The Millionaires (53 page)

“
Charlie!
” I shout.

Twenty feet in front of me, a familiar blond mop-top juts out from behind the coonskin cap kiosk. Charlie! “
Charlie!
” I call out, waving both hands over my head.

Get down!
he motions, patting the air, palms downward.

What’re you—?

Get down! Now!

He looks back across the street and I follow his gaze—through the mob—on the far corner of the Pecos Bill Cafe. I spot the
two dark suits that stand out amidst the Mickey Mouse T-shirt crowd. And then they spot me.

Gallo’s eyes narrow into a jet black glare. Shoving his way between a young couple, he plows into the crowd. DeSanctis is
right behind him.

Y
ou had to yell, didn’t you?” Charlie asks as Gillian and I blow past the kiosk.

“Me? I wasn’t the one who—” I cut myself off and focus back on Gallo. Across the street, he’s fighting through the heart of
the throng. And we’re almost out of running room. In front of us, the road dead-ends at a waist-high swinging wooden gate.
On our left, Gallo pushes even closer.

“Down here,” Gillian says, pointing to the right.

Charlie shakes his head. It doesn’t matter if it’s the best path; he’s not giving her the chance. With a sharp tug, he pulls
open the wooden gate and runs up what looks like the incline of an asphalt driveway. He’s headed straight for a green wooden
wall that surrounds the whole park. It has to be at least eight feet high. There’s no way we’re climbing over this one.

“Is he nuts?” Gillian asks.

“Charlie… stop!” I shout, chasing after him. “It’s a dead end!” As he clears the highest point of the driveway, the road slopes
down toward the green wall. From where I’m running—just inside the gate—he’s got nowhere to go. “Get out of there!” I yell.
Charlie keeps going.

But as I hit the peak of the driveway, I finally see what’s got his attention. I didn’t notice it at first—the small sign
on the wall that says “Cast Members Only.”

“Whoa,” Gillian says as she spots it for herself.

We couldn’t see it from the front gate—the angle was all wrong. But as we clear the highest part of the incline, it’s obvious
that what looks like a single wall is actually two walls that overlap, but never meet up. Charlie steps forward, makes a sharp
right, and disappears. It’s not a dead-end—just another optical illusion.

Following behind Charlie, I zigzag through the gap and run down a long, paved driveway. It’s like being on a back lot—the
park fades behind us and all its colors and music are replaced by concrete grays and a creaky silence. Next to us, a compact,
green building reeks something fierce, making it blatantly obvious where Disney tucks its garbage. At first, Charlie runs
toward it—if we plan on walking away from this, he knows we have to get out of sight—but the stench keeps him on the driveway,
racing down toward the back of the lot.

Up ahead, it doesn’t get much better. The closest buildings are a few scattered construction trailers, and an old warehouse
with a faded blue sign that says “Magic Kingdom Decorating.”

“The trailers…” Gillian says.

Charlie goes right for the warehouse. A few steps ahead of me, he spins around to check if Gallo’s made it through the gate.
That’s when I see the pain on his face. He’s as gray as the concrete, completely drained. Gillian and I start catching up.
Even
with
his medication, he can’t keep up this pace.

Just a few more feet, bro—almost there.

Outside the warehouse, fifteen parade floats are parked in three neat rows under a rusted, metal awning. The smell of fresh
paint surrounds us, and next to the glittering, shiny floats, dozens of empty paint cans tell us where everyone is. It’s drying
time. No one’s around.

Rushing past the floats, we duck into the gaping mouth of the warehouse’s enormous garage door. Inside it’s like a giant airplane
hangar—skyscraper ceiling, arched roof, and plenty of dark, dusty space—but instead of planes, it’s packed with more floats.
Five rows of them fill the entire righthand side of the hangar, but unlike the painted ones out front, these are all covered
with tightly strung Christmas lights. Disney’s Electric Light Parade. At night, it’s all lit up. In the shadows of the warehouse—alone
in the dark—it’s dead and lifeless. I already don’t like this place.

On the left, cluttered along the floor, it’s a mess of leftover storage: giant rocking horses, an oversized treasure chest
from
Aladdin,
two rolling popcorn carts, chandeliers, and even a few disco balls that’re stacked up in the corner.

Wasting no time, all three of us scout for hiding spots and—

There’s a muffled running in the distance.

Charlie and I lock eyes. He scrambles to the left; Gillian tugs me to the right. I go to fight, but Gallo’s too close. Time
to get out of sight. Stumbling behind Gillian, I hide behind a huge float that’s shaped like Cinderella’s coach; Charlie ducks
into a storage closet against the wall. He shuts the door behind himself. And right there, my brother’s gone.

Don’t ever pull me like that again!
I glare at Gillian.

She doesn’t care. She’s still focused on Gallo. “Did he see us?” she whispers, crouched down behind the float.

Quiet!
I motion with a finger in front of my lips. Outside, the rumbling gets louder. Bent down and peeking diagonally between the
wheels of the coach, I see Gallo’s and DeSanctis’s tall shadows stretch out across the floor of the entrance. Gallo’s arm
slithers into his jacket and he pulls his gun.

