Chapter 9

Carol called at eleven saying she was heading back and would arrive in about half an hour.

“Would you like to stay, Lane?” Doug asked as he disconnected from his call.

“I think I’ll go, Doug, as wonderful as it would be.” She smiled at him, holding his hand in hers. “I do want to stay, but I think I’ll wait. I want to make love to you and sleep by your side, but it won’t be until the doctors say you are okay again,”

Doug wanted to protest, to say that he was fine, and he was capable, but he could tell that she was determined. He swallowed his words and just smiled at her.

“Please take a taxi. We’ve been drinking and I really would be heartbroken if you didn’t make it home safely.”

“So is that an invitation to breakfast?” she asked with a grin.

“Tomorrow and every tomorrow after that,” Doug said, meaning every word.

Lane looked surprised for a moment, then blushed a bit.

“I knew you were a dangerous man before I even met you, I could see it in your eyes in those photographs in your sister’s office. A girl could lose her head, and her heart, listening to silver-tongued devil like you.”

Doug looked thoughtful for a moment; an evil gleam in his eyes.

“You don’t really know if my tongue is silver or gold. Not yet,” he growled softly. “But I would like to show you.”

“Oh lord.” Lane said softly, staring into his eyes. “I am most definitely in trouble.”

Carol arrived only moments after Lane left, the feeling of her parting kiss still warm on his lips. Seeing the smile on his face, and that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, Carol raised an eyebrow and cocked her head, smiling at him.

“Nice evening, Doug?”

“Very, though that hickey on your neck tells me that yours was ... nice too.” He said, grinning up at her.

“What,” exclaimed Carol, looking half panicked and half annoyed. “She wouldn’t...” she growled, her hand flying to the side of her throat.

“No, I don’t imagine she would.” Doug deadpanned, then pretended to cower when Carol caught the joke.

“You shouldn’t tease the woman who is supposed to get between you and the bad guys, Doug.” She snarled, but her eyes were full of amusement.

They chatted for a few more minutes, and then Carol followed him into his room, lifting him into his bed when he was ready. He kept his boxers on this time, even though he habitually slept in the nude. He was having to get used to a lot of new things, most of them rather nice, so it seemed a small sacrifice to make.

Doug thought he would have a hard time getting to sleep that night, his mind full of the scent and taste of Lane, but he was asleep in minutes, a smile on his face.

Lane arrived at the penthouse as the clock struck eight, greeting him with a kiss that left no room for misunderstanding and amused Carol no end.

She waived gaily to Carol and headed into the kitchen, pulling eggs, bacon, scallions, and cheese from the refrigerator, bread from the cupboard and some fresh fruit from a bowl on the counter. Humming softly, she began making breakfast, much to Doug’s bemusement.

Carol just shrugged and took a seat at the counter, sipping her coffee and exchanging grins with Doug.

When the omelets were ready, she buttered a slice of toast for each of them, giving Carol two, poured more coffee all around, and placed the plates in front of them. The omelets were cooked to perfection and garnished with fresh orange and apple wedges.

“So, what are you two up to today?” She asked as she sat down beside Doug.

“I’m hoping my van is ready. I’ll call after breakfast. I was thinking about going to the range; it has been way too long, and I am, obviously, rusty.” He said with a thoughtful expression on his face. “You?”

“Slaving away at the salt mines while you go off and play.” She joked. “I have to file all the reports from the California trip, and see if Christine still needs me to go to Dallas, and if so, when.”

“Christ, you just got back!” Doug protested.

“It’s what I signed up for, and I like my job.” Lane shrugged, leaning left and bumping him with her shoulder. “It’s better if I keep busy right now anyway, temptation is a powerful thing.” She joked.

Doug snuck a glance at Carol and saw her trying not to snicker. He scowled at her and turned back to Lane again.

“How long is the Texas trip? Will I be able to see you again before you go?”

“Oh, I think I can put her off until Monday. You still owe me a night on the town if your van is ready,” she reminded him.

“I should have gotten the sleeper package” Doug grumbled under his breath, but he winked at Lane. She just grinned at him, bumping him again.

After breakfast, Doug called the custom shop and was told that his van would be ready by lunchtime, that they were putting a few last finishing touches in place. He spent the morning catching up on his email and his snail mail; things had piled up while he was in the hospital.

