"What story did you tell her to account for your new identity?" I asked him.
"Oh, I told her that I went through bankruptcy and my attorney told me I would never be able to get credit or do business under my own name again, so I adopted a new one. It was pretty thin, but people believe what they want to believe, and she wanted to believe that every word I told her was the truth."
"So what happened after you left her place?" I asked.
He chortled loud, clear and joyous. "Hell, I never did leave! We've got two kids in school and now both of us have damn good jobs. No sense in splitting on a problem-free situation, is there?"
Taking up with a member of the opposite sex is actually a pretty good idea for the newly disappeared. Of course, shacking up with an old girlfriend is not a good idea for most people, because they will know about both of your identities and if things don't work out as well as they did for the fellow above, your spurned love may go running to the people you are trying to get away from.
A stranger in a bar who doesn't know anything about your past--only your present--is another thing altogether. They may provide you with food, shelter and a mailing address while you're getting your new identity established. And if things turn sour and you haven't told all about your former life, you won't have to fear any anonymous letters to your ex-wife, or whoever.
Shacking up with someone sure beats sleeping on a park bench. As I noted in an earlier chapter, living off the street is not a very good idea for the newly disappeared. You are likely to be surrounded by an assortment of petty crooks and drifters. This crowd is carefully watched by the police, lest they start to infect the decent folk of the town who pay the taxes that pay their salaries.
If you're really down on your money, a mission is a much better place to stay than on the streets. Contrary to popular opinion, they aren't just for drunks and bums. Many a vanisher has spent his first few nights as the guest of the Salvation Army. They've assisted many, many people who are looking to make a new start in life, and they aren't inclined to make embarrassing inquiries.
When all is said and done, there is no substitute for money when undertaking an identity change. I know of one disappearee who went so far as to take out a second mortgage on his home to finance his leave. There are many places one can go with money, and cash seems to answer all those prying questions with more authority than half-a-dozen credit cards or other pieces of ID. Many people have enough money to travel when they disappear. In fact, the desire to travel is one of the main motivations to disappear (when combined with family and other problems). And travel is an excellent choice, for it allows the disappearee the time and peace of mind to consider his possibilities and chart a new course.
Finding a Place to Live
Some disappearees are able to live like turtles, carrying their lives with them in their campers like the fly-fishing gentleman we met earlier. But if you aren't planning to live on the move like a nomad, going into the back country can be a dangerous proposition.
Small-town U.S.A. is bad news for a recent disappearee. The locals in small communities have an overwhelming interest in "outsiders" and derive their principal entertainment from speculating endlessly about everyone in sight. A stranger is something to notice in such towns. Anything foreign about you will immediately be held up to public scrutiny. This is hardly a desireable environment for a person with a young identity to age.
A fresh disappearee should probably look for a more permissive town. By that, I mean a city where the authorities are not preoccupied with enforcing a host of ridiculous nuisance laws. San Francisco and the surrounding Bay Area seem to be very attractive to identity changers for precisely this reason. Not only are people less inclined to pry into your private life in such places, but it can be very enjoyable to live in a city where "anything goes."
A large city is better than a small one for a number of other reasons. A stranger won't stand out much in a city of millions. Public transportation is usually well established in large cities, which is helpful to those who have disappeared without a lot of money. There are more job opportunities of a greater variety in a large city. And there are also more resources of the type an identity changer is likely to need: mail drops, secretarial services, community colleges, etc.
Many disappearees make a checklist of the things they regard as necessary when picking a town in which to begin a new life, and this strikes me as a good idea. It would obviously be stupid for a literate man, a man who enjoys intelligent conversation and is used to elaborate library facilities, to attempt to exist in Mott, North Dakota or Mount Shasta City, California. Similarly, an individual really hooked on huntin' and fishin' and the outdoor life would be a fool to head for Washington, D.C.
Here's an interesting note about the residences that some disappearees choose. Several of my contacts specifically mentioned that they always wanted a second exit in any place they lived. One such person kept a climbing rope in his bedroom with one end tied to the bedstead. He explained this arrangement to his nosy apartment manager by telling her that he was pathologically afraid of fire because his home had burned down when he
