What a Long Strange Trip

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A most unexpected road trip, a most unexpected companion.
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eidetic
eidetic
1,134 Followers

Author's Note: I wasn't sure where to put this, so I picked the Romance category, although it might fit better in Erotic Couplings. Okay, right off the bat, if you have a problem with firearms, go read something else. You'll be a lot happier and so will I. An appreciation for the tool and its collectability is part of the protagonists' shared common interests. Next, this isn't a fap-story, per se. I take time to develop the relationship of the characters, which means it's a long one. If you're looking to stroke, there are many other authors who do that well. I don't. Um... I think that's all the warnings for now. Oh, wait... I should warn you... it's a long one. Or did I say that already? As always, please vote. Unless of course you don't like the genre, in which case you should probably bail on this one and go read something in a category you like. Comments, especially non-vulgar constructive criticism, are appreciated. Oh, and you should probably read 'A Short Disclaimer' by CyranoJ here on Lit, in Humor & Satire...

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Murphy's Law is one of the immutable operating principles of the Universe. It is in operation everywhere, at all times, in the most inconvenient manner possible. And Murphy? Well, he's alive and well, and surgically attached to my hip.

Case in point... I'm a consultant. I travel. Right there is a target too big for him to pass up. I know, going in, that no matter how carefully I plan, something is going to go wrong. Or several somethings. I'm getting pretty good at rolling with the punches.

Every once in awhile, though, some bored Fairy Godmother, or Lamp Djinn, or something, goes Bling! and I get lemonade instead of lemons. This story is about one of those.

I had to make a client call in Seattle. I was in Chicago. I also had a trailer's worth of furniture to deliver to my daughter and her family in Tacoma, inheritance from her mother's passing. Her mother, as in, my ex-wife. That was another Murphy adventure and not part of this story. In this case, we'd been divorced for almost ten years before the virulent pancreatic cancer took her. I didn't hate her. I just couldn't live with her. And I don't think anybody ought to go that way.

In any case, I had this furniture to deliver, and I figured I'd combine the two. Instead of charging for the airfare and rental car, I could bill the gas, mileage and lodging and still cost them less. I let my boss know what I was going to do and he said to clear it with the client, but he didn't have any problem with it. I already knew the cheapskates at the client would love anything that cost them less money.

So far, so good, right? So, a week before I'm going to leave, Angelica van Hesson from Accounting approaches me in the staff lounge and asks if she can sit with me. I don't particularly care, other than she's really easy on the eyes and hasn't had anything to do with me before.

"Sure," I told her, gesturing at one of the chairs. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" It's kind of a joke, because the company provides free coffee. I think that's where I developed my addiction to Stewart's Private Blend.

"No thanks," she smiled and showed me her oversized mug as she sat down and opened the last couple of buttons on her sweater. Now she had my undivided attention. Or rather, both of them did. She is, to put it mildly, amply endowed. Cute face, reddish-blonde hair worn down her back, dark frame eyeglasses that give her a schoolmarm-ish appearance and do a good job of hiding her emerald green eyes. And a worried look, just under the surface.

"Can I help you with something, Ms. van Hesson?" I asked. People around the office were always asking me for help with their computers and stuff.

"Well, possibly yes, Mr. Andrews," she told me, looking me straight in the eye. "I heard you are driving out to Seattle to meet with Venture Horizons."

"It's Steve," I told her. "Steven Andrews. Steve to my friends."

"Then it's Angie, Steve," she smiled again and I was definitely getting distracted. My plan to keep sexual enticements out of my work and out of my life was beginning to fray around the edges, fantasy-wise anyway. "Not Angel. So is it true? You're driving out?" she asked.

"Yeah," I acknowledged. "I have personal reasons for driving, but it's still on Venture's dime. Why do you ask?" I'm naturally suspicious of Accounting. She sighed slightly and leaned back in her chair. I, on the other hand, damn near sat bolt upright. Her twin blessings were trying to escape from her blouse and I wanted to be the one to catch them if they did.

"I have something personal to share with you, if it's okay, Steve," she told me. "And a favor to ask."

"Okay," I sipped my coffee. "What's up?" She let out another deep sigh before she started.

