Brad Meltzer - The Millionaires

“Do you realize how easy this could’ve been!?” he yells.

I’m on my feet, but as I fight for equilibrium, he grabs my neck and tosses me back toward the parade floats. As I crash into the float that’s shaped like a train engine, hundreds of tiny Christmas lights shatter. I swing furiously to hit him back. He blocks my punch and lashes out even harder than before. “No more chances!” he shouts, raging toward me. “I want my money!”

With a violent pop and a neanderthal grunt, he plants his whole fist in my left eye. Then he pulls back and does it again. My eye twitches and burns, somehow moving by itself. It’s already swelling shut. “Tell me where it is, Oliver!” Shep growls as he pounds me once more. “Where’s my fuckin’ money!?”

Something wet runs down my cheek. In the background, I hear a gun go off in the other room. Then I hear my brother scream. I try to look over Shep’s shoulder to see what’s happening. But all I see is Shep’s fist, once again crashing toward me.

As Charlie tried to complete his swing, the gunshot thundered from Gillian’s gun. The bullet whistled through the dusty air. There was a quick sucking sound. A spurt of blood erupted from Charlie’s shoulderblade just as the broom stung Gillian in the hand and sent her gun sliding under the metal clothes rack. Charlie screamed. A snakebite of pain ran down to his elbow.

Feeling his left arm go numb, he gripped the broom in his right fist and squeezed it tight to kill the pain. Gillian reached down to chase the gun, but Charlie wasn’t letting her get there. Not after all this. As adrenaline took over, he raised the broom over his head and swung vertically toward the ground.

Jumping back out of the way, Gillian fell backwards into a row of costumes and tripped on the bar underneath. As she tumbled between the costumes, Charlie’s broomstick smashed against the concrete. Already feeling light-headed, he tried to raise the stick for another shot, but he didn’t have the strength. He gasped for air. His shoulder was dead at his side, pulsing with its own heartbeat. Reading the pained look on his face, Gillian kicked the legs of the rack and tipped the whole thing forward. Dozens of character heads – from Mickey to Pluto to Goofy – all rolled to the floor as the metal rack crashed between them.

Before Charlie could react, Gillian was back on her feet, plowing over the costumes. She tackled him around the waist and knocked the wind from his lungs. Lost in momentum, they barreled toward a spare laundry cart that sat against the far wall. Refusing to let up, Gillian rammed Charlie’s lower back into the metal edge of the cart, but at the pace they were moving – like a seesaw tipping – they went right over the top.

In mid-flip, though, their combined weight was too much, and the cart flipped forward, slamming Charlie to the floor. He landed on his back, his head banging hard against the ground. Gillian landed right on top of him, a pile of brightly colored costumes from the cart spilling over her shoulder.

Climbing up so she was sitting on Charlie’s chest, Gillian bunched the tips of her fingers together like a dull dagger and aimed for the open wound on Charlie’s shoulder. “Don’t black out on me,” she warned. She raised her arm back t-

A thunderbolt of a blast detonated in the other room. A gunshot. The echo rumbled along the metal walls of the warehouse.

Jolted, Gillian turned at the sound. That was all Charlie needed. Reaching up, he threw a single punch and plowed his fist into her neck. With Gillian off-balance, he turned on his stomach. Ten feet away – beyond the character heads wobbling along the floor – Charlie spotted the gun under the clothes rack. Scrambling on his elbows, he tried to reach it, but Gillian was still on his back. From behind, he felt a sudden shift in weight. A blur of orange and black fur flashed in front of him. And before he knew what was happening, something furry wrapped around his neck. Pulling Tigger’s tail like the reins on a horse, Gillian leaned back as far as she could.

Gasping for air, Charlie clawed at his neck, trying to wedge his fingers under the costume tail. That’s when he felt the wire. It was curled inside the tail – a thin metal spring, like a Slinky. On most days, it convinced thousands of kids that Tigger could really bounce. Today, as Gillian looped it around her hands and pulled it taut, all it did was dig deeper into Charlie’s throat.

Arching upward on his stomach and scratching ruthlessly at his own neck, Charlie twisted and turned, but Gillian wouldn’t let go. The more he bucked, the tighter she pulled, and the harder it was for Charlie to breathe. Gagging from the pressure, he felt the blood flood his face. He gritted his teeth, trying to suck in one last breath. Nothing came. Across his throat, the metal wire sliced against his Adam’s apple.

His nose started to bleed and a dribble of blood matched the one on his lip. In front of him, floating gray spots cartwheeled through the air. But even with his vision blurred… even with Gillian on his back… he couldn’t shake the mental picture of Oliver. Or his mom. Blinking back to consciousness, Charlie let go of the wire around his neck. Some strings had to be cut.

Across the floor, past Mickey’s and Pluto’s wobbling heads, he could still see the gun. It was too far. But there was one thing closer. With one final burst from his good arm, Charlie reached out, grabbed the leather strap that was attached to the inside of Pluto’s head, and turned as hard as he could on his side. The wire was still digging into his throat. This part would definitely hurt. Ignoring the burning against his neck, he twisted around, held the strap with everything in him, and swung Pluto’s head back toward Gillian. Arcing through the air, the head clipped her on the side of her face like a fifteen-pound cannonball and sent Gillian crashing to the floor.

As Charlie rolled over on his back, Gillian let go of Tigger’s tail, but she didn’t let up.

“ You’re a dead man !” she roared as Charlie coughed in a chestful of newfound air. She quickly climbed to her feet. Searching for balance, so did Charlie. But he still couldn’t catch his breath. Bent over with his shoulder throbbing, he could barely stand, much less hold off another attack. A thin stream of blood ran down from Gillian’s nose. “Feeling it now, aren’t you?” she asked.

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.