The Millionaires

58

“What’re you doing in there?” an elderly woman asked, tapping Joey on the shoulder.

“Sorry – just searching for a lost sock,” Joey replied as she backed her way out of the laundry room. Turning around in the hallway to face the woman, Joey eyed the Trash Room sign on the nearby metal door.

“Do you even live here?” the woman challenged with her plastic laundry basket and her gold-plated Medic-Alert bracelet.

“Absolutely,” Joey said, stepping around the woman and peeking her head in the trash room. Smell of rotting oranges. Trash chute in the corner. No Oliver or Charlie.

“Listen to me – I’m talking to you,” the woman threatened.

“I’m sorry,” Joey said. “It’s just that it’s my mother’s favorite sock. She made me do the laundry down here because the dryers are better on the lower floors…”

“They are better.”

“… I completely agree, but now the sock is gone, and, well… it was her favorite sock.” Rushing away from the woman, Joey pressed the button for the elevator, ran to the doors as they opened, and quickly hopped inside.

“I’ll keep an eye out for it!” the woman shouted. But before she could finish, the doors slammed shut.

“It was her favorite sock?” Noreen teased through the earpiece.

“Oh, bite yourself,” Joey said. “It got the job done.”

“Yessiree, you’ve once again outsmarted the ninety-year-old retirees in that hotbed of spydom – the Wilshire Condominium & Communist Lodge.”

“What’s your point?”

“All I’m saying is, I don’t see the use in scouring some condo – much less the third floor and its laundry room – just because Charlie and Oliver’s grandmother once lived there.”

“First of all, if grandma lived on the third floor, that’s the one they’ll know best. Second, never underestimate a laundry room as a hiding place. And third, when it comes to human behavior, there’s only one thing in the whole world that you can absolutely, unquestionably count on…”

“Habit,” Joey and Noreen said simultaneously.

“Don’t mock,” Joey warned as the elevator doors opened in the lobby. “Habit’s the only thing all human animals share. We can’t help ourselves. It’s why we drive home by the same route; and get our morning coffee from the same place; and brush our teeth and wash our face in the same order.” Sidestepping a group of old ladies in matching lavender sweatsuits and headbands, Joey followed the sign for the pool area and pushed her way outside. “It’s the same reason my dad only enters his house through the back door. Never the front. I call it insanity – he thinks it makes his life easier-”

“And that’s where all habits are born,” Noreen interrupted. “Slight moments of control in a world of black chaos. We’re all afraid of death, so we all put on our underwear before we slide on our socks.”

“Actually, some people put on their socks first,” Joey pointed out as she eyed the old man by the swimming pool with the racing form and the black knee-grabbers. “But when we’re in trouble, we run to what’s familiar. And that’s the most basic habit of all.” Strolling past the pool, Joey studied Oliver and Charlie’s favorite old playground. For the two kids currently in the Marco Polo Super Bowl, there was no place better. But as she watched the brother and sister chase each other back and forth across the shuffleboard court, she knew that the best games always keep moving. On her left was a path that led around to the condo sales office. On her right was the clubhouse. One was filled with condo employees. The other was obscured by bushes and trees. Joey didn’t hesitate.

“They have a clubhouse,” she said to Noreen as she passed the hot tub and threaded down the tree-lined path. A right and left turn later, the pool area was out of sight. Checking over her shoulder, Joey slowly approached the door.

She put her ear up against it, but heard nothing from inside. Trying not to scare, she tapped lightly with her knuckle, then listened again. Still nothing. “Hello! Anyone there?” she called out, banging a bit harder. Again, no one answered.

Reaching into her purse, she unzipped her black leather lockpick case. A branch snapped behind her and her purse slipped off her shoulder.

“Everything okay?” Noreen asked.

Spinning around, Joey scanned the bushes and trees on the path. Nothing there. At least nothing she could see. Beyond a thick hibiscus, another twig snapped. Joey boosted herself up on her tiptoes while craning her neck. The bush was too tall. Reaching out, she shoved the branches aside, hopped the metal chain that ran alongside the path, and ducked through the landscaping.

“Joey, is everything okay?” Noreen repeated.

Sneaking quietly under a stray branch, Joey crouched and leaned in toward the bush where the noise came from. There was a hushed tapping on the opposite side of it. Someone being impatient. Lowering her head toward the mulch-covered earth, Joey tried to get a better look, but the underbrush was too thick. Only one way around it.

She reached back into her purse and pulled out a highly polished revolver. Miniature five-shot.38. Her dad’s gun. On three, Joey counted to herself as she slid her finger around the trigger. Her legs coiled, humming with anticipation. Uno… dos…

Charging out at full speed, she sped to the other side of the bush and aimed her gun at the source of the noise – the stark white egret with wide, flapping wings. As Joey turned the corner, the bird took off toward the sky – once again leaving Joey all alone.

“What is it? What happened?” Noreen asked through the earpiece.

Refusing to answer, Joey stuffed her gun into her purse and hopped back onto the concrete path outside the clubhouse.

“Excuse me, ma’am…” a man’s voice called out behind her.

Caught off-guard, Joey flipped around and faced the young man with the bleached blond hair.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Charlie said, using his hand to block the cut on his lip. “But can I borrow your clubhouse key? My grandma took ours upstairs.”