"My asshole soon-to-be-ex is playing games with the property settlement," she told me, and surprised the hell out of me. I had no idea she was in the middle of a divorce. Either she was being very careful, or I wasn't paying good enough attention to the office gossip.

"He and his lawyer are doing a pretty good job of it," she admitted. "He's fucking me over better than he ever did in bed. He's going after inherited property that he has no right to, but it costs me a shitload of money to defend it. He's essentially chewing up all the marital assets."

"Pardon my French," she added after a moment.

"If I can't have it, nobody can," I told her. "I've run into that attitude. He sounds like a real POS prick. So what is it you need my help with? And don't sweat the language. You can swear all you want to... you probably need to."

"Thanks," she gave me a half-smile, other emotions appearing to get in the way. "My immediate problem is firearms." She waited to see my reaction, but I didn't. I was waiting for more data.

"Before I moved here, my father gave me three heirloom guns. Well, two heirloom and one practical. It was a gift between relatives. I want to gift them back before Asshole ties them up in court as well. But I don't want to ship them interstate because they'd have to go through an FFL dealer. In fact, they'd normally have to, anyway, because I don't live in Washington anymore. What I want to do is turn the gift into a loan by returning them to him at his home. That doesn't require any paperwork and since there was no record of the gift to me, he's the owner of record. Do you have a problem with this?"

"No," I shrugged. "Returning the guns to your father seems reasonable. But I don't own them, nor do I know him, so the only problem I have is if you're asking me to take them out there to him."

"I figured that," she nodded. "The big favor I'm asking is, I want you to take me with you. And I'll bring the guns."

"You know Washington passed that idiotic Proposition 594, right? So you're sort of skirting the law."

"Not really," she corrected me. "One of the exceptions is a gift between family members. Once they're in his hands, they're completely legal and Asshole can't go after them. If you aren't comfortable with this, I'd just ask that you forget this conversation happened."

"Understood," I agreed. "Out of curiosity, why did you pick me? Half of this part of the State is hoplophobic. I could have turned you in for attempted conspiracy or something."

"Because the rumor mill also has it that you shot 30 out of 30 on your CCL qualification," she told me. "I figured you might understand."

I wondered who the heck she'd been talking to about my Concealed Carry License. I'd only shared with some of my buddies, and certainly hadn't said anything about it at work... a haven of the above-mentioned hoplophobes. The truth is, I did understand and figured I'd help her. One, I'm a major advocate for the original Bill of Rights minus all the administrative crap. Two, she would make an amazingly beautiful traveling companion on the 3 to 4 day drive out there.

"Okay, so you know I can't put two rooms on the expense account," I reminded her. Hell, she worked in Accounting, for Pete's sake. "Will you pay your own way?"

"I can," she told me. "But it will leave me more money for the lawyer if we just use the same room. I'm not a prude or anything. I'll cover my own food and any other expenses you can't report. If that's okay with you."

I thought about it for a moment. We were both adults. She was suggesting the shared room. A room with two beds was going to be about the same price as my normal King, although I did prefer the larger bed. Overall, I came up with what the hell? Why not?

"Sure," I agreed. "I can do that. I was planning on leaving Thursday afternoon and driving as far as reasonable, then looking for a room. I want to spend Sunday with my daughter and her family. Okay with you?"

"Sure!" she smiled again, and I was really starting to get interested in the vicinity of my nethers. "I'm taking vacation time, anyway. I want to spend some of it with my Dad. Can you pick me up at home? One roll-aboard, one double long gun hard case and a pistol hard case. Is that okay?"

"Sure," I told her, digging out a business card. "Email me your particulars. We'll set Thursday up."

She got up from the table and leaned forward slightly, inadvertently giving me a much better look at her cleavage, which was now solidly in the galaxy-class Awesome category.

"Thanks, Steve," she told me. "I'd kiss you, but I don't want to start a bunch of vicious office gossip."

"Roger that," I smiled, imagining what was going to be flying around anyway. "Catch you later."

She smiled again, turned and walked away, and this time I was paying attention. Christ, was she built! And keeping it very neatly hidden beneath the long sweater and full skirt. The skirt that swished enticingly to anybody staring. Like me.

I had only myself to blame for not noticing before. Post-divorce I'd pretty much soured on female entanglements. For romantic purposes, anyway. Occasional hookups in cities I'd travel through sufficed, plus taking matters into my own hands, as it were. And I certainly didn't want to give the catty jerks at the office grist for their mill.

