Price of One Bullet

“You willing to kill me for 20k?” Dad asked.

I did really process his question. My mind was wandering through old memories coming out of the little black book I was flipping through.

“You’re going to get yourself a paper cut touching that thing so much. Now, answer my question.” Dad said after throwing a fry at my head.

“What question?” I asked, begrudgingly putting down the book.

“You’re willing to kill me for 20k, right?” Dad laughed before stuffing his face with a fist full of fries.

We were at a McDonald’s parking lot sitting in a black, Ford pickup truck. The summer heat was slowly frying me like one of my nuggets.

“Turn on the air.” I grumbled before stuffing a few nuggets into my mouth.

Dad’s wide smile dropped into an annoyed scowl as he scratched at his untrimmed, black beard. I didn’t need his side eye to pick up that he wanted me to play along with his silly question.

“Air. ON. Now!”

“You know, what happened to my loving son that enjoyed talking to his old man? Where did he go? Why did he leave behind such a demanding teenager in his place?” Dad sighed, looking off into the distance with a glint of sadness in his eyes.

I rolled my eyes at his act.

“He left the day his dad got terrible at acting. Now turn on the air before I call CPS.”

Dad’s smile quickly returned before biting into his burger.

“You’re an adult now, CPS can’t do shit to me.”

“Nope, I still got three more months before I’m an adult, but I don’t expect my own father to remember my birthday.”

“Okay Mr. Minor, tell me what name you will give them when you dial?” Dad responded before pulling out his wallet, revealing three different driver licenses he had already burned.

That smile on his face grew more sinister when I couldn’t find a clever solution to our constant “identify crisis problem”.

“Now I’m willing to turn on air and waste gas for a son that enjoys engaging wit his father.” My Dad explained setting up the terms of our deal.

I didn’t want him to win again, but at the same time I didn’t want to get heat stroke in this truck.

“Fine! What’s the stupid job!?” I submitted, throwing my empty nugget carton at his head, and reclining my seat.

Dad simply clicked his tongue and waggled his finger at me. I figured he wouldn’t be satisfied unless I fully fell for his trap. So, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

“Give me the gun and I’ll go collecting right now.” I responded, feigning excitement in my voice.

With that I heard the sound of the truck turn on after he finished hotwiring it. I then heard him reaching for the duffel bag in between us. After digging around for a minute, he pulled out his pistol and dropped it onto my lap. I jumped at the sight of the gun.

“Why are you giving me this?” I asked, my gaze moving between my smug dad and the gun.

“Were you not paying attention?”

“Yeah, but why are you actually doing this? What’s the game this time?” I questioned.

Usually, conversations like that were just his weird introductions to the next scam or “game” he had set up for us. He would say some outlandish statement like “We’re going to make 100k by selling a bottle of water” and make that statement come true by the end of the game.

“The game is the shooting range and I’m the target. All you have to do is fire and you’ll get 20k. the full cut of the game this time.” Dad explained before driving the car out of the lot.

I searched his face in a hopeless attempt to try to read past this man’s playful expression. I never could even after all the lessons he gave me on how to read people’s body language.

“You shouldn’t say something that tempting, Dad. I might have actually done it.” I joked before putting the gun back in the bag.

Dad responded with a long, disappointing sigh before shaking his head.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me, but you’ll get it when we get to the motel.”

With that, he turned on the radio and left me to my worrying thoughts. The entire drive to the Super 8 left me my brain in a twister of ideas as I tried to figure out his game. It’s not like we haven’t fake our own deaths before, but usually we had a mark before we did it, and we had a reason to do it. Plus, Dad barely gave me a fraction of the money we got from jobs let alone the entire haul from one. He liked to pay me a “Normal kid’s allowance” even though I was doing anything but normal things to earn it. I had sneaking suspicion he paid me so little so I couldn’t up and run off on him and his crazy schemes one day.

When we got to the motel, me and dad did our usual routine. Dad would cancel the reservation he placed on the room then he would go distract a cleaner with his “Con man Charm” as he put it. I would lift the master key off the cleaner and open up our cancelled room before putting the key back on them. I hated when I had to be the pickpocket. It was terrible when I was younger and had to lie out of my ass when I was constantly caught.

As my dad expected, I successful opened our room and we promptly went inside before anyone noticed. I was about to go take a shower when Dad stopped me. Well, it was more of the stacks of bills he plopped on one of the beds that stopped me.

