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Marlin drove slowly along Althaus-Davis Road, in the northwest corner of Blanco County.
This was a quiet road in perhaps the least populated area of the county. That was saying something, since the entire county was sparsely populated—somewhere around ten or eleven thousand people in seven hundred square miles. Compare that to neighboring Travis County, with about 1,300,000 people in one thousand square miles.
Trevor Larkin’s current address matched a mobile home on ten acres—a rental, apparently. Marlin had never met the owner, whose mailing address was in Georgetown.
He crossed a cattle guard and tapped the brakes as he saw a mailbox with Larkin’s address. The property was fenced and gated, but the gate was open. The land was too thick with cedar and oak trees for Marlin to see the trailer from the road.
Marlin sat in his truck for a moment, thinking.
There was a good chance Larkin wasn’t home. If he was home, he probably wouldn’t open the door. Marlin couldn’t force him. Also couldn’t make him talk.
But there was something else bothering Marlin.
He knew he should probably let someone else question Larkin. Maybe ask another game warden to tackle it. Or a deputy. Or even a Texas Ranger. After all, Larkin was possibly, if not likely, the person who’d pointed a rifle at him. That meant Marlin’s emotions—his desire for justice—could impact his objectivity. Or a defense attorney could make that claim later.
On the other hand...
The man with the rifle might not have been Larkin. That was why Marlin was here—to find out. No harm in that. If Larkin appeared to be the right guy, Marlin could then turn it over to somebody else.
Marlin pulled his truck through the gate and eased along the caliche road leading to the mobile home.
Albert stood in front of the mirror in the small bathroom and ran his palm over his smooth head for the tenth time, but it was still an unusual feeling. Totally bald. Gleaming bald. Light bounced off his mocha-colored skin. The freshly shaven portion was somewhat lighter. He’d have to get some sun or wear a hat.
The shape of his head surprised him, but he wasn’t sure why. He’d never seen it like this before. Why had he been expecting a pronounced roundness, almost to the point of looking like Charlie Brown? In reality, it was a nice shape. Not too circular. Not pointed on the top or anything like that. Some nice angles that made him look like he’d lost weight. Weird.
Before Albert had shaved his head, he’d used a comb and the Wahl hair trimmer to groom his eyebrows—and what an amazing difference that had made. He’d always had bushy brows, but now he had trimmed them shorter. Then he’d used a bit of hair color to get rid of the gray. Amazing. He should’ve done that years ago.
He hardly recognized himself. Add sunglasses and his own mother, God rest her soul, would’ve walked right past him on the street without so much as a nod.
When Bob returned to the room later, he studied Albert for a moment, then said, “Well, I guess you can forget making a plan. You don’t need to do anything now. You can go anywhere on the planet. Nobody will know who you are.”
“Not bad, huh? I might grow a goatee, too. I’ve never had one, or even a mustache.”
“Too bad you can’t change your fingerprints,” Bob said. “Or your DNA.”
“If it comes down to that, I’m screwed anyway.”
Bob sat down in the chair in the corner again. He seemed to always sit, when there was an opportunity to sit.
“I made a call,” he said. “I talked to a good friend about the situation. He doesn’t think it’s hopeless.”
“Well, that’s good news,” Albert said. “It’s not hopeless. Before you know it, we might decide I shouldn’t be steeped in gloom and despair—but let’s wait and see.”
Bob grinned. “It’s harder than it used to be to build a fake identity, considering the way technology has changed, but it can be done. You can start over, if that’s what you want to do.”
“How do they do it?” Albert asked. “How do they create the new ID? What name do they use? How do they match it to a Social Security number? They have to do that, right? I just don’t understand how they can do it.”
“Take it easy,” Bob said. “And you might want to stop rubbing your head. That’s a pretty good signal that you recently shaved your scalp and you aren’t used to it yet.”
Albert lowered his hand. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it. He sat down on the edge of the bed and faced Bob.
“I guess I don’t need to understand how it works,” Albert said, “but I’m confused. You’re saying you have a friend who can create a new identity for me?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“He can’t create it—not all of it—but he can help you obtain it.”
Alarms were ringing in Albert’s head.