I went back to finishing my coffee and checking out my proposed route on my tablet.

* * * * *

By the time Thursday rolled around, I had it figured. Thursday, Chicago to St. Cloud and find a motel; Friday, St. Cloud to Billings and find a motel; Saturday, Billings to Spokane and drop Angie at her father's, then keep going to Tacoma and drop the trailer, stay with Caroline and her brood; Sunday, on to Seattle after spending the day visiting. Check into my hotel Sunday evening.

The client wouldn't get billed for my travel time, just the expenses. I had my Explorer loaded up and a rental trailer attached, full of the stuff going to my daughter. A full tank of gas, munchies for the road and around 2pm I was pulling up in front of Angie's home. And right into the middle of an argument.

The guy standing on the other side of the cop from Angie had to be her estranged bozo. He was all kinds of purple and shouting at her, while ignoring the cop's warnings to cool it. Not particularly smart. I parked and got out so she would see me, but didn't go up there. It didn't need to be any more messy than it was.

She did see me, and waved. Oops... Bozo saw me, too. Then he really went off, trying to grab her and the cop stopped him. So he shoved the cop. Big mistake. Even I know better.

Angie ran over to me while they were putting now-handcuffed Bozo in the back of the cruiser.

"Steve! Thank God you made it!" she told me breathlessly as I grabbed her to keep her from running into me. She straightened herself up as she went on, "Asshole just found out I was leaving for a vacation and that I'd changed the locks, gotten a No Trespass against him to go with the DVA Order of Protection, and that the alarm company and the cops knew it. He was impolitely expressing his opinion."

"Now he's got assaulting an officer on top of violating the protection order. His lawyer will have him out before we get out of the State, but at least with him gone, he doesn't know what I'm loading into my 'new meal-ticket's ride'. So... hi!" She smiled a little as she said it and I think she was relishing how my appearance must have messed with Bozo's head. Especially since I'm significantly older than Angie.

"Does Asshole have a name?" I asked. "In case I get mail from him or his attorney?"

"Edward," she told me. "Edward Michael van Hesson. Remind me to give you the name and number of my attorney."

"Deal," I told her. "You ready to go?"

"Pretty much. Would you like to come help me carry stuff down?" I followed her on up to her rather nicely appointed piece of Suburbia. She was pretty much ready to go. There were four pieces of luggage by the front door, not including her sizable purse.

"I'm sorry," she told me as we entered the foyer. "I decided each long gun should have its own case. Take a look at what you're transporting, if you want." She walked off to get something and I perused her collection. Her father had good taste, definitely. I was still on the first case when she came back.

"Okay, so an L.C. Smith Grade 3 12ga side-by-side, probably early 1900's, in very good condition," I commented. "Be still my beating heart... this is what? A $3,000-plus gun? No wonder Bozo wanted it."

"He wants the other one more," she commented. "But thank God he's never seen it. It's all hearsay and he can't prove otherwise." I got very curious about what was in the other case while I closed up the shotgun. When I opened the other one, I damn near had a stroke.

"Is that real?" I asked quietly.

"Thompson, M1928A1, World War II, condition Very Good," she told me. "It's all there. Drum and stick magazines, the works. It's definitely NFA and Dad has the stamp. I'd like to get it back to him before the government realizes he didn't just loan it to me."

"Angie, that's like, a $25,000 piece of history!" I was starting to foam at the mouth. "Does it ever get a workout?"

"Only on Dad's property," she told me. "Could we pack it up and get it out of here before you drool all over it?"

"Absolutely," I told her. "These babies just got a place of honor in the back of my truck. What's in the handgun case?"

"Luger P.08 from World War II," she told me. "$1,500 if you're curious. You can see why I want to get these collectibles back to Dad. And safely away from Asshole."

"You got it," I told her. "Give me a few to clear space in back and then we can bring your stuff down."

I literally ran down to the truck and cleared a space to put her precious cargo, and built up stuff around it so when covered, they wouldn't be noticeable. I went back and carried down the Smith and the Thompson while she alarmed and locked the house, then brought down her roll-aboard, the Luger and her purse. When everything was stashed safely in back, we headed off.

