The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [131]
“Alec Truman,” he announces, clearly excited to introduce himself. “Sonny Rollins, huh? Like the jazz guy.”
“Exactly,” Charlie says, already unnerved. “Just like the jazz guy.”
“Listen, Mr. Truman,” Gillian jumps in. “I appreciate you taking the time to come out and—”
“My honor… it’s my honor,” he insists. “I’m telling you, we still miss him here. I’m just sorry I can’t stay long—I’m right in the middle of this bug hunt, and—”
“Actually, we just had one quick question we were hoping you could help us with,” I interrupt. Reaching into my jacket pocket, I take out the horizontal photo strip. If these headshots belong to people who helped with Duckworth’s original invention, we’re hoping this is the guy who’ll know. “Do any of these faces look familiar to you?” I ask Truman.
His face lights up like a kid eating crayons. “I know that one,” he blurts, pointing to the salt-and-pepper-haired older man in the first photo. “Arthur Stoughton.” Reading our confused looks, he adds, “He used to be with us over at Imagineering—now he runs their Internet group.”
“So you were at Disney too?” Gillian asks.
“How’d you think I met your pop?” Truman says playfully. “When your dad left and came here, I followed two years later. He was the front line—first in; least paid.”
“And what about this guy Stoughton?” I ask, pointing to the picture. “Did you guys all work together?”
“With Stoughton?” Truman laughs. “We should be so lucky… No, he was the old VP of Imagineering—even before he went to Disney.com, he didn’t have time for grunts like us.” As he says the words, he catches himself and looks at Gillian. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to… your dad was great, but they never gave us a chance to—”
“It’s okay—it’s fine,” Gillian offers, refusing to get off-subject.
“What about the other people in the photos?” Charlie leaps in.
Truman takes a long look. “Sorry, they’re strangers to me.”
“Are they even Disney people?” I ask.
“Or someone from here?” Charlie adds.
“Or are they just people he used to be friends with?” Gillian pushes.
Stepping back at the onslaught of questions, Truman goes to say something… then hesitates. Pulling away, he adds, “I really should get going…”
“Wait!” Gillian and I shout simultaneously.
Truman freezes. None of us moves. That’s it. He’s officially wigged out. “Nice meeting you,” he says as he hands me the photos.
“Please,” Gillian begs. Her voice cracks; her hand reaches out to hold his wrist. “We found the photos in dad’s drawer… and now that he’s gone… we just want to know who they are…” Letting the thought dig deep, she adds, “It’s all we have.”
Glancing over at Charlie, then back to me, Truman’s dying to walk away. But as he looks down at Gillian’s hand holding his wrist… as his eyes lock with hers… even he can’t help himself. “If you wait out here, maybe I can take the photos inside and see if anyone knows the other three.”
“Perfect—that’d be perfect,” Gillian sings.
Holding the photos and promising to bring them right back, Truman heads for the main entrance behind the receptionist. I’m tempted to follow—that is, until I see the security keypad that’s clearly designed to keep us out. It’s the same as the one they had at Five Points, except here, there’s a digital screen—like a small TV—built into the wall above the keypad. Just as Truman approaches, the screen blinks on, and nine blue square boxes appear like a telephone touchpad. But instead of numbers, each of the boxes fills with one human face, making it look like the opening credits of The Brady Bunch.Even with Truman’s shoulder blocking our view, we still see the reflection off the polished black walls.
Touching his pointer finger to the screen,