"Listen Stuart, I will forgive you that indiscreet remark but others might not. I suggest that you return to the fold and do what you do best and perhaps they will forgive you. People are...concerned."
"Tell them to stuff it up their patrician asses. I no longer give a fuck about their concerns just like they don't care about my ass."
"This sudden outburst of idealistic morality doesn't become you, Stuart. You were much better when you were practical."
"And you were much better when you pretended to have balls. Now you can't even fuck your own wife. She is the head slut for one of your certain people and fucks whoever he tells her to. Once, even your wife respected you and you respected yourself."
"That's enough Stuart. Jennifer has become a practical person now; so stop throwing stones at her. I am hanging up. You have forty eight hours to get over your snit and be back here." The line went dead.
I handed the cumbersome phone back to Sylvia. She smiled and said, "That was quite a performance. I hope that you live long enough to do an encore."
"I don't want an encore, Sylvia; I just want out."
"Don't we all? I made a little stupid and survived it. You did a big stupid and I'm not sure that you will survive. So you aren't going back?"
"Hell no."
"Where are you going?"
"Maybe Washington or Oregon or Montana. I'll figure it out when I get there."
"You know that you are now a persona non grata in all official circles."
"I know the routine. So I better get going. I need a drink, a place to sleep, and a good meal before I become their target."
"Good luck, Stuart. I'll be thinking about you." As I opened the limo door, she took an envelope out of her purse and put it in my hand. I knew better than to say anything or acknowledge it. I simply folded it and put it in my back pocket. I would read it when I was alone and then destroy it to protect Sylvia. Even if everything else was a sham, those of us on the inside did try to protect each other because no one else would. We were pawns in a game that we had no control over.
I stepped out and without even looking at the stiff uniform standing guard; I went to my truck and drove back onto the Interstate. It only took me ten minutes to work out a timeline. He said forty eight hours; that meant I needed to be pretty well lost in twenty four to be safe. It would take them a couple of hours to gather the troops they needed; so basically, I had until dawn to begin my disappearance. I estimated that I could do that unless something got in my way. The first stop was fifty miles down the road and that is where I was heading.
At the next road side park, I pulled through long enough to toss my cell phone in the trash bin. I had no doubts that my signal could be traced wherever I was. I had made sure to leave all of the other traceable electronics behind. Everything else was on a series of flash drives and I had an anonymous laptop waiting for me at my destination. Unlike those overly optimistic people like Mitchell who think the train ride will never end, I had realized that I needed to be prepared for a partial or total derailment. Therefore, I had slowly put together an escape plan that I hoped would work. In two weeks, Stuart Michaels would be a memory and Roger Fender would make his appearance on the planet.
An hour later, I turned off onto a Farm to Market road and drove fifteen miles before I turned into a dirt road leading to what appeared to be an empty barn. Once there, I parked my recognizable truck in the woods and walked back the hundred yards to the barn. The barn appeared to be abandoned and vacant and it appeared to be as I had left it a month ago. I opened the hidden door on the side and walked down the ramp to what used to be the manure dump for the dairy farm a long time ago. Inside was my very non-descript 90's model Ford pickup with door dings and a dent in the tail gate. In any road or city west of the Mississippi, it would look like a dozen other vehicles on the road and attract no attention at all.
It was registered to a man who did not exist, paid for with cash, and parked along with a few important things I would need on my journey. The truck itself only needed to run for a few thousandmiles and I had made sure that the mechanic would take care of that. I gave it about a week before it was discovered. That was the first week I needed to get on my way to my disappearance.
I quickly changed out of my suit and left it in a pile of junk in the corner except for the envelope from Sylvia and put on a pair of jeans and western shirt that I had bought at a thrift store in Missouri on my last trip there. The other bags appeared to be intact as I expected them to be. Then I fired up the engine and drove the truck up the ramp before stopping to lock the door behind me. As I drove back down the dirt road, I now had nothing on or with me that could be bugged or traced to Stuart Michaels. Roger Fender would begin to appear in person in shortly. Until then, I was nobody.
Sylvia had said Washington, Oregon and Montana. That told me that I needed to stay away from there. It was sort of an insider's code to tell someone where they should stay away from. It didn't matter because I already knew where I was going for the next couple of weeks. I didn't get back on the Interstate but stayed on the Farm to Market road for thirty miles and picked up a State Highway that went into Mississippi. So far, I was on schedule and should make it to my next stop for breakfast.
