On the Run
Keywords: On, Run, the,
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"Your first mistake was stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars from me. Your second mistake was thinking you could get away with it." As I stood trembling before his desk, Mr. Atwater regarded me as if I were a bug on the windshield of his Lexus. "Do you have anything to say for yourself before I call the police?"
Without thinking, I turned and bolted out of his office, past rows of startled secretaries and accountants, straight down the hall and through the door to the fire stairs. I took them three at a time, forty-two stories in all, and when I emerged through an emergency exit into the narrow alley behind our building, I was heaving with exertion. I forced myself to walk at a normal pace as I melted into the crowd of pedestrians on LaSalle Street, and I was able to flag down a cab as the sirens of approaching police cars pierced the autumn air.
Returning to my apartment was out of the question. "Midway Airport," I told the driver, not really knowing where I intended to go. Just far away, fast. Thank God I"d stashed the embezzled money in a bank account opened the week before with an assumed name and phony identification. As a woman, of all things.
It was just dumb luck that my girlfriend had persuaded me to dress up in her clothes for Halloween. She really got into it, and by the time she dragged me to a party thrown by some of her friends, I was actually passable. I kept her clothes until the next day, and that morning, I opened a bank account with a bogus Arizona driver"s license that I scored over the Internet. As Victoria Ross, I worth over half a million dollars, if I could stay ahead of the law long enough to get my hands on it.
Arizona…why not? I could start a new life there, far away from the Chicago winter. All I had to do was present myself at a local bank, transfer the loot, and keep a low profile. As my cab pulled up to the curb at Midway, I checked my wallet to make sure Victoria Ross"s Arizona license and ATM card were safely tucked in an inside pocket. I paid the cabby and sprinted to the Southwest Airlines ticket counter.
* * *
MANHUNT HEATS UP FOR EMBEZZLER
CHICAGO: The Federal Bureau of Investigation has intensified its search for Derek Buxton, the Chicago accountant who allegedly absconded from Eon Company with almost $600,000 last week. Buxton, 22, was last seen fleeing the office of Eon Chief Executive Officer Ronald Atwater after his elaborate scheme to pilfer funds from the mammoth insurance company"s overnight deposit accounts was uncovered. He is described as 5"8" tall, with blue eyes, long brown hair and a slim build. A reward of $50,000 has been posted by Eon in return for information leading to his arrest.
I returned the day-old issue of the Chicago Tribune to its place in the newspaper rack at Border"s and tugged my Diamondbacks baseball cap lower over my face. The photograph which accompanied the article didn"t do me justice, but it was close enough to convince me that the time had come to emerge from my cocoon as Victoria Ross. Otherwise, it was only a matter of time before a sharp-eyed policeman or newshound picked me out of a crowd.
For the past week, I laid low at a cheap motel on the outskirts of Phoenix, paying in advance in cash and eating as little as possible while I plotted out my next moves. My weight was down almost 10 pounds, and my fingernails had grown out nicely, both necessary precursors to my transition. The previous afternoon was spent scouting out strip malls for the essentials I would need, riding buses only when absolutely necessary. The Arizona sun was a perfect excuse for the dark sunglasses and cap that concealed my features as I walked into my first objective, a large Walgreen"s drug store.
My total cash reserves were down to $200, so there was no margin for error. When my girlfriend made my over for Halloween, she had dressed me in a bulky sweater, a long skirt and dark opaque tights, which masked my body hair and boyish physique. There was no way I would be getting away with that this time. In a few hours, I would be nose to nose with a bank officer, opening an account in the name of Victoria Ross. I would have to look, and act, like a normal American girl. The alternative was ten to twenty years of being raped by enormous convicts in a federal prison.
With that terrifying thought, I moved swiftly through the aisles. I had made a mental checklist during my bus ride, and I tried to remember everything as I started filling my basket. Double-edged razor and extra blades. Emery boards, nail polish remover and quick-dry nail polish. A hair brush and a supply of bobby pins and scrunchies. Shampoo, conditioner, and a good pair of scissors. Moisturizer. Foundation. Compact. What shade should I get? The choices were bewildering. I selected and rejected dozens of products before I threw some in my basket and continued to my next objective.
