The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 131

        

PART FOUR: PROFIT

Chapter 131

Jane lives up to her word about the motel in Betrug. Room 27 and fresh clothes are waiting for us.

Sam and I stay quiet. Take turns in the shower. The warm water rekindles the light in our eyes.

It takes every ounce of soap in the room, but we manage to get clean. The fresh clothes are perfect. Flannel shirts and jeans.

We get a bit of much-needed shut-eye, then head out. The café opens soon.

Sam breaks the weary silence as I start up the SUV.

"So are you going to sign?" Sam says.

It's not like I have a real choice. Like a fly in a jar.

"Definitely. Let's get some money. Get the hell out of here," I say. "Besides, Jane will clear my name. Get the FBI off my trail. Only choice I have is to sign."

Then I pause. Think back to my father. How he resisted signing. I wonder why? Did he see something I don't?

If the money didn't sway him, maybe something else did. Self-determination? Going against the grain? Just being stubborn?

No. Not those things. Something inside me knows the answer already. Just don't want to admit it.

He wanted to keep the property to give to me. To pass down. Just like the generations before. Tradition. It mattered to him more than money.

Not only that, but it offered me a shot at redemption. A future. Hope that I'd sort things out. And now I have that chance. That choice.

Makes me rethink what I just told Sam.

"Good. Sign it," Sam says. "Sell the property. Take the money. We can start a new life together."

I spot the Betrug Café up ahead. An orange OPEN placard faces the street. I spot a luxury car in the parking lot. Too fancy for Betrug. Must be the person we're supposed to meet.

"Or I could keep driving," I say. "Maybe Jane lied. Maybe this is all a trap. This might be the last time we're free."

Sam looks shocked. "What are you talking about?" she says. "Just sign the damn thing. Be done with it."

I think about what Jane said. About the illusion of choice. How we're like flies trapped in a jar.

"What if I just delayed the choice? Stayed in limbo? Nothing would get decided either way," I say.

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Sam says.

She has a point. I do, too. But I turn into the Betrug Café anyway.

Sam gives me a final lecture before we exit the SUV. The decision is still mine in the end. Nothing anyone says can move that pen for me.

We enter the café. A single man sits inside. New blue jeans. Snappy sport coat. Dyed brown hair. Shiny cowboy boots. Million-dollar grin. Trying and failing to fit in on the prairie.

The man stands to greet us like he rehearsed it the night before.

"You must be Wil," he says. Voice is steady and smooth. "Would you and your friend care for a cup of coffee?"

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