I'm not a big talker, but I was curious about her "collection." She told me those three were the expensive pieces that she wanted to protect. She was actually a bit of a WW2 buff and had her own Garand through the CMP (as I did), her own Springfield M1903 (I didn't) and an actual Colt Government Model from the Korean War era (mine was from Vietnam). I was getting rather envious. We made it to Madison before we ran out of collection stories to share.

She sort of finished our reminiscing with the observation, "you know, he's just trying to hurt me with all this going-after-the-guns shit. He hasn't got a FOID and with the DVA Order, he can't get one. He can't be in legal possession of any firearm. But he's still trying to fuck things up. I promised myself I'd get out from under his thumb as quickly and quietly as I could. I'm not the kind of person to hate somebody. But I think he's doing a damned good job of teaching me how."

I agreed and turned my attention back to the road. I got quiet, as is my wont on long trips, and she plugged her earbuds into her Android and started zoning out to her music. I reached over back and grabbed a pillow and handed it to her. She smiled her thank you as she propped it against the door and settled down to snooze. I just kept on driving into the setting sun.

We'd made a couple of gas and human-needs breaks along the way, but I finally decided to look for a place to eat dinner when we got to Black River Falls. It was around 6pm and we'd made pretty good time. I was hoping for someplace fancy, to show her that I wasn't a complete boor, but she told me the Perkins would be fine, so that's what we did. We pretty much lost the time we'd gained, chatting over dinner.

We started getting into each other's backgrounds... where we were born, raised, kinds of things we liked to do as kids. It turned out we had different but similar stories to tell. Both raised in rural settings, her in Washington, me in Wisconsin, both on farms, hers produce, mine dairy. Both raised with a respect for the land and its resources, both enjoying tinkering and making things, both enjoying hunting, her usually harvesting mule deer, elk, big horn sheep, ducks and geese, and me usually harvesting whitetail deer, turkey, pheasant, ducks and geese. I envied her the elk and big horns, her my whitetails.

We'd both gone to college, her to the University of Washington, me to the University of Illinois. She got both her B.A. and her M.B.A. in Accounting. I got my B.S. in Computer Science with an NROTC scholarship. I got my M.C.S. from U of I online while doing my five years of active duty post graduation and commissioning. I also got hitched and had two kids while in. I'd had one previous job before my current one, had gotten divorced while on inactive reserve and landed in my current job. She'd gone through two ladder-climbing jobs post-graduation and acquired a husband before landing at our company.

I was fifty, with a son and daughter, a son-in-law, a grandson and granddaughter.

She was thirty with no kids and an asshole husband.

We did manage to suspend the conversation long enough to get back on the road, but picked it up again once we were back on the Interstate. When the conversation lulled, she went back to her Droid and I went back to my thoughts. It was around 10pm and we were fifteen minutes out of St. Cloud when I asked her to get on her Droid and see if there was a hotel near the highway she'd be comfortable with. She surprised me when she picked the AmericInn off of Exit 171, but I wasn't going to argue. She said she'd get a reservation by the time we got there, and she did, borrowing my corporate credit card.

My next surprise was when we went to check in. It was a 2 Queen room with refrigerator, microwave and free Wi-Fi, and it was cheap, about half of what I'd pay in any big city.

"We need to get unpacked and out to dinner. Most of the restaurants around here are closing soon, but I've got one that's open to 2am." She smiled that wonderful smile at me. "So let's go."

We got checked in, the trailer unhitched, brought in our personal stuff and I insisted on bringing the guns in and sticking them in the closet while we went to hunt down food. She took me to The White Horse Restaurant and it was good. Like their slogan says, Eats like a Restaurant, Drinks like a Bar. Basic fare and plenty of it. We had a great meal.

On the way back to the hotel, she apologized for forgetting to find a package goods store first, because all the state licensed stores closed at 10pm. I told her not to worry about it. I was used to bringing my nightcaps with me, since I'd fly in on Sunday and a lot of places didn't sell alcohol on Sunday. In this case, I had an assortment in the truck and I'd already put some sodas, wine coolers, wine and fruit juices in the room's fridge. Plus I had harder stuff. I got a "bless you!" for that one.

eidetic
eidetic
1,134 Followers