The Millionaires

69

“You sure we shouldn’t rent a minivan or something more Disney-ish?” Charlie asks as he takes a full whiff of the gas station. He’s tucked in the backseat and calling the questions out the driver’s side window. I’m squeezing the nozzle and pumping the car full of gas. He already started to join us outside, but stopped himself before his foot hit the pavement. He’s finally learned caution. The less seen, the better.

“And how do you plan on renting this van? With what credit card?” I ask as I squeegee the front window. Anything to keep us looking normal. “Remember what that guy said in Hoboken? It’s the big purchases that get you noticed.”

“Didn’t he also say something about scorned women?” he counters.

I make a face. A week ago, I would’ve gotten into it. Today, it’s not worth it.

The gas nozzle clicks, telling us the tank is full. Stuck in the backseat and lost in the fumes, Charlie looks like he’s six years old. Back then, when dad took us to the gas station on Ocean Avenue, he used to always say, “Ten bucks, please.” Not “Fill it up.” He only said “Fill it up,” when he closed a big deal. That was twice. Everything else was ten bucks. But – dad being dad – he still used full service. Just to prove we had some class.

“We ready?” Gillian asks, turning the corner and returning from the minimart bathroom. I nod as I slap the gas tank shut. Gillian hops in the driver’s seat and readjusts the rearview. She glances at Charlie in the mirror, but when he catches her eye, she looks away, hits the gas, and sends us whipping back in our seats. Cats and dogs.

According to the guy in the gas station, it’s a three-hour drive to Orlando. If we’re fast, we’ll be there before dark.

Fourteen miles later, we’re at a dead stop in traffic. The Florida Turnpike may be the fastest route to Orlando, but as we wait in line at the Cypress Creek toll booth, nothing moves quickly.

“This is ridiculous,” I complain as we inch forward. “They’ve got two hundred cars and four open toll lanes.”

“Welcome to Florida math,” Gillian replies. Swerving to the left, she angles for the one lane that actually looks like it’s moving. Directly in front of us, while other cars roll forward, a black Acura sits still for about thirty seconds too long. “Let’s go!” Gillian shouts as she pounds the horn. “Pick a lane and move!”

“Can I ask a silly question?” Charlie interrupts from the backseat. “Remember that Disney kid – the one on the phone who told us the backups were in this DACS place? Well, what if he got so spooked out, he started looking for the backups himself?”

“He’s not going to do that,” I answer, turning around to face him.

“How do you know?”

“I could hear it in his voice,” I say. “He wasn’t the type to investigate. And even if he was – he’d have no idea what he was looking at.”

“You sure about that?” he asks.

Still facing Charlie, I feel a sudden, almost microscopic twitch in my eyebrow. He spots it instantly. “See what I’m saying?” he asks. “The Greene & Greene logo would be onscreen. All it’d take is a phone call to the bank… and another to Gallo and DeSanctis…”

As we roll toward the shadow of the toll booth, the sun fades from above. And it fades fast. It’s only then that I turn around and notice our speed. The engine’s revving. We’re about to blow through the toll booth at thirty miles an hour.

“Gillian…”

“Relax, it’s SunPass,” she says, thumbing over her shoulder and motioning toward the bar code sticker on her left rear window.

Charlie stares out the windshield; I look up to follow. The sign above the toll says SunPass Only.

Damn.

“Don’t go through…!” Charlie shouts.

It’s already too late.

We glide through the toll booth and a digital scanner focuses coldly on the car. Charlie and I simultaneously duck in our seats.

“What’re you doing?” Gillian asks. “It’s not a videocamera…”

Out the back window, the toll booth fades behind us. Charlie shoots up in his seat.

“Dammit!” I shout, pounding the dashboard.

“Wh-What?”

“Do you have any idea how stupid that was?”

“What’s wrong? It’s just SunPass…”

“… which uses the same technology as a supermarket scanner!” I blast. “Don’t you know how easy it is for them to trace this stuff? They know who you are in a heartbeat!”

Now Gillian’s the one who sinks a bit. “I-I didn’t think it was…” Her voice trails off and she tries her best to get my attention. She’s not getting it. I flip down the visor mirror to check on Charlie.

What’d I tell you? he asks with a glance.

“Oliver, I’m sorry,” she adds, reaching out and touching my arm. From the look on Charlie’s face, he expects me to cave. I brush her away.

Finally. Good for you, bro.

“I’m serious – I’m really sorry,” she continues. She touches me again, this time grabbing my hand.

Hold strong, Ollie. Time to claim victory, Charlie motions.

“Just drop it, okay?” I tell her.

“Please, Oliver, I was only trying to help. It was an honest mistake.”

Between the bucket seats, Charlie shakes his head. He doesn’t believe in honest mistakes – at least not when they’re made by her. But even he has to admit, there’s no real harm done. All we did was roll through a toll booth – which is why, as Gillian’s fingers braid between mine, I don’t hold her hand, but I also don’t pull away.

Charlie shoves his knee into the back of my seat.

I flip the mirror closed. He doesn’t understand. “Just next time, please be more careful,” I tell her.

“I promise,” Gillian replies. “You have my word.”

Charlie turns around and stares out the rear window. The toll booth disappears in the distance. He’s still watching our backs.