Brad Meltzer - The Millionaires

“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.

“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.”