The Art of Unopulence

04 | disillusion

I run through all the possible kinds of suspicious things I need to look for, inside my head. Recording, listening and transmission devices, sharp weapons, fake IDs, weird looking vials. Anything that can help me reach an appropriate conclusion.

It is a good thing that the windshield of the car and the windows are heavily tinted because any passersby would have gotten a wrong idea if they happened to glance in. My feet were planted on the back seat and my arms were flailing around near the front as my torso awkwardly balanced in the place between the front seats.

I probably looked utterly bonkers.

I don't find anything of interest, unfortunately. If there is, it's hidden carefully by Dad and is absolutely undetectable to a rookie like me. With a frown, I scrutinize all the nooks and crannies once more, gliding my fingers over all the hard surfaces. But there's nothing.

I'm about to push my body back when I see my father stepping out of the diner, when my hand accidentally brushes against the cold, reinforced polymer surface of the radio system.

Click.

A small hatch eases out of it's lock before moving forward to make way for a horizontal lever behind it connected to a series of gears. I watch as the complex vault opens seamlessly, without a single sound.

Dad is barely a few feet away, his mouth curved into a scowl.

Fuck!

I crane my neck to see what's inside the vault in the front. The doors are locked and I have the car keys so I'm safe for now. A sleek black file sits inside the vault idly. Just as I reach out for it, Dad's face appears on my side suddenly and I let out a loud scream.

He's pressed his face against the driver's side window to look inside and he looks absolutely furious. I'm overcome by a tidal wave of pure panic as he steps away.

I grab onto the file and hug it against my chest as I curl up in the back seat. With a sigh I fling open the file, Dad will need some time to figure out how to open the car doors without a key.

There isn't much in the file for obvious reasons- just a few photos and a passport of someone named Nathaniel Mirsalehi. As I scan through the pictures quickly, I'm alarmed to find my yearbook picture looking back at me.

Nervous tremors running up my fingers, I slip the picture into the back pocket of my shorts when suddenly the alarm system of the car roars to life before dying down into dead silence within a second.

It turns out I grossly underestimated my father's intellect and emergency control training, because the next moment the driver's seat door opens and he slips into the car before clicking all the locks into place.

My breath hitches. I hadn't noticed the heart rate escalating before but it hammers wildly and I can feel my pulse on all my finger tips and ears. A bead of perspiration runs down my back and disappears into the hem of my underwear. I utterly hate it when that happens.