WALKABOUT - Taking a Mulligan (Part 16)

97

I was past the point of no return. I had killed two men. I could no longer resurface as Ty Hamilton and concoct some bullshit story to explain my disappearance. No. They would have to find me and bring me back.

I wanted a new life, and now I had it. Such as it was. I had no idea how long I could make it last. It occurred to me that I’ve in fact lived a number of lives. I started out as a farm boy, then became a pilot. Then I moved on to become a miserable retired pilot / security guard. God, I missed flying. And now, I’m a cop killer on the run. I wanted to forget about all that and just settle in.

“Welcome aboard!” a young man in sharply pressed khaki shorts and a blue and white floral shirt greeted me as I stepped onto the ship. He raised a camera, snapped off a couple of photographs, handed me his card. “I’m Daniel,” he said with an unmistakable Australian accent. “Ship photographer. I look forward to getting to know you. Enjoy your cruise, sir.”

98

I found my stateroom, and was pleasantly surprised. Mulligan hadn’t booked one of those corner suites with separate living and sleeping areas and a huge balcony on the front of the ship. Nothing like that. But, he hadn’t been chintzy, either. The room was spacious, very comfortable. Way better than many of the hotel rooms I stayed in back in my days as a pilot, back when I was Captain Ty Hamilton. There was a double bed, a desk, a couple of sitting chairs and a television. And best of all, there was a small balcony. This would be my home for the next thirty-six days.

I didn’t want to mess with hooking up the desktop computer in my stateroom just yet. Plenty of time for that later. I dug the cell phone out of the backpack and tapped 8762, which when translated to the telephonic alphabet for USMC for the PIN. Sure enough, it worked. So, if I wanted it, I had internet access as long as I had cell service.

I picked up some brochures describing things to do in our ports of call and plopped down on the bed, intending to look through them and rest for a few minutes before getting up to explore the ship. The next thing I was aware of was the ship’s horn blowing, followed by an announcement by the captain that a mandatory muster drill would be conducted prior to our departure. The purpose of the drill, he said, was to prepare everyone on board for safe evacuation in the event of an emergency, and to familiarize us with the escape routes and the proper use of life vests.

My thoughts were along the lines of ‘Screw that. I’m tired. I’m not getting up for a dumb lifeboat drill.’ I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep again.

Soon after, a general emergency alarm was sounded, consisting of several short blasts and one long blast of the ship’s horn, and we were then directed to make our way to our Muster Stations. My plans to stay in my room and lounge were thwarted by the ship’s internal alarms consisting of continuous loud bells and flashing strobes in the corridors. I slipped on some clothes and joined everyone else outside on deck. We were instructed as to how to find our lifeboats, don our life jackets, etc. Nobody seemed to take it too seriously. Soon enough, the drill was finished.

99

They cast off shortly after the muster drill. I decided that the first thing I wanted to do now that we were under way was to go for a stroll on deck, explore the ship. There is something about a sea breeze that rejuvenates the soul. I stood, leaning over the railing on the port side of the ship. Music was playing, people were dancing. Drinks were flowing, and we were passing under the Sunshine Skyway Bridge and out into the Gulf of Mexico. Like the river, I had found my way to the sea. And now, all things were possible.

100

I was pretty sore from all the abuse my body had been subjected to, and didn’t feel much like socializing, so I went to my cabin, changed the dressing on my wounded arm, and slept the rest of the afternoon. I awoke late in the evening, feeling rested but still hurting. I made arrangements for room service and ate dinner on my balcony. Watching the sun set into the water, it occurred to me that the sun also was setting on Ty Hamilton. Tomorrow would bring with it a new day, a new beginning, and with it, the reincarnation of Jared Mulligan.

101

Ty Hamilton

Reposition Cruise Day 2

The next morning, I felt better, and was looking forward to exploring the ship after redressing my arm and having some breakfast. I suppose I should have made a point of mingling among my fellow passengers, but I still wasn’t up to it. I had a lot to process mentally, and a lot of healing to do physically. My cruise would take thirty-six days. This was Day 2. I would socialize when I was ready, and not before.

I decided the first thing I should do was hook up the computer. There was barely enough room for it on the desk, but barely enough is enough. I’d felt dumb, lugging around a desktop in my luggage, and I felt dumb setting it up.

I’d use it for now, but first chance I got, I was going to use Mulligan’s credit card to buy a laptop. That thought prompted me to let the credit card company know that I would be travelling. Otherwise, when I least expected it, the charges would not be approved. I’ve had that happen before. Once in the U.S. which was no big deal. Easy to take care of. And once in Europe, which was a royal pain in the ass.

