Chapter 6

"Dad and I, as well as Ari, hope you can bring her back."

The G650 arrived at an Air Force base in Israel and Tank was whisked to a Tel Aviv hospital. There was no passport check. Technically, Tank wasn't in the country.

At the hospital door, Tank was met by a man introducing himself only as Ari. This was the man responsible for sending her on the mission. Having been in a command position himself, Tank understood the despair in the man's eyes. The weight of Vassi's condition, plus that of his country's safety must weigh heavy heavily on him.

"Thank you for coming, Pierre. I hope you have brought the spark to reset her life."

"How is she?"

"She is in between life and the beyond. The doctors say she should be getting better, but she isn't. When a person decides to die, it is nearly impossible to bring them back. We hope you can."

Tank noted the hospital room was bright but the blinds were set to reflect light to the ceiling. There were no respiratory machines only the silenced monitoring of heartbeat, oxygen level, and blood pressure. A tall, older man with lighter Mediterranean skin who resembled Nikolaos was seated on the far side, holding Vassi's hand and talking to her. She was unresponsive. Her eyes were half closed, seeing nothing.

The General looked up, carefully laid Vassi's hand down, kissed her forehead, and rose walking towards Tank, "Pierre, thank you for coming. I'm George, Vassi's father."

Tank nodded and noted the General, like Ari, did not use his last names or rank. This was a personal matter. "Sir, I had to come."

"You need to talk to her doctor first. Let him explain what is going on."

Dr. Elios had been across the room and came forward, "I was waiting for the helicopter when it landed. We have been working on an experimental spinal treatment but need to start the treatment as soon as possible from the injury's occurrence. We believe VC was within that early treatment window. I'll be honest, the treatment is painful and after-effects extremely uncomfortable for days after. I believe her state now is due, in part, to the severity of the treatment. If we stop, she will be a paraplegic. We hope you can bring her back and impress upon her that the treatment improves her chances of using her legs again. But it only improves the chances. There's no guarantee it will work. All her other injuries will heal, but we need her to want to live first."

Great, Tank thought I've got to reignite her will to live and convince her to continue with painful treatments that probably won't work. Tank walked over to the bed and saw the woman who shared her green chile stew with him months before. She had lost weight, her color was poor. Though her eyes were partially open, she was not acknowledging people or sounds.

Instinctively, he bent his tall body over hers, looking directly into her blank eyes, "VC, I've been waiting for my Sunday message." No response. He kissed her. No response. The others realized this could take time and left. Nikolaos looked back at his sister and silently wept.

Tank remained standing, "I got Maria to share her green chile stew recipe with me. I brought home chile to roast. My neighbors were wondering what the stink was."

Tank sat down, this would take time. For the first hour, Tank rattled on. He could have been reading the telephone book for all the response it brought. He kissed her lips or her hands and whispered into her ears. Was there brain damage that had not been diagnosed? Hour after hour he told her about his childhood, some of his Army career, how Rangeman came into being, about the men and Stephanie, and some of the crazy things that have happened over the years. Finally, he admitted to her his deep feelings for her since Billabong bar and especially since Alamogordo. He continued to kiss her. He noticed her father or doctor looking in from time to time, but they backed away out of respect.

It had been hours and she was not responding. After the last visitor looked in, he started stated how pleased he was with his nickname, Tank. "When others in the Army heard it, they immediately thought I was in an armor unit. Several First Cavalry men welcomed me to their ranks, unofficially of course, and taught me the First Cav poem. Have you heard it VC? It's called Fiddler's Green. Up until now, it was entertaining. Now, I fear, you might be part of it."

Halfway down the trail to Hell,
In a shady meadow green
Are the Souls of all dead Troopers camped,
Near a good old-time canteen.
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddler's Green.

"I'm not going to finish it for you. I can't bear the thought you might be one of those marching past Fiddler's Green." He began to weep.

"VC, ever since adolescence, women have been afraid of me, except for a former whore named Lula. She was raised on the streets, like me. Most of the men she knew were pimps. I was the first black man who wasn't a threat to her but she also looked at me as a sexual conquest. I didn't mind, she was fun for a while. But I wanted something better. I've always wanted something better.

In school, I studied hard, applied myself to become more than a gang member or pimp on the street. I had no interest in team sports, disappointing the football and basketball coaches. I watched professional athletes earn millions and blow it all away on big houses, cars, women, and drugs. Without sports, I had no money for college, so I selected the Army as a way to get off the streets and make something of myself.

