The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [121]
“Hurry!” Charlie calls out, one leg already straddled on the other side the wall.
“The car’s this way,” Gillian says, yanking me back to the right.
I look both ways, but the answer’s simple. “Charlie, wait!” I shout as I race toward my brother.
“Are you crazy—this way’s safer!” Gillian insists, refusing to give in.
I don’t even pause.
“I’m serious,” she adds. “You leave now, you’re on your own.” It’s a great threat, but even Gillian doesn’t want to run by herself. Shaking her head as she pounds the cement, she falls in right behind me.
“C’mon, they’ll be up in a second!” Charlie yells, sliding his other leg over. Shifting his weight to his arms, he pushes off from the wall and disappears.
“Just wait a—” It’s too late. He’s already gone.
Hopping on the lounge chair, I crane my neck over the wall to make sure he’s okay. But just as I spot Charlie on the other side, a single shot explodes down the block. Two inches to my left, the top of the wall shatters in a violent burst, spraying concrete shards in every direction. It’s like a kick of sand in the face. Squinting, I try to see through the storm. Over the wall and down the street, Gallo limps as quick as he can around the corner, his gun aimed right at me.
“Get down!” Charlie screams.
A second shot rings out.
I duck below the ledge completely off-balance and tumble from the lounge chair to the ground. Flat on my ass, I stare straight at the wall that separates me from my brother.
“Oliver!?” Charlie calls.
“Run!” I shout back. “Get out of there!”
“Not until you’re—”
“Go, Charlie! Now!”
No time to debate. I hear the rumbling of his shoes against the grass as he takes off. Gallo can’t be far behind him.
Scrambling to my feet, I pull the gun from the back of my pants and study the wall as if I could see through it. Gillian lightly touches my back. “Is he—?”
A third shot rings out, cutting her off. Then a fourth. My heart contracts and I stare at the wall. Holding my breath, I shut my eyes, trying to hear footsteps. There’s a muffled tapping in the distance. Please, God, let it be Charlie.
I scratch to look up over the wall, but Gillian tugs me in the opposite direction. “We should get out of here,” she insists, pulling me back. When I don’t move, she adds, “Please, Oliver…”
“I’m not leaving him.”
“Listen to me—you go back up there, you might as well paint a target on your forehead. Charlie’ll be fine—he’s got ten times the speed of Gallo.”
“I’m not leaving him,” I repeat.
“No one said anything about leaving—but if we don’t get out of here—”
A fifth shot thunders up the block. Jolted by the sound, we both crouch down.
“How far is your car?” I ask.
“Follow me.” She grabs my hand and we run back across the open patios. Halfway there, we race past the sliding glass door to Gillian’s bedroom—which is exactly when DeSanctis’s hand flies out and latches on to Gillian’s curly black hair.
“Ready for Round Two?” DeSanctis asks, looking way too wobbly.
The right side of his face is covered in blood—and before he can even step outside, Gillian wheels around and pounds her knee into his testicles. He drops to the ground, I pound him with the butt of the gun, and we continue running to the far end of the backyard. As we reach the wall, it looks like a mirror image of the one Charlie went over—that is, until I glance to my left and see the black metal gate that’s cut into the wall. Taped to the bars is an index card stuffed into a sealed plastic Baggie: Do Not Lock—For Fire, it says in handwritten chicken scrawl.
Grabbing the bars, Gillian yanks open the gate. It slams with a clang behind us and dumps us in the parking lot of a low-rise apartment complex. We make a sharp left the instant we hit the street.
“Over here,” she says, hopping inside her blue Beetle, which is parked under a tree.
With a flick of her wrist, she starts the car. I’m looking over my shoulder for DeSanctis. “Go, go, go…”
“Which way?” she asks.
“Straight ahead. We’ll find