Page 71 of The Lie Maker

Dad took a bite of a fry. “It’s gone kinda cold. But it’s still good.”

He set onto my lap a package of fries and a double cheeseburger. I thought I might throw up. Finally, I found myself able to speak.

“What’s your name now?”

“Well, it’s still Dad to you,” he said cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood. “But I can’t tell you what I go by. Too risky. For me and for you. Someone might come and torture you to get the information.” He saw something in my face and said quickly, “That’s just a joke. No one’s going to do that to you. I was kidding. So how’s school? What are you up to? You got lots of friends?” A sly smile. “Any girlfriends, or is it too soon to ask that?”

I hadn’t touched my food.

“Got you something.” He reached into the back and struggled to drag a box forward between the two front seats. “It’s a Nintendo 64. For games. You don’t have one of these, do you?”

I shook my head.

“Well, there you go. Just don’t let anyone take it from you on the way home. You got some way you can explain to your mother how you got it? Because you can’t tell her you saw me, that I gave it to you. Maybe a friend got two for his birthday? Something like that? You have to promise me you won’t tell her we had this little meeting.”

“I won’t tell,” I said.

“I know. You could say you won it. In a raffle at school or something.”

“She won’t believe me.”

He bit his lip, thinking about that.

“I could play it at your house,” I said, “if you took me with you.”

His head drooped. “I wish I could do that. You have no idea how much I wish I could. But it wouldn’t be fair. Not to you, and not to your mom.”

“Where do you live?” I asked.

“Can’t tell you that, either. The less you know, the safer you and your mom are. That bastard Frohm, even in prison, has people, you know? People who will do his bidding.”

“They’ve tried to scare us.”

His jaw dropped. “What’s happened?”

“Sometimes the phone rings and there’s no one there. Or they leave a note on Mom’s car and she starts to cry. One morning somebody slashed all her tires.”

Dad’s face reddened. “Those sons of bitches.”

“They haven’t tried to kill us or anything,” I said, the same way I might have said that I hadn’t failed a spelling test.

“Has your mom told the police? The FBI, anybody?”

“I think so.”

“Well, I’m going to goddamn well be talking to them, too.” He bit his lower lip, like he was thinking about how he might handle this. “I should just kill him,” he said to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just don’t want anything to happen to you or your mother.”

I didn’t say anything. Dad fumed for another few seconds, then tried to change the mood. “Come on, eat up.”

As if to encourage me, Dad took a bite out of his own burger.

“I’ll find you,” I said. “Someday I’ll find you.” I felt as though a lightbulb had gone off over my head. “I’ll remember your license plate.”

Dad smiled and pointed to the back seat. “Look.”

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