The Army's good part was that I had shelter most of the time, food, and friends who weren't trying to kill me. The bad part was that it was nothing short of Hell. I had seen bad things on the street, but nothing like combat. I've done things…as I know you have a well. I pray neither of us goes to Hell as there's no Fiddler's Green for us."

Tank paused to regroup, "When Rick asked me to leave being a mercenary and help him start a security company, I enrolled in college to learn business while he worked as a bounty hunter to earn money. I continue studying to this day, always improving myself mentally. But my heart went to a lovely MP Captain in the Philippines. Rick has told me over and over, the chances of finding you were zero, but I prayed one day you would return. Then one glorious day in Alamogordo, you were there with me again, more radiant and beautiful than I remembered. You seemed to be as excited to see me as I was to find you. Your kiss in the parking lot reignited my hopes we could finally be together. But here you are, hanging between life and death, hopefully not preparing to march past Fiddler's Green and taking my heart with you.

The big man began to cry again. "VC, don't give up. Please come back, back to me. I've waited for years to find you. We have a life ahead of us. Please, my love, come back," he begged.

-0-

What was that deep rumble? It makes the pounding in my head even worse. Gradually, I realized someone talking. The words were indecipherable. Every so often something brushed my lips or played with my hair. There was a fragrance from something in the past. The light had shadows move through it. I wanted to follow them but eye movement was like daggers to my brain.

I felt a hand on my face, cupping my chin. Who was this? The skin was dark. Is Mama here? Has she come for me? The voice was deep. Papa? I became aware of my breathing and tried to take in a little more with each breath. I had to clear the fog in my brain and eyes.

"Hi there," came the deep rumble.

I stared at him.

"I've been rambling on here wondering if you were listening."

The face was familiar. I continued to stare at him.

"VC?" He didn't know what to ask. "Do you know who I am?"

I turned my head and immediately felt a thousand daggers pierce my head. I squinted and looked to the window.

"Do you want a darker room?"

I blinked once.

Rising, he went to the window and found a way to darken the window it. I followed him with my eyes. Was he a giant?

"Is that better?"

I blinked again. This dark man seemed familiar.

He sat and looked at me, "Your brother, Nikolaos came to Trenton. I was afraid he came to tell me you had died." The mystery man hung his head for a moment, "I just found you after all these years in Alamogordo and then..."

Nikolaos? Trenton? Alamogordo? They sounded familiar. I watched this giant, dark-skinned man actually cry. I didn't understand what he was saying but his sobs tore my heart. I moaned, "Noooooo."

"I'll stop crying if you kiss me."

What was he saying? I moved my head a bit though it hurt like hell.

He leaned over, what was he doing? His lips touched mine. The salty tears were on his lips. Why was his kissing me? The kiss felt familiar. Was this Pierre?

I watched him. He spoke, but I didn't understand. I squinted to indicate he needed to say it again.

I heard "Kiss again." I smiled a bit.

He leaned in and gave me a tender, longer-lasting kiss. "That's a good start. I don't want to be too bold."

I tried to smile. I finally knew who he was. The smell, the kiss, the skin tone, the deep, bass rumble, it had to be Pierre. Is he dead too? Oh Pierre what has happened? I started to cry.

"Oh baby, don't cry. Only I'm allowed to cry."

-0-

It was time to return to my daughter's room. I hoped Pierre was able to bring her back from death's door. As Nikolaos and I stepped into the room, we noted Pierre was more relaxed and appeared to be conversing with my daughter. She had turned her head and was looking at him! My son noted his sister's change as well. Individually we both crossed ourselves and whispered Doxa Theos, Praise God.

Nobody knew what Pierre and Vassi were talking about but by the end of the twenty-four-hour visit she was aware and conversing a single word at a time. She smiled at her brother, Ari and me. My daughter has returned...again.

I took Pierre aside, "Son, I don't know how to thank you. You have brought Vassi back to us."

"General Christofondodoulous, sir," Tank began, "Would you keep me apprised of her condition?"

"Of course I will, Pierre. You two should never be apart," I promised.

Tank nodded in agreement, almost shyly. "I'd like to communicate with her here when she is better able to speak. When she is moved to back to the States, please let me know. I want to be with her. If that means I have to move to Maryland, Texas, or wherever, I will."

