The flat side catches Gallo square in the jaw, sending a mouthful of spit flying across the room. The sound alone is worth it… a sickeningly sweet crack that knocks him – and his gun – straight to the floor.

Before I even realize what’s happening, I feel a sharp tug on the back of my shirt. DeSanctis tosses me backwards. He’s trained to go after the threat. As I crash to the concrete, he turns to Charlie and aims his pistol for the killshot. Now my brother’s in the black hole of the barrel. Instinctively, he holds up the plank as if it’s a shield. Realizing what’s happening, I scramble to my feet. I don’t have a chance. Without hesitation, DeSanctis pulls the trigger. The shot explodes with an ear-splitting boom.

The wood thunders violently and something whizzes directly over Charlie’s head. By the time he opens his eyes, the plank flies from his hands, cleaved in half by the gunshot. As the wood thunks against the ground, his palms are burning, stinging with dozens of splinters from the force of the impact. He looks up at DeSanctis, who’s already readjusted his aim. Straight at him.

“Don’t!” I yell, plowing into DeSanctis from behind. The gun jerks, and a shot goes off – tearing at the wall on my right and sending a storm cloud of loose concrete crumbling into the corner. The impact keeps DeSanctis off-balance enough for me to jump on his back and grab him in a quick choke-hold. Within seconds, though, training overtakes surprise. DeSanctis whips his head back, cracking me in the nose. The pain is ferocious. I don’t let go.

“I’ll kill you, you bastard!” DeSanctis shouts as I continue to hold on. Reaching backwards and clawing over his shoulder, DeSanctis still tries to get at me. That leaves his gut wide-open. It’s all the distraction Charlie needs. Picking up the broken wood plank, he rushes forward… plants his feet… and swings away. As the plank collides with DeSanctis’s stomach, he doubles over, and I swear his feet leave the ground. I fly off the bucking bull and tumble to the concrete – but DeSanctis clearly took the worst of it.

“You okay?” Charlie asks, offering me a hand.

I nod repeatedly, still unable to catch my breath.

Behind Charlie, there’s a sharp scraping noise. He spins around and spots Gallo on the floor, crawling to reach his gun.

Scrambling next to him, Charlie scoops up Gallo’s gun and stuffs it in the back of his pants.

“Charlie…!” I call out.

“Y-You’re both dead,” Gallo whispers, coughing up blood.

“You sure about that?” Charlie asks, winding up for another crack of the bat. I’ve never seen him like this. He lifts the plank over his head like a woodchopper and-

“Don’t!” I shout, grabbing him by his shoulder. DeSanctis is already climbing to his feet. We’re way out of our league. “C’mon – let’s go!”

Charlie drops the wood, and we fly for the heavy metal door in the corner. Once I hear his shoes clicking behind me, I don’t look back. All I want is out. With a quick shove, I’m through the door and across the catwalk. Just as Charlie’s about to follow, he takes one last scan of the room. I can hear it from here. Gallo’s already up and about, coughing uncontrollably. DeSanctis isn’t far behind.

“We got trouble,” Charlie calls out.

In full panic, I leave the construction trailers behind and leap out of the rabbithole, into the food court. Back in the hallway, we hear the metal door crash against the wall. They’re faster than we thought.

“Check the trailers!” Gallo’s voice bellows. That takes care of DeSanctis.

Right there, I make a sharp left and race back the way we originally came.

“Wrong way!” Charlie shouts.

“Are you…?”

“Trust me,” he calls out, heading to the right.

I pause, but it’s a simple choice. We both know where we spent our Friday nights.

Checking to make sure I’m behind him, Charlie takes off up the hallway, and old instincts flood back into place. At the far end of the hall, he leaps for the nearby escalator and scrambles up the moving steps two at a time. Behind him, my shoes clack against the metal grooves. “They still behind us?” he asks.

“Just get us out of here,” I say, refusing to look.

At the top of the escalator, which dead-ends into a cluster of magazine shops and newsstands, the only clear path veers to the left, back to the Main Concourse. Charlie keeps running straight – toward the beige service door in the corner.

“It looks locked,” I say.

“It’s not,” he insists. “Or at least, it never used to be.”

Praying that things don’t change, I watch him plow into the door. It swings open and leads into an industrial beige hallway. Charlie’s strides get longer. He’s back on home turf. And I’m more lost than ever. Refusing to fall behind, I squeeze my fists tighter and pick up speed. My nails dig deep into the palms of my hands.

