Warlock of Omaha Squared

By Hemaccabe

Chapter 3: Shut Up and Drive

While Tamar was not into Three Gun, Brenda was. Brenda opted to go for a fairly conventional set of Three Gun armament. She got a high-end JP AR. Yes, an AR which I despise so well. The truth is, an AR may be a terrible option to take to war or depend on for your life, but for Three Gun, maybe not be so bad. The advantages of an AR and it's direct impingement system are that it's light and has more controllable recoil, which makes it faster and more accurate. The problem is direct impingement is also painfully unreliable, and when it fails, needs a ridiculous amount of work to correct. You wouldn't want an AR in foxhole, or even a gunfight, but at a race where it can be frequently babied? Maybe. It makes 3 Gun into a sport rather than a readiness training activity, but to each their own.

Brenda also got a Glock 17 and a semi-auto Remington shotgun. Her whole outfit with scopes, belts and holsters was under ten grand. We had gone through another whole new generation of technology for my optics. The chips were a generation faster, lighter, smaller and more energy efficient. The CCDs were another order of magnitude more sensitive and our mastery of producing scopes had increased as well. Apple was trying to use actual synthetic sapphire for it's cell phone glass. Sapphire would be much harder and more durable than the best glass. Apple hadn't yet mastered large scale production but was working on it. For five lenses? Very doable.

There are, maybe, half a dozen serious, high-end, scope manufactures in the world. They each preach the virtues of their lens coatings to make their lenses more resilient, less prone to fogging, dusting, smudging etc. I had entered their computer systems and taken their ever so secret proprietary formulas, replicated them in my lab and tested them. I had used the pick of the litter for my new sapphires. My plan was to produce a new set of lens coatings combining the best features of all their knowledge for my next generation and maybe push the chemistry myself.

The fact that I had a new generation of scopes meant that there was a set available which Brenda was happy to use on her gear.

I kind of liked that Brenda was using more conventional gear. It would serve as a baseline for my gear.

I was also tempted not to share my old scopes and hoard them as backups. However, having a second user of my scope system would help push the state of my art much faster. Not to mention, having another capable gun hand back at the ranch was never a bad thing. If it came up that I needed one of the scopes back, I'm sure Brenda would render it quickly.

Brenda and I had also been working on the software. Each build had made it faster, more solid, smarter and more user friendly.

Brenda and Tamar had worked together building proficiency. I had bought Tamar a large pile of Stage One, i.e. Winchester 40S&W ammo to learn with. I was paying for whatever Brenda wanted to buy to practice and put down range.

We had been to two different Three Gun matches since. Brenda had teething troubles at the first, but did reasonably well at the second. With Big Baby and ever greater confidence, I had cracked the top ten at both.

I was worried about how the Speers would take to Brenda. I shouldn't have worried. The Speers treated Brenda like the little sister they never had and were gracious about sharing me. Stacy and Lina were very kind giving Brenda coaching and advice on her gear. For me, having company in the RV on the drive back and forth made it remarkably more pleasant.

There was a reception this evening at the Durham. I had tried to get a moment with Tamar to ask her along, but hadn't been able to get her on the phone. I had texted her to which she had replied, "Thank-you so much for inviting me, but I'm busy. Have to take a rain check."

Normally she liked to attend these things. They would have a significant portion of Omaha's people with money who liked to donate to things. Having met someone socially before having to convince them to pony up was generally an advantage. I expected she wanted to be pursued. She wanted to not be taken for granted. I'd have to work on that.

So, since Tamar was busy, I went stag. I used to wear a silk tuxedo, bespoke in Hong Kong, to these things. It was nice for a bit, made me feel like James Bond. Unfortunately, it didn't really work with guns and the armor and now it doesn't fit. So, I came up with another solution. As I jumped out of the Infiniti, I tapped my coat at a particular point under the left lapel. To all appearances, I was now wearing that silk tux. I'd have to check my "hat" at the door, no solution is perfect.

I got to the Durham early which meant I could park in the lot. The Durham lot has a main lot, on the same level as the museum entrance and unusual for Omaha, far too small. They have a secondary lot below, but that takes a long set of stairs. One can miss the second lot, as it can fill up on busy occasions, like tonight, and have to park on the street. Quite a pain. I found one of the last spots in the lower lot and humped myself up the stairs.

I got to the line at the door. It moved quickly and I quickly got crossed off security's list and was inside.

Was going to something like this dangerous? To some extent, yes. Bad guys could set up an ambush in several places. However, the event would have extensive security, reinforced by paid for police officers and the police would come in massive force very swiftly if there was a disturbance. Everything is a trade off. One has to have a life.

I walked through the massive reception/lobby area and proceeded down to the special exhibit area. Having been to a few of these rodeos at this museum, I took the stairs as I knew the elevators would be swamped. The special exhibit hall was on the same level as the lower parking, if only there was some way to get directly from car to exhibit, one might miss a lot of stairs up and down. Sigh. Unfortunately, that would be much too good an idea to actually be done. So, stairs up followed by stairs down it would be, long, long staircases each way.