As DeSanctis follows him inside, neither of them makes a noise. They may be killers, but they’re still Secret Service. Gallo
motions toward his partner and they slowly pick apart the room. They’re slow, methodical. They go for the hiding spots first:
the treasure chest from
Aladdin.
A giant teapot that looks like it’s on wheels. Gallo flips open the chest. DeSanctis flings open the door on the side of
the teapot. Both are empty. Like alley cats stalking dinner, they move deeper into the warehouse, circling around and slowly
devouring every detail. They’re trying to dig around our heads… figure out where we—

Gallo points to the closet.

My whole body goes numb.

DeSanctis nods with a know-it-all smirk. Approaching the door, he holds up three fingers. On three.

Gallo points his gun at the closet.

One
…

I reach under the back of my jacket and pull out the gun we took from Gallo in the train station.

Two
…

DeSanctis grabs the knob on the closet. I silently creep down the aisle, toward the front of the floats. Gillian looks at
me like I’m crazed, but there’s no way I’m letting them—

Three
…

DeSanctis pulls on the door, but it barely budges. Charlie’s holding it from the inside. “They’re in there,” DeSanctis says.
He pulls again and it clamps shut.

“You’re only making it worse!” Gallo warns.

Fighting with the door, DeSanctis is raging.

“Enough of this,” Gallo says, pushing his partner out of the way. He raises his gun to the doorknob and fires two quick shots.
I go to scream, but nothing comes out.

With one final tug, DeSanctis rips the door open. A bent folding chair dangles from the inside doorknob—and then goes crashing
to the floor. I angle my head, struggling to see the rest of the damage… praying to hear Charlie’s voice. But all I get is
silence.

“What the hell is this?” Gallo asks, confused as he stares into the closet.

It’s not until DeSanctis steps aside that I finally see what they’re looking at: the dark-tiled floor… the electrical boxes
along the walls… and no sign of Charlie. There’s another door that’s already open on the other side. It’s not a closet. It’s
a room. A room that connects to the other half of the building. I laugh to myself and my eyes well up. Go, Charlie, go!

DeSanctis and Gallo rush in after him. I spin around to share the news with Gillian. But just as I do, I step on a stray Christmas
light that’s hanging off the side of the float. There’s a sharp crack and I freeze in place. Crap.

“What was that?” Gallo asks.

I duck down and search the aisle for Gillian. She’s not there.

“You coming?” DeSanctis asks.

“I’ll be there in a sec,” Gallo says as he turns back toward the parade floats. “I just want to check something out.”

H
e decided to wait for the little girl to stop crying. Tucked back on the wood porch of the Pecos Bill Cafe, there was no sense
calling attention to himself. And as long as the little girl across the street kept screaming—as long as she and her consoling
mom were blocking the swinging gate that Gallo and DeSanctis had just ducked behind—he wasn’t going anywhere. Of course, there
was something to be said for taking it slow. From here on in, there was no reason to rush. Oliver and Charlie… Gallo and DeSanctis…
he found them earlier—he’d find them again. Last time, all he had to do was wait around the corner from DACS. He knew they’d
come running by. Just like Gillian had said.

He grinned to himself at the thought of it.
Gillian.
Where’d she get that name anyway? Shrugging it off, he didn’t much care about the answer. As long as they got their money,
she could call herself whatever she wanted.

Scanning the crowd, he kept tabs on every stray glance and every lingering look. He didn’t like being alone in Disney World.
If he were younger, maybe, but at his age—without kids—it was a guaranteed way to stand out. And right now, standing out was
the last thing he wanted to do. Eventually, he hopped off the porch, shoved a hand in his pocket, and calmly headed across
the street with the purposefulness of someone rejoining his family. In front of the swinging fence, the little girl had stopped
crying. And the crowd had stopped staring.

“I’m sorry—are we in your way?” the mother of the girl asked, kneeling down and wiping her daughter’s nose.

“Not at all,” the man said with a friendly nod. Stepping around them, he opened the fence and crossed inside. As it closed
behind him, he never looked back.

I
squat down behind the Cinderella coach float, and the door to the closet slams shut. In the distance, I hear Gallo slowly
spin around. His shoes scrape like glass against the pavement, then pound like a dinosaur against the warehouse floor. He
lumbers and limps slowly. Just waiting for a sniff of my reaction.

I don’t give him one.

“I know you’re here,” Gallo calls out, his voice echoing up the aisles. Thanks to the enormous ceiling, it’s like shouting
in a canyon. “So who am I with?” he asks, still facing my direction. “Charlie… or Oliver?”

Across the room, three or four aisles down, there’s another snap and a quick shuffle of footsteps. Gillian’s moving.

“So there’re two of you in here?” Gallo asks. “Am I really that lucky?”

Neither of us answers.

“Okay, I’ll play along,” he says, taking a step in my direction. “If it’s two of you… and one’s alone in the other room, well…
I know I don’t got Oliver and Charlie. She’d never let that happen. On top of that, I saw who was odd man out in Duckworth’s
backyard…”