The Man From Mars - Episode Nineteen

   I splashed water on my face and used a complimentary paper cup to rinse my mouth out. I also wasted time by brushing my teeth.
   I couldn't leave that taste in my mouth. It would remind me of Alfred Backman dying.
   The sooner I could put his death behind me, the sooner I can wrap my head around on what I should do next.
   Gathering up my things, I knew I had to get out of there quick. Not because of any threat by the local Police, getting wind of Backman's death, and arresting me. No, I wasn't kidding when I said that the facial recognition software at the local station probably set off all kinds of bells and whistles at the Headquarters of the Secret Service.
   My problem is, where do I go to first, from here?
   I'm hoping I can get at least a couple of hours head start, before they swoop down and cordon off the area. Maybe another fifteen minutes to a half-hour before they figure out who helped Alfred Backman, and where Backman is now.
   I decided not to waste any time by trying to locate my registration on Backman's computer, especially since it is probably password protected.
   That means I have approximately two hours and thirty minutes to be as faraway as possible. Another two hours tops, to ditch the car.
   I went to the only all-night gas station in Paulding. Bought a dusty old map of the United States freeways, printed in 2009, for the exorbitant price of $11.95, and headed for Fort Wayne, Indiana.
   According to my watch, and yes I still wear a watch, it only took an hour to get to Fort Wayne from Paulding. I stopped at another all-night gas station there and asked direction to the nearest Greyhound Bus Depot.
   The gas station still had a payphone, outside, in front of the convenient store. So I called customer service at the depot and asked about ticket prices. The female agent asked, "What city are you going to?"

 

   I paused. Where to next?
   I had to think, so I told her I would call back in five minutes.
   What would I do if I were the Secret Service?
   My first priority would be to block any boarder crossing. Detroit would be the closest place to get into Canada, unless I wanted to take the long way around via Illinois, Wisconsin, and Minnesota. So that is where they would head to first.
   Second choice would be to head off any attempt to get to the Appalachian Mountains.
   A person could get lost in those mountains for years and never be found. With my survival skills, the way they are today, I could get lost for years, and be found dead from starvation. Maybe they would block that path, but I would never take it.
   Of course the Secret Service will have experts hacking the password on Alfred Backman's computer, looking to find out what kind of transportation I'll be driving. Once they do that, an all-points bulletin will be sent out, across the nation to all law enforcement, to be on the lookout for a wanted fugitive. They will track the car registration to the point of purchase, question the dealership owner, probably the towns folk at the greasy-spoon where I had breakfast, and find out I arrived on a bus which was headed to Los Angeles.
   Hopefully, they won't find the car right away and believe that I am still on my way to California. Giving me a day or two head start.
   I tore up the driver's license I used to buy the first bus ticket I got and also used to register at the Come On Inn. I can't get confused later on and use the fake license again. It will quickly be tracked after the Secret Service find that name on the Inn's register.
   What to do? 
   I need to get back to New York and find the Man from Mars.
   I called the Greyhound Bus Terminal again and asked for a departure time for Newark, New Jersey.
   I had two hours to kill before the 4:05a.m. departure time. So I looked for a secluded, back alley, to dump the car and walked to the bus depot. Bought a ticket, a paperback novel called, "No Return Address," by some obscure writer I never heard of, and pretended to read it while I waited for my bus.
   I still had fifty minutes to waste before the Bus left.
   I had time to think. And the first thing I thought about, was the look on Backman's face when he knew he was going to die. Luckily for me, I had nothing left in my stomach to regurgitate.
   How did I do it? I asked myself. How, after thinking about forcing Alfred to point the gun in another direction and it didn't work, how did I stop him from moving? How did I manipulate his hand to inject himself with the paralyzing fluid?
   I was deep in thought when the bus came.
   I showed my ticket to an agent in front of my bus, got on, and thought about the question that should have been bothering me from the start.
  Why me?

To Be Continued...

Next Thursday.

This is,

Hoping You Are Enjoying My Weekly Serial,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“I climbed aboard a Greyhound bus and rode it to New York without telling anyone, without so much as a goodbye. What was I thinking? I was young and stupid and broken. I knew from watching movies that broken people hopped on buses and disappeared.”
- Ken Wheaton -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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