The Millionaires (49 page)

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.

I
’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,” Truman said as he escorted Joey back into the main lobby of Neowerks.

“No, you’ve been great,” Joey said, tapping her pocket notepad against the palm of her hand. On the top sheet, she had written
Walter Harvey
and
Sonny Rollins
—Oliver’s and Charlie’s fake names. “So after you spoke to your co-workers, you could still only identify one of the photos?”

“Arthur Stoughton,” Truman agreed. “But when I came back to tell Ducky’s daughter, she and the two guys said their thanks
and disappeared.” Scratching nervously at his bushy hair, he added, “I only did it because I thought they were Ducky’s friends…”

Joey knew that tone. She could see it in his manic movements—even the way he glanced at the receptionist behind the shiny
black desk. “You don’t have to worry, sir—you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No… no, of course. I’m just saying…” His voice faded. “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Lemont.”

“You too—but only if you call me Joey.”

Truman forced a polite laugh, offered a fast handshake, and just as quickly scurried back to his office.

As the door shut behind him, Joey took a second glance at the receptionist, who didn’t look up… even though it was her job.

Joey went straight for the shiny black desk. “Can I ask you a quick question?” From her purse, she pulled out two photos—one
of Charlie and Oliver, and the other of Gillian and Duckworth. She slid them onto the desk, then placed her dad’s badge next
to them.

Lowering the magazine to her lap, the receptionist stared down at the photos and silently studied. “They’re not rapists, are
they?” she eventually asked.

“No, they’re not rapists,” Joey said in her most comforting voice. “We just want to ask them a few questions.”

“You know they have different color hair, right?” she asked, still staring at the photos.

“We know,” Joey offered. “We’re trying to figure out where they went from here.”

“You mean
after
the library?”

“Exactly—
after the library,
” Joey replied, nodding like she knew it was coming. “Which reminds me—what library was that again…?”

* * * *

Hearing the familiar beep as he pulled back onto the Florida Turnpike, he flipped his cell phone open and saw the words
New Message
on the digital screen. Assuming it was Gallo or DeSanctis, he calmly dialed the number for his voicemail.

“You have one new message,” the computerized voice said. “To listen to your message—”

He pushed a button on the phone’s keypad and waited for the message to play.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you picking up?” a female voice asked. The man grinned as soon as he heard Gillian. “I just spoke
with Gallo,” she explained. “He was happy to hear about Disney, but he’s definitely getting suspicious. I’m telling you, the
man’s no moron—it doesn’t take two blenders to the head to know what’s going on. Whatever you told him at the start, he sees
the chessboard moving. Anyway, I know you wanted to throw him and DeSanctis a bone, but from where I’m standing, it’s two
against one. So if you really plan on pulling this off, it’s time to get your ass up here and help me out. Okay? Okay.”

As the message faded, he hit
Delete,
slapped the phone shut, and put his foot on the gas. He was trying to stay away as long as he could, but like he always said
back at the bank, some things required a personal touch.

* * * *

“Whattya want?” Gallo asked as he picked up his cell phone.

“Agent Gallo, this is Officer Jim Evans with the Florida Highway Patrol—we just got a hit on that blue Volkswagen you were
looking for. Apparently, it’s registered to a Martin Duckworth—”

“I told
you
it was registered to Duckworth.”

There was a pause on the other line. “You want the info or not,
sir?
” Evans challenged.

This time, Gallo was the one who stayed silent. “Tell me what you got,” he finally said as he and DeSanctis raced up the Turnpike.
He could hear Evans’s quiet gloating on the other line.

“We put the name in SunPass, just to take a look,” Evans began. “Apparently, about forty minutes ago, a pass registered to
a Martin Duckworth went through at Cypress Creek.”

“Which direction?”

“Headed north,” the officer said. “If you want, I can send a few cars out—”

“Don’t touch ’em!” Gallo shouted. “Understand? They’re CIs—confidential informants—”

“I know what a CI is.”

“Then you know I want ’em left alone!”

“Do what you want,” Evans blasted. “Just remember you’re the ones who contacted us.” With a click, the line went dead.

Next to Gallo, DeSanctis shook his head. “I still don’t think you should’ve called that one in.”

“It was worth it.”

“Why? Just to confirm she was going north?”

“No, to confirm she wasn’t going south.”

Nodding to himself, DeSanctis rubbed the back of his head, where a thin white bandage covered the still throbbing cut Gillian
had given him earlier. “You really think she’s turning on us?”

“It’s definitely a possibility…”

“What about you-know-who?”

“Don’t even say it,” Gallo interrupted. “She said he flew in this morning.”

“And you believe her?”

“I don’t believe anyone,” Gallo said. “Not after all this—I mean, how does he put her in the house and not even tell us? What
the hell is that?”

