Chapter Five
Matt checked into the Road Runner Motel, off I-10, on the outskirts of Albuquerque. He assumed the clerk was the owner. He could see living quarters through the open door behind her and hear the muffled sounds of a game show coming from a TV.
She was a plump woman who appeared to be in her late fifties or early sixties. He gave her a credit card and said he wasn’t quite sure how long he would be staying. She swiped the card, handed it back to him.
“No problem, just come by when you’re ready to check out. If there is anything you need, stop by or give me a ring. I close the office at eleven. Earlier if I fill up.”
Matt was thankful for the terseness of city folk. He thought that had he been checking into a small town motel that he would have had to concoct some plausible scenario for being there. It never failed to surprise him how little interest city people showed in each other.
He bought a newspaper from the machine outside the office, drove over and parked in front of number nine. He took his suitcase out of the truck bed, and went inside. He looked over the room and then checked the john. The place wasn’t much but it appeared to be clean. He pulled the sheet back and checked the mattress. He had seen a show on TV about bedbugs making a comeback in the US. The show said to check the mattress for little brown spots as a telltale sign. He didn’t find any sign of spots on the mattress, and assumed he was safe from the little bloodsuckers. Matt had only ever been in three motels in his entire life and was somewhat paranoid about sleeping in a bed that numerous strangers had used before him.
The next day he went to the library and asked to see the last two years of the Albuquerque Tribune. A young man with orange hair and a ponytail took him to the archives section and got him started in the right place.
“You need anything else you let me know. Copier is up front. Copies are ten cents apiece. Just leave everything you take out on the table and I will put it back.”
Matt thanked him then sat down and got to work. Matt was no great shakes as a speed-reader, but he tried to skim over the articles as quickly as possible. He figured you only had to read the first few words to get the gist of the article. He hit on what he was looking for two hours later. The headlines read,
Motorcyclist killed in head on
crash with truck.
James Boyd of Placitas was traveling west on
I-10 when he lost control of his motorcycle,
crossed the centerline andcollided head on
with a semi driven by Earl Conner. It does not
appear that alcoholwasa factor. Itis un-
known what caused him to lose control of….
Matt skipped ahead to the following day. In the obit’s he found that James was to be buried among family in Placitas New Mexico. James’s date of birth wasn’t listed but his age was. Matt went to the computer section of the library, logged on to Yahoo, typed in “date of birth” and hit search. The screen filled with sites for birth date searches. Most were pay sites but he found one that was free. He figured what the heck; I'll try the freebee first. The site asked for first and last name and approximate age. Matt typed in the information and hit search. In a matter of seconds, ten names, along with birth dates popped up on the screen. The one he was looking for, in Placitas New Mexico was on the list.
He then went to “telephonedirectory.com” and typed James’s name and hometown. Within seconds, James Boyd popped up with his phone number and his address. On the way out, he thanked the young man with the ponytail. He then drove to a Kmart and bought an Exacto knife, bleach, white out, a glue stick, extra fine sandpaper and a box of toothpicks.
Back at the motel, he used the Exacto knife to remove the covering on his license. Using bleach and a toothpick, he removed his name and birth date. He then printed James Boyd and changed his birth date to match James. It wasn’t perfect but he thought it would fool a bored clerk. He still had the problem with his picture. He resealed the license using the glue stick. He then took sandpaper to both sides of the doctored license. He rubbed it
until the picture was hard to see which also blurred the printed changes he had made. He looked over his handiwork, decided it was as good as he could do and headed for Placitas. It was only a twenty-minute drive and he thought he might get everything done today.
When he got to Placitas, he had no trouble locating the city hall. His only worry was that in a town this size the clerk might know James Boyd. She didn’t. He told her his name and asked for a copy of his birth certificate. She said she needed photo I.D. He handed her his driver’s license and sweated bullets while she looked it over. She made a few notes on a pad. She looked at the license, shook her head and with a skeptical look said, “That’s the worst license I’ve ever seen.”
He told her that he worked concrete for a living and that the dust gets into everything. She handed it back to him and walked back among the files. She returned and said if you need it today, it will be Fifteen dollars. If you can wait, we can mail it to you for four dollars plus postage. He said I’ll take it today and laid a Twenty on the counter. The clerk made change out of a tin box and told him it would take about fifteen minutes. “There’s a coffee room just around the corner if you’d like”. By the time he got back to Albuquerque, it was getting late. He stopped, picked up a six-pack of Coors and settled in for a night of TV and planning.
Matt awoke at Six thirty as usual. He showered, shaved and walked over to the Denny’s next door to the motel. After breakfast, he drove to the nearest police station. He walked up to the empty counter and waited for the girl talking on the phone to notice him. After a bit, she gave him a nod and held up a finger. A few minutes later, she walked over and asked if she could help.
I lost my drivers license.
“Name?”
“James Boyd.”
“Address?”
Matt gave her the Placitas address.
“Any I.D.?”
Matt produced the birth certificate and handed it across the counter. The girl tapped on a keyboard.
“Are you still at the same address James?”
“No I just moved. That’s probably how I lost my license.” He gave her the address of the Road Runner Motel. She asked him to step in front of the camera, snapped his picture and waved him back to the counter. When the computer finished feeding out the form, she laid it in front of him and had him sign it. When the next printout was finished she handed it to him.
“This is your temporary license. Your new license will be in the mail in about two weeks. That will be twelve dollars.”
Matt Handed her fifteen, took his change, thanked her and left. He thought, I have at least two more weeks in that dinky little room. Might as well make the best of it.