I got down to the exhibit. Tonight was the debut of the Chebelforth Collection of Egyptian Artifacts. I had read up. Edmund Chebelforth had been a rare American explorer of Egypt in the late nineteenth century. He had made a huge discovery of a major Pharaoh's tomb. He had packed all the loose items and even had removed and preserved the walls. The collection was one of the finest still in private hands and the Egyptian government was relentlessly struggling to have it repatriated. Mubarak's government had almost succeeded when it fell and the confusion in Egypt since had put everything on hold. No doubt trying to build good will and money for another round should the legal wrangling begin again, Edmund Chebelforth IV, the direct descendant of the original discoverer, had put the collection on tour. The collection had been on tour now for three years and having been everywhere better already, had finally made it's way here to Omaha.

I wasn't a huge fan of Egyptian artifacts. However, I paid a pretty big chunk to be on the board and get invited to these things. In the old days, meeting women had been high on my why do it list, but that was reduced these days. There were some women present who were already in my little black book, some that I even had remembered thinking I might like a return visit with. I'd also seen some new women whose attention looked like it might be worthwhile to cultivate. But I was standing in the main foyer nibbling on hors d'oeuvres and nursing a drink with a guy who apparently lived in Omaha and had sold millions of Christmas music albums. We were chatting amiably while I looked over to where the snack bar normally would be situated but now was where Mr. Chebelforth was holding court with senior members of the board and looked like they were having a pleasant conversation, maybe hearing some interesting and funny stories. Not to mention the best drinks and snacks. I could wade in, but I hadn't really donated enough money to be on the senior board so I suspected I wouldn't be welcome.

Christmas carol guy and I got into a conversation about small versus large venue amps for a bit then the carol guy checked his watch and made polite excuses, "Oh, I need to go home and put the kids to bed."

I let the conversation end quickly. I didn't think he wanted to exchange phone numbers, he was nominally a celebrity. I suggested, "Don't forget to try the Lodge, the food is great, and the prices are reasonable."

He smiled and waved, then went off to the exit. I turned to find Mr. Chebelforth standing behind me.

"Uh, hello. Welcome to Omaha." I managed to stutter out despite my great surprise. I can't say that I had been craving Mr. Chebelforth's attention. He looked like a prosperous man. He stood maybe five eight, receding hair line, well fed to the point that he was putting on a bit of a barrel-chested paunch. He was very well dressed in the subtle manner of the extremely rich, though in a look that seemed a bit dated. Perhaps it was part of the act? Maybe he'd just gotten into sartorial habits in his youth which he didn't feel like changing.

"Thank-you, it's very nice to be in Omaha." He replied smiling and offered me his hand. We shook.

"Have you had a chance to view my collection?" He asked politely.

"Honestly, no I haven't." I lied.

Mr. Chebelforth proceeded to give me a private tour of the exhibit. He was funny, charming and knew a lot about each item, both their recent history and what they had been meant for in ancient Egypt. I followed, listened and asked occasional questions.

He told me a bit of family history, "Edmund Chebelforth the Second, my grandfather, or as family calls him, 'two' was a bit of a wastrel. Apparently, he was into gambling, women and jazz. Had to be asked to step aside by the trustees as it turned out he was selling bits of the collection for money for his bad habits."

"That's too bad." I responded politely.

"Maybe," Mr. Chebelforth added slyly, "but he was probably the most interesting one of us and the most fun at a party."

Then we both laughed.

By the end of the conversation a boring evening had become a really fun and interesting one. I was very grateful for Mr. Chebelforth's attentions. As a reflex, when the conversation seemed to be slowing down, I added, "While you're in Omaha, you should try the Lodge. It's probably the best restaurant in town."

"That sounds like a great idea," He replied then continued, "but I'm busy tomorrow night."

I was expecting the polite brush off when he said, "How about the night after?"

"That sounds great." I answered a bit surprised.

"When should we meet?" He asked.

"Whenever is good for you?" I answered.

"How about eight?" He offered.

"Eight is fine." I answered.

We exchanged phone numbers and he went off to the next thing. I was quite surprised. Hanging out with Chebelforth felt like what it might be like to hang out with the "Most Interesting Man in the World" from the beer commercials. It was kind of cool and vindicating. Of all the people at the show Chebelforth could have chosen to hang out with, he chose me. At one point, I was mildly worried he was gay, but he had told some stories about himself and was clearly very straight. Maybe I was a pleasantly attentive audience to stroke his ego. Regardless, it would be a minor coup that he was coming to the Lodge. He wasn't Adele or something, but Chebelforth was known in the right crowds and his legitimate explorer lineage would go well with the faux explorer theme of the Lodge. I couldn't wait to tell the girls.

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