The Millionaires (58 page)

His breathing sputtered, and his mouth hung open, sucking in air. He knew he couldn’t take another hit.

Unsure of what to do, he thought about running… He searched for the door and then—No. Enough running.

Planting his feet, he turned back to Gillian and tightened his grip on the leather strap. She rushed toward him in a rabid
rage. Unmoving, Charlie arched his arm back. His eyes narrowed. He was holding the strap so tight, his nails were digging
into his palm.
Not yet… not yet,
he counted to himself. She was almost on top of him.
Now!

Pushing off his back leg and throwing all his weight into it, Charlie swung for the bleachers. Like an ancient mace on a metal
chain, the fifteen-pound head tore through the air. There was a loud pop as it bashed into Gillian’s ear. The graphite head
cracked on impact, sending a lightning-shaped fissure across Pluto’s eyes—and sending Gillian straight to the floor. She crash-landed
on the concrete, right at Charlie’s feet. This time, she didn’t get up. But as Charlie finally took a breath, he felt a familiar
ripple inside his chest. Lurching forward, he let go of the leather strap. He had to. He couldn’t hold on. Pluto’s head thunked
on the ground, and Charlie staggered sideways as a needle of pain stabbed him through the heart.

He crashed into a clothing rack, knocking another set of costumes to the ground. His heart bubbled and thumped. It felt like
there was a bag of worms twisting inside his chest.
Please… not now
… he begged. Turning to run for Oliver, he gripped the costume racks and fought his way down the aisle, past the wooden folding-screen.
The worms multiplied, clamping around his windpipe.

“Hhhh—” A sharp wheeze climbed through his throat. “Hhhhh—” Charlie gasped for air as his heartbeat quickened, then started
pounding. Faster and faster, it was a drumroll inside his chest. He shut his eyes… felt for his pulse…
God
… it was at full gallop…

“O-Ollie…” he called out as his voice cracked. “
Ollie!
” Stumbling back along the main hallway, he crashed through the utility closet, set his shaking hand on the doorknob, and
tugged the door open. All he had to do was step through. He held on to the wall and tried to pull himself forward. It seemed
so close, but it somehow kept moving away… He felt his neck soaking. The worms squirmed, digging and squeezing like a fist
around his heart. Charlie tried to breathe, but nothing came in. Through the doorway, Oliver and Shep were fighting.
Shep!
Now he knew it was a dream. Still, as Charlie looked on…
Ollie
… Ollie was winning. The tears flooded his eyes as Shep and Ollie both disappeared.
You got ’em, bro
… The fist tightened, gripping his heart. His whole face clenched to fight the pressure. It was about to pop. And then… as
he sagged to his knees… it did.

“Ollie…” he stuttered with one last wheeze. He tried to add a goodbye—but as his face hit concrete—it never came.

O
liver, 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.

J
ust like Charlie predicted, it’s the staring that’s the worst. Forget the whispering, and the unsubtle pointing, and even
the way they walk past me as the gossip burns its way through the office. All those I can live with. But as I sit in the oh-so-pristine
first-floor conference room and gaze through the plate glass window that separates me from my former bank co-workers, I can’t
help but feel like the monkey in the zoo. Scurrying through the maze of rolltop desks, they’re trying their best to play it
cool. But each time one of them passes—each time someone steps off the elevator, or races to the copy machine, or even sits
back at their desk—their head turns for a split second and they hit me with that stare: part curiosity, part moral judgment.
Some pepper it with shame; others add a smidgen of disgust.

It’s been two weeks since the news hit, but this is their first chance to actually see it for themselves. And even though
most of them have made up their minds, there are still a few who want to know if it’s true. Those are the hardest ones to
face. Whatever else Charlie and I did to save the day, it still was never our money.

For almost a full hour, I sit there and take the beating of their stares and whispers and awkward pointing. I try to make
eye contact, but that’s when they look away. On most days, only the lowest of the worker bees are caught in the hive of rolltop
desks by the front entrance. Today, by the end of the first half-hour, almost every employee in the bank has found an excuse
to come down and check out the monkey behind the glass. That’s why they put me here in the first place. If they wanted to
make it easy, they could’ve snuck me through the rock star entrance around back and whisked me upstairs in the private elevator.
Instead, they’ve decided to put on a show and remind me that my private elevator days are over. Like everything at Greene
& Greene, it’s all about perception.

The traffic peaks when Lapidus and Quincy finally make their entrance. They don’t say anything to me directly. Everything’s
done through their lawyer—a nasty mosquito with a high-pitched drone. He tells me that they’re withholding my final paycheck
until the full investigation is complete, that my health benefits are terminated effective immediately, that they’ll seek
legal recourse if I contact any current or former bank clients, and as a cherry on top, that they’ll be contacting the SEC
and the banking regulatory agencies with the hope that it’ll stop me from working at any other bank in the future.

“Fine,” I say. “Are you done?”

The lawyer looks to Lapidus and Quincy. Both nod.