As dawn was breaking over my shoulder, I pulled into the small river town that was my destination. I drove around and looked for any signs of people looking for me but found only early morning people walking or heading for work. Satisfied that I was safe so far, I parked in the diner parking lot and put on my thrift store cowboy hat and entered. A cheerful waitress greeted me and offered me my choice of tables. I chose a table next to the window to keep my eyes on the road.
I ordered my second breakfast in eight hours and enjoyed this one more than I had the previous one. When I left, I was full and ready to go on to stage two of my disappearance. I drove to the marina shop and saw my forty foot boat sitting by the dock. The boat was registered to Roger Fender and had been overhauled and refitted inside. The outside showed the usual signs of a river work boat. The external appearance was of little concern to me as long as the inside was comfortable. I had bought this boat six month ago very cheaply as it had been hit hard by one of the vicious storms that hit the area periodically and it ended up partially swamped on a sand bar. It cost quite a bit to put a new diesel engine and drive train in it but between that and the modifications I had specified, I had paid about as much as a new thirty foot boat would cost but I had a more solid and roomier boat than I would have had otherwise. Since I planned to live on it for at least six months, I wanted the room and comfort. The fact that it was a common design on the rivers and would hardly raise any eyebrows was what I wanted. I had paid the shop in cash in several installments. The biggest payment was for the engine and transmission and for that, I got a cashier's check from a small bank in Virginia that I had set up for Roger Fender. After the check was drawn, I closed the account.
I smiled as I walked in to greet the owner of the shop, a good natured man named Marquet. He remembered me and proudly walked me out to the boat to show off his work. He had indeed done a really good job and I was satisfied. He had run the boat himself up and down the river several times and found it solid and ready for me to go off shore which was the story I had given him about what I was looking for. As he handed me the keys, I told him that I was going to shop for provisions and would load things that night and shove off at first light the next morning. He thought that was a good plan. The gate would be unlocked until eight at night and would open at six in the morning. I shook his hand and drove to the local ship store and bought a few things that I had not already purchased.
After that, I went to the storage yard and hooked up the covered trailed I had rented and towed it to the grocery store. An hour later, I put eight bags of groceries in the bed of the truck along with three cases of beer, a case of wine and a case of scotch. Then I parked at the dock and began unloading the trailer and truck. The shore power made sure that the refrigerator was cold and the freezer ready for the meat I had bought. Everything else stowed as I had planned. When I finished, I returned the trailer to the place I had rented it from and paid the outstanding balance in cash. They appreciated my business.
Then I drove the truck back to the storage yard and parked it in back. Ten minutes later, I had the Tennessee plates removed and the new Louisiana plates were screwed on. I disconnected the battery and locked it up before covering it with a tarp and tied it down. With luck, it would be ready for me in three months when I came back to get it. I walked the mile and a half back to the marina after stopping at the diner again for a late lunch. As I went inside the cabin of my new home, I reflected on everything I had done. I realized that there would be unlimited resources available to look for me. Hopefully, I had covered my tracks well enough for people's memories to fade. I wasn't that important as an individual but I did know a lot that could embarrass or stop a career in its tracks. That scares people regardless of what my intentions were. My intentions were simply to disappear.
I poured myself a scotch and went to sit on the deck of my boat and turned on the satellite radio to a good music station. I was about to pour my second scotch when Marquet walked up to the boat and said, "Roger, can I bother you for a moment." I almost didn't respond since this was the first time anyone had called me Roger.
'OH hi, sure; come on aboard. I was day dreaming a little, I guess."
He stepped down into the deck and stood by the steps. It was then that I noticed a young woman wearing a pair of shorts and a crop top standing where he had been. She looked nervous. He looked back at her and said, "Come on Miss; this is the guy I told you about. Roger, this is Emily and she has a problem that maybe you can help her with."
"Come on down, Emily; I don't bite." She stepped down the step and into the cockpit.
"Roger, Emily here is kind of stuck. She was taking a trip down the Waterway with her boy friend and some others and he got pissed and dumped her off here. Her bag and purse and everything are still on his boat. They were going down to Mobile so she is stuck here. Since you were going that way, I wondered if she could catch a lift. She thinks that she can get her things back when she catches up to them. If not, she can call her father from there and he can send her some money to get back to St. Louis. Are you up for a passenger for a couple of days?"
My mind went into overdrive as I ran several scenarios through my head. On one hand, people would be looking for me alone, not with a girl who was at least ten years younger than I was. But I actually intended to go north in the morning to St. Louis and come back down the Mississippi rather than go to Mobile. My other concern was if I could maintain my new identity for that long without screwing up. But it would also be good practice. On the whole, I felt that it was a low risk opportunity.