“You okay?” Charlie asks, feeling the instant vibe.

“Yeah,” I tell him, still staring dead ahead.

In front of us are two automatic swinging doors. We stomp on the sensor-mat and the doors blink open. I immediately smell gas fumes. Through the doors, the lights dim and the cavern expands. Brick walls, no windows, and an old wooden teller booth with a punch clock on the outside. Charlie glances around at the fifty or so cars that’re parked bumper-to-bumper in the underground garage.

“You got a ticket?” a man with a Puerto Rican accent shouts from the teller booth.

“No, thanks,” Charlie says, catching his breath. Over his shoulder, he checks the automatic doors and searches for Gallo and DeSanctis. The doors mechanically close. No one’s there. At least, not yet. But before we can relax, my stomach lurches and I heave uncontrollably. There’s a violent splash against the pavement as I vomit up the milky-brown remainder of this morning’s Raisin Bran. The smell alone makes me want to do it again. I clench my jaw to keep it in.

“You sure you’re okay?” Charlie asks for the second time.

Bent over, with my hands pressed against my knees, I spit out the final chunks as a string of saliva dangles from my chin.

“Don’t think I’m cleaning that up,” the Puerto Rican guy warns from his booth.

Ignoring him, Charlie puts a hand on my shoulder. “They’re gone,” he promises. “We’re fine.” The words are nice, but he’s missing the point.

“What?” Charlie asks, studying my green coloring. “What is it?”

My stomach’s empty, and I’m about to pass out. But it’s not until I backhand the spit from my bottom lip and slowly struggle to stand up that my brother gets his first good look at my eyes. They wander around the garage, dancing anxiously in every direction.

Without a word, he knows why I wouldn’t look back while we were running. Sure, I was scared – but it wasn’t just from what was chasing us. It was from what we left behind. Shep. I stare down at the splatter of throw-up by my feet. Forget fear – this is all guilt.

“It’s not your fault, Ollie. Even when you were willing to hand them the account, Shep told you to stay quiet.”

“But if we weren’t – Dammit, how could I be such a meathead? I’m smarter than that! If we weren’t there… If I wasn’t so stupidly enraged about Lapidus…”

“If, if, if. Don’t you get it yet?” he asks. “It doesn’t matter what you were thinking – or why you talked yourself into it – Shep was stealing that money whether we were there or not. Period. End.”

I pick my head up. “Y-You think?”

“Of course,” he shoots back with a throatful of instant Charlie confidence. But as the words leave his lips, his expression falls. Reality hits hard. And fast. Now he’s the one who’s suddenly green.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he motions toward the steep ramp that leads up to the snow-lined street. “You ready to go?”

Before I can nod, Charlie takes off and runs straight up it. Behind him, I once again close my eyes and picture Shep’s shattered body, twisted like a broken puppet across the floor. Unable to shake the image – or the rash decision that got us there – I chase my brother, racing as hard as I can to the top. Too bad for us, there’re some things you can’t outrun.

I’m still trailing Charlie as the parking ramp dumps us out onto 44th Street. We’re quickly consumed by the lunchtime crowd, but in the distance, I already hear the sirens.

I look at Charlie; he studies me. We’re not just thieves anymore. By the time Gallo and DeSanctis are done with us, we’re murderers.

“Should we call mom…?”

“No way,” I counter, still tasting the vomit on my lips. “That’s the first place they’ll look.”

The sirens get closer, and we step into the line that’s curving out of a nearby pizza place. By now, the sound’s almost deafening. At the end of the block, two police cars slam their brakes and screech toward Grand Central’s Vanderbilt Avenue entrance. Our heads are lowered, but like everyone else in line, we’re in full stare-mode. Within seconds, car doors slam shut and four uniformed officers race inside.

“C’mon,” I say, jumping out of line.

You sure you want to run? Charlie asks with a glance.

I don’t bother to answer. Like he said, this isn’t about my anger anymore. Or some heated, knee-jerk revenge on Lapidus. It’s about keeping us alive. And after almost fifteen years of freeze-tag, Charlie knows the value of a head start.

“You know where we’re going?” he asks as he follows.

I’m already running toward the opposite end of the block. “Not really,” I say. “But I have an idea.”