My house looked exactly the same, except for one major difference. There was a FOR SALE sign on the lawn. When I knocked on my old neighbor Mrs. Johnson’s door, she seemed surprised to see me.

“Didn’t you know your father moved? He couldn’t stand to live in that house after your mother passed away. If you give me a second I can get you his new address.”

I sat down on the doorstep, reeling with this information. I hadn’t planned on this. But just because one half of the equation was missing didn’t mean this problem couldn’t be solved. I felt for the gun in my jacket, needing to touch its cold steel surface for reassurance.

By the time Mrs. Johnson returned to the door, I was composed once more. I thanked her for the address and promised to visit again soon. Lying was getting easier and easier these days.

I decided to walk to my father’s place rather than catch the bus again. Walking always allowed me to gather my thoughts. His place wound up being less than ten minutes away. It was a rundown condominium.