I was touched. "Son, I will see what I can do to get her as close as possible to you. You've done so much for us already."

Tank turned to Vassi, "My love, my time to be with you is over. I have to leave. I know the treatments are painful but promise me you will not give up. When you return to the States, you and I will work together on your rehabilitation."

My daughter looked confused.

"Dear VC, I can't stay any longer, your father will explain. Sweetheart, please work to get better so…." Pierre bent over and whispered in her ear. She looked at him with hope in her eyes.

Suddenly, we all had hope. VC was going to fight. I know personally when my daughter makes up her mind, Heaven and Hell better look out. Nothing will stop her.

Ari went up to Tank and shook his hand. "Thank you. Two simple words but they convey my deepest gratitude from for what you have done, Mr. Sherman."

Dr. Elios was also grateful. "Thank you. Keep her in your prayers. She is not yet out of danger, but now she will fight."

Back in Trenton

"How is she?" Ranger asked with his eyebrow pointing to a known microphone.

"The doctors finally have hope. She's paralyzed but may regain some movement. It will take a lot of rehab, both physical and mental."

Ranger could see the pain and concern in Tank's eyes. Where would it lead? "Do you think Bobby could help?"

"I hadn't considered it. It will be a while before she is brought back Stateside. Even then, I don't know where they will send her. Wherever it is, I want to be there, with her."

Ranger understood. If it were Stephanie in such a situation, he, too, would insist on being at her side. "She has been, and will continue to be, in my prayers," Ranger said, compassionately. He may be a hard ass in front of his men, but he had and Tank had developed a familial relationship.

Tank nodded and left the office but immediately ran into Stephanie. "How is your family member?"

It was a good thing Tank could quickly close down to a blank face as he was momentarily confused by the question. He realized Ranger had told her Tank's disappearance was a family issue. "We hope she recovers," he mumbled.

"What happened?"

"Accident," and he walked away.

If it were anyone other than Tank, she might have sought more information, but Tank kept his secrets close to his vest. She suspected that was one reason why he and Lula split. Lula couldn't hold her tongue like everyone else in the Burg. Stephanie knew more about Tank, his private physique, and sexual needs than she really wanted to know. The man was due his privacy.

In the Tel Aviv hospital:

Twice a week, Pierre and I conversed by phone. He was an amazing cheerleader, sensing my various moods and keeping me upbeat from thousands of miles away. The conversations were long. We laughed at the antics of the Rangemen and especially Ranger's girlfriend whom I met in Alamogordo. Bombshell Bounty Hunter seemed an appropriate nickname. In Tank's talks, I sensed there was another woman that Tank may have dated but the woman was no longer in the picture. I learned about his cats and actually looked forward to meeting them. I've never had a pet and couldn't imagine living with an animal, let alone three.

After two months, I was moved to a VA hospital in Newark. I was surprised not to be going to Maryland near my father and brother or to Texas and the VA spinal treatment center. Dr. Elios explained his colleague in the research worked out of New York City. Papa explained the Newark VA was the closest to Pierre and New York City. I suspected there was a lot more bargaining involved and Papa's three stars were probably used to modify VA regulations.

I hadn't been in my Newark room more than an hour when Pierre walked in. He shook hands with my father and brother as if they had met before. I didn't remember Pierre's visit to Tel Aviv. After Papa and Niko returned to Washington, Tank kept me company for several days at a time. He was staying with Ranger's family nearby. He did need to return to Trenton from time to time which corresponded with my spinal infusion. There was no way I wanted him around for my misery.

For one visit, he brought his colleague, Dr. Bobby Brown. The staff was surprised and welcomed the doctor as if he was at the hospital often. I soon learned he was a well-known specialist in military and first responder rehabilitation. After serious consultations between Dr. Elios in Israel, his associate Dr. David Segal in NYC, Dr. Hiram Goldberg at the VA, my therapists, the VA, US Army, Pierre, Dr. Bobby Brown, Ranger and my father, my brother and me, it was decided I would move to Trenton into a Rangeman apartment to work with Dr. Brown. I'm sure high-level, diplomatic summit conferences weren't as complicated.

The second reason for me to move into Rangeman was to discover who was continually bugging the Rangeman building. Operating normally for months, knowing the office was constantly being bugged must be frustrating. Hector and Manuel made a point of "finding" a few with every week or so but leaving the others untouched. Each new listening device was more advanced than the rest. This whole bugging business had gone on far too long.

