The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [32]
I fight my way onto the already overstuffed subway car, where I’m smashed between a Hispanic woman in a puffy gray ski jacket, and a balding man in a flasher overcoat. As the train makes its way downtown, the crowd slowly begins to thin and a few seats actually open. Indeed, when I transfer at Bleecker and pick up the D train at the Broadway-Lafayette stop, all the downtown fashion plates wearing black shoes, black jeans, and black leather jackets make their way off. It’s not the last stop before we head to Brooklyn, but it is the last cool stop.
Enjoying the extra space on the car, I lean up against a nearby metal pole. It’s the first time since I left the office that I actually catch my breath—that is, until I see who’s waiting for me at the far end of the car—the man hiding behind the Wall Street Journal.
Without the crowds and the distance, it’s easy to give him the quick once-over. That’s all I need. I plow toward him without even thinking. He lifts the paper a little higher, but it’s too late. With a sharp swipe, I rip it from his hands and reveal who’s been stalking me for the past fifteen minutes. “What the hell are you doing here, Charlie?”
My brother ekes out a playful grin, but it doesn’t help.
“Answer me!” I demand.
Charlie looks up, almost impressed. “Wow—the full Starsky & Hutch. What if I was a spy… or a man with a hook?”
“I saw your shoes, dimwit—now what do you think you’re doing?”
Pointing with his chin, Charlie motions to the crowd in the car, all of whom are now staring. Before I can react, he slips out from under me, heads to the other end of the subway car, and invites me to follow. As we pass, a few people look up, but only for a second. Typical New York.
“Now you want to tell me what this is about, or should I just add it to your ever-growing list of stupid moves?” I scold as we continue to move through the train.
“Ever-growing?” he asks, weaving his way through the crowd. “I don’t know what you’re—?”
“With Shep,” I snarl, feeling the vein throb in my forehead. “How could you give him our final location?”
Turning my way, but refusing to slow down, Charlie waves a hand through the air as if it’s an absurd question. “C’mon, Oliver—you’re still in a huff over that?”
“Dammit, Charlie, enough with the jokes,” I say, chasing after him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I mean, do you ever actually stop and think about the consequences, or do you just jump off the cliff, content with being the town idiot?”
At the far end of the car, he stops dead in his tracks and turns around, glaring straight at me. “Do I look that stupid to you?”
“Well, considering what you—”
“I didn’t give him anything,” Charlie growls in a low whisper. “He has no idea where it is.”
I pause as the train skids into Grand Street—the last subway stop in Manhattan. The moment the doors open, dozens of hunched-over Chinese men and women flood the car carrying pink plastic shopping bags that reek of fresh fish. Chinatown for groceries—then on the subway, back to Brooklyn. “What’re you talking about?” I ask.
“When I showed him the Red Sheet… I pointed to the wrong bank. On purpose, Ollie.” Stepping in close, he adds, “I gave him some random place in Antigua where we have nothing. Not even a shiny dime. Of course—and this is really the best part—you were so busy yelling, he believed every word.” It takes me a second to process. “Don’t have a brain blow, Oliver. I’m not letting anyone take our cash.”
With a sharp tug, he tries to slide open the service door between the two subway cars. It’s locked. Annoyed, he cuts around me, heading back exactly the way we came. Before I can say