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.”“It’s not like that with them.Besides, Serena—she wouldn’t do that.”“She wouldn’t do that? Oh, fudge me! Don’t tell me you’re falling in like with this girl!”“What? No.I barely know her.I’ve barely seen her.”“And you barely recognize your own blind spot for helpless women.”“She’s not helpless.She was trying to help me.”“And there it is again—I hear it in your voice, Cal.And I know it’s warming your cocoa to finally have someone looking out for you, but stop picking out her corsage for the prom and instead focus on the fact that she’s the one who hit Naomi in the head.”“You should’ve seen Serena, though.She felt horrible.She was crying.It was even her idea to drop Naomi at the hospital.”“And that’s a wonderful thing to do—especially as a way to snake into your save everyone heart.But take some notes here, Cal.I don’t care how calming or pretty Serena is—I don’t care if you shared a little Zen moment with the rabid possum—the only reason she’s around is because of your dad.So if you don’t believe him, you shouldn’t believe her.You can’t just take the Bonnie away from Clyde.”There’s a loud jingle as the register spouts open, and the cashier hands me my change.“Sorry, no bags,” he says as I pick up my two items and head for the door.“Trust me, Serena’s not the problem,” I tell Roosevelt as I glance around the empty streets of East Cleveland, duck my chin into my jacket, and head out into the cold.It’s nearly nine p.m.One mission down; one to go.“I notice you don’t have the same kind words about your dad,” Roosevelt points out.“And then there’s Ellis—and whoever the hell he’s talking to.”“The Prophet.”“That’s a stupid name,” Roosevelt says.“That’s the name he gave.”“Whatever he calls himself, he’s clearly helping Ellis—and considering how everything’s gone, you need to find out how this Prophet somehow knows, at all times, where the three of you are.”“He doesn’t know it now.”“Or for all you know, he—or she—does,” Roosevelt warns.I freeze midstep, and a chunk of ice slides into my sneaker, nibbling through my sock.“What’re you saying?”“The whole reason you’re all running around is to track what’s in this old lost comic, right? Jerry Siegel hid something in there, and everyone’s racing to find it.Timothy teamed with Ellis to find it.Ellis teamed with the Prophet to find it.And then.by whatever grace of God.in the wallpaper, you found it.”“So?”“So now, maybe this Prophet doesn’t need Ellis anymore.Maybe he’s feeling secure about his position and doesn’t want Ellis screwing it up, or even worse, having Ellis take it all for himself—so he knocks Ellis out the window, which conveniently uncorks the pressure cooker but still leaves all the pawns on the board, just in case he needs to play them later.”Across the street, there’s an old Plymouth in a snowed-in parking spot.The driver guns the engine, but the wheels spin hopelessly.I know exactly how he feels.“So you’re saying my dad’s the Prophet?”“Your dad.Serena—maybe it’s both of them.But ask yourself: How did this all start, Cal? Because you saw your father that night in the park, right? Then when you got the hold notice taken off his shipment, you started realizing that as much as he tried to act clueless, he always seemed to have this uncanny sense for what was really going on.Then he convinces you to go off to Cleveland, promising to track down whoever hired him.But whatever happened to that search? Has he spent a single minute on it? No.And the reason you can’t find who hired your dad.well, maybe it’s simply because no one hired your dad.Or his girlfriend.”The wheels of the Plymouth continue their futile spin.The driver just needs a push.Up the block, there’s half a dozen people waiting at a bus stop, all of them watching.Not one of them gets up to help.“I know you want the happy ending, Cal—and I know what you’re really chasing up there with your father—but don’t forget, in the original Pinocchio story, Jiminy Cricket gets stomped and left for dead.By Pinocchio.”“Thanks for that.But I’m not my father’s conscience,” I insist.“You sure about that?”I stare at the stranded Plymouth, tempted to help.But there’s a reason I didn’t bring my dad or Serena or even our rental car.When I close my eyes, I picture the Johnsels’ lifeless bodies spread awkwardly across their mattress.The only thing keeping me from joining them is staying out of sight.Lowering my head, I walk past the Plymouth.Destination is the Burger King that’s dead ahead.I don’t need food.But they have something far more valuable.“Can we please get back to the research?” I plead.“What’d you find out about this Book of Lies?”Through the phone, I hear Roosevelt turning pages.“I know this’ll sound a little hoo-ha, but.I think it’s a murder weapon.”“The book is?” I laugh as my frozen breath fills the air.“Must’ve been a hell of a paper cut.”“I’m serious, Cal.Scholars have spent centuries theorizing that Cain killed Abel with a rock or a club or even the jawbone of an ass.But one of the oldest theories is that Cain used, of all things, a book.”“And I suppose no one cares about the fact that Cain’s tirade supposedly took place thousands of years before the Chinese or the Egyptians got their hands on a single piece of papyrus?” I ask as I peer over my shoulder.A local bus hisses to a stop at the bus bench, carting all the people away
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