The Millionaires

29

My eye twitches when I’m nervous. Just slightly – a light flutter that’s strong enough to tell me my body’s in complete revolt. Most of the time, I can turn it off by humming the theme song to Market Wrap or saying the alphabet backwards – but as I stand at the end of the line in Newark International Airport, I’m too focused on everything in my way: the fidgety brown-haired woman in front of me, the fifteen people ahead of her, and most important, the metal detectors at the front of the line and the half dozen security officials I’m thirty seconds away from facing.

If the Service put the word out, this’ll be the shortest trip we’ve ever taken, but as the line shuffles forward, nothing seems out of pla-

Damn.

I didn’t even notice him at first. Back beyond the conveyor belt. The broad-shouldered guy in the airport security uniform. He’s got a metal detector in his hand, but the way he’s gripping it like a bat, it’s like he’s never held one before in his life. His posture alone… only the Service grows them that big.

As he looks my way, I lower my head, refusing eye contact. Ten people in front of me, Charlie’s craning his neck in every direction, anxious for interaction.

“Long day, huh?” he asks the woman running the X-ray machine.

“Never ends,” the woman says with an appreciative grin.

On a normal day, I’d say it was typical Charlie small talk. But today… He may be yapping with the woman, but I see where he’s looking. Straight at the broad-shouldered man. And the way Charlie’s bouncing on the heels of his feet – it’s the same as the twitch in my eye. We both know what happens if we’re caught.

“No bags?” the woman asks as Charlie gets closer to the machine.

“Checked it,” he brags, holding up his ticket and pointing to the single claim check.

In Hoboken, a quick stop at the army-navy store got us a blue gym bag filled with underwear, shirts, and a few toiletries. It also got us a miniature lead-lined box that – when stuffed in the bottom of the gym bag – became the perfect hiding spot for Gallo’s gun.

No doubt, it’s a bad idea – the last thing we need is to be caught with the murder weapon – but as Charlie pointed out, these guys are leaping for our throats. Unless we want to wind up like Shep, we need the protection.

“Keep it moving,” a black guard calls out, motioning Charlie through the detector.

I hold my breath and once again lower my head. Nothing to worry about… nothing to worry about… Two seconds later, a high-pitched beep rips through the air. Oh, no. I look up just in time to see Charlie forcing a laugh. “Must be that erector set I ate this morning…”

Please, God, don’t let him blow it…

“Man, I used to hate those erector sets,” the guard laughs, waving a handheld detector up Charlie’s chest and down his shoulders. “Couldn’t build jack with ’em.” In the background, the guard with the square shoulders slowly turns our way.

“That’s why you gotta go with Lego,” Charlie adds, unable to stop himself. Spreading his arms, he waves hi to the guard with square shoulders. The guard nods awkwardly and looks away. He wants two brown-haired brothers – not a flaky blond kid traveling alone.

Finding nothing, the black guard lowers his detector. “Have a safe trip,” he tells Charlie.

“You too,” Charlie adds. It’s a great act, but there’s not a single ounce of color left in his face. Stumbling forward, he can’t get out of there fast enough.

One by one, the rest of the line takes their turn. As I step through the detector, Charlie turns around and glances back. Just to make sure I’m okay. Passing the two guards, I keep my mouth shut and glide by. And just like that, we’re in. Nowhere to go but south. Nonstop to Miami.