Down With the Shine (18 page)

If my words bother Rabbit, he doesn’t show it. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You don’t pull the teeth of a trained dog. No, sir. You take the teeth of a dog you’re afraid might still bite.” There’s an odd sort of logic to this, and I can’t deny that Rabbit doesn’t seem fearful right now. If anything, he exhibits an almost defiant spark.

I, on the other hand, am more scared than ever. “I never should have come here,” I say, feeling so out of my depth that it’s all I can do not to sink totally into despair. “I thought maybe ’cause I’m his daughter . . .” I don’t bother to fill in the stupid reunion fantasies for Rabbit, since he’s probably snitching them directly outta my head anyway. “What was I thinking? He hates everyone.”

“Hate?” Rabbit strokes his beard for a moment as if considering the question. “You know, people say hate is a strong word. But it’s not, not really. I’ve seen lots of people hate and it always looks the same. Now, love, on the other hand, oooh boy, that’s another story. If somebody loves you, or you love somebody, you never know how it’s gonna come out.”

I look up at Rabbit. “So you’re saying he loves me and that might be even worse?”

“Or better.” Rabbit shrugs. “It’s hard to say. One thing I know for certain—we gotta get a move on. Cash is gonna wonder what’s been holding us up.”

“You’re right about that.” The reply doesn’t come from Rabbit, but rather from a voice thick with scorn. I whirl around, unable to believe anyone could sneak up on us in this small enclosed space.

But my father is not just anyone and, of course, that’s exactly who’s standing directly behind me.

“S
o, you do recognize me,” my father says, his voice changing to something warmer with even a hint of a chuckle. “You see that, Rabbit? Told ya my little girl would recognize her daddy.”

He’s right. I recognized him immediately from the fuzzy old pictures I’ve studied over the years. I’ve always wondered how it was that he could appear so shockingly normal. Dark hair. Friendly smile. Good enough looking, but not so handsome you’d look twice. I always figured that was how he was able to keep from getting caught, by being the type of person who blends in.

After more than a decade of being on the run, I’d imagined him turning pale and withdrawn, reduced to a mere shadow of his former self. But my theory was all wrong. In reality, Leonard Cash is magnetic and fully alive. His presence seems to fill the freezer, and then
overflow it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the door flew off its hinges.

He leans closer to me. “Hey, you made of Swiss cheese? You too scared to even say hello?”

If there had been any doubt, it vanishes with these words. That phrase, in his distinctive gravelly voice, opens a door, and a pile of old memories fall out.

I was six. It was my birthday. Good old Butter Bear, my stuffed animal/backpack hybrid, was slung on my back, his steadying, reassuring weight a nice counterbalance to Daddy, who I never felt quite solid around. Daddy took me to the toy store and let me ride one of the bikes up and down the aisles. I didn’t want to leave, but he told me we would come back and buy it and bring it home after he ran a few more errands. The bike had pink streamers and a horn so loud that when I honked it I couldn’t hear the store manager yelling about how the bikes were for display only.

The first errand was ice cream. I got a chocolate cone with rainbow sprinkles. I held it in one hand, the chocolate dripping down my wrist, while Daddy held tight to my other as we walked to the bank next door. Then there was a gun in Daddy’s hand, and people screaming and bleeding and dying and Daddy asking me if I was made of Swiss cheese.

It was the same question he asked when I cried after skinning my knees or because one of my uncles’ dogs had bitten me. All those other times I’d been able to stop crying and tell him no. No, I wasn’t made of Swiss cheese. This time, though, I puked up chocolate ice cream and Daddy swore and told a nice-looking lady to clean it up or he’d put a hole in her fat ass. After we’d gotten away and were speeding down the road with sirens wailing in the distance, Daddy told me he’d been tempted to leave me behind. That a getaway was tough enough without having a kid made of Swiss cheese along for the ride. “You gotta buck up if you wanna stick with me,” he’d said. And I’d tried. I’d tried to hide how I was so full of holes I could practically feel the wind whistling through ’em.

But in the end, he left me behind anyway.

Now, feeling the weight of his eyes on me, I don’t merely remember how hard I’d always tried to please him, but I actually feel it again. I can feel myself being drawn toward him, wanting to laugh with him and impress him and have him say more things to me in that chummy way.

I push these feelings away, and instead focus on the years of practice I’ve had in hating Leonard Cash. “I save my hellos for people I’m happy to see.”

The teasing laughter on my father’s face is replaced by a disapproving frown, and I have to force my spine straight
so that I don’t shrink away from it. “You have one hell of a chip on your shoulder. I gotta warn you, Lennie, it’s not the most attractive quality. And you also might wanna remember it’s not the best way to act toward someone who’s here because you need help.”

