Title: The Grifter's Daughter
Genre: Commercial Fiction
“Don’t this thing have air?”
I glanced at the bony little man complaining; my father, Leroy, “Pops” Amadeus Logan. He was slouched in the black bucket seat of my brand new old Ford, arms hugging his chest.
A 1965 fully restored Mustang convertible, fire engine red with leather interior, chrome dash, three speed manual with overdrive, you could get a speeding ticket parked at the courthouse. They just didn’t make a better getaway car.
“Quit your bitchin’, Pops. This here’s the open road.” I chinned to the highway through the windshield. “And that there’s freedom.”
“Damned hot, this freedom.” He broke out the smile that had charmed so many wardens, twisted around to touch one of the large cases in the back, caressing the smooth mocha leather. “One point one million dollars. I never had a score like that my whole life.”
“Neither have I, Pops,” I said, trying to keep the giddy elation from my voice. Honestly, if we weren’t driving I’d be dancing in the street.
The scenery outside whizzed past, barely noticed. Fields of seed rows waiting for spring to become green again, blue sky above, gray ribbon of the Ohio Turnpike in front and back.
The temperature had reached eighty and we weren’t even past nine in the morning, hence my father’s complaints.
On the lam, five hours out of New York City, heading nowhere, the sun rising behind us cast a giant shadow to the west. We drove after the shadow as if it was a destination we could never each, like Moses near the Promised Land only, you know, crooked.