The basket filled quickly. Sponges and brushes. Blusher. Eye shadow. Eye liner. Eyebrow pencil. Scented bubble bath. Women"s deodorant. An inexpensive cologne. Lipstick and a few pairs of nylons. I was sure I had forgotten something, but I had already spent a small fortune, and there was an opening at one of the checkout counters. I dumped my haul in front of a startled checkout clerk and watched in utter humiliation through my dark sunglasses as she contorted her face while she rang up my purchases. I must have turned bright red as I peeled $100 out of my wallet and picked up my collection of shopping bags. "Have fun!" she said as I retreated from the store.
I caught a bus back to my motel and stuffed my acquisitions into one of the cheap dresser drawers. I had $100 left to put together a complete woman"s wardrobe. I could chance a trip to an ATM machine, but I was determined to minimize my risk of exposure until my disguise was in place and I was ready to move the loot. So I headed back out to a nearby Marshall"s discount department store and tried to look casual as I wandered through the racks of women"s clothing, not knowing what to expect.
I was pleasantly surprised. A designer dress for $29. Panties, bra and a half slip for another $20. Clasp earrings and a fake gold necklace for $10. I even bought a matching scarf to accessorize my dress for $3. A black leather purse for $25. This time I had to stand in line at the checkout counter, and I studiously ignored the odd looks from the other customers and the clerk at the register as I paid for my purchases and headed back outside.
It was almost noon, and the bright Arizona sun reminded me that I would need a pair of women"s sunglasses as I walked through the strip mall to my final destination that morning: a Payless shoe store, where I found a pair of extra wide black skimmer flats for $10. For the last time, I endured the smirks from a cashier, then I was back outside and on my way to my motel room.
The housekeepers had come and gone, and I carefully hung up my new dress and piled the rest of my purchases on the bed. Methodically, I began to cut off all of the price tags and remove the cosmetics from their sealed packages. I was reasonably certain about the sizes, having learned enough from my Halloween experience to know that I was a perfect size 16, and that my feet could squeeze into a woman"s size 9 if I had tights or stockings on. The lingerie and pantyhose had been educated guesses, but they were less critical.
More worrying was how to put on all of the makeup. My girlfriend had made me over while I watched, and I had been around girls long enough to have a rough idea of their techniques, but actually doing it to myself was going to take some trial and error. First things first, though. I picked up the bubble bath, razor and blades and brought them into the small, Spartan bathroom. While the tub slowly filled up, I lowered myself into it and tried to relax as I soaked myself in the swirling hot suds.
Up until this point, my plan to access the money had all seemed like a fantastic game. Now, as I prepared myself for what lay ahead, the reality of the situation took hold. If I was to avoid spending the best years of my life in prison, I would have to remake myself completely, from the inside out. The next time I walked outside, I would have to appear, and act, like a completely different person. The next time I used my voice, I would have to talk, and sound, like someone else. The prospect, as I closed my eyes and let the hot water close over my head, was strangely liberating.
The truth was, my life had been a series of disappointments, a nonstop succession of rejections and missed opportunities. An only child, my parents had divorced when I was young, and I had never been close to either of them. A loner as a boy, I made no lasting friendships, and my associates at work had either ignored me or been downright offensive. My successes with women were sadly limited, and even the girlfriend who made me over on Halloween had spent most of the evening flirting with another guy, making me feel ridiculous as I sat by myself in her clothing.
All that was about to change, whether I liked it or not. Eighteen hundred miles away in Chicago, the FBI was undoubtedly hard at work. They would have gotten nowhere trying to glean information about my whereabouts from my co-workers or neighbors, but by now they must have inventoried the meager possessions in my studio apartment, and gotten their hands on my laptop computer.
Without my password, my computer would normally have been impregnable, but it was only a matter of time before their specialists would have access to my files. And in particular, to the record of my acquisition of an Arizona driver"s license in the name of Victoria Ross. When they put that together with the last use of my credit card, to purchase a ticket to Phoenix on Southwest Airlines, the trail would get very hot indeed.
I loaded a blade into the heavy metal razor and took the plunge. I had never used an old-fashioned razor like this before, but my body was covered with thick, course hair, and I knew that my regular disposable razors would be no match for it.
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Keywords: On, Run, the,