Chapter 12

The vehicle waiting outside was not a limousine, but it was the biggest SUV that Mikel had ever seen with the typical blacked-out windows. The entire presentation screamed entitled prima donna. A crappy little Uber with the handgun up front had been much more his style. He scratched his beard while he tried to figure out what he was going to do.

His nurse had insisted that the wheelchair ritual to the front door was non-negotiable. He was not going to make a big deal out of the perceived insult. He could walk steadily even if he could not run. Nothing was wrong with his body, and he had no doubt that he would be running again as soon as he found a place to run to, from where he was running from. If the chips were upgradable, then he wanted the next upgrade to include Kung Fu because there were some people who were deserving a kick in the ass.

He had gotten a lot of grief over his last column entry. “Dear Corrigan, My boyfriend and I moved in together after dating for a year. We hold a lot of interests in common and one of them is eating at home. Neither of us like to spend money on meals out when we can cook at home. I’ve taken several classes at the local culinary school, and he was raised in his mother’s well-used kitchen. However, when he cooks for the week, he rearranges everything in the kitchen. I’ve talked to him about his inconsiderate behavior, but he continues to move everything to suit himself. -Signed, Where is my Spatula?”

“Dear Spat, You have a lover who is willing to cook for you and to share the duties of cooking for the household. What a precious commodity in these pressure cooker times. If this is the one behavior he does that gets under your skin, then you need to put into perspective how small this tic is in the scheme of things. If this is the worst thing he does, he sounds like a gem. Let it go. -Corrigan.”

His boss came down on him because nothing in the query concerned a dick. He was castigated again that dicks sell and blood sells, and everything else is probably worthless. As for the rest of his reading public, who knew that the home kitchen was the sacred precinct of the bitch goddess of self-righteous domesticity? Corrigan was revealed as a non-believer or even as a heretic.

His first thought was to ask the writer to take her serving spoon and shove it up her ass where it would do the most good. When he pulled back from the precipice, he wrote what he thought was a balanced “take an accounting of the state of your relationship” response. Instead, the kitchen gods rallied their troops and came storming forth to demand that he, Corrigan, keep his filthy hands out of their kitchens.

He thought it sounded weird, but it took him over a day to puzzle out what he should do. He was ready to capitulate and offer up a mea culpa when he decided to ask Aria to track the responses. Her answer was immediate, leaving his blood boiling. His editor received notice of a possible defamation lawsuit; however, Barry the office asshole had already been served with said lawsuit, a Cease & Desist order, and a Restraining Order. The proof of his little army of troll bots was a treasure to behold. Remy passed along that his attorney was pumped and already sending missives about possible settlement payouts. Her requested cut of the payout was impressive too. Despite the boner-raising chance for immediate wealth, Mikel had to constantly remind himself that his lawsuit was not about the money. The money was a happy by-product though.

With those thoughts running through his head, he looked out the doors at the armored vehicle with apprehension. Having been told that he would be left in the dark for his own safety, he felt reluctant to depart the hospital for which he had desperately wanted to leave since the moment he awoke. He was wondering what he should expect beyond automatic weapons, a grenade launcher, or a metal-punching laser. At least he would expire in the lap of luxury, for which he richly deserved for the pain and suffering he had endured.

The driver hopped out of the vehicle and came around to the right side to open the rear passenger door. A second person emerged from the front passenger door and walked around to the other side of the SUV with an obvious weapon slung over her shoulder. Their Ray-Ban^™ sunglasses were identical, and they were so stereotypical that Mikel had to suppress a laugh.

“You’re going out with some serious shit,” his nurse said, standing behind him and holding the handles of the wheelchair. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“You and me both,” Mikel said. “Did you pack me some of those happy meds I requested? I might need them.”

“I’m getting my big paycheck today and there ain’t no way in hell I’m jeopardizing that by loading up your personal pharmacy. Maybe if you hadn’t pissed off Dr. Spinelli, he would have written the script.”

“I didn’t piss him off, I scared the living daylights out of him,” Mikel said. “He is terrified of what he cannot understand.”

“You got me worried a few times during your visit with us,” she said. “Besides rising like Jesus from your bed in a week’s time, you’ve answered my questions before I asked them several times. It’s like you’ve been given divine assistance and I know such a thing is heresy. I’m not much of a churchgoer these days but I know church. Understand?”

Mikel sighed as he watched the man extend a small ramp with a rail that locked into place. “There is nothing divine about me if you thought about that statement for a moment. What I have is an A.I. assist, which can look mysterious. I think they laugh at our trivial fears sometimes while trying to sooth us in the next moment. No godly gifts or Marvel Universe powers to fall back on; I’ve got an A.I with attitude.”

“Good to know,” she said. “By the way, considering the attitudes you throw every which way, it’s a good thing they’re riding your ass. Someone has got to do it.”

Mikel gave her a look of astonishment as she jerked the chair forward and rolled him out the door to the SUV’s extended ramp. “He’s all yours, sir. You take good care of him.”

“Damn, talk about attitude,” Mikel muttered as the driver introduced himself as Hans. Mikel was disappointed his name was not Gunther, but he kept his mouth shut. Standing up, he took a hold of the rail and climbed the ramp like he was ascending the Olympic podium. He promptly collapsed into the leather seat, trying to hold his head up. He succeeded mostly. Looking up to wave his nurse goodbye, she was already back through the glass sliding doors with the empty chair. He shrugged, watching how much loyalty money could purchase, which he decided was limited.

His door was shut, and the two escorts clambered into the front seats. “Please fasten your seatbelt,” the driver said. “We are not expecting any difficulties today but if we do, our response will be instant. We will not have time to warn you, sir.”

“Understood,” Mikel said. “Where are we going?”

“We have another passenger to load and then we will receive our destination, sir,” the woman said. “We are operating under the tightest security protocols today and everything is on a ‘need to know’ timetable.”

“Troubles?” Mikel asked.

“The Ulster County Sheriff’s department has been spreading their love of authority quite freely for one thing,” she said. “We also have the usual assortment of oversized hardasses looking out from their hidey-holes who need to make some money to cover their debts from all the other stupid shit they did. Then we have you, who apparently has a contract on your head from an unnamed source.”

“I’m just special that way,” Mikel said, trying to mask his unease. “There is nothing like buckling up in a ginormous SUV with avowed security protocols to make your day an exciting adventure. Let’s Go!” he exclaimed with false cheer.

“Um, sir, have you taken any medications this morning?” the woman asked.

“No happy juice, I’m afraid. This is all attitude and adrenaline with nothing to take the edge off,” Mikel said. “The hospital is not getting a five-star review online after this morning. Does this tank block all electronic signals?”

“Astute observation, sir,” Hans said. “As a moving object we can be tracked, but we will not be leaving any digital signatures as we travel. We will not attain ‘Ghost in the Machine’ anonymity, but we will move with the utmost quiet.”

The woman twisted in her seat to face him. “For your comfort and safety, we ask that you keep your seatbelt fastened at all times. To your left in the armrest, you will find chilled bottles of water from a filtered source. Until we are certain of our safety, we will not be able to stop for any and all reasons.”

“Except to pick up our next passenger,” Mikel said while rolling his eyes at the rote recitation.