Before I moved to Trenton, the men and women at Rangeman were told Dr. Brown was part of a medical experiment on spinal cord injuries and he'd be overseeing the treatment of an Army officer. When it was revealed the officer was female, all were reminded I was to be treated with respect due a senior officer and a lady.

"Well, it's not the Ritz," Pierre told me as he wheeled me into the third-floor apartment next to the medical clinic. I had heard the term "Ritz" but wasn't sure how it applied to this unusually large, studio apartment. It was simple, modified for my needs. Someone had made an attempt at creating a feminine color-coordinated studio apartment. The large hospital bed was partially hidden from view by a screen. A peachy-toned comforter with matching pillows on a neutral colored couch was an attempt to brighten the room as the only window faced north. A side chair was in the same neutral color. There was no coffee table to interfere with the wheelchair. Two side tables held lamps. I had a modern open desk to work at and a small table with chairs with print cushions in the same peachy tones. The clothes closet rods were lower than usual for me to reach, the dresser wasn't too deep. At my request, there was no television. I had never become addicted to the Boob Tube. The bathroom was modified for handicap with a no-barrier shower, roll-under sink with a lower set mirror, higher toilet and grab bars. Rangeman had gone to great expense to make me feel comfortable, but my mood was dour.

"It is fine," I said somewhat sadly.

"What's wrong? We can get something larger, change the colors, whatever you want," Tank quickly asked as he squatted down in front of me.

"I'd rather be back working again. The Army is all I've ever known and now suddenly it is so far away and probably gone."

"Rangeman is run on military principles. I believe you will feel comfortable here with the regiment regimen. Plus, I'm close by."

I smiled and decided to can the foul attitude. It would accomplish nothing. Touching his face, "Yes, after all these years I finally get to know you, Pierre. I'm sorry it is from this lower perspective."

He leaned over and gave me a very satisfying kiss. That put a real smile on my face as well as his. There was definitely something growing between us since I got to Newark, but was he remembering the Vassi who could walk and flight fight hand-to-hand with him? The reality I might be in this chair for the rest of my life hadn't totally penetrated my mind and, I doubt, his.

"My beloved," he said shyly. He was finding being affectionate as difficult as I. "Would you call me Tank when we are in public? They The guys know me by that name. I was kidded unmercifully as a child as Pierre. Now, I only enjoy hearing Pierre from your lips, privately."

I wiggled my eyebrows, "How private?"

He shook his head and chuckled as he stood back up. Dang, I didn't get an answer.

Dr. Brown sat with me the first day, "First of all, around here I am called Bobby. We are big on nicknames here. We don't need one for you, VC works fine. As for your stay with us, we are going to jump hard on your rehabilitation. Your prior therapy was mild, allowing for any lasting fractures and injuries to heal. Now, we get serious. Either Tank or I will take you to Newark for the treatments and you'll recover here. You'll get 2 to 2 1/2 days to recover and then back into the gym for 10 hours a day. Initially, they will be only a few hours at a time with rests between. I want to get into 10 hours straight gym-time as soon as you are able." I remained impassive. "Three, one-hour rest periods per day: that's rest, flat on your back. Meals, hygiene are all accounted for. You will sleep 7-8 hours at night. This allows for only one hour free time per day. Do you have any questions or comments, ma'am?"

I knew I outranked everyone in the building but I was a guest here. There was no way I'd insult my hosts by pulling rank.

"Yes, sir," I said putting him back in command. "I'd like several hours a week to attend church. I'd rather not start immediately but would like to work that into the schedule as I get stronger."

"Agreed."

After dinner, I had guests. Ranger Manoso and Stephanie Plum came to welcome me to Rangeman. Stephanie appeared more fit that than I remembered her in Alamogordo but the same long, curly hair and those incredible blue eyes. They brought an apartment warming gift, a houseplant. I blinked at the gift, "Does it come with instructions? I've never tended a plant."

Stephanie shrugged, "Me, either. I suspect it needs to be in front of the window and requires water once in a while. Ella will know. That lady is amazing; she knows everything."

I had met Ella and was impressed by her competence and warmth. "Yes, I believe she is the one who designed my accommodations and oversaw installation. Not only is she a good designer and supervisor, but she also makes a delicious vegetable ragout."

