The Millionaires

87

“Oliver, I’m not asking you again,” Shep warns. “Where the hell’s my money?” Staggering backwards from his most recent punch, I move away from the floats and toward the side wall.

Behind me, I’m all out of running space. Tripping through the minefield of hula-hoops, ringmaster hats, and dozens of other random props that’re piled along the floor, I frantically search for something… anything… I can use as a weapon. The only thing close is an ornate candelabra – but when I pick it up, it weighs less than a pound – all Styrofoam. I almost forgot. Disney World.

Rushing straight at me, Shep rumbles through the piles of props and grabs me by the lapels. “Last chance,” he warns, his hot breath smothering my face. “Where. Is. My. Money?”

My head’s ringing like a firehouse. I can barely move it side to side. “Drop dead, dickhead. You’re never getting a dime.”

Enraged, he flings me backwards toward an enormous rocking horse. My head bangs back against the wooden saddle, but Shep doesn’t let go. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I didn’t hear what you said.”

“Drop… dead.”

Spinning me around, he sends me face-first toward an oversized jack-in-the-box. My face pancakes against the front of it, and the sickening crunch tells me my nose is broken. “Wanna try that again?” Shep asks, now holding the back of my neck.

I look up at him with one good eye. My voice barely comes out. “D-Drop…”

Snarling like an animal, he whips me around and hurls me toward a rolling popcorn cart. I thrust my hands out to protect my face, but I’m moving too fast. I smash through the glass, and as it shatters everywhere, my hands are sliced by the shards. Crashing on my stomach inside the cart, I notice a triangular, stray fragment of glass right above my chest. There’s a dull edge on one side, from where it fit into the edge of the cart.

Shep grabs my legs and yanks me backwards. Shards of glass claw against my stomach. Ignoring the pain, I reach out for the fragment. I clutch it so hard, it almost slices the palm of my hand. And just as my feet hit the ground – before he knows what’s happening – I spin around and stab the jagged scalpel straight into his stomach.

His face turns white and he grabs his gut, staring down at the shiny blood that slicks his hands. He can barely believe it. “Motherf-” He looks up to face me. “You’re dead… dead…”

Reaching inside his jacket, he goes for his gun. I slash at his arm and slice him right above the wrist. Howling from the pain, he can’t hold on to it. The gun drops to the floor, and I kick it underneath the rocking horse. I’m not giving him another chance. His eyes burn bright red. And like a wounded bear, Shep thrashes forward, lunging for my neck. I slice the blade through the air and it tears his chest. My hand’s bleeding from gripping the sharp sides, but it’s clear who’s taking the brunt of it. For the first time, Shep stumbles. As he gets closer, I wind up with whatever strength I have left. For everything he did… everything he put us through – I ignore the blood, bury the consequences, and move in for the final blo-

I hear a loud wheeze back by the closet that leads next door. It stops me dead in my tracks. I know it like I know myself. To my left – inside the closet. Charlie’s holding his chest and gripping on to the wall to stand.

“Ollie…” he stutters, his mouth wide open. That’s all he gets out. Gasping for air, he crumbles to the ground. I turn for just two seconds. For Shep, it’s a lifetime.

Just as I turn back, he’s already barreling at me. My chest caves in as he pummels me like a tackling dummy. Crashing on my back and slamming into the concrete, I take a sharp jab to the kidneys. Shep pulls the jagged blade from my hand, slicing my palm even deeper.

As I scream out in pain, Shep doesn’t say a word. He’s done talking. Crawling upward, he sits on my chest and pins my biceps back with his knees. Thrashing frantically, I fight to pull my arms free. He weighs too much. I search his eyes, but it’s like no one’s there. Shep doesn’t care anymore. Not about me… not about the tapes… not even about the money.

Digging his knees into my biceps, he raises the blade like a guillotine. His eyes are on my neck. I’m not going to survive this one. I whisper an apology to Charlie. And to my mom. Shutting my eyes, I turn my head and brace for the impact.

But the next thing I hear is a gunshot. Then two more in quick succession. I look up just in time to see the bullets cleave through Shep’s chest. His body jerks violently as each one hits. A belch of blood dribbles out of his mouth. In his hand, the glass blade falls and shatters on the floor. Then, as his arm slumps to his side, Shep’s body wobbles slightly and collapses backwards.

Following the sound, I trace the trajectory. That’s when I see her, sitting up on the floor. Not unconscious… awake… Joey… The way the light shines behind her, all I see is her shadow. And the wisp of smoke that rises from her pistol.

She climbs to her feet, races for the wall, and smashes the butt of her gun against the glass case of the nearby fire alarm. The shrill alarm screams through the silence and within a minute, I hear sirens in the distance. Joey spins around and heads for my brother. Oh, jeez…

“Charlie!” I shout. “Charlie!” I try to sit up, but my whole arm is on fire. None of my fingers move. My body’s shaking as it goes into shock.

Back by the entrance, half a dozen Disney security guards come streaming into the warehouse. They all come running at me; Joey stays with my brother. “Please sit still, sir,” one of the guards says, holding my shoulders to keep me from squirming. Next to Charlie, four other guards kneel down, blocking my view.

“I can’t see him! Let me see!” I shout, straining my neck wildly. No one moves. They’re all focused on Shep’s lifeless body.

“He’s got V-tach! He needs mexiletine!” I scream in Joey’s direction. She’s doing CPR, but the more I thrash around, the more the room starts to turn. The world tumbles and somersaults on its side. My lifeless arm elongates like a rubberband above my head. The guard says something, but the only thing I hear is static. No, don’t pass out, I tell myself. I look up at the ceiling. It’s already too late. Life turns black and white, then quickly fades to gray. “Is he okay!? Tell me if he’s okay?” I yell at the top of my lungs.

Another dozen officers race into the warehouse. They’re all shouting static. And as gray blurs to pitch, lifeless black, I never get my answer.