The Alias Men Read Online Free Page B

half of the warehouse behind me, only it was lined with double-high racks of clothing, interspersed with shelves.
    I groaned. Why couldn’t this just be easy?
    But there was no time to whine about it. I had to get to work, before Tour Guide Greg realized I was missing.
    I combed the rows of musty-smelling dresses, suits, and coats. There were clear plastic containers with shoes inside, stacked high on the shelves down one of the aisles. I didn’t see a safe, so I wondered if maybe the Dangerous Double was hidden in plain sight.
    â€œHats, I need hats,” I mumbled. These Pandora missions were so stressful, I was turning into Grandpa, talking to myself.
    Finally, I found an area with big round hatboxes—this had to be it, right? But which one had the Chaplin hat, my Dangerous Double? Thankfully, each box was neatly labeled: Ladies, 1930s and so on. What was Chaplin’s hat again? I pulled the picture Black had given me from my pocket, and took a quick glance. Right—a bowler hat. That was what I needed.
    I was about halfway down the aisle with the hatboxes when I heard the faint sound of a door opening then closing at the other end of the warehouse, where I’d come in.
    I froze.
    â€œHey, kid!”

6
    THURSDAY, 2:51 P.M.
    â€œHEY!” GREG THE GUIDE HOLLERED AGAIN from the prop area. “You’re gonna get me fired. Nobody’s allowed to just run around the lot. Come out—I know you’re in here!”
    I wasn’t giving up now. Not when I was so close. So I hurried down the aisle, frantically looking for the bowler hat.
    And there it was! It even said on the little label: Chaplin Bowler . I couldn’t believe my luck when I opened the box and pulled out the hat.
    â€œI’ll find you, you little pain in the rear,” Greg said, sounding much closer now.
    I quickly stuffed the bowler hat inside my backpack. Then I hurried toward the door I’d come in through, and turned off the light.
    â€œAh—looking for costumes, are you?” I heard Greg’s footsteps nearby. He must have seen the lights go off through the windows by the door.
    I should’ve just left the lights on. Now he had me.
    I saw the door handle inch down. I slipped between some poufy Mary Poppins dresses, hoping Greg wouldn’t find me.
    â€œYou know, you might as well come out,” Greg called as he came in through the door to the costume department. “I already called security.” He closed the door behind him.
    I held my breath. These dresses could’ve used some dry cleaning, let me tell you.
    â€œSterling Studios doesn’t tolerate trespassing, you know.” Greg sounded very close now. “You’ll go to kid prison, sport.” He stood right next to me. I could see his white shoes under the dresses. And he saw me, too. “Ha!” he yelled, and reached into the rack of dresses.
    But this wasn’t my first getaway, in case you’re wondering. So I darted deeper into the rack of dresses and then slipped out. Except one of those skirt hoops got stuck on the zipper of my backpack. And before I knew it, I saw the whole rack come down.
    Right on top of Greg the guide’s head. He struggled, and looked like he was being attacked by all those dresses.
    I laughed. It was funny, right?
    Then I saw two security guards opening the door to the costume department. And Albert Black was wrong—they weren’t surfer dudes. Sure, they were tanned, but they also looked pretty serious about their jobs.
    So I quickly turned around, and stared right at Greg. He had a hoop skirt stuck on his head, making him look ridiculous.
    But I didn’t laugh this time. Because the two guards approached behind me, and I knew there was no way out of this jam.
    I was busted.

7
    THURSDAY, 3:00 P.M.
    THE GUARDS TOOK ME AWAY, RIGHT after they helped Greg wrangle that hoop skirt.
    â€œMake sure this kid never makes it back onto Sterling Studios property,” Greg