“I have no idea—I just want to make sure we still get our cash.”

“Don’t worry… when all’s said and done and it’s time to split the baby, I guarantee we’ll be taking a few extra arms and legs.”

* * * *

“This one?” Joey asked, pointing to the middle computer.

“No, to the left,” the woman behind the reference desk answered.

“Your left or mine?”

The librarian stopped a moment. “Yours,” she answered.

On the fifth floor of the Broward County Library, Joey walked past the row of computers and approached the one on the far
end. The one that—according to the sign-up sheet—had just recently been used by a Mr. Sonny Rollins. From the three chairs
that were gathered in front of the desk, Joey knew which one it was as soon as she walked in, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t
double-check. Just to be safe.

“There you go—that’s it,” the librarian called out.

Pushing the two other chairs aside, Joey took a seat in the center one. Onscreen was the homepage for the Broward County Li-brary—“Broward’s
Information Gateway” it said in black letters. Wasting no time, she moved the cursor to the button marked
History,
the computer equivalent of looking at an itemized long-distance telephone bill. She gave it a quick click and watched as
a full list loaded in front of her. It had every website the computer visited in the last twenty days, including the last
page viewed by Charlie and Oliver. Starting at the top, she clicked on the most recent.

Mickey and Pluto popped onscreen.
Disney.com—Where the Magic Lives Online.

“What the hell is this?” she thought to herself.

She clicked the next on the list and found more of the same.
About Disney.com… Executive Bios… Executive Bios for Arthur Stoughton…

Arthur Stoughton?

A high-pitched ring erupted and Joey reached for her cell phone. Every person on the fifth floor turned her way. “Sorry—my
bad,” she waved to the onlookers as she stuffed her earpiece in place.

“You still at the library?” Noreen asked in her ear.

“What do you think?” Joey whispered.

“Well, get ready to shout, because I just got off the phone with your friend Fudge, who just got off the phone with some woman
named Gladys, who just happens to be friends with another woman who is absolutely less than satisfied with the way her boss
talks down to her at the Florida Highway Patrol.”

“This better be good,” Joey said.

“Oh, it’s good. Let me put it to you like this: For a mere five hundred bucks, Gladys’s friend happily put the word
Duckworth
into their computer system…”

“And…?”

“And she quickly found out that a SunPass registered to Martin Duckworth was last used going north on the Florida Turnpike.”

“North?” Directly in front of her, Joey stared at the official website for Disney, the number one tourist attraction in Orlando.
North on the Turnpike.

Springing out of her seat, Joey made a mad dash for the elevator.

“What’re you doing now?” Noreen asked, hearing the noise.

“Noreen… I’m going to Disney World.”

I
t’s the sign that does it to me. Not the green-and-white highway signs that take us off the Turnpike and onto I-4, or the
brown-and-white directional signs that twist and turn us along World Drive. All this time, Charlie, Gillian, and I have been
relatively calm. Small talk in the car, hunting for stations on the radio, staring out the window for our first glimpse of
the park. It’s just a typical trip to Disney World. But as the pink, purple, and blue sign rises in the distance… as the enormous
blue letters arch across the eight lanes of perfectly paved road… as the stylized words “Magic Kingdom” come into focus and
the car passes directly under them, all three of us crane our necks skyward and stay deadman silent. Gillian’s mouth gapes
open.Charlie’s huff-and-puff breathing gets loud enough for me to notice. And the tightened excitement in my own chest feels
like an elephant stepping on my heart.

I look back at Charlie just to make sure he’s okay. He puts on a smile I know is fake. I give him one right back. We did the
exact same thing the first time we were here, when he was excited to puke on the Mad Hatter’s teacup ride, and I was scared
of meeting Captain Hook. Sixteen years later, I’m tired of being scared.

* * * *

We’re stalking Snow White. Watching the way she moves and who she talks to. I lean back against the wall. Gillian’s next to
me, pretending to make chitchat. Charlie, more nervous than usual, flutters in and out around the crowd. But all we do is
stare… study… make our mental notes. Naturally, Snow White has no idea we’re there—and as we stick to the shadows behind Cinderella’s
Castle, neither do the autograph-seeking kids and photograph-snapping parents who currently surround her. Right now, the swarming
crowd is six kids deep, which makes her hard to miss.

From the moment we entered the park, we were hunting for characters. Up Main Street, through the castle, and straight into
Fantasyland. But it wasn’t until we heard the six-year-old shriek behind us—“Mom,
look!
”—that we spun around and saw the instacrowd. There she was at the center of the storm: Snow White, the fairest of them all.
To the kids, she appeared out of nowhere. To us, well… that’s the whole point. If you want to find the employee tunnel, you
have to start with the employees.