Free The Millionaires by Brad Meltzer Page B

wondering what type of law Mr.… uh… Mr.…”
    “Bendini.”
    “Right… Bendini…” Shep repeats, writing it down. “I was wondering what type of law Mr. Bendini specializes in.”
    “What type of law are you looking for?”
    Shep nods to the two of us. The only thing fishier is Starkist. Here’s our man. “Actually, we’re looking for someone who specializes
     in keeping things… well, we’re hoping to keep things low-profile…”
    There’s a short pause on the other line. “Talk to me,” Bendini says.
    Bam, Shep’s out of his seat. He paces slightly, though his big frame makes it look more like lumbering. I can’t tell if he’s
     thrilled or scared. I’m betting thrilled. All those years behind the desk, he’s feeling his inner James Bond. “I’m gonna put
     on my associate,” he tells Bendini. Shep nods to me as I strain to get as close as I can to the speakerphone.
    “You lean in any more, you’re gonna start humping it,” Charlie teases.
    “Mr. Bendini…?” I ask.
    No one answers.
    Shep shakes his head. Charlie laughs and pretends it’s a cough.
    Catching on, I start over. Without using names. “Here’s the story: I want you to listen carefully, and I want you to call
     the following number…”
I want, I want, I want,
I say, driving home my point. Charlie sticks his chest out at my newfound tone. He’s happy to see me strong… more demanding.
     At least I learned something from Lapidus after all these years.
    “The place is called Purchase Out International, and you want to ask for Arnie,” I explain. “Don’t let them give you anyone
     else. Arnie’s the only one we deal with. When you get him on the line, tell him you need a same-day four-layer cake, endzone
     in Antigua. He’ll know what it is.”
    “Believe me, kid, I know how to stack corporations,” Bendini interrupts in a brickyard Jersey accent.
    “Don’t back down,” Charlie whispers. I’m not. My eyes are sharp, my face is flushed. I’m finally feeling my pulse.
    “What name you want to put it in?” Bendini adds.
    “Martin Duckworth,” all three of us say simultaneously.
    I swear, I hear Bendini roll his eyes. “Fine—Martin Duckworth,” he repeats. “And for initial ownership?”
    He needs another fake name. This one doesn’t matter—everything’s ultimately owned by Duckworth. “Ribbie Henson,” I say, using
     the name of Charlie’s imaginary friend from when he was six.
    “Fine—Ribbie Henson. Now how do you wanna pay Arnie’s bill?”
    Damn. I hadn’t even thought of that.
    Charlie and Shep both go to jump in, but I wave them back. “Tell him we’ll pay when we request the original paperwork—right
     now all we need is a fax,” I decide. Before Bendini can argue, I add, “It’s what he does with the big fish—they don’t pay
     until the money hits. Tell him we’re whales.”
    Charlie looks at me like he’s never seen me before. “Now we’re talking,” he whispers to Shep.
    “And when do you need it by?” Bendini asks.
    “How’s a half-hour sound?” I reply.
    Again, there’s a short pause. “I’ll do what I can,” Bendini says, unfazed. Clearing his throat for emphasis, he adds, “Now
     how’m
I
gonna get paid?”
    I look at Charlie. He looks to Shep. Bendini doesn’t sound like the kinda guy you just say “bill me” to.
    “Tell me your rates,” Shep says.
    “Tell me what it’s worth,” Bendini shoots back.
    Smacking the
Hands-Free
button, I shut off the speakerphone. “Don’t dicker!” I hiss. “We’re running out of—”
    “I’ll give you a thousand cash if you can do it in a half-hour,” Shep says as he turns the phone back on.
    “
A grand?
”Bendini asks. “Boys, I don’t piss for a grand—even when I have to. The minimum is five.”
    Shep shoots a panicked look to me, and I go back to Charlie. My brother shakes his head. His cookie jar’s always empty. As
     my eyes drop down to my watch, I press my lips together. Takes money to make