“Nothing wrong at all. You’re off to the gym?”
As
Lynch was signing off that afternoon, he had told his listeners that since even
a penguin couldn’t jog outside in this weather, he would be heading off to the
Twin Cities Gym later on, and he hoped to see some of them there. Twin Cities
was one of his sponsors.
“You
bet. See you later.”
“How
did you hear about us, Miss Carroll?” Ruth Wilcox asked as Lacey filled out the
membership form for the Twin Cities Gym.
“On
the Tom Lynch program,” Lacey said. The woman was studying her, and she felt
the need to elaborate. “I’ve been thinking of joining a gym for some time, and
since I can try this one out a few times before deciding …” She let her voice
trail off. “It’s also convenient to my apartment,” she finished lamely.
At
least this will give me some practice in trying to get a job, she told herself
fiercely. The prospect of filling out the form had frightened her, since it was
the first time she had actually used her new identity. It was all very well to
practice it with her advisor, Deputy Marshal George Svenson, but quite another
to actually try to live it.
On
the drive to the gym she had mentally reviewed the details: She was Alice
Carroll, from Hartford, Connecticut, a graduate of Caldwell College, a safe
alma mater because the school was now closed. She had worked as a secretary in
a doctor’s office in Hartford. The doctor retired at the same time that she
broke up with her boyfriend, so it just seemed like the right time to make a
move. She had chosen Minneapolis because she visited there once as a teenager
and loved it. She was an only child. Her father was dead, and her mother had
remarried and was living in London.
None
of which matters at the moment, she thought as she reached into her purse for
her new social security card. She would have to be careful; she had
automatically started to write her real number but caught herself. Her address:
One East End Avenue, New York, NY 10021 flashed into her mind. No, 520 Hennepin
Avenue, Minneapolis, MN 55403. Her bank: Chase; no, First State. Her job? She put a dash through that space. Relative or
friend to notify in case of accident: Svenson had provided her with a phony
name, address, and telephone number to use in that situation. Any call that was
made to the number would go to him.
She
got to the questions on medical history. Any problems? Well, yes, she thought. A slight scar where a bullet creased
my skull. Shoulders that always feel tense because I always have the
feeling that someone is looking for me, and that someday when I’m out walking,
I’ll hear footsteps behind me, and I’ll turn and …
“Stuck
on a question?” Wilcox asked brightly. “Maybe I can help.”
Instantly
struck with paranoia, Lacey was sure she detected a skeptical look appear in
the other woman’s eyes. She can sense that there’s something phony about me,
she thought. Lacey managed a smile. “No, not stuck at all.” She signed “Alice
Carroll” to the form and pushed it across the desk.
Wilcox
studied it. “Purr- fect .” The
pattern on her sweater was kittens playing with a spool of yarn. “Now let me
show you around.”
The
place was attractive and well equipped with a good supply of exercise
paraphernalia, a long jogging track, airy rooms for aerobics classes, a large
pool, steam and sauna facilities, and an attractive juice bar.
“It
gets fairly crowded early in the morning and right after work,” Wilcox told
her. “Oh, look, there he is,” she said, interrupting herself. She called out to
a broad-shouldered man who was headed away from them and toward the men’s
locker
As
Lynch was signing off that afternoon, he had told his listeners that since even
a penguin couldn’t jog outside in this weather, he would be heading off to the
Twin Cities Gym later on, and he hoped to see some of them there. Twin Cities
was one of his sponsors.
“You
bet. See you later.”
“How
did you hear about us, Miss Carroll?” Ruth Wilcox asked as Lacey filled out the
membership form for the Twin Cities Gym.
“On
the Tom Lynch program,” Lacey said. The woman was studying her, and she felt
the need to elaborate. “I’ve been thinking of joining a gym for some time, and
since I can try this one out a few times before deciding …” She let her voice
trail off. “It’s also convenient to my apartment,” she finished lamely.
At
least this will give me some practice in trying to get a job, she told herself
fiercely. The prospect of filling out the form had frightened her, since it was
the first time she had actually used her new identity. It was all very well to
practice it with her advisor, Deputy Marshal George Svenson, but quite another
to actually try to live it.
On
the drive to the gym she had mentally reviewed the details: She was Alice
Carroll, from Hartford, Connecticut, a graduate of Caldwell College, a safe
alma mater because the school was now closed. She had worked as a secretary in
a doctor’s office in Hartford. The doctor retired at the same time that she
broke up with her boyfriend, so it just seemed like the right time to make a
move. She had chosen Minneapolis because she visited there once as a teenager
and loved it. She was an only child. Her father was dead, and her mother had
remarried and was living in London.
None
of which matters at the moment, she thought as she reached into her purse for
her new social security card. She would have to be careful; she had
automatically started to write her real number but caught herself. Her address:
One East End Avenue, New York, NY 10021 flashed into her mind. No, 520 Hennepin
Avenue, Minneapolis, MN 55403. Her bank: Chase; no, First State. Her job? She put a dash through that space. Relative or
friend to notify in case of accident: Svenson had provided her with a phony
name, address, and telephone number to use in that situation. Any call that was
made to the number would go to him.
She
got to the questions on medical history. Any problems? Well, yes, she thought. A slight scar where a bullet creased
my skull. Shoulders that always feel tense because I always have the
feeling that someone is looking for me, and that someday when I’m out walking,
I’ll hear footsteps behind me, and I’ll turn and …
“Stuck
on a question?” Wilcox asked brightly. “Maybe I can help.”
Instantly
struck with paranoia, Lacey was sure she detected a skeptical look appear in
the other woman’s eyes. She can sense that there’s something phony about me,
she thought. Lacey managed a smile. “No, not stuck at all.” She signed “Alice
Carroll” to the form and pushed it across the desk.
Wilcox
studied it. “Purr- fect .” The
pattern on her sweater was kittens playing with a spool of yarn. “Now let me
show you around.”
The
place was attractive and well equipped with a good supply of exercise
paraphernalia, a long jogging track, airy rooms for aerobics classes, a large
pool, steam and sauna facilities, and an attractive juice bar.
“It
gets fairly crowded early in the morning and right after work,” Wilcox told
her. “Oh, look, there he is,” she said, interrupting herself. She called out to
a broad-shouldered man who was headed away from them and toward the men’s
locker
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