The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [169]
“Thanks,” Shep says as he goes to take it. There’s no fear in his voice. He’s perfectly calm. They’re close enough to touch. Neither one backs off. I can see it on Joey’s face—he’s passed her test. But just as he reaches for the phone—as their palms brush against each other—Shep widens his grip, seizes the phone and Joey’s whole hand, and thrusts both their fists and the phone against Joey’s face. It’s all so fast, I barely realize what’s happening. Joey staggers backwards as the phone cracks against the floor. Joey tries to lift her gun, but Shep never gives her a chance.
Lashing out with another punch, he buries his fist in her face and she reflexively pulls the trigger. There’s a loud bang as the stray shot ricochets off the concrete, making a pinhole in the metal wall. Joey crumbles to the floor, unconscious. Her head hits the pavement with a hollow thunk. Standing over her, Shep reaches for his own gun to finish the job.
“Get away from her!” I shout, tackling Shep from behind. It’s like tackling a motor-home. I plow into him, but he barely budges. I don’t have a prayer. He whips around, backhanding me so hard across the face I almost black out.
“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.
86
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