Chapter 11

Thorne still has the Narrative

I drove the new SUV while Grace drove the rental one, in case we were stopped, but there were no problems. We registered at the hotel just off the Interstate using the rental as our vehicle. I parked the Caddie away from the hotel in their large parking lot. Once settled in our room, I got out the laptop and used the hotel’s WiFi to contact the people who took care of problems for me. The laptop had the encrypted program that they used. I had downloaded it when I contacted them in Bangkok.

After giving them the information from the current title and the Colorado license plate number, I requested a new title, registration, and a new VIN number tag for the Caddie, plus asking that they update George Appalachian’s vehicle insurance to reflect the new vehicle. I would continue to use the current Colorado license plate. While all of this would cost me more than I had already agreed to pay Tom, it would give us a vehicle that wasn’t identified with us.

Having eaten at the party, we waited until later that evening before going out to have a quiet dinner. In the morning, we were up early, chanted, exercised in the hotel’s fitness room, showered, and had breakfast all before 8:00 AM. Last night, I had also located the nearest office of the agency that we had rented the SUV from. After transferring our things to the new vehicle, we drove to the rental agency and turned the SUV in, paying to have it cleaned and fueled by them. By 9:15 that morning, we were back on the Interstate heading to Joplin on I-44. We remained on I-44 all of the way to Oklahoma City, where we stopped for the night. The new vehicle drove very well and was a pleasure to ride in.

On Tuesday, the 9th of May, we left Oklahoma City late after a night of sex. Following our now regular routine, we were on the road by 10:00 that morning and took I-40 to Amarillo, and then on to Tucumcari, New Mexico. From there we drove another fifty-five miles or so to Santa Rosa, NM, which has a couple of lakes near it.

We chose to visit Lake Sumner, and we went south on Hwy. 84 some thirty-two miles to local road 203, but were very disappointed on arriving at the lake. The entire area had been suffering under a prolonged dry spell, and the high country had little vegetation away from the lakes.

“I had been hoping to transform into my original form and go for a hunt to have hot, juicy, fresh meat to consume, but the area isn’t suitable for that presently,” I told Grace after getting a good look at the area near the lake. Everything away from the lake was very dry. We returned to Santa Rosa in disappointment to find a hotel room for the night instead of sleeping out under the stars.

“Perhaps later I will have a chance to indulge my most primitive of pursuits,” I told her later over dinner to a smile.

In the morning, we were up reasonably early, chanted, exercised, showered, and had breakfast. We were on the road by 9:00 after fueling the vehicle. Remaining on I-40 going west, we passed through Albuquerque and then moved on to Gallup, NM. I-40 between Grants and Gallup looked better for hunting than the Santa Rosa area had, but it was much too early in the day to stop and hunt.

Continuing west on I-40 from Gallup to Flagstaff, Arizona, we were on the road something over ten hours including time for stops to eat and for fuel. I had considered checking out the Flagstaff area for hunting, but found it much too crowded for hunting without going a considerable distance from the city and its surrounding communities.

“I had hoped the hunting would be better around Flagstaff, but the area is too settled for hunting game on foot, unless one is after coyotes,” I told Grace after seeing the area. “Additionally, we will only need another day to reach California,” I added.

We stopped at a good hotel on the west side of Flagstaff to avoid the early morning traffic coming into the city. A good steak dinner replaced the kill that I was hoping to make, and we went to bed early that night for a little love and sex.

On the morning of Thursday, the 11th of May, we were up early and followed our now standard routine before departing our hotel to find a good breakfast. Shortly, we were back on I-40 again heading west across Arizona for the California border. We had needed to watch the fuel gauge since leaving Oklahoma City, as we needed to run the vehicle’s air conditioning. The daytime heat in West Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona can be a lot to take especially when driving west after noontime and right into the sun. Southwestern California wasn’t a lot better than New Mexico and Arizona had been.

Continuing west on I-40 we came to Barstow, California, where we changed from I-40, which ended there where it joined I-15. We took I-15, which was coming south from Las Vegas, south to San Bernardino. I had checked on the internet for hotels there last night and had made a reservation at one that looked promising. While driving south, the mountains north of San Bernardino looked like they could provide some good hunting. I expected to be spending a lot of time in the mountains around Los Angeles, so perhaps a bit of hunting wasn’t out of the question after all.

I-15 turned into I-215, which ran south into San Bernardino where there was an interchange to I-10, which ran east / west. We got off at the I-10 interchange, as many of the hotels that I had checked out last night were located near there. The one where I had made a reservation was near the Santa Ana river. I had booked the suite using my identity as George Appalachian.

