Lunch at the Rattlesnake Diner
The plans for disappearing
A Lucas Winslow Story (Episode 5)
Lucas was sitting with his accountant John at the Rattlesnake Diner. John was perusing his menu while Lucas was looking out the window. Their window table offered a panoramic view of the gas station across the street.
“So what’s it gonna be?” A middle-aged waitress suddenly appeared at their table. She was portly with very short blonde hair. She wore glasses and bright neon-red lipstick. Little metal coyotes hung from her earlobes.
John put down his menu, “I’ll have a reuben with iced tea.”
She looked at Lucas.
“I would like two large, ripe and organic tomatoes. I know that is not on your menu but I checked with the cook a few days ago and he assured me that you have such tomatoes.”
“Uh… Okay… So… uh… two large tomatoes. You want any dippin’ sauce or anything else?”
“No thank you; just two large, ripe and organic tomatoes, a plate and a knife and fork. That is all I want.”
“O… kay.”
After the waitress left John leaned in over the table, his head tilting to the side, “Two tomatoes? That’s what you’re gonna have for lunch? Seriously?”
Lucas spread out his hands, “What?”
It was soon after the waitress left that a group of people walked past the table where Lucas and John were sitting. One of them was the real estate agent who had just sold Lucas his new home.
“Lucas! Well, hello there.”
“Hello Amanda.”
“I take it you’re enjoying your new home.”
“Immensely. Yes, I am so happy and thanks again for helping me find it.”
“My pleasure. I just love it when people love their homes.”
“Yes, well, actually I’ve got a question for you. You told me that all the land on the other side of the road is BLM land, right?”
“Yup, it’s all Bureau of Land Management land for 8 miles up until it hits National Forest land.”
“I’m wondering about the land immediately to the west and southwest of my property, where the creek flows down into a little canyon. Is that BLM, too?”
“Actually I’m pretty sure that is privately owned land but I don’t know who owns it.”
“Is there anyway you can find out?”
“Uh, yeah sure. I’ll look into it and get back to you. Nice seeing you.”
“Thank you. Bye.”
John again leaned into the space between them, “Lucas, please tell me that you’re not thinking of buying more land. We just spent the morning finalizing elaborate measures that allow you to disappear and me to still send you money without leaving a trail. Listen, you pretty much shot your wad buying the property you just bought. You really can’t afford to be buying more land.”
“I’m not! I’m not wanting to buy more land. I’m just curious who my neighbor is. That’s all. Don’t worry, I plan on getting frugal — just as soon as the greenhouse gets built and the solar panels are installed.”
“Yes, that stuff is budgeted in. And the fund has been created that will take care of all your taxes and insurance. The general expenses fund will take care of you for the next two years — if you’re frugal — but the fund shrinks with each year after that. Of course, by then you’ll be also collecting Social Security, though you won’t be getting much. I’ve set you up just like you wanted me to but any major purchase can throw everything out of whack.”
“Got it. Listen you’ve done a great job.”
John pulled some papers out of his briefcase, “Well, I think the only thing left is for you to sign these papers formalizing the limited liability corporation that I set up. The LLC is licensed in the state back home. The paper trail that any fan might use to find you ends in that state. You won’t be tracked here to this state. All fund transfers go through me. It’s the best I can do — legally — to help you disappear. You have to realize, though, that while you’re disappearing from your fans, you are not disappearing from the government. The title to the land you bought has your name on it and you just opened up a bank account and got a P.O. box here in Rattlesnake Junction. The government knows where you are and, truthfully, any fan who can afford a half-assed detective will be able to track you down, too.”
“Yeah, I know. I still think I should have faked my own death.”
“Lucas, that is not legal.”
“I know. I know.” Lucas signed the papers.
“The big issue is the internet. I opened up your internet service account so that it is under my name and not yours. Once the service is connected you’ll need to open a new email account using my name. If someone tries to find you over the internet all roads will lead to my name and yours won’t be anywhere evident — provided, of course, that you never again use your name on the internet. Oh, and did you close all your old email accounts and any other accounts with your name on it?”
“Yeah, I think I got most of that done before I moved in. It was kind of surreal. It was like I was erasing myself from the internet.”
“Well, isn’t that what you’re trying to do?”
“Yeah.”
“And by the way, any royalties from your books will go through the LLC. Those publishing accounts will be the only thing left of you on the internet and they only lead back to the LLC, not to you. With you having disappeared I suspect those royalties will only diminish.”
“Yes, I will quickly fade into oblivion. Good-bye Lucas Winslow. Hellelujah.”
“Lucas, have I ever told you that you are weird?”
“Many times and thank you for saying it again. I take it as a compliment.”
Just then the waitress appeared with the men’s lunches. Once she left, Lucas picked up his knife and fork and sliced into one of his tomatoes.
John did not move. He simply stared at the tomatoes on Lucas’ plate.
With a piece of tomato on his fork, Lucas was about to put it in his mouth when he noticed John staring at his lunch. He waved his knife and fork in the air, “What?”
Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. Complete Writings of White Feather
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