“I’ll take my chances,” Oliver replied.
With a soft toss, Joey lobbed her pistol up toward the edge of the roof. It landed with a thud, but didn’t explode.
Behind Oliver, a car horn beeped twice. Through the slats in the wood fence that surrounded the entire pool area, Joey spotted Gillian’s sky blue Beetle pull up to the swinging gate that led out to the parking lot.
Oliver didn’t have to say a word. Charlie started running.
Joey studied Oliver, looking for his weakness. But after all the time chasing him, she already knew it. “The more you run, the less likely you’ll ever get your old life back.”
To her surprise, Oliver didn’t flinch. He just watched Charlie. The instant his brother cut through the fence, Oliver took another look at Joey. “Stay the hell away from us,” he warned.
His gun was still on her as he ran backwards toward the car. And before Joey could react, the car door slammed, tires spun, and Oliver, Charlie, and Gillian were gone.
“Joey, are you okay?” Noreen interrupted through the earpiece.
Ignoring the question, Joey ran toward the opening in the fence. “Damn!” she shouted as she watched Gillian’s car bounce over the speedbumps and make its way out onto the street. Like a bullet, Joey took off for her own car, which was double-parked in front of the building. But just as she turned the corner, she spotted the new flat tires on her two rear wheels.
“Oh, screw me,” she mumbled to herself. “Noreen, call triple-A.”
“You got it.”
“And the millisecond you hang up, I want you to start checking…”
“… Gallo and DeSanctis. Already on it,” Noreen explained. “I started the instant Charlie said the words.”
“And what’d you think of his reaction when I mentioned Lapidus?” Joey asked.
“All I got was silence.”
“You should’ve seen the look on his face.”
“Okay, I’ll take a peek at Lapidus too. By the way, did you know the offices of Duckworth’s last job are only twenty minutes away?”
“Beautiful – that’s what I want to hear,” Joey said as she ran back to get her gun off the roof. “And what about his daughter? Any gossip on her?”
“See, that’s what doesn’t make sense,” Noreen answered. “While you were dealing with the Wonder Twins, I’ve been digging through birth certificates, driver’s licenses, even tax records of Duckworth’s family. I’m not sure what Charlie was talking about, but according to everything I can find – Marty Duckworth doesn’t have a daughter.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m telling you, Joey – I checked it a dozen times – according to every government and private database, Gillian Duckworth doesn’t exist.”
61
“Brandt! How you feeling, you old fart?” Gallo announced, his wide grin highlighting the brand-new chip in his front tooth.
“Jimmy-boy!” Katkin said, enveloping Gallo in a back-patting bear hug. Pulling him into his office at Five Points Capital, Katkin asked, “What brings your fat ass back this far south?”
Gallo glanced at DeSanctis, then back to Katkin. “You mind if I shut the door, Brandt?”
Watching his friend, Katkin stopped. “If this is about Duckworth…”
“So they were already here?”
“The two kids with the dye jobs? First thing this morning. I’ll tell ya, I knew something wasn’t right. Then when I got the call from you-”
“Was there anyone else with them?” DeSanctis interrupted.
“You mean besides the daughter?”
Once again, Gallo shot a quick look at his partner. “What did she say?” he asked Brandt.
“Not much. The kid with the dark hair spent most of the time fishing. All the daughter did was sit there. She was cute, though – kinky hair, understated, but also real fire in her eyes. She watched me like a cat – know what I’m saying? Nothing like her dad. Why, you think she’s got something going?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Gallo explained. “Three days ago, an account with Duckworth’s name on it disappeared from New York. Today, this… this daughter won’t sit still for a single question.”
“Any idea where they were headed?” DeSanctis asked. “Any other contacts you may have for Duckworth?”
Katkin crossed around to his desk and clicked through the electronic database on his computer. “All I have here is his home, and some old work address-”
“Neowerks,” Gallo interrupted. “That’s right – I almost forgot about that one…”
62
The pre-rush-hour traffic is easy and the midday sun is shining bright as Charlie, Gillian, and I cruise up the wide-open lanes of I-95. But even with the engine revving, and the radio humming the local pop station, the car itself is way too quiet. For the entire twenty minutes it takes to get from grandma’s old condo to Broward Boulevard, no one – not me, not Charlie, not Gillian – says a single syllable.
From my jacket pocket, I pull out the strip of photos. The white edges of the paper are starting to curl, and for the first time, I wonder if the people are even real. Maybe that’s why it came from a color printer. Maybe the photos are doctored. Fake IDs to help with a disguise. I stare down at the four faces in my lap. I change the redhead to blond; the black man to white. To me, they’re still complete strangers. To Duckworth, they were important enough to sock away in his best hiding spot. And while we’re still not sure if they’re friends or enemies, one thing’s absolutely clear: If we don’t figure out who they are and how they knew Duckworth, this trip is about to get even more uncomfortable.
“Here we go,” Gillian says, eventually breaking the silence as she points to the exit ramp. “Almost there.”
I flip down the passenger seat sun visor and use the mirror to check on Charlie.
In the backseat, he doesn’t even look up. Three days ago, he’d be scribbling in his notebook, feeding on adrenaline, and turning every awkward moment into stanza, verse and, if he were lucky, maybe even a full-fledged ballad. Rob from reality, he used to say with full adolescent swagger. But for all his bravado, Charlie doesn’t like danger. Or risk. And the problem right now is that he’s finally realizing it.
“It’s okay to be scared,” I tell him.
“I’m not scared,” he barks back. But I see his reflection in the visor. His eyes drop to his lap. For twenty-three years, he’s set his sights low – living at home, leaving art school, refusing to join a band… even taking the filing job at the bank. He’s always played it off on being carefree. But, as we learned from dad, there’s a fine line between a carefree spirit and a fear of failure.
“It should only be a few more blocks,” Gillian says, quickly clamming back up.
Like Charlie, she’ll only give me a quick, short sentence. I’m not sure if it’s our lying about the money, the loss of her dad, or just the simple shock from the attack, but whatever it is – as she grips the steering wheel in two tight fists, her childlike aura is finally starting to fade. Like us, she knows she’s jumped on yet another sinking ship – and unless we get a break soon, we’re all going down with it.
“There it is,” she announces as she makes a right turn into the parking lot. The sun ricochets off the glass-front, four-story building, but the purple-and-yellow sign above the front door says it alclass="underline" Neowerks Software.
“So you’re Ducky’s daughter?” a bushy-haired man with tight wire-rimmed glasses sings as he grabs Gillian in an overexcited both-hands handshake. Dressed in a schlumpy blue button-down, high-tech wrinkle-free khakis, and leather sandals with socks, he’s exactly what you get when you cross a fifty-year-old Palm Beach millionaire with a Berkeley teaching assistant. But he’s also the only guy who came out to the lobby when we asked if we could speak to one of Duckworth’s old colleagues. “So, it’s Gillian, right?” he asks for the third time. “God, I didn’t even realize he had a daughter.”