seymoure

Chapter 39

“Food, Sort of, For Thought”

They were lucky in that, since there were no conventions or lobbyists or vacationers, the place was virtually empty.

Chance had told them that a “flea bog” was the kind of place that they would be looking for fugitives, and therefore they would stay away from them. But they still signed in under false names.

The names were to fit the magically forged papers each of the carried. Harriett had mused on the amount of money such an operation could bring down. Undetectable forgeries were not to be found in this computer age, but if alchemists could change lead into gold, creating an open ended Discover card was not such a big deal.

They had also done something called “Magic Washing” with their papers and clothing. It was a set of spells that deleted every detectible trace of mystic fingerprints from all the articles that they carried. After the identity cards and credit cards and shoes and such were created, they were put through a process that drew the magic out.

Even their enhanced abilities would negative on any sorcerous radar that might be applied to them. Any occult weaponry they were going to use, they would have to create on the fly.

The management was so happy to see them that they gave them three adjoining rooms, and didn’t question who would be sleeping with whom.

“Nice to be out of the Bible Belt,” Sebastian mused/

Couch Hammermann shot him an unfriendly glare, but it vanished as quickly as it had come.

The eight of them sat, silently, in the café and ate. They had agreed not to say any more than absolutely needed in public.

Those who smoked smoked.

Those who drank, within moderation, ordered something to drink.

Dorothy had picked up a book of word puzzles and, while demurely eating her bowl of chicken soup, was working them with lightning speed.

Coach Hammermann cracked his knuckles enough that Harriett remembered how maddening the act was to her.

Everyone seemed to have their eyes glued on the television over the bar that was turned to the mockery of the news that was presented as the “World Round-Up.

The pert young lady in the center of the screen spoke of the opening of a new dam across the Yangzee river in China, financed by McDonald’s new “Healthy Salads” menu.

When the food came, it was obvious that this was not a real Howard Johnsons. The chain that had, at one time specialized in “all the ham you want to eat” on Tuesday nights, was now featuring “all the tofu you can eat, made to pretend to be anything else you ordered.”

Harriett didn’t hate tofu. Years ago she had grown to enjoy it, especially in her Hot and Sour Soup. She had a favorite restaurant that served “Tofu: Country Style” that she truly loved.

But when you order ham and get salted, flavored tofu instead…and without any information coming before hand..this was a problem.

Willy Wood just sat looking at it. It had an unhealthy beige color, and no texture. It looked like someone had filleted one of the aliens from “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” and smoked them.

Everyone but “Coach” begrudgingly ate the tofu. They were hungry. It had been almost a day since they had had anything. Hammermann pulled a pack of Life Savers from his pocket and that was his dinner.

Jason pulled a chocolate bar from his coat pocket and handed it to the wrestler. Without a word of thanks the bulky man inhaled the Hersey’s bar in less than 10 seconds.

After the meal was finished and paid for the group headed back up for the rooms to begin their planning session.

They moved almost like automatons. No one spoke or looked around. They wanted to draw as little attention as possible. As if eight strangers walking in something approaching lockstep, in total silence, wouldn’t make you a bit curious.

Sebastian reached out and touched his friend’s sleeve. She looked at him, but didn’t react.

She knew what he was trying to draw her attention to behind them.

They were being followed.

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