The Millionaires

55

The third punch pummels my jaw, and the sour-sweet taste of blood floods across my tongue.

“Leave him alone -!” Charlie screams, though he barely gets the words out. Whipping his arm forward, DeSanctis pounds the butt of his gun against Charlie’s jaw.

“Where is it!?” Gallo roars in my face, winding up for another blow. He grips my tie and swings me back toward the couch. “Tell us where it is, Oliver! Say the words and we’re out of your life!”

It’s a simple promise and an absolute lie. The only reason we’re still breathing is because we have what they want.

“Don’t tell ’em shit!” Charlie yells, blood dripping down his chin. DeSanctis cranks his arm back and this time plows Charlie in the ear. Crumbling to his knees, Charlie screams and cups the side of his head.

“Charlie!”

“Don’t move!” Gallo warns, tugging me back by the neck.

“Hit him again and you’ll get nothing!” I shout.

“You think we’re negotiating?” Gallo barks, still holding me by my tie. He smashes me into the bookcase, where a dozen engineering texts tumble to the floor. Refusing to let me catch my breath, he grabs me by the lapels and wings me back toward the endtable. The lamp shatters and picture frames go flying. I’m stumbling… fighting to stay on my feet… but I can’t get my balance – or the gun that’s in the back of my pants. “Y’know how much of my time you wasted?” he continues to rage. “You have any idea what this cost me?”

Like a wrestler in the ring, he regrabs the knot on my tie, whips me around, and tosses me back into the bookcase. On impact, the edge of the shelf stabs me in the back of the neck, and my head snaps back. For a second, I can’t see. Pulling me forward, Gallo winds up and shoves me back again. Then again. Each time I collide, a stack of books rains down on me. “Where’s the money, Oliver! Where’d you fuckin’ put it?”

Spit flies from his mouth. There’s a small gap between his yellowing teeth. On each impact, the world blinks on and off. I’m about to pass out, but Gallo won’t let up. Eventually, he wraps his claws around my throat and pins me back against the bookcase. I can’t breathe. As he tightens his grip, I fight for air. Nothing comes but an empty gasp. “P-Please…”

Over Gallo’s shoulder, Charlie’s still on the ground, holding his ear. DeSanctis stands over him with a cocky grin. And behind them all… I swear, something moves in the kitchen. Before I can react, the whole room fades and spins sideways. It’s like being underwater, sucked down by the tide. Gallo squeezes tight and I float back to last night. Back to Gillian. She’s all I see – which is why, when I open my eyes – I almost don’t believe she’s actually there.

Gillian tears into the living room swinging the glass blender straight at the back of DeSanctis’s head.

There’s a loud, haunting thunk as it ricochets against his skull. The impact sends a zigzagging fracture down the side of the jar, even as it sends DeSanctis staggering forward and tripping over Charlie.

As Gallo turns to follow the sound, I grab a stray hardcover book from the shelf and crack him in the back of the head. It knocks him off-balance, which is all Gillian needs to rush in close. Gallo reaches for his gun, but he doesn’t have a chance. Already in mid-swing, Gillian wheels the blender jar through the air and catches Gallo on the side of the head. But just as the jar collides with his skull, there’s a loud crash… the fracture gives way… and the glass shatters into hundreds of tiny shards which flick against my chest. In Gillian’s hand, all that’s left is the solid glass handle. On the carpet, Gallo’s dazed, but not out.

“Let’s go!” Gillian shouts as she grabs me by the hand. Coughing and fighting to catch my breath, I step over Gallo and go straight for Charlie, who’s just now picking his head up from the carpet. His eyes flit back and forth – first at Gillian, then to me, then back to Gillian. He’s in shock. Gillian takes one arm; I take the other. We scoop him up by the armpits and pull him to his feet.

“You okay? Can you hear me?” I ask.

He nods, quickly finding his equilibrium. “Get us out of here,” he demands. There’s no fear in his voice. Just anger.

Gillian leads the way. Not to the front door – to the bedrooms in the back. Where she snuck in. She’s first… then Charlie… then me. But just as I fly forward, something grabs me by the ankle. And twists. Hard. An electric shock of pain shoots up my leg and I crash to the floor. Behind me, DeSanctis grips my ankle, refusing to let go. He’s on his stomach, clawing his way closer. A trickle of blood drips from his hairline, down the side of his forehead, to his cheek.

Scurrying backwards on my elbows, I kick wildly, fighting to get free. His nails dig deep into my ankle. I can’t get him off. “Charlie!”

I look back frantically, but he’s already there. My brother’s thick black shoe stomps down on DeSanctis’s wrist. Howling in pain, DeSanctis lets go and looks up at Gillian.

“What’re you-?”

Before DeSanctis can finish, Gillian lets loose with a whirlwind kick that crashes into the side of his head. His neck snaps to the side with an unearthly crack. It doesn’t slow Gillian down. Lashing out, she kicks him again. And again. Her clunky shoe hits like a brick. Over and over.

“Enough,” Charlie says, pulling her back. From my place on the carpet, he’s twenty feet tall. The new big brother. “Let’s go!” Charlie shouts, reaching down and tugging me to my feet.

Unsure of what’s waiting out front, he rushes toward the back of the house. Ignoring the pain in my ankle, I follow as fast as I can, hobbling down the hallway. Behind me, Gillian has a hand on my shoulder. “Just keep going,” she whispers. We cut through the bedroom, where the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard is wide open.

“Go right!” Gillian yells.

Spotting his own way out, Charlie goes left.

Bursting outside, we’re on a cement patio. Straight ahead, the wall’s too high. On the left, the path runs through the neighbors’ backyards – each patio connecting with the one next to it. Charlie’s already at the end – leapfrogging off someone’s rusted, sun-bleached lounge chair to help him over the concrete wall.

