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“DAD... I’M CAUGHT UP in some bad business.”
He still had me in a bear hug, and he gave one more squeeze, then stepped back to arm’s length. He hit me with a deadpan glare. “You don’t say?”
“I’m not joking. It’s bad.”
“I believe you. I’ve seen the bullet holes. Drugs?”
“Excuse me?”
“Is it drugs? Are you tangled up in meth or hooked on fentanyl?”
“It’s not drugs, Dad.”
“Then we’ll sort it out. But what’s the acetone for?”
I hesitated. Preachers had their own confidentiality rules, but they didn’t get all the legal protections of an attorney. I swallowed. “How much do you want to know?”
“How much danger is my child in?”
He kept his voice level, but I felt the tremor when he said “my child.”
I couldn’t tell him “none.” I’d already been shot at, and I was going back for more. But my dad knew about helping people. He had made me that way.
So I held his gaze and said, “Less trouble than the girl he’s trying to save.”
Dad took a slow, deep breath, then let it out in a tired huff. “Well. Then what are we going to do?”
I filled him in on the broad strokes. Cass and Derrick and the gun. Hauser and the cartel and Trina. He just kept nodding, interrupting only to ask short clarifying questions. I was five minutes into the cartel when I mentioned the D. A.s, and Dad asked, “So is this just in Oklahoma?”
I gaped. “You’re taking this all in stride.”
“I spend every day helping the people hurt by drugs and gangs and human traffickers. This isn’t story stuff to me. I’m just sorry you got tangled up in it.”
“I’m not part of it, though, Dad. I’m clean. I’m trying to save someone else from getting tangled up, too.”
He considered that. He sighed. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“I don’t. I’ve got a plan. I can’t say it’s a good one.”
“And you’re doing it anyway? You’re risking your life for this?”
I couldn’t find any words to shape into an answer. At last, I hung my head and said, “Yeah.”
“Then you have my blessing. Let me grab the acetone, and then I’ll say a prayer for you.”
I stared. “You don’t even know my plan!”
“No, but I know what it looks like when God is moving. I won’t get in the way.”
“You’re not going to try to stop me?”
“If Joseph’s dad had kept him out of trouble, two nations would’ve starved. If David’s dad had kept him home, there never would’ve been a kingdom. If Jonah’s dad—”
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
He tore his gaze out of the Bible stories filling his head and met my eyes again. There were tears in his. “I love you, Dave. I’ll be scared for you every day. No matter what you’re doing. I have to let you live your life and trust God to do his job.”
He left me with that. I heard him talking briefly with mom in their room, then the bathroom door, and then he was back. He handed me the bottle like it was no big deal.
I shook my head at him. “You’re always asking me to tell you my plans. You always want to know the details. Now you trust me?”
“I don’t remember the last time I saw you sure of yourself, Dave. Right now you’re scared—you’re shaking!—but you’re sure, too. If you know, you don’t need me to help you make plans. If God’s shoving you ahead, how could I expect you to stop him?”
I hadn’t really expected an answer from him, and that one surprised me. Sure of myself? That’s what he wanted out of me? Stupid confidence?
But it wasn’t stupid. Sunday was stupid. Doing things Cass’s way was stupid. Even if the situation was ludicrous, I had a good plan now that fit my resources. Well... now that I had the acetone.
I nodded, choking up a little. “Thanks, Dad. I’m not used to you believing in me.”
He scoffed. “Of course I believe in you! I don’t have such high expectations of ordinary men.”
“Gee, thanks.” I took a deep breath, then looked out at my car. It was time. “Hey, say a prayer for me. Please?”
He smiled. “Always.”
I took another breath. Nervous, still. He noticed.
“Out of curiosity,” he asked, “what is your plan?”
“I drive to the apartments and give Cass the gun. She creates a disturbance to draw Hauser’s thugs, then I go find Trina in the hubbub.”
“That’s your plan?”
He sounded really doubtful all of a sudden. I held his gaze. “It’s what God’s shoving me to do.”
“I’ll confess, Dave, he’s shoving me hard to just call the cops and let them sort it out.”
I glanced at my watch, calculating fast. Thinking about average response times and everything that could go wrong. In the end, I nodded. “That’s perfect. Do it at ten minutes to seven, exactly.”
“Exactly?”
“Exactly. We need a little darkness while we’re moving into position.”
He sighed, more and more worried. “I know all about deeds done by darkness.”
“Dad!”
“You’ve got it, Dave. I’ll call them at exactly ten minutes to seven. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Ben will send you the list. But mainly, when you call, tell them there are lots and lots of guns at the apartments. We need a big show.”
“Dave—”
He wanted to argue, now that he knew some details. And I was worried he might stop me. Without reason, I felt driven to go do this thing. It was scary and stupid, but I needed to.
I hugged Dad again, a quick one-arm grab, and shoved myself toward the door. “Love you, Dad. It’ll be all right. You can teach Ben how to bail me out.”
With that, I left.
It was time to save the day.