The Alias Men Read Online Free Page A

tourists to do the same thing.
    I needed a distraction.
    The tram veered right. I had to hurry up and think of something. An explosion? No dice—I had no way to blow anything up. So what could I do?
    â€œNow, to our left, you can see the restaurant where the stars get their lunch,” Greg the guide went on. Having the tourists’ attention toward the left side of the tram wasn’t good, because that was exactly where I needed to go. I was running out of time!
    Then I saw two guys to my right, walking down the street: one short blond dude, one tall guy with black hair. From the back, the tall one kind of looked like this famous actor. And that’s when I had my idea. It wouldn’t distract the group for long, but then all I needed was a second to slip away.
    So I yelled, “Look! It’s David Graham!”
    Everyone instantly shifted their attention to where I was pointing. The tourists mumbled.
    â€œEveryone, we may have our first ccc elebrity sss ighting!” Greg hissed.
    But I didn’t stick around. I slid from my seat, jumped off the moving tram, and ran between the fake restaurant and a pretend barbershop down a dark alleyway toward the back of Sterlingville’s Main Street.
    I quickly glanced over my shoulder. The tourists were still stretching their necks to catch a glimpse of David Graham, who totally wasn’t there.
    Behind the fake storefronts was a wide street. A few golf carts were parked in front of a large warehouse-type building across the street to my left—298 was written in big black letters near the door. A group of people carrying clipboards huddled nearby, but thankfully, they didn’t pay attention to me.
    To the right, there was another building—299. And I caught a glimpse of a large warehouse to the right of it. That had to be the costume department!
    I passed a woman on the phone, and a guy driving a golf cart who gave me a smile and a nod. There was a girl with long dark hair, carrying a big bag, walking in the opposite direction—she looked familiar, and I figured she was an actress or something. Nobody seemed to pay much attention to me, which was a good thing.
    I reached the building—300. My hand almost slipped off the door handle, my palm was so sweaty. I reminded myself that this was a simple mission.
    Get the hat. Get out. Save my family—and the rest of LA—from evil terrorists. Easy-peasy, right?
    Inside, the warehouse smelled a little like old books at a library. There was a front waiting-type area with chairs lining the walls, and a small reception desk. Thankfully, no one seemed to be working.
    I slipped behind the desk and into the warehouse. The place was full of shelves that reached the ceiling—it reminded me of this auto-parts place up in Pismo Beach where Dad goes to get supplies. Only here the shelves were filled with furniture from different eras. I passed chairs, tables, and lamps from the fifties, the seventies—even stuff that looked like it belonged in a Western movie.
    But where was the hat? Was there a safe someplace?
    I turned and went down another aisle. More furniture, and clear plastic containers marked Bedding, ’70s and Accessories, Girl’s Bedroom , and Rolled-up Rugs . I stopped, feeling hopeless. How was I supposed to find a hat in this giant building?
    I had to get to the back half of the warehouse, Black had told me. To the costume department. Then I caught a glimpse of a door at the end of the aisle I was in. Costumes , it said in curly black letters. Eureka!
    I rushed toward the back of the building. There were windows on either side of the door, but it looked dark behind them. I tried the door. It was open—I couldn’t believe my luck. This mission might just be a piece of cake after all.
    I found the light switch to the left as I walked inside. Waited for the flicker of the overhead lights. And then my good mood faded with the darkness. This space was as big as the front