We made a stop at a filling station before reaching San Bernardino. Grace and I had discussed the identity that I had registered under at the hotel, and now we needed to change our appearances to match those identities. After filling the vehicle, we both went to the rest rooms with our small suitcases to change, only to find that there was only a single rest room for all, as this was California, the land of fruits and nuts. At least there was a large handicapped stall in the single rest room, and I allowed Grace to change first.

She soon reappeared as a woman of about 35 years of age, 5’-7’’ tall, 36DD-24-36 with long red hair, alabaster skin and gray eyes. She had on a short skintight dress that she nearly overflowed, along with four inch high heeled fuck-me shoes, and an abundance of makeup: red lipstick and rouge, plus black eyeliner, and she had grown out her eyelashes. She had on several expensive gold rings and a diamond bracelet. She had the trophy wife look down to a tee.

I changed into the gray suit that I had bought in Bangkok, and assumed the appearance of George Appalachian: that of an older man in his early fifties, 5’-9’’ tall, but 190 pounds this time with graying hair and mustache, plus blue eyes. I also had on my best shoes and a great suntan. When I emerged from the handicapped stall, I found that Grace had flattened a young Mexican man of about 27 or 28 years of age who had accosted her while I was changing. I had heard some noise while changing but trusted her to handle it.

“Can you believe this nut?” she asked before explaining. “He actually thought he could rob me! I showed him how wrong he was,” she told me in a surprised voice. I noticed the marks of her high heels on him in several places while she explained.

“How about we take his money, and his clothes before leaving him in here tied up?” I suggested to a large smile from her. “Just to teach him not to fuck with Immortals,” I added. We emerged from the rest room trailing our suitcases, which now held the clothing we had been wearing, plus the assailant’s clothes and identification papers.

Before reaching San Bernardino, we also stopped to have the car washed which was expensive here, but would add to our personas as a wealthy older man and his trophy wife. We left I-10 at exit 74, Tippecanoe Ave., and drove north to Hospitality Lane where the hotel was. On arriving at the hotel, we made a great point of arriving in style. The Cadillac SUV certainly aided in that. We also created a great to-do about our luggage and unloaded most of it from the SUV leaving mainly just the camping gear in it.

I had reserved a studio room with a king size bed and a sitting area for a week. It was expensive, but I wasn’t paying for it. Roberts, the CIA man from Bangkok, was, as I was still using the money that he had embezzled. Later, after getting settled in the room, we checked out the restaurant in the hotel, but weren’t satisfied with their short menu and went out to eat. There were two steakhouses and several other eating venues within walking distance of the hotel. I was glad now that I had picked this hotel over several others in the area, as they would have been further from the restaurants which we had found quite acceptable.

That night we were in bed early after a good shower and a bit of chanting. There was much passionate hugging, kissing, and massaging, as we rolled around on the bed before getting to the sex which was also long, slow, and passionate, as we enjoyed each other for a considerable time. This was followed by another, shorter shower before returning to bed for a good night’s sleep. There would be plenty to do tomorrow.

In the morning, we were up early, and chanted for a time, before donning our workout clothes and going to the hotel’s fitness room, which was fairly spacious. We worked out for an hour or so before beginning to spar for a bit, so we would be ready to meet those we were after. This was where a bit of trouble arose, when one of the other guests arrived for his morning workout on the exercise machines. He saw us sparring but thought we were fighting and panicked, calling the hotel’s management, several of whom soon arrived.

“Stop that fighting immediately,” one of the older men demanded on seeing us sparring. We stopped and bowed to each other before turning to see what the problem was.

“I don’t care what your argument is about, you can not fight in the hotel. You will have to leave if you are unable to reach an agreement peacefully,” the older man, who appeared to be in charge, told us in a very upset voice. Grace, still in her persona as the trophy wife, looked at him and giggled.

“Fighting!” she asked in shocked surprise. “We weren’t fighting, we were only sparring. If we had been fighting, this place would be a shambles,” she finished.

“We are both experts in the martial arts,” I began. “I am the equivalent of a ninth dan black belt, and wife and student is the equivalent of a fifth dan black belt. We were only sparring following our workout,” I explained, still in my persona and appearance of George Appalachian.

“It certainly appeared that you were fighting,” the older man said.

“While sparring, we don’t make actual contact or strike very hard. If you care to check, you will see that neither of us have any marks on us, as one would expect in a real fight,” I finished.

“If you want to spar in the future, please do it earlier so you don’t upset the other guests,” he requested, as a couple of other guests arrived to use the fitness machines.