Still close enough to shore to receive a signal, I picked up the cell phone and tapped in the number on the back of the card. The voice menu prompted me to enter the card number. And then my mother’s maiden name.

Oops. I hung up.

What would Mulligan’s mother’s maiden name be? Or would it be Welch’s mother’s maiden name? He certainly wouldn’t have needed to make a note of that. How could I find it?

My mind began to race, taking into consideration all the many things such as knowing your mother’s maiden name, and much, much more, that comprise a life, an identity. My life, now. My identity.

Did he—Did I, Jared Mulligan, have friends? Most people have friends. Some have really close lifelong friends. I, on the other hand, think of myself as being by nature friendly, but never get too close to anyone. I have always preferred to keep the rest of the world at arm’s length.

The questions kept coming, faster than I could process them. What did Mulligan do for a living? Who did he work for? Who did he work with? Did he own a business? Did he belong to any clubs? What were his hobbies? Did he live alone? Where did he bank? What were his assets? Cash; investments; stocks; bonds; 401K; jewelry; personal property? Real estate; liquid assets; ATM card; credit or debit cards? Debts? Who did he owe? And, how much? I really didn’t care about any of it, except, I was now Jared Mulligan . . . and these are all things you really ought to know about yourself!

And, perhaps the biggest question of all—could I really pull this off? I thought of the consequences of being found out. Arrest. Charged with murder and identity theft. Prison. A hot wave of fear flushed through from my head down through my toes. I was all in now. No turning back.

102

Ty Hamilton

Reposition Cruise Day 3

We would be going through the Panama Canal locks in a few minutes, and I didn’t want to miss it. The decks were already filling up with people. I didn’t particularly want to be standing shoulder to shoulder, packed like sardines, when I could instead sip coffee from my balcony and enjoy a much better view.

A quick visit to the bathroom—can’t help it, I’m almost as bad as Lieutenant Fish on the old Barney Miller show now that I am in my 60’s—and I was all set. I grabbed a cup of coffee and the iPad, headed out onto my balcony. I got on line and checked out the news back home.

Our high school football team was off to a good start. They’d won three of the first four and battled to a tie with the number two ranked team in the state.

There had been a fire at the shop where they made high-dollar customized motorcycles. No injuries. Cause of the blaze still under investigation.

Three teens were killed on County Road 351, when they ran off the road at a high rate of speed a half-mile east of Benson Pike. The coroner’s office said an autopsy revealed the driver had a blood-alcohol level nearly double the legal limit. I knew that area, where the crash had occurred. Half a mile east of Benson Pike was Dead Man’s Curve, an S-turn where teenagers had for decades flirted with death, trying to impress one another by seeing just how fast they could negotiate the hazard. My son Travis had crashed there when he was seventeen, the dumbass. Fortunately he walked away from it. No one else was with him at the time, so I don’t know who he was trying to impress. Himself, I guess.

But the story that grabbed my full attention, was this:

Recovery Teams Search River for Missing Fisherman

The Page County Sheriff’s Department has wrapped up a full day of searching for a fisherman who was last seen on Coldwater River. Recovery teams started the search at 9 a.m. on Sunday, and kept divers in the water until sundown in the search for the missing 61 year old, Tyler Hamilton, of Page, Indiana.

The main search area focus is near the area of the river between parking lot where the victim's truck and trailer were parked and where his boat was found half submerged further downstream. Search crews also conducted an aerial and ground search.
The Sheriff’s Office is using six divers in 12 feet of water with near zero visibility. Divers cannot see more than 10 to 15 inches in front of them.

Officials say the victim was not wearing a floatation device, and this has been a recovery search from the beginning. The victim's family was also out searching, and called 911 to report the man missing Sunday morning. Search crews from the Sheriff’s Office will be out again Monday at sunrise to continue their recovery effort.

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From the comfort of my private balcony, I could see a variety of ships, some carrying passengers, others cargo as we passed one another in parallel channels. Behind them, I enjoyed the view of tropical green mountains in the distance. I kept thinking about the article I’d read. The one about them searching for me. It made me nervous, thinking about the possibility of them finding the man I’d killed. How long ago had it been? Almost a week.

One of the ship’s crew provided a narration over the public address system, informing us that the canal was forty-eight miles long, with locks at each end to lift ships more than eighty feet up to Gatun Lake, which according to her, was an artificial lake created to reduce the amount of excavation required during construction of the canal, which was begun by the French, but eventually completed by the United States in 1914.

On and on the narration went. I couldn’t care less that the locks are a hundred and ten feet wide with another, wider lane currently under construction. And on and on.

The Panama Canal was interesting, but this was way too much information. I just wanted to get through to the Pacific and on with my journey. Before they found the body and realized it wasn’t me, and put two and two together.