“What’s that for?”

“It’s your payment for the game. 20k as promised.” Dad responded, the playful smile coming back on his face.

I moved over to the bed and started looking over the stack. It looked like he actually had 20k there.

“Who did you piss off this time?” I asked, trying to figure out the game myself seeing how Dad was hell bent on making me a part of it.

“I mean I piss you off constantly. Thought I might give you a chance to get back at me.” Dad joked before laying down on the bed.

“Seriously, what’s the catch? Is this going to be the Paris job again?”

My mind wandered back to that terrible month in Paris where Dad essentially used me as a live bait for a group of mercenaries that were out for his blood. He made me think I had accidentally helped the mercs blow up the car he was in. They didn’t bother grabbing the body left behind after watching a crying middle schooler go into shock. It was a perfect way to get out deep shit, and all it cost was the sanity of your kid.

“I mean if you want to think about that game when you fire go ahead. You could also think about Lewisville, Frankfurt, or Naples. Whatever gets the job done for you.” Dad responded, giving a big yawn as he causally mentioned the worst memories of my childhood.

“Just stop playing your dumb tricks for one minute and talk serious. What do you want me to do!”

It was always like this with him. Everything he said and did with me always had to have an ulterior motive. He couldn’t just be a normal dad who raised his son with love and care. Instead of taking me to parking lot to drive, he made me a getaway driver to three random strangers. Instead of teaching me how to cook a meal or ask a girl out, he taught me how to lift pockets and tell outlandish lies like their fond memories. Everything had to be complicated with him. Always another puzzle to figure out.

“You’re a smart kid, Robin. Smart enough figure out my ‘game’. Smart enough to make up your own mind about this.” Dad responded, his voice still cool like the AC blowing down on my head, “I wonder what you’d do with all that money. I mean we both know it’s not a lot in grand scheme of things. It’s a start though. A boy as smart as you can really turn that money into something. Go anywhere in the world. Do anything he wants. Find anyone he wants.”

One of his eyes popped open and looked over at me, or rather over at the black book I had sitting on the bed next to me.

“Is this because of the book again! I’m sorry I was staring at it again. Do you really need to make a big deal of each time I touch it? It’s not like you left me with much else to remember!”

I was boiling over with rage at this point. He was bringing up all these bad memories, acting all cryptic, and trying to get me to shoot him because of Mom’s book. It’s like her very name is a trigger word for the guy. I didn’t understand what harm I was doing by remembering the only stable times I had in my life.

“After this time Robin you still fall for the dumbest things. I tried my best to make you smart enough to forget about hopeless things like your mother. I really did everything I could help you move on, but here we are. I guess you’ve always been someone who has to learn the hard way.”

“You call dragging me around the world for your personal greed ‘helping’. You really think cutting me off from a normal life and a normal mom is ‘making me smart’. Honestly, I think the best help you could have done for me is staying dead in Paris!”

I could feel a tight knot in my throat at this point. My eyes were watery, and I could feel myself on the edge of crying. It was a terrible state to be in. Exposing this much of your real emotions and thoughts with someone was dangerous. Quickest way to get taken advantage of and go walking blindly to your own doom. Dad taught me that lesson very well mainly because he always took advantage of my emotions when he could.

“Well today is your lucky day because do I have an offer for you. For the low low price of one bullet, you can be rid of me and walk away with 20,000 dollars.” Dad announced in a cheesy game show voice.

He had shot up from bed and was reaching for the bag again, the entire time humming the “Price is Right” theme. He had completely ignored my outburst and meltdown. I wasn’t even surprised or mad, honestly. This was just who he was. I was surprised, though when I felt the gun hit my lap again. I was surprised by how tempting the stack of money looked and how freeing the cold metal in my hand felt.

“So will you take that shot and move on with your life? Find a better life you swear I can’t give you? Maybe even find that wonderful mom of yours?”

I looked down at the book. I opened and found the polaroid of my mom holding me as a baby. I remembered her always using this picture as a bookmark.

“Where do you want it?”

“Right in the heart. It’s where it’ll hurt the most. Oh, and don’t come crawling back when it doesn’t work out.”

I figured out his game finally. I didn’t know why but he wanted to prove me wrong about mom. I always hated his games, but I was willing to play this time. To prove him wrong. So, I said goodbye to my dad and fired.