he'd stolen in order to leave Dallas had gotten him as far as the rural area outside of Tyler before he'd ditched it in the dead of night.
He'd set fire to it, and watched as it burned, and felt confident that there'd be nothing left to tie the stolen vehicle to him.
George's confidence was at an all-time high, because he continued to receive proof from God that his was a righteous quest. After burning the car, he'd set out walking but then the idea had come to him suddenly that he should thumb a ride into Tyler and see what he could do about putting his hands on a another car. He'd heard in prison how, if a dude just had the dinero he could buy damn near anything he wanted, under the radar. He certainly had lots of money, thanks to Pastor Jack.
George had no sooner stuck his thumb out, when a pickup truck had driven up, and then stopped. The man who'd given him a ride had been a rancher, one who had nothing good to say about the government. He was especially rabid in his views on regulations and licenses and what he called the interference of the godless bureaucrats in Austin and Washington in the everyday lives of God-fearing, hardworking patriots. George had quickly crafted a tale of how he'd lost his license because of a parking fine, and now he couldn't even buy a car, even though he'd saved up money to do just that.
The rancher had dropped him off in town at the home of a "friend" who'd hooked him up with a nice, nondescript Ford Taurus. For an extra five hundred, the guy had also produced a fake driver's license for him, photo and all.
Now he understood why he'd grown that mustache, and bought those glasses and that hair dye and applied it when such a thing had never occurred to him before. The hand of God was in everything that had happened to him since he'd left Dallas, and he believed more strongly than ever before that it was only a matter of time before he found his woman.
He looked in the mirror one more time. Now he was George Smith of Tyler, Texas - according to his new driver's license. Everything was coming together for him.
Might not be a bad idea to get myself a gun, too. He'd damn near busted his hand when he'd beaten the shit out of that little asshole he'd found in Carolyn's apartment. He looked down at his knuckles. He'd split one, but it was healing. He'd iced his hands before he'd left that apartment, and then again as soon as he got himself this room in Tyler. He really didn't mind the pain. A sense of satisfaction and pride filled him when he remembered what it felt like beating that little prick.
George had learned how to fight dirty in prison, and he'd learned it at the end of some fucker's fists. He nodded once, jerkily. He'd had the punishment coming, then. He'd been stupid, before, going off on that little bitch so that he'd gotten his ass hauled off to jail in the first place.
He'd learned his lesson. He wouldn't be stupid again.
He thought back on that kid who'd been at Carolyn's place. Timmy. What kind of a real man called himself Timmy? He'd come to believe the weasel's pathetic cries, just before he'd passed out for the last time. Timmy-boy said he had no idea who Carolyn was. George thought he'd have been able to get results faster if he'd had a good old nine millimeter pointed in that little bastard's face. His hands wouldn't be so fucking sore, either. George grinned. Maybe he needed the pain. He'd needed it to bring him to the next step. Yes! The pain was good, because he'd taken action, he'd battled, and he'd won. Soon, very soon now, he'd win it all.
It had been a few weeks since he'd left Huntsville, but George had been very careful with his money. He had enough to last him a good long time - at least until he found Carolyn, and got them settled somewhere. All he needed was his woman, and everything would work out. They'd get themselves a piece of land, grow crops and kids. No one would look for her - she was just a woman, after all. A woman who had no folks to take care of her. That was why God had given her to