One item, an email from an unknown address, caught his eye just before he was about to consign it to spam hell. The name, OsmanH@pacland.net, rang a bell.

He opened the email and the memory came back to him, hitting him like a freight train. Henry ‘Hank’ Osman was someone he’d gone through Ranger school with, suffering through the hell that was Ft Benning during the hottest months of the year. He was a lanky, red-headed farm boy with an accent so thick you could cut it with a knife and a sense of humor that snuck up on you. He hadn’t thought about him in years!

Doug sat, lost in memory, trying to picture Sousa but all he could get was a vague recollection of a short, slim, and swarthy guy with an attitude three sizes too big. Hank, on the other hand, had been Doug’s battle buddy throughout Benning, and, despite the differences in their background, they had become friends. He’d kept in contact for a couple of years but, with deployments and rapidly shifting assignments; they had lost touch.

He thought it was interesting that he didn’t give him any particulars in the email, and that if he was coming down here, it was sure to be something more than drinking beer and swapping lies. He hit reply and sent his contact info, telling Hank that if he didn’t manage to get lost on the way, to call him when he was in town.

The hired van dropped Doug and Carol off at the custom shop, and Doug was eager to see his new ride in the flesh. When he rolled through the door, there on the showroom floor, pointed towards the big side doors was the van had ordered.

With its tall roof, a fully-grown man could walk upright down the center and never hit his head. The rear loading power ramp was strong enough to lift a fifteen-hundred pounds, which was a good thing since his chair weighed a third of that by itself.

The van was a smoke gray metallic color; the windows tinted, and the wheels had been powder-coated black as requested. The dual rear wheels didn’t have that pickup-truck, wide as a mother-in-law’s ass, bloated look, being tucked up under the body with a shorter axle, but it had the same meaty presence when viewed from the rear.

The inside smelled of new leather with just a hint of ozone; the new electronics smell that Doug loved almost as much as the scent of cordite. The salesman kept up a running patter as he rolled around the outside, then handed him a remote that would lock and unlock the doors, open the rear hatch and work the lift. It was chipped to enable the vehicle to start with the touch screen interface.

He rolled on the lift, raised it, and rolled inside, nodding at the clever mechanism that folded the left-hand side of the second-row seating out of the way, so he could slide his chair into position. Once past the seat, there were a set of rails with a wide, funnel-like opening that would guide the wheels of his chair to the right position at the front.

In place, where the steering wheel would be on an American van, the dash was taken up by the electronics suite. On the center console, positioned perfectly for his right hand, was the joystick control setup and an eight-inch touch screen. On the screen at the moment was a single control that said, simply, ‘Begin’. There was still a steering wheel, but the base model of this van was the European version so all the standard controls, still usable, were on Carol’s side of the vehicle.

Pressing the ‘Begin’ button woke up the control interface, and he read through the familiarization as Carol watched. He had to lock down his chair before the vehicle would start and a flashing yellow control appeared that prompted him to do just that. When he hit the on-screen button, he could feel the locking arms snug his chair in place, and the control interface switched to the startup sequence.

The small screen now held a start button, the transmission selector, an electric power gauge, and a row of icons. The icons represented various subsystems such as the A/C controls, sound system, phone control system, satellite navigation and even internet access, though the warning text showed that it was not available while the vehicle was in motion.

Directly in front of him was a second screen, this one about fourteen inches high by twenty-four inches wide, and it was displaying a split screen view of from the front bumper, the rear above the doors, but looking down and out, and finally two screens showing a wide view down both sides of the vehicle. Notes there said that these cameras were IR equipped and could be used in complete darkness to view the immediate area around the van.

He played with the controls for about twenty minutes, familiarizing himself with his new toys, then unlocked his chair and backed out again. He had some paperwork to do and a wire transfer authorization to sign before he could roll out of here, and he was eager to begin.

An hour later, an almost maddening wait for Doug, he was ready for a test drive. The salesman hopped into the second-row seats, allowing Carol the front, and he directed Doug out the side door of the building, across the street to a private lot that was set up with painted on curves, stops, parking spots and the like. It was the shop’s familiarization course.

