37.
Gordon.
"Randy…why is this seat wet…and sticky?"
Randy was driving me home since we were staying in the same area within houses of one another. Hoot and Sanderson were way across the street three blocks away.
"Oh…Troy spilled his corn flakes this morning."
I looked at him.
That explained that. It would also be a nice change from telling my wife that the stains in my clothes were blood, gunpowder, sewage, and other fun stuff. The stains were cornflakes on this particular day.
Which led me to my next point, "You shouldn't sugar up your boys in the morning. Feed them protein. Eggs or meat…those Hot Pockets are good. Have you ever had those?"
I wasn't paying attention to the road. The neighborhood or street. I was sitting in sugar water, warm sugar water. It couldn't be good for my boys. Plus there was something wedged in the sleeve behind the seat that was digging in my back.
"Yeah…what the hell is your problem? Your as ancy as Trey."
Under my breath I swore.
I reached around the seat and grabbed the hard bulky thing, which turned out to be a rather large Power Ranger. Which I threw over my shoulder and into the back seat.
"I thought they were into those turtles?"
Randy snorted, he carefully avoided parked cars in his vintage Charger, which had suddenly become the "Daddy Mobile."
"They are, and the Power Rangers. Troy has a interest in Darth Vader that is disturbing."
Disturbing?
Curious, I asked, "How so?"
Steering one handed, Randy risked a look at me, "He considers it a positive thing to control the universe."
Hmmm.
That was interesting. "It's actually refreshing."
Randy looked back to the road, confusion in his voice, "Tyranny and world domination?"
Not that. I rolled my eyes. Randy was so narrow-minded. "Your son has high ambitions for someone so young, you should be proud."
That made Randy smile.
He turned the car again and we were on our street. I could see the house of King Anal Retentive. My wife's new car, a cherry red mustang. It had to be some sort of female thing.
Then I noticed she was in the driveway with someone.
A man.
The base commander.
Randy articulated the profanity I was thinking. It began with a F and ended with a K.
He sped up and parked the car in the street, like one did in Suburbia. Managing to get the wheel on the King's lawn, which could be matched by nothing less then the green fields of Ireland.
I hopped out.
Slammed the door.
The base commander saw me and paled slightly. My wife glanced up from whatever she was looking at and a smile crossed her face. She then looked back down at some sort of paperwork in a file.
Randy followed me.
She glanced back at us, "They are sleeping in the garage, Randy."
He nodded but didn't go in. I was glad. It was nice to have someone of equal strength at my back. Not that Angela wouldn't be there, she was, she just couldn't fold the colonel three ways and put him in a mailbox. Randy could.
"Afternoon sir, what brings you to this neck of the woods."
Rude, slightly, but I spoke pleasantly and added the sir.
There. I was a good soldier.
I sided up next to Angela and saw the paperwork the colonel had brought her. This did not please me. The paperwork was some weird form I had never seen before, some sort of acquisition form.
I slid my arm around Angela's waist easily, "Sweetie, let me see that."
She handed me the paper.
Oblivious to my suspicions of the base commanding officer, or his sudden nervousness. Which grew less subtle when I peered over the form which wasn't any I had ever seen.
Angela leant against me, calm, collected, but she cast another curious look at Randy. Who would normally never waste any precious time that he had with his sons, especially after waiting so long to find them and get them back.
Randy didn't look over my shoulder, "What is it?"
"Some sort of acquisition form that I've never seen before," was what I told him and the truth.
The colonel wanted to have all our possessions moved to a new house once the house was released and no longer a crime scene. None of it at our expense. Which made me wonder who would be moving our stuff?
God bless my wife and her sometimes-eccentric behavior which didn't bother me in the least. Other people however, well, it drove them up the wall, like the colonel.
"I already told him not to worry," Angela informed me.
She was the best wife in the world.
Plus she didn't like people going through her stuff, packing her things, or anything like that. It was some sort of psychological something leftover from our youth. The possessions she had she coveted. When we were on the run she was always having to leave things behind, or things got stolen. Which caused her to get clingy with her stuff.
Me, I didn't have anything I couldn't live without; just her and my rifle.
"You're the best wife in the world," I told her and kissed her temple. I handed the base commander the paper back. "No thank you sir. If we decide to move to a different house we'll move our own stuff."