"I wouldn't know, I don't eat many vegetables," Stephanie said flippantly. I thought I saw frustration in Ranger's eyes.

"Stephanie, my kidneys were damaged and I must stay away from animal products and grains. I've always avoided sugar and most starchy carbs, so its veggies, a few fruits, and some beans."

Laughing, she said, "You'll fit right in around here. Is it an Army thing?"

"No, ma'am. We demand more of our bodies with physical or mental exertion or, in my case, healing. Meats and fats are detrimental to those with my type of injuries."

"But you need meat for muscle," she argued.

"That is a weightlifters' and athletes' myth, or excuse, to overeat. Most who engage in the destructive protein packing show kidney decline starting in early adulthood. Doctors don't mention the destruction until the dysfunction approaches critical."

"Don't you get hungry?"

"Hardly. Most food these days is lacking nutrients. The soils are low in natural minerals so the produce or animal feed today is less nutritious than it was decades ago. Then we strip away more nutrients in processing the crops. For example, grains lose their bran to make white flour or the food is heated for preservation. Granted, preservation is critical for food safety, but it comes with nutrient loss."

"So what do you eat?"

"I stay close to natural products, avoiding as much processing as possible. So the produce is fresh or frozen, not canned. On the plus side, I can literally eat until I feel like I'm going to burst and find I haven't exceeded my caloric limit."

"What about the ragout, wasn't it cooked?"

"I'm not keen on raw eggplant," I chuckled. "Yes, it was cooked and served in its own juices. Any nutrients that leached out were in the liquid, not drained away."

"No cheese?"

"No cheese."

"Have you always been a food purist?"

"Oh, no," I chuckled. "I grew up on peanut butter sandwiches, spaghetti, fried anything, giant hamburgers, and birthday cakes, too. I've moved past the children's food. To be my best, I've had to refuel with the best."

"Children's food?" she asked. Was that what she was still eating?

"Children's palettes are more sensitive and don't tolerate some vegetables like members of the Cruciferae family or crucifers: cabbage, broccoli or cauliflower unless drowned in sugar or fats like butter or cheese. By age ten, the fats and sugars should be dropped and healthy eating begun. But children become addicted to fats and sugars or use food as a psychological crutch. By adolescence, the habits are firmly entrenched and nearly impossible to break."

Stephanie sat back for a moment to think. Psychological crutch? Was she still trying to find comfort in childhood foods because her mother was so cold and demanding?

"Prior to this," I said, waving my hand at the wheelchair, "I limited fatty meats and fried foods to very rarely, like a few times a year. Maybe someday I'll be able to do that again. Oh, I'd love to tuck into a good Southern fried chicken, but it might be past me now."

"What about Italian food?"

"Oh, there are some wonderful soups and salads made with vegetables and beans. Not everything Italian is served with olive oil, cheese, pasta, or red gravy."

Stephanie almost gagged. Everyone knew olive oil, cheese, pasta, and red gravy were the pillars of in an Italian food diet, at least in the Burg. Ranger's eyes danced in amusement. "Yeah, you'll fit in around here," she huffed.

Ranger stood and shook my hand, "Welcome to Rangeman, Colonel. I hope the rehab goes well."

"Mr. Manoso, please call me VC."

"Thank you, ma'am, but I greatly respect command structure."

"Ranger," I shot back, dropping the Mr. Manoso, "I'm not in command, this is not the Army! Heck, I'll probably be booted out shortly anyway. It's VC, or you could call me 'Sweet Lips' like Tank does."

I swear Ranger blushed. Stephanie did all she could to keep from laughing. Now, I needed to tell Tank my little joke so he could be on board. I'm not sure he was ready to use the term himself.

Tank laughed a full roaring laugh, "You really didn't say that did you?"

"It sorta fell out. Blame all the drugs in me. Normally, I'd never say such a thing, let alone to Manoso," I said as I hid my face in my hands. It was a girly move, but lately my hormones have been running wild. Not so much lust, though there was a fair amount of those that, more like a suppressed adolescent. I was warned by the doctors to expect mood swings, all part of the experimental drugs.