It took Doug almost another hour before he felt at home with the new controls. With the help of the salesman, he got the controls adjusted so that the input felt correct and, more importantly, he felt more secure in the way they responded.

With a handshake, Doug dropped him back at the shop, and they were off!

The ride back to his place was a blast and Doug was grinning like a teen with his first set of wheels. He had been in his penthouse for so long, depending on hired vans whenever he actually left, that he felt like he was out of prison. He deliberately took the long way home, the radio blasting a classic-rock station and Carol just laughing at him as he (poorly) sang along.

A they got closer, he shut down the radio, so he could talk to Carol without shouting.

“I’ve got a biometric lock box I want to get installed; I just have to figure out the best place to put it. It is sized for two handguns, and I want it in a place that both driver and front-seat passenger can access it if needed. There still places you can’t carry, even with a license, and I want to be able to secure my sidearm. I also want to run it by JJ sometime this week and get the factory GPS locator disabled and a custom one put in, along with a kill switch. I like the idea of remote shutdown, but not if some dweeb in India controls it.

I also want to go shooting this week, but I need some gear first. I don’t have any easy way to transport several handguns, ammo and safety gear.”

Carol thought for a moment, then directed him to a gun store about fifteen miles past where he would have turned off for downtown. The store was an unassuming storefront in what looked like an old industrial building, but Carol assured him that he could probably find what I needed there.

Once parked and out of the van, Doug used his remote to stow the ramp and close the rear doors, smiling like a loon.

Inside, the store was immaculate, a far cry from the dilapidated exterior. It was well lit, well organized, and looked like a candy story for gun nuts. The walls were covered in racks holding long guns, and the entire perimeter of the store was lined with locked cases containing handguns, with a few tasers, tear gas pistols, and a nice knife display thrown in for flavor.

Behind the counter on the back wall, an older man dressed in bib overalls, a walrus mustache threatening to hide the entire bottom half of his face, watched with interest as Doug rolled down the aisles followed by Carol.

“Afternoon, Carol. Been a while,” his laconic voice drawled, nodding at Doug, but not addressing him. He had a soft, Texan twang that seemed out of place in the middle of Miami.

“Steve.” Carol greeted him. “This is Doug; he needs some gear. I told him you would have it, could find it, or even make it. Don’t make a liar out of me.”

“Yeah, and have Stella come after me? No thanks. If I can’t do it, I’ll find someone that will.” Turning to Doug, he asked, “What are you looking for?”

“As you can see, I’m not as mobile as I once was, and Carol probably won’t be around to carry things for me forever. I need a way to transport up to a dozen handguns, ammo, eyes, ears and assorted gear from my home to the range and back. A lockable rolling case, panniers, something like that, I guess.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, coming out from behind the counter and giving the chair a careful look from all sides.

“I could fit some hard-side saddlebags on that chair, like the kind on the big Harley Davidson’s, but it would make that chair of yours quite a bit wider.” He said, thinking out loud. “How is the seat mounted, will it take some weight hanging off of it?”

Doug thought for a moment, the used the controls to lift it, swiveling his seat around in a slow three-sixty so that Steve could see how it was built.

Steve bent down, looking at the chassis in the rear, above where the battery compartment sat.

“There is a good steel frame here. I bet I could rig a trail box, like you see on ATVs. It would be detachable. How do you get from home to the range?”

“The van outside, it’s a custom job.”

Steve followed them outside and watched as Doug opened the rear doors and deployed the ramp. Climbing up inside, he looked back at Doug again, obviously gauging the width of the chair and squatted, looking at the available space behind the rear seat. He shook his head and climbed down again.

“Without that rear seat we could probably come up with a way to slide that rear pack I was talking about, slide it off to the side for storage, but it would be mighty cumbersome. Probably be better, and easier, just to leave it on while you were out and about at the range, and just detach it at home when you are through. Looks like plenty of clearance behind you when you roll into the spot up front, so no worries there.”

Back inside the shop, Steve took measurements, a few photos and then sketched a quick design that would attach to his chair. Doug agreed to email him the manufacturer’s specs, so he could check the weight limits, chassis strength, and a few other items. He also mentioned that he could make a stand that would allow Doug to back the chair up and offload the case without help.