It’s a mild scolding, and yet I find myself squirming. Fighting the urge to say something that’ll make him smile again. I put my chin up instead. “I didn’t ask for your help. Rabbit showed up offering it. And I only took him up on it because I’m . . .”
Drowning in shit creek.
No. I fish for words that will make me sound less desperate and come up with, “I’m exploring my options.”

“Right. Good one.” Cash laughs and I’m amazed by how quick and constantly shifting his moods are, making it impossible to predict his reaction to anything. “And here I thought you were in way over your head and I would have to throw you a life preserver. But if you’re only exploring options.” He pauses to laugh again, not bothering to hide that he finds me ridiculous. “Well then come down to my office and I’ll be happy to give you another option to consider.” As he speaks, a small section of the wall behind him slides down into the floor, revealing a passageway.

At least now I know how he magically appeared. It’s somewhat reassuring that no actual magic was involved.

After a moment of hesitation and a last glance at
Rabbit, who has been unnaturally still, I follow my father. The passage curves before leading to a steep staircase, stretching down so far that I wouldn’t be surprised to learn my father’s renting rooms from the devil himself.

The reality, when I finally reach it, is a bit disappointing. It’s nothing more than a basement that’s been converted into an office. File cabinets line the walls. A large desk sits at the center. Another table holds a coffeemaker with the last quarter of a pot still sitting on the burner. The whole scene is laughably ironic: my FBI’s Most Wanted killer dad works in a boring old office. I’m tempted to pull out my phone and take a picture so I can caption it “Crime Doesn’t Pay.”

“Sit,” my father commands as he settles into the chair behind his desk. Obediently, I perch on the edge of the folding aluminum chair opposite him. Even though he just sat down, he’s up again a moment later, grabbing two bottles of water from a mini fridge underneath the coffeepot table. He holds one out to me, and since my throat is a little raw from all the screaming today, I gratefully take it.

That gratitude doesn’t last long, as my father lifts his eyebrows and asks, “Where are your manners? What do you say, Lennie?” Like I’m in kindergarten and he’s a real dad who’s been around providing a good example instead of disappearing into his life of crime.

“Screw you,” I respond, and then take a giant swig of water.

“Such a spitfire. My little Lennie girl all grown up. We’re cut from the same cloth, kiddo.” He says this in a bemused yet gently chiding way, like some dad in a cheesy sitcom. Except it’s not cheesy at all, because I can remember him calling me his little Lennie girl years and years ago. Even though I was too little to remember too much about him, the bits I’ve retained are incredibly vivid, as if the force of his personality ensured that he was permanently burned into my young mind.

“You know, Lennie, I always thought that when we were finally able to be together again, we’d click, as if no time had passed at all. But I see now it might take a little more time for us. That’s okay, though. We’ll figure it out. The important thing is that you’re becoming who you were always meant to be.” He wags his finger at me. “I gotta admit, I’ve been worried these last few years that I’d overestimated my little Lennie girl.”

“I am not your little Lennie girl,” I snarl through chattering teeth, trying not to let him know how much he is affecting me.

He ignores me. “Although, I did know you well enough to guess that when you started granting wishes it would be with a bang. It’s about time you realized you were meant
for bigger things than your uncles.”

His words hit me like a knife of betrayal. My father is right. This all started because I’d looked at my uncles’ lives and found them to be small and not at all what I wanted for myself. The idea of my life being like theirs made me feel depressed. I didn’t just let them down, I turned on them. And now, even worse, I’d left my uncles behind at Michaela’s to come here and sit with my father and ask him to solve all my problems.

I push my chair back with a loud screech. “If you think this was some grand plan, that I wanted all of this to happen, then you’re crazy. I didn’t even know I could grant wishes until today. And now all I want is to undo them and be normal and boring and safe and small and to never have anything exciting happen to me for the rest of my gray little lifetime.”

Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Still, I imagine I’ll need at least a good decade of boring to recover from this weekend.

“Sit down!” Showing a flash of temper, Cash bangs both hands against his desk. “It’s past time you lived up to your potential. You are meant for great things and I am done idly standing by while you waste your life away.”

“You think I’m wasting my life away?! You’re a felon.
In hiding. Beneath a crappy bar in an even crappier office. Gee whiz, Dad, I hope I grow up to be just like you.” This last bit oozes sarcasm, but Cash doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Yes, you should want to be like me.” He leans across the desk, his eyes glittering dangerously. “You’ve been brainwashed like everyone else to believe that life is about accumulating things. Car. House. Fancy shoes. Diplomas. Important job titles. What you should really want is something that lasts. Something you can’t hold in your hand, but stays deeper inside yourself, where it can never be taken away. That’s when you’re onto something. That’s when you begin to live not as a mere man, but as something bigger and more powerful than any president or captain of industry could ever aspire to.”

