Read Dead Hunger: The Flex Sheridan Chronicle Page 27
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The Hummer 