The Book of Lies - Brad Meltzer [112]
“Oh, then that’s a far more forgivable story. So now my dad was just your lucky rabbit’s foot? What’d you do, throw him some cash as a delivery boy and then you’d at least have a surefire way to get my help just in case something went wrong?”
“Something did go wrong!”
“That doesn’t justify it, Roosevelt! I mean, okay, so you were nervous about your shipment, that doesn’t mean you—you—you—” A pinprick of vomit knifes the back of my throat, then slides back down to my belly. “Y-You shot him. In the stomach. You shot my dad, knowing it would pull my heartstrings and—”
“He shot himself,” Roosevelt says. “He took my gun—the gun I searched so long for, that I spent so much of my family’s resources to find—and shot himself. He was worried you wouldn’t help him otherwise, isn’t that right, Lloyd?”
I look back at my father, who’s standing on the chair, staring down at us. He’s still got one hand gripped around the animal horn. Never letting go of the prize.
“I saved your father’s life, Cal,” Roosevelt insists for the second time. “Tell him, Lloyd. Tell him how I found you, all those ants crawling through your nose and in your ears.”
My father doesn’t answer.
“He was a sign, Cal. God sent him. Lloyd didn’t want to see ya, but I knew it—everything for a purpose, right?” Roosevelt adds. “He was sent to me to be saved. And I did. I set him right—cleaned him up, found him a counselor, even gave him some cash to restart his life. All he had to do was make his delivery. Instead, he got greedy, didn’t you, Lloyd?”
“It wasn’t greed,” my father calls out.
“Then what was it?” Roosevelt shoots back. “Love for your son? Is that your new story? No, no, no. I like that. It’s a nice confession. You saw him, and when your paternal side was reawakened, you decided to go for Father of the Year.” Roosevelt shakes his head and readjusts his ponytail. “There’s only one problem, Lloyd. Why didn’t you ever tell Cal the truth? Oh, that’s right—priceless religious artifacts aren’t half as good when you have to share them.”
“How can you—!? You sent Ellis to kill me!” my father shouts.
“And me!” I explode. “You knew Ellis was a butcher! And you sent him after us!”
“No. Your father lies. He always lies,” Roosevelt insists. “I never sent Ellis to kill you. I was just trying to get back what was mine.”
“You still helped him!” I yell.
“Only after Alligator Alley. Remember, Lloyd? When you stopped calling in? When you wouldn’t answer your phone at the warehouse? Or at the airport? You’re lucky our delivery guy in Hong Kong—poor Zhao, Lord rest his soul—had told me Ellis was sniffing around. He’s the one who said Ellis made a better offer, even gave me his contact info. When Lloyd went AWOL, what was I supposed to do?”
“Are you really that deluded?” I blurt. “When you sent Ellis to Cleveland—”
“Ellis was always the enemy—always on a tight leash—tell me you don’t see that. But Ellis was on his mission whether I was there or not. At least this way . . . I was keeping him under control.”
“There was no control! He killed the Johnsels! Those deaths are on your hands!”
“I told Ellis to stay out of the house. I was fighting for you there, Cal. Trying so hard to keep you safe. I was. I fought him to stay out of there.”
“But he didn’t. He tried to kill us, Roosevelt. You tried to kill us!”
The problem is, no preacher likes to hear his own flaws named. Refusing to face me, Roosevelt stays locked on my father.
“You’re a sinner, Lloyd. All you had to do was hand over the comic book. Instead, you ran to Cleveland, hoping to steal God’s treasure for yourself. But here’s your chance. I have your penance. Hand it back now, and you’ll get everything I promised.”
Without a word, my father turns back to the animal horn, slamming it again with the spine of the book. It connects with a loud duumm. Even he freezes. This is still a prison. The librarian’s out cold, but we don’t have much time.
“Now you’re offering deals?” I ask as my father