The Book of Lies

24

You knew, didn’t you? You knew what was in there,” I say, reaching for the old Superman comic and snatching it from my dad’s hands.

“Be careful with that!”

“Why’d you lie!?” I explode, my voice rebounding through the metal container.

He takes a half-step back, surprised by my anger. “Cal, if you think I knew anything—”

“Enough bullshit, Lloyd! That’s why they shot you, didn’t they!? That’s what they wanted: that key and what was in that coffin! And you’ve been lying about it the whole time!”

“No, that’s fair. You’re right—I lied. I’m sorry for that. But that was it. I swear to you, Cal—I had no idea the key went to a coffin. They sent it to me with the paperwork.”

“So they sent you a key and said, ‘You’ll know what to do with this’?”

“They said, here’s the key and when I got to Naples, I was supposed to unload the truck, find the book—they didn’t say what kind—and wait for further directions. Look, does it sound a little suspicious? Of course—that’s why they hired me. But that’s the way it happened. To be honest—”

“Oooh, honest. What would that be like?”

He stops, but not for long. Outside, the sirens are still silent. “Whoever hired me, they’re not stupid, Cal. When you ship something that you think is important, you don’t tell anyone what’s inside. ‘Oh, yes—please go pick up my metal case with twenty million dollars tucked in there. I trust that you won’t steal it, Mr. Cheap-hired-hand-who-I-don’t-know.’ You send it and you give as little info as possible.”

“Then why even send the whole coffin? Why not just take the comic and FedEx it?”

“I have no idea. I’m assuming this comic was this guy’s prized possession, right? That’s why he’s buried with it. That’s the book Ellis wanted. So maybe they were worried the guys who dug up the casket would pick it clean if they opened it . . . or maybe they just told the grave diggers that they were some crazy relative who wanted the body, so that way, no one asked questions. The point is, the trouble they went through to get this—one side hiring me, then Timothy and Ellis trying to steal it away—if this baby’s worth dying for, can you imagine what it’s worth paying for?”

“For a comic?”

“C’mon, you know this isn’t just a comic. I don’t care how popular Superman is, people don’t get shot just for some old funny-book,” he says, snatching the comic back, his voice once again racing. “Now I don’t care if it’s got some secret treasure map or some superhero Da Vinci Code that needs a Captain Midnight decoder ring, we have what they want! We won the lottery, Cal—now we just gotta find out how to cash it in!”

“You’re right,” I say, snatching the comic right back and storming out of the metal container, back through the warehouse. “And the way to do that is by going to ICE, taking it to the authorities, and telling the truth.”

I cut through the stacked maze of shrimp boxes, trying my best to ignore the smell. I’d rather be out with the non-sirens.

“You’ll be dead by tomorrow,” my father calls out.

“I’m done being manipulated, Lloyd. Especially by someone who thinks it’s okay to dig up someone’s dead body and use their coffin as a shipping envelope. That man was someone’s family—not that you know the definition of that.”

For once, he’s silent.

I step over the last box of shrimp, hop off the loading platform, and head straight for the door. My father stays where he is.

“Calvin, you don’t have to believe this—but if I’d known they had dug up someone’s father—even I wouldn’t’ve taken the job.”

“Yet another wonderful speech. Good-bye, Lloyd. Time to be smart.”

“You think turning yourself in is smart? You think you’ll get a medal and a big thank-you? No, Calvin. They’re gonna lock you in a room and grill you about Timothy, giving Ellis plenty of time to flash his badge, come inside, and put that final bullet in your brain.”

“ICE would never let that happen.”

“Timothy was ICE! And for all you know, he wasn’t working alone!”

I stop right there. I know my dad’s just in it for the cash.

“This isn’t just about the money, Cal. Look at the logic: It’s just a matter of time until Timothy’s body shows up. If we turn ourselves in, guess who the murder suspects are? No one’s believing the two convicts.”

“I’m not a convict.”

“No, you’re just Timothy and Ellis and everyone else’s target practice. They’re not stopping till you’re convicted or dead. But if we figure out what’s really going on, then we’ll have the steering wheel.”

I know what my father’s doing. I saw the way he went straight for that comic, how his eyes went wide, and the greedy thrill when he realized that whatever’s really going on is now solely in his hands. I know this isn’t about just keeping me safe. But that doesn’t mean he’s not right.

I turn around and finally face my dad, who hasn’t taken a step from the open container. From here, his face is hidden by the shadows. Outside, the brand-new siren screams from less than a block away. “I thought you didn’t know who hired you,” I call out.

“So?”

“So how you plan on tracking him down?”

Stepping out into the morning light, he holds up the wax-paper sleeve with the faint typed message in the bottom corner.

If found, please return to:

10622 Kimberly Ave. Cleveland

“You kidding?” he calls back with his zigzag smile. “We got the address right here.”

“That’s fine,” I say. “I just need to check something at home first.”