Also, I was having nightmares from Syria, Nicaragua, Egypt and the four years at St. Basil's. I was extremely troubled at the school, of course, and gave the staff a very hard time. Good thing the adults were trained to work with children in crisis because I fit the bill. More than once, Niko had to hunt me down as I was hiding in the woods and comfort me as I cried. Often, he cried with me. Once, I was so desperate to see my father who had accepted a two-year teaching position at West Point, across the river, I attempted to swim the Hudson to reach the west side and West Point. We could see the citadel from St. Basil's. The MPs saw my attempt and put out the boat to rescue me before I was swept all the way down to Manhattan. I had a soft spot for MPs after that.

"Do you want me to call you 'Sweet Lips'?" he asked as he pried my hands away from my face. Bobby warned him I might have meltdowns.

"You may call me anything you want, Pierre, as long as it's said with respect and love," I smiled a tiny smile.

He chuckled and kissed my lips, "I like the term and it fits. But I'd best be careful where I use it. We don't want Lester to pick up on it."

-0-

The shower floor was cold, thank heavens. I was burning up due to the spinal treatment. The initial hours after treatment caused my body to run a fever. Only an extra-large towel draped over my naked body kept me modest. I had returned from Newark eleven hours ago. I knew what the after-effects would be and so did Dr. Brown, er, Bobby. He had been with me on earlier treatments in Newark. It was one thing to spend 48 hours with feeling as if my skin was on fire, intense nausea, room spinning and head pounding in a hospital, but here I was in a private apartment and I would have to do more self-care. The shower seemed a logical point: it had water for cooling, a drain for when the dry heaves weren't dry, the tile was cool, and I didn't risk falling out of bed. I was already on the floor.

I didn't hear Bobby or Tank enter the apartment or bathroom. Gratefully, they didn't flick on the light. The light would have fried my brain. A night light was the room's only illumination. Tank started to rush to me, but Bobby held him back. Instead, Bobby came and felt my pulse and checked my eyes. "Are you ready to get to bed?"

'Noooooo," I groaned.

"The anti-nausea med will help now. The call button is just to your right if you need something or when you are ready to move to the bed."

I grunted and even that was about all the energy I could muster.

"Bobby?" Tank questioned.

"It's the side effects of the treatments; paresthesia or the burning sensation, nausea and a killer migraine. The burning sensation and nausea should stop within a few hours; then it's only the migraine. That could last another 24 hours."

"I never saw her like this in Newark."

"No, she wanted to keep it from you for as long as possible. She didn't want you upset."

"Me? I'm not the one on the floor. Why the shower?"

"She can't get to the toilet quickly. Plus, with a migraine, she won't want to lift her head from horizontal. It is the spinal fluid imbalance plus the chemical cocktail."

Bobby pinched my skin, "I'm going to start an IV and add the anti-nausea drip. You are getting dehydrated."

"Groaaannnn," I answered.

He chuckled, "You are going to have to enlarge your vocabulary."

"Fu' You."

"Is that Mandarin or Cantonese?" After Bobby inserted the needle, he talked to Tank, "She is the only one to have lasted this long in the treatment regime. All the others have failed because of these side effects."

"I hope there are upsides to this," stated Tank.

"Mesu," I moaned from the shower floor. Even talking hurt my head.

After 6 hours, Tank carried me to the bed. It was the first time I was naked in front of him and he could see my scars. I was too sick to be embarrassed. I had lost a lot of weight since leaving Alamogordo. Right now, I was skinny. I don't believe I strained him in the least.

Bobby checked my vitals, "Hopefully, she'll sleep through most of the migraine. I'll keep checking on her."

Tank hung back as Bobby walked to the door. The big man leaned over me and whispered, "Sleep now Sweet Lips," and gently kissed me.

Near the end of the migraine session, I noticed Bobby sitting next to my bed. I whispered, "I'm going to skin the doctors that came up with this torture."

Bobby chuckled, "Glad to see you have your sense of humor back."

"What humor?"

Once the migraine had ended, I was weak, but I knew I had to get moving, so to speak. Tank rewarded me with a trip outside to the city park and a stroll around the duck pond. Stopping to share a sliced apple with Tank, I spied a large reddish dog making a beeline towards us. Far in the distance, the dog's owner was calling to the dog. "Uh oh, hide your food, that's Bob the food thief."

Sure enough, the red dog leaped right onto my lap and began sniffing my hands. I laughed and hugged the dog. It was the first time Tank had heard me laugh since Alamogordo. "Hello, handsome. You want an apple slice?" Instantly, the tiny slice disappeared down the dog's throat and he gave me a look of "What else do you have?" That earned more hugs and laughs.

