The Saltport ATM

8. The Metal Box Strikes Again

The next few hours pass by in a blur. With much needed assistance from Left-Scar, and at times, random people I bribe on the streets, I finalize all the details and payments to get Two to New York. I find two hotel rooms (the boys will have to share) and secure a rental car. I drive all the way to Silver Bird Rentals and hand over the wad of cash for the plane and pilot, drinking an entire bottle of water to keep from choking up. A bathroom stop is in order afterward.

By the time I pick up Two, not a penny remains in the brown sack.

Yes, you heard me right. All seventy million is gone. Every. Last. Dollar.

I stare out the windshield, my eyes straying from the road as I drive back to the yacht. It bothers me a little bit that Two, a prince with a yacht, forced me to spend all my money on his transformation. When I brought this disparity up, he simply stated that his dad bought him his yacht, clothes, and pretty much anything else he owns. There isn't a dime to Two's name, unless he counts the royal shells, which technically belong to the royal family as a whole.

As we putter along, passing by crashing waves, messy beaches, and ragged boardwalks, silver flashes in the late afternoon sun. I do a double take, and my eyes zero in on a metal kiosk with the words "Saltport ATM" above it. My heels slam against the break, bringing the car to a screeching halt.

"Hey!" Two exclaims. "Watch it! I can already feel the kinks returning to my shoulders."

I glance in the rearview mirror. Seeing no one behind me, I back up until I can pull into the five-minute parking beside the boardwalk. My hand does little to shield my eyes when I hold it up. The glint emanating from the ATM is just too piercing. But I can't peel my eyes away.

"Someone tell me I'm not the only one seeing that," I say in a single exhale. When no one replies, "come on. Someone tell me I'm not crazy."

A beat passes before Right-Scar clears his throat. "Are you referring to the ATM?"

So I'm not crazy. My brain can't quite process what this means. The ATM was there, then wasn't, and now it's back. It doesn't make sense.

"Are we just going to idle here all day?" Left-Scar grunts at last.

"Technically, it's the afternoon," Two pipes up.

I haven't quite made up my mind about what to do. Sure, the Saltport ATM kind of ruined my life the last time I used it. But at the same time, I'm broke. I might even be in debt if that seventy-million wasn't mine. And part of me wonders if I'll get lucky again.

Hey, the sun is smiling down on me. Why shouldn't fortune do the same?

"I'll be back in a moment," I say. I hop out of the car, purse clutched in my hand. Footsteps clunk after me on the wooden planks, and Right-Scar quickly catches up to me. I suppose they don't trust me to leave all on my own. For all they know, I could dive into the sea and swim away, never to be seen again.

In reality, I'd never ruin my dress like that.

I slow my pace as I approach the ATM. Before I can second guess my decision, I swipe my card.

Welcome, Jessi Albright.

Internally, I plead for it to work. I just need enough money for some food when we go to New York.

The screen goes black... again. My lips tighten. Come on. Work like a normal machine.

Minutes pass. I grow antsy, shifting my weight between my feet. I don't dare look at Right-Scar. Who knows what sort of unwanted comment he's cooking up.