I’m Fixin’ To Play Dead (Part 63)

As I now cautiously gazed out the window of my second story motel room down at the red Jeep that Sissy had loaned me to journey on a wild goose chase while she and Louise and Bobby made off with my “playing dead” stash of money, the two dark suited men began to converse with one another.

After a few moments one of them walked away toward the front of the motel while the other stood with one foot on the rear bumper and waited. I figured the one who had left was going to the front desk in an attempt to match the license plate number with a registered guest. I knew that thanks to my Uncle Virgil he wouldn’t have any luck doing that.

Eventually the one who had left returned and the two of them entered a dark sedan a few parking spaces away and just sat there. I figured they were waiting for someone to come down and claim the Jeep, but I knew then they would be waiting a long time, and with no results.

It was another miracle that I had driven the stolen vehicle to Atlanta and back to Montgomery, then to Birmingham and back without being picked up. I supposed that I still had a little luck left.

Before I left I took one last look out the window and thought how Sissy and Louise had used me, robbed me, deceived me and left me in harm’s way by driving a stolen vehicle.

In that brief moment love turned to hate and trust turned to cunning.

The Jeep and the cops were on the north side of the motel facing the interstate, while the south side faced the side street with the BP station and the Blimpie. I exited the motel on that side with my duffle bag, crossed the street, went into the station, slipped my friend behind the sandwich counter a fifty and asked him to please call me a taxi. Five minutes later I was back in a taxi, but this time it was going to be a short ride.

“Where to, sir,” the driver asked.

“Take me to the nearest used car lot,” I replied.

The pickup truck I purchased reminded me of Leon’s old truck, except it was a newer model and was in much better condition. After paying $2,500 for it, I pocketed the title and got on I-65 heading south.

It was an exhilarating feeling to finally be free with nothing to dread. I was driving my own vehicle with a driver’s license and a credit card in my pocket. I grudgingly had to admit that Sissy was mostly responsible for that, but I had paid way too much money for it.

I now knew where I was going and what I was going to do, but I did have two last items on my agenda that I wanted to take care of first. The first was to set the cops straight about Leon’s death and to see that my ex-wife didn’t collect any of my life insurance.

I figured the second item was probably already in motion because my nosey neighbor in Atlanta had probably alerted the authorities that he had seen a dead man leaving my house in Atlanta this past Saturday. But just to make sure I planned to make a phone call.

The truck hadn’t come with much gas in the tank so I had to stop after about an hour on the road and fill up. After I had paid I went inside and bought a throw-away cell phone with cash and placed a call to USA Today, and asked for the reporter who had written the story about the plane crash I had supposedly died in.

I got a recording, but that didn’t stop me. After the prompt I began to speak: “My name is Todd Prescott. I survived the plane crash in Birmingham 11 days ago. My next door neighbor in Atlanta can confirm that I’m still alive. He saw me three days ago. No life insurance should be paid to my beneficiary.”

I went on to give my real social security number, and also provided the combination to the safe at VegX, so the reporter wouldn’t consider the call a hoax.

I hung up the phone and thought, “There, that’s done.” But I didn’t have the energy to complete the other task. “A little further down the road,” I thought.

My heart was pounding in my chest like a jackhammer as the feeling of freedom continued to flow over me, and I realized I would be fixing to reach my destination before dark!