Despite the crazy shit coming from his mouth, I find myself wanting to nod in agreement, simply from the force of his belief. When he’s done I have to take several more gulps of water. Wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve gives me the needed time to collect myself. To remember that no matter how alluring the beat, this is a man whose tune I don’t ever want to march to again.

I force my rigid backbone into a slouch and smirk. Only then am I able to reply, “The thing deeper inside of
you. It’s self-esteem, right? Better than gold and no one can take it away? They actually taught us that in second grade.”

Not only does my father have the captivating personality of a snake charmer, but he is also apparently impervious to snark.

He falls back into his chair, at ease except for his burning gaze that never wavers from mine. “Do you think it’s a coincidence I married your mother, a woman who comes from a long line of well-concealed wish granters? Or that I keep Rabbit, the Snitch who can’t hold his tongue, close by my side? And those are only two of the many oddities I’ve collected over the years. I have hunted and found ways to bind the powerful, the magical, the extra-human, and the inhuman, to me. And it’s lucky for you I have, because that is how I came across this.”

He produces what looks like a homemade birthday candle made from lumpy gray wax with an extra-long wick. “I heard you granted some wishes that you now regret.”

Understatement of the year. But I just shrug. “I guess.”

“Take this,” he commands, and after a moment of hesitation, I do. “Now, repeat aloud one of the wishes you granted.”

Again, I am uncertain, but can’t see what harm it will
do. “To Larry’s and everyone else’s moms staying chill no matter what. May—” I stop with a little gasp of alarm as the wick of the candle bursts into flame.

“Don’t drop it!” Cash cautions as I lurch to my feet and nearly fling it away. “It won’t work if it’s broken.”

Slowly I sit back down, staring at the odd candle and the little flame dancing at its tip. “Now what?” I ask, no longer skeptical.

“Put it out.”

I purse my lips and blow. The flame resists. Almost like it’s fighting back. I blow harder, even add a little spit to it. Finally, the flame flickers and dies. A second later the candle crumbles to dust.

“Whoa,” I say. I brush the bits of it from my legs and then look up at Cash. “Did it work, then?”

He nods, looking more than a little smug.

And he should, because suddenly I am willing to do whatever he wants to get more of those candles. “Can I have more? I need at least . . .” I do a quick mental calculation. Turlington, Zinkowski, Cat Girl, Stace’s sister, Todd, Michaela . . . No. Not Michaela. “I need a lot.”

“As many as you need,” Cash says, in this reassuring way that has me almost melting into my chair with relief. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any more here. You see, a friend of mine makes these himself. We can find him at
my beach house. You’ll love it there. The views are just—”

“Hold up,” I cut in, unable to ignore the sinking feeling telling me of course it can’t be that easy. “This friend who makes the candles. Is he really a friend? Or is he more like a prisoner?”

Something ugly crosses Cash’s face. “You’ve been talking to Benji and Jules.” He shakes his head. “I did so much for them—”

I interrupt again. “Like getting rid of Benji’s pesky extra eye? Depth perception. Who needs it, right?”

“I wanted their help in finding my daughter! Is that so terrible? Perhaps I went too far, in my desperate need. But I missed you, Lennie. It’s a terrible thing to lose a child.”

He’s so convincing. His face is suddenly haggard. And yet . . . I don’t quite believe it. “You missed me?” I ask. “Or you missed getting me to grant your wishes?”

“My little Lennie girl.” He shakes his head at me, sadly, like he can’t believe how I can be so confused. “You already gave me my one wish a long time ago, so that well’s been dry for some time now.”

I blink at him. “I . . . What? When?”

Cash frowns, looking hurt by my confusion. “It was a powerful moment between us, Lennie. That you’ve forgotten it . . .” He shakes his head. “Never mind. I won’t hold it against you.”

“Gee, thanks.” I realize he’s not gonna fill me in on whatever wish I gave him, so I cut to the chase. “If I granted your wish already, what exactly do you want from me?”

“Damn it.” He stands and crosses until he’s standing right in front of me. Then he kneels before me on one knee. “I want what any father wants. To know you. To be there for you. To help you reach your full potential.”

My throat goes tight. This is what I’ve wanted to hear for what seems like my whole life. And sure, this is probably bullshit, but he’s doing all he can to sell it and damn if I’m not ready to buy. I fight it, though. “If that’s true, then where have you been? Ten years and I haven’t ever gotten a crummy birthday card or even a stinkin’ phone call.”