“No.”
He sighed. “Okay. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still a member in good standing. You get in trouble in a city with a chapter, let me know and I’ll pave the way for them to help you. Duke’s pissed, and you’ll need to find a way to make things right with him, but you’re my brother and I want you to stay safe.”
“Thanks, Bud.”
I chased her through seven states before the trail disappeared and I was forced to go home, but I only went back long enough to pack my shit, sell my house to a new member, and officially rejoin the Atlanta RTMC. Bud sent me to help the new South Carolina chapter, and within a few weeks I’d brought them into the current century, and taught most of the men how to use the security I put in place. I also installed some new equipment for The Swan Queen, and trained her guys in how to use it.
Once again, I found myself in the control room most of the time, which was fine with me because it also let me keep an eye on all of Ice’s accounts, just in case she checked one. I also kept track of the auctions, because now that she knew about them, it was only a matter of time before she worked a deal on her own for a new identity.
After a few months, the South Carolina guys were fine on their own and I was back in Atlanta. I lived in the clubhouse, with most of my things in storage until I figured out what I was doing.
Months after I’d last seen her, I finally saw activity I was certain was Ice bidding on a soon-to-be-available identity, and lucky for me, the dying woman lived just north of Atlanta.
Chapter Eighteen
Ice
The woman was eighty pounds heavier than me, and had been fat all of her life, so there were no skinny pictures of her. She looked enough like a fat version of me, I could easily pass for her if I claimed to have lost weight. Her driver’s license came due in two years, and with four years between renewals, she could’ve lost it since the last picture.
She had one living brother, but they were estranged and she said it was likely he wouldn’t even realize she’d died. If he ever decided to look for her, she asserted he’d be easy enough to avoid. She worked in a high-end restaurant as a waitress, and one of the nurses in her oncology unit had suggested she go this route, so she could spend the last good months of her life enjoying herself.
What must this woman think, when she discovered her identity, her life, was worth twenty-four thousand dollars?
Technically, nineteen thousand, as the auction house charged ten percent, with a minimum of five thousand.
I would spend more, though, as I’d be in charge of housing her once she was too sick to care for herself, as well as footing the bill for an auction-approved hospice nurse to make her final weeks as pleasant as possible, not to mention the off-books cremation. I’d only need a chin implant, reshaping my eyebrows, and a slight adjustment to my eyelids from a plastic surgeon, though — enough to alter my face to hide from the government, and not the extensive work needed to make me look like the other girl. Also, there would be no need for the fake accident.
This woman’s identity hadn’t gone for much on the auction block because she had a horrible driving record, a dismal credit rating, over twenty thousand dollars in credit card debt, ten months left of a one year lease on her apartment, and she owed more on her car than it was worth.
All of this would be mine once I took on her identity.
However, her name was Harmony Alexis Johnson, and I loved the name Harmony. I also appreciated the common last name, as it would be easier to get lost in a sea of Johnsons.
She lived in Kennesaw, Georgia, which was a lot closer to RTMC territory than I wanted to be, but it was far enough I shouldn’t run into them. Besides, Brain had walked away from the Chattanooga chapter — sold his house, spent some time with the Atlanta chapter, and then gone to Charleston, South Carolina. I’d had to ditch all my old identities and accounts in order to finally lose him, but he hadn’t gone on the road looking for me in months, and I hoped he’d finally given up.
I sent money to repair Gonzo’s steering column, and I knew he’d gotten his car back. I also knew the RTMC had taken care of the Disciples. I’d sent Duke an email telling him I wouldn’t hold the RTMC to the deal to give me a new identity, and noted if I ever saw Gonzo or Bash again I’d make them pay for humiliating me, but as long as the RTMC stayed out of my life, I’d consider us square. I’d closed the email account as soon as I sent it, so I had no idea if he’d tried to respond or not. No one had come after me except Brain, though, and he’d been alone, so I hoped I was in good standing with the MC.
I’d researched Brain, extensively, once I was free and clear and had time to do so. His real name was Thurston Silas Alexander the Fourth, and he grew up in the sickeningly affluent Chevy Chase, Maryland. His grandfather was a Supreme Court justice, his brother is a senator, and his dad works so high up in the Treasury Department, I got the idea he actually runs the nation’s economy while the appointed cabinet position is just a media spokesperson and figurehead. I found conspiracy theorists who basically said if a President doesn’t do what the man wants, the economy takes a dive the next day, and continued on the same track until the President reversed his decision.