The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [160]
79
The first thing DeSanctis noticed were the heads. There were two when he walked in—Goofy’s and the Mad Hatter’s. Neither was attached to a torso; they were just two colorful costume heads lying lifeless on the bright white linoleum floor. From the small folding table that was knocked over, DeSanctis knew where they’d fallen from. That much was simple. The hard part was seeing where it led. Exiting the closet and stepping into the hallway that ran perpendicular to it, he held his gun with both hands. On his right, toward the back, was a rolling laundry cart. Straight ahead was another room that smelled like bleach. On his left was the front door to the building, the easiest way out.
DeSanctis headed for the door, but as he tried to pull it open, the single deadbolt was locked. He took a quick scan for windows or other doors. Nothing that led outside. Wherever Charlie was, he was still here. Hiding. Turning around, DeSanctis raised his gun and studied the long white hallway. There were a few yellow gym lockers along the walls, the knocked-over folding table up ahead, and the same rolling laundry cart in the back. Through the walls, he could hear Gallo’s muffled shouts at Oliver. On his left, next to the folding table, was the room with the bleach smell. On his right, past the maintenance closet, was a room he must’ve missed. Those were the only choices. One room on his right; one on his left.
As he learned in training, when choosing between the two, the majority of the population favors their right. Of course, this was Charlie. DeSanctis started on the left, where the door to the bleach room was slightly ajar. As carefully as possible, he used the tip of his shoe to edge the door open—just enough so he could peek in between the gap by the hinges. He angled his head to double-check. Nothing there.
He nudged the door open further and slowly inched his way into the room, finger still on the trigger. His back was against the doorjamb as he slid around it. Inside, he aimed his gun at the only thing in the room: an industrial-sized washer and dryer that took up most of the back wall. The machines were as big as DeSanctis had ever seen. Big enough to hide in.
With his gun cocked straight in front of him, he carefully crept toward the closed metal door of the washing machine. Over his shoulder, he could still hear Gallo shouting at Oliver. Letting it fade, he pulled back the hammer on his gun and carefully reached for the handle on the washer door. Leaning in, he didn’t make a sound. The sharp stench of bleach filled the air. Just as his fingertips hooked around the handle, the washer sprang to life with a loud motorized whir, churning into its next cycle. DeSanctis jumped back at the noise, but as the machine flipped from Soak to Spin, he raced forward and tugged the door open. A pile of colorful clothes tumbled to the floor with a wet smack. Green leotards… bright red Santa pants… red, white, and blue skirts. Nothing but costumes.
Kicking them aside, he slammed the door shut and headed straight for the dryer. Again, he cocked his gun. Again, he pulled open the door. And again, he found nothing but a pile of bright multicolored costumes. Without a word, he angrily tossed a fistful of clothes to the floor.
Reentering the hall, he was about to cross into the next room when he noticed the one thing that was out of place. Up the hallway. Against the wall. The rolling laundry cart that was in the center of the hall… was now on the right. Something moved. Or someone moved it.
DeSanctis grinned and edged sideways up the hallway. Not smart, Charlie-boy… not smart at all, he thought to himself as he pointed his gun at the cart. But as he finally got in close—as he stretched his neck to peek inside the cart—he realized it was empty. Still, carts