By then, the owner had reached us, "Geez, I'm sorry about that. This dog can smell food a mile away."

Bob started licking my face, "What's his name?"

The man looked at Tank. There was no kindness in either man's eyes towards each other. The jogger looked back to me, "Bob."

"He's really nasty tempered, isn't he?" I laughed as Bob continued licking my chin.

The man gave a little smile.

"What is he? Golden Retriever, Irish Setter, and what?"

The man shrugged his shoulders, "Wookie is all I can figure."

It was exactly what I was thinking. "And who is Bob's owner?" I inquired.

Tank groaned quietly. There must be some serious issues between them.

"Joe Morelli, ma'am, and you are?"

"VC"

"Just VC?"

"My name is a tongue twister: Vassiliki Chrystofondodoulos."

"I'll stick with VC."

"Most do."

"And how do you know him?" Morelli asked as his eyes pointed to Tank.

Obviously, this man and Tank were not on friendly terms. "Mr. Sherman has graciously offered to escort me on a little vitamin D sunshine stroll. He volunteers his time with injured soldiers. I'm undergoing rehab for my spinal injury."

Morelli looked incredulous, "You volunteer your time with the vets?"

Tank ignored him.

"I am still active military service but on medical leave, but that's probably just a formality now. Mr. Morelli, what do you do?"

"I'm a police detective here in Trenton. Currently, I'm working homicides."

"Is there much call for your services here?" I asked.

"Far too much, I'm sorry to say."

I found him wanting to be freer in talking, but Tank's presence bothered him. He kept glancing at Tank as if he expected trouble.

Somewhere, Bob had leaped off my lap and wandered out into the duck pond and gotten himself stuck and began to whimper.

Joe Morelli sighed, "I've got the only retriever afraid of water. Excuse me, I need to rescue him."

Laughing, I said, "Must be the Wookie part. I would hate to have Bob get into further trouble. Nice meeting you and your hydrophobic retriever." With that, Tank began pushing me down the road and Joe rolled his pants legs up and waded out into the pond to retrieve his retriever.

"I sense trouble between you and Joe."

"Long story, racial BS. Also, he thinks Rangemen are thugs from Jersey Penal."

"Not from what I've seen. Are there any?"

"No thugs, but a few made some mistakes in the past. You'll eventually meet Hector, he's our IT-security systems guy."

I smiled, "Detective Morelli has a narrow opinion of people: good and bad, no grey areas. Is he a pillar of virtue?"

Tank scoffed, "Hardly. He loves himself and his dick. Excuse my crudeness."

"I sense there are more to problems with Joe than racial BS and prejudice towards Rangeman."

"He and Stephanie were an on-again, off-again item for a few years. She grew up with him here in Trenton and got together with him about the same time she met Ranger. She was conflicted between the two from the start. She seems to be over Joe, finally. I'm not sure Joe is over her, but he seems to be moving on."

"Are Stephanie and Ranger married?"

"Not yet," he laughed. "She finally gave up her apartment and moved in with Ranger. It was a big step getting Joe out of the middle of their lives. She has told her mother to kiss off and is finally overcoming the guilt. Mrs. Plum kept pushing Steph to marry Joe."

"Does her mother realize she is living with Ranger?"

"I suspect she prefers to assume Stephanie still lives in an apartment on St. James. They don't talk to one another anymore. We were surprised and grateful when she gave up the apartment. It had become a nexus for crazies, bombs, grenades, dead bodies, and snakes. It is better she remains hidden than the Burg learns her location and try to bomb Rangeman."

"Bombs? You are kidding, aren't you?"

"Unfortunately, no. She worked as a bond apprehension agent, but her attempts at getting the fugitives didn't go smoothly, allowing them a chance to fight back. She didn't have the training. Now that she is a Rangeman, criminal elements know you mess with Rangeman we will come for you and dispose of your body so even your Mama can't find you."

"I doubt you've had to use that form of retribution too often before the word got around."

He chuckled, "Not for several years in this country."

We got back to the park's parking lot. "So, I now volunteer my time to help veterans?" he asked.

"Soldiers on medical leave...but I will probably be a disabled veteran soon," I sighed.

"Remember the upside: you'll be closer to me," he smiled and gently kissed my cheek.

I smiled, "Sounds promising, Mr. Sherman. Just how close were you planning to be?"