The square dance of Death
Chapter 9
The square dance of Death
Nom knew that he needed to start being careful, eventually the police were going to want to have a conversation with him. Unless, he intended to neutralize them, he needed to stay under the radar. Paying for a hotel room where three dead bodies would eventually be found was bad enough. Offering a bleeding heart story about taking care of a young family that he had seen would take care of the average curious cop. If on the other hand, he was found to have paid for two hotel rooms, one with corpses and the other with a comatose concierge? A concierge whose key was the last one used to enter the room of the deceased? There was no explaining that away.
When he woke up on his second day in the hotel, he looked at the sleeping co-ed next to him. It really was a shame that he could not take her with him. Eventually he might manage to refine his powers to the point that he could reprogram people, but for the time being it looked like he was going to be limited to temporary brain alterations. Still that was no reason why he had to go unsatisfied this morning. The dose of sleeping pills he had wished on her, would keep her unconscious and unable to make new memories even if he started performing open chest surgery sans anesthesia. No need to work about blocking her ability to make memories. He wished her aroused…
An hour and a half later Nom had finished with his morning ceremonies and was ready to face the day. First things first, he had to get rid of the concierge. Her boss would be calling her shortly to see if she would be coming in. The simplest solution would simply be to have her show. Putting her into another clot induced mental daze, Nom had her shower and dress.
The only missing element was that she did not have any of the perfume that she had been wearing the day before. Still it would have to do, women made unexpected changes in their appearances all the time.
Nom took her to the elevator pressed the lobby button and, as the doors closed, removed the clot. From her life fire Nom could feel that she had a splitting head ache. To be on the safe side, despite her having no fertile eggs in her ovaries, he triggered a period. For all he knew she might have fired off an active egg before he killed her ovarian stash. With any luck she would get to the lobby confused, with a severe headache, and spotting.
Her story for skipping work would be backed up. Confusion brought on by what was one hell of a head crusher was not uncommon. A day or two of rest followed by a checkup in the hospital, and she would chock it all up to bad time of the month. The flow she was now experiencing would make a bit of a mess, but it would flush out any evidence the shower missed should that hospital choose to do a rape kit.
Nom went back to his room and picked up the phone. Room service was more than willing to bring him a pot of earl grey, soy milk, toast, and eggs fried in olive oil. He sat down at the desk and powered up his laptop. His phone gave him Chopin's Polonaise Op. 53 in A flat major over his ear buds.
A bit of Facebook stalking gave him a rapid-fire bio on Lake Church and the Reverend Ater. The man was even prominent enough that a Wikipedia page had been created. This led to some interesting sources that Nom could use in building his target profile.
After his breakfast had arrived and the waiter was tipped, Nom resumed his work while he ate. In a little over an hour, Nom was thoroughly familiar with his next experiment. Now all he had to do was take the necessary steps to slip into anonymity.
Nom went through his luggage, he reduced it to a day bag and a small duffle bag. The surplus he dropped in the dumpster behind a Denny's near the hotel. His cell phone was conveniently smashed with a rock after he emailed a new Google address his contacts. His rental car was easy to lose. He simply drove back into the airport and parked it there. Funnily enough, since the structure blocked all cell phone coverage, he was sure that it would take them weeks to find it there. None of the tracking devices in the car could work.
Nom returned and checked out of the hotel. He could not help but feel aroused when he saw the concierge sitting in the manager's office, looking faint with a cold compress held to her head. Nom asked the desk clerk to call him a taxi and went to wait in the lobby.
First, he had the taxi take him to the Dallas financial district. He had found a bank that would cash Bit Coins. An hour later he was in another cab, his day bag bulging with books of twenty-dollar bills, and two one-hundred-dollar books. His next stop was a local DMV that a dark web friend had suggested.
The process was simple: walk in, find an old Latina woman named Damaris at the questions counter, and tell her he needed a new license. The rest was simply a matter of putting five-hundred-dollars in a manila envelope along with fake car insurance documents.
When she glanced at the envelope and saw the money Nom could tell from the twinkle in her eye that his friend had been correct. She gave him an application form and number and said she needed to give his document to a clerk and sent him to wait. Nom noticed that she took the envelope into another room. When she came back it was much thinner. Half an hour later his number was called, and he went up to the counter. A smiling young African-American woman winked at him when she asked for his application.
When he handed it over she said: "Ok sweetie, there will be a: fifty-dollar application fee, a one-hundred-dollar processing fee, and if you would like your license before you leave; then there will be a three-hundred-dollar same day convenience fee."
Smiling, and shaking his head at her shameless padding of the bribe, Nom pulled the requested cash from his back pack and took the receipt.
"Ok, stand against the wall there, and smile." She said. The camera flashed. "Have a seat, Sugar, I'll call you when it's ready."
Twenty minutes later he was out front flagging another taxi. A fresh ID was in his wallet. He had the driver take him to a small used car dealer he had found online the night before. When he arrived at the dealer, it was just as he expected: seedy and filled with derelict wrecks that once had been cars. A few repossessed cars that had been picked up at auction were on display in the front, but the rest were crap. Nom paid the driver in cash and went in.
The dealer was a brunet ex trophy wife who introduced herself as Doreen. For a moment Nom contemplated using her just as he had the concierge at his hotel. Pleasant as that would be, it was time to start going underground. He was leaving a trail of bread crumbs, and he was not sure the birds would eat them in time.
Nom looked over the spec sheet for a low mileage Miata. It was perfect, ten thousand miles, certified used, and only twelve thousand dollars. Doreen put on the usual song and dance, trying to jack up her price, but Nom was not in a giving mood. Loans, deals, she tried everything, but he would not budge. He simply put a book of hundred dollar bills on the desk.
"Doreen we both know that we are only here for one reason. You want a sale, and I need to buy. The difference between our positions is that I can get in a cab and go to another dealer. Looking around your lot, it has been a while since someone like me came in. I'm not interested in a loan. I don't care what kinds of deals you have to offer me on the interest rate. That book, holds one-hundred, hundred dollar bills. That is ten thousand dollars. Most of the sales from dealerships like this go south, and you have to repossess. How much do you lose?"
"A bit." She admitted
"Well, the Miata, has been restored. Don't deny it." He said holding up the Car Fax report on his phone.
"The entire front end has been rebuilt after crashing into the Jane Mansfield bar on a semi. You didn't disclose that. The state licensing people can be rather nasty about that sort of faus pas. So, considering the Kelly Blue Book listing, and the restored status, ten grand is a fair deal. Take it, or I walk."
She took the deal which amazed Nom. He showed a little bit of confidence, and she folded like a busted card shark. The new ID seemed to be working, and the registration paperwork was quickly filled out.
As he left, he asked the dealer for directions to the nearest Wal-Mart. Normally, Nom was loathed to shop at the box store, but this time he needed the convenience.
By that afternoon he was a fully functioning member of society. He had a car, a cell phone, and a prepaid debit card. He spent several hours going from bank to bank around the town. Each time he used their ATMs until he had loaded most of the remaining cash onto his new card. Making sure to stay under the limits set by the Patriot Act for the banks to notify the feds or the IRS, he then stopped by Men's Warehouse. He had to be sure he looked the part of a good evangelical when he got to Lake Church.
He drove to Houston and checked into a Holiday Inn only a few blocks from the target. He could hardly sleep as he waited for his chance to conduct his greatest experiment yet.