“This is all making me very nervous,” Albert said.
“I can understand that,” Bob said. “It might make you feel more comfortable if I try to explain it.”
“Please do.”
Bob nodded slowly. “My friend says the government used to assign Social Security numbers in a very methodical and sensible manner, based on geography and date of birth. Then, they began to assign those numbers randomly, and—”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Sorry to interrupt, but why did they begin assigning the numbers randomly?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. He didn’t tell me.”
“Okay.”
“But once they began to do that—assign the numbers randomly—it made it easier for people like my friend to take an unused number and start to build a new identity around it. They almost always use numbers assigned to kids—ones that haven’t been used yet—and I can see you have another question.”
“Why would a parent get a kid a Social Security number if he isn’t about to start a job or earn money somehow?”
“You can’t claim a child as a dependent on your taxes without a Social Security number.”
“Oh,” Albert said. “I didn’t know.”
“There are other reasons, like opening a bank account in the kid’s name or getting government services. A lot of people get a number right after their kid is born.”
“Okay, so this guy gets a Social Security number for me. Then what?”
“Actually he gets you a signed Social Security card and two other supporting documents, like a utility bill or a library card or even a fishing license. You can use those to apply for a replacement birth certificate, and once you have that, you can get a driver’s license, or a passport, or both.”
Albert let that sink in for a moment.
“If he gets me a Social Security number for some kid, won’t it say I’m that kid’s age—like five or ten years old, or whatever?”
“I don’t know. I think he has a way around that. He can make it your birth date or some other date.”
“But how?”
“I don’t know.”
“And how does he match my name with the Social Security number? Isn’t there a record somewhere that shows the real name that goes with that number? Or do I use the real name?”
“I think you use the name that goes with the number.”
Albert stood and went to the window again. Peeked outside. Nice to see an empty spot where his rental car had previously been parked. Bob had been very helpful so far.
“How much does all this cost?” he asked.
“A thousand dollars.”
Albert wondered if Bob was keeping a cut for himself. Did it matter? Albert could afford it. And it seemed like a reasonable price for a new identity.
“That’s fair,” Albert said.
“But you’re hesitant.”
“Honestly, yeah, but only because I don’t know your friend.”
“I vouch for him.”
“Okay.”
“He’s a good man.”
Despite the reassurance, Albert was feeling overwhelmed. It was all too much. But what else could he do?
“Questions?” Bob said.
“Several, but I don’t know where to start.”
“First get the ID, then worry about the rest.”
“That makes sense.”
“Although it would probably be wise to start thinking about where you’ll go.”
“Agreed.”
“You speak Spanish?” Bob asked.
“Un poco.”
“So...no?”
“Not really, no.”
“Got relatives in Mexico? Or friends?”
“No.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Maybe Canada would be better,” Albert said.
“Maybe so.”
“Is it nothing but white people up there?” Albert asked.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never been there.”
“I might not fit in so well up there, either.”
“At least you speak the language,” Bob said.
Albert realized now that he would miss Blanco County. He’d always thought he could live there quietly for the rest of his days.
“You want my friend to proceed?” Bob asked.
“Yeah, that seems like the best way.”
“You got that thousand bucks? He needs it up front.”
“Oh, sure. Hang on.”
Albert pulled his suitcase out from under the bed. There was no point in trying to keep Bob from knowing where Albert kept his cash. Albert had already made the decision to trust Bob completely, and if didn’t work out—if Bob screwed him or was simply not competent enough to help—so be it.
Albert opened the little leather case that held his money. He had nearly forty thousand dollars in here, all in hundreds. He had slowly tucked it away over the years, just in case. Now he wished he’d stashed more. How long would forty grand last him if he couldn’t work? Couple of years, if he was careful and frugal?
He removed ten bills and handed them to Bob. Then he removed two more bills and held them out.
“What’s this?” Bob asked.
“For your trouble,” Albert said.
Bob shook his head. “No. I don’t need it.”
“But you’ve been—”
“No,” Bob said again. He folded up the thousand bucks and stuck it in the front pocket of his jeans. “You hungry?”
“Starving,” Albert said.