“Hurry!” Charlie calls out, one leg already straddled on the other side the wall.

“The car’s this way,” Gillian says, yanking me back to the right.

I look both ways, but the answer’s simple. “Charlie, wait!” I shout as I race toward my brother.

“Are you crazy – this way’s safer!” Gillian insists, refusing to give in.

I don’t even pause.

“I’m serious,” she adds. “You leave now, you’re on your own.” It’s a great threat, but even Gillian doesn’t want to run by herself. Shaking her head as she pounds the cement, she falls in right behind me.

“C’mon, they’ll be up in a second!” Charlie yells, sliding his other leg over. Shifting his weight to his arms, he pushes off from the wall and disappears.

“Just wait a-” It’s too late. He’s already gone.

Hopping on the lounge chair, I crane my neck over the wall to make sure he’s okay. But just as I spot Charlie on the other side, a single shot explodes down the block. Two inches to my left, the top of the wall shatters in a violent burst, spraying concrete shards in every direction. It’s like a kick of sand in the face. Squinting, I try to see through the storm. Over the wall and down the street, Gallo limps as quick as he can around the corner, his gun aimed right at me.

“Get down!” Charlie screams.

A second shot rings out.

I duck below the ledge completely off-balance and tumble from the lounge chair to the ground. Flat on my ass, I stare straight at the wall that separates me from my brother.

“Oliver!?” Charlie calls.

“Run!” I shout back. “Get out of there!”

“Not until you’re-”

“Go, Charlie! Now!”

No time to debate. I hear the rumbling of his shoes against the grass as he takes off. Gallo can’t be far behind him.

Scrambling to my feet, I pull the gun from the back of my pants and study the wall as if I could see through it. Gillian lightly touches my back. “Is he-?”

A third shot rings out, cutting her off. Then a fourth. My heart contracts and I stare at the wall. Holding my breath, I shut my eyes, trying to hear footsteps. There’s a muffled tapping in the distance. Please, God, let it be Charlie.

I scratch to look up over the wall, but Gillian tugs me in the opposite direction. “We should get out of here,” she insists, pulling me back. When I don’t move, she adds, “Please, Oliver…”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Listen to me – you go back up there, you might as well paint a target on your forehead. Charlie’ll be fine – he’s got ten times the speed of Gallo.”

“I’m not leaving him,” I repeat.

“No one said anything about leaving – but if we don’t get out of here-”

A fifth shot thunders up the block. Jolted by the sound, we both crouch down.

“How far is your car?” I ask.

“Follow me.” She grabs my hand and we run back across the open patios. Halfway there, we race past the sliding glass door to Gillian’s bedroom – which is exactly when DeSanctis’s hand flies out and latches on to Gillian’s curly black hair.

“Ready for Round Two?” DeSanctis asks, looking way too wobbly.

The right side of his face is covered in blood – and before he can even step outside, Gillian wheels around and pounds her knee into his testicles. He drops to the ground, I pound him with the butt of the gun, and we continue running to the far end of the backyard. As we reach the wall, it looks like a mirror image of the one Charlie went over – that is, until I glance to my left and see the black metal gate that’s cut into the wall. Taped to the bars is an index card stuffed into a sealed plastic Baggie: Do Not Lock – For Fire, it says in handwritten chicken scrawl.

Grabbing the bars, Gillian yanks open the gate. It slams with a clang behind us and dumps us in the parking lot of a low-rise apartment complex. We make a sharp left the instant we hit the street.

“Over here,” she says, hopping inside her blue Beetle, which is parked under a tree.

With a flick of her wrist, she starts the car. I’m looking over my shoulder for DeSanctis. “Go, go, go…”

“Which way?” she asks.

“Straight ahead. We’ll find him.”

Tires shriek, wheels kick in, and we buck back in our seats. We keep our heads low, just in case we spot Gallo. But as we reach the end of the block – the corner where Charlie was headed – there’s no one in sight. Not Gallo… not Charlie… not anyone. In the distance, there’s a faint howl of sirens. Gunshots bring police.

“Oliver, we really should…”

“Keep looking,” I insist, scouring every alley next to every pink house we pass. “He’s here somewhere.” But as the car crawls up the block, there’s nothing but empty driveways, ratty overgrown lawns, and a few swaying palm trees. Behind us, the sirens scream even louder.

If I were the one running, I’d make a right at the next stop sign. “Make a left,” I tell Gillian. I still know my brother. Yet when we curve around the corner, the only person there is an old man with shoe-leather brown skin and a 1950s sky blue cabana shirt. He’s sitting on his stoop, peeling a grapefruit with a pocketknife.

“Have you see anyone run by?” I call out as I lower my window and hide the gun.

He looks at me like I’m speaking…

“Spanish,” Gillian clarifies.

“Oh, uh… have you veras un muchacho?”

Still no response. He goes back to peeling his grapefruit. The siren’s almost on us.

Gillian stares in the rearview, knowing it’s close. She needs a decision. “Oliver…”

“Hold on,” I tell her. “Por favor – es muy importante. Es mi hermano!”

He won’t even look up.

“Oliver, please…”

Behind us, tires screech around the corner.

“Go – get us out of here,” I finally give in.

She pumps the gas, and the wheels once again search for traction. A quick right and an ignored speed limit turns the neighborhood into a pink-and-green blur. I stare out the window, waiting for Charlie to jump out from the bushes and shout that he’s safe. But he never does. I don’t stop looking.

Next to me, Gillian reaches out and cups her hand softly on the back of my neck. “I’m sure he’s okay,” she promises.

“Yeah,” I reply as South Beach – and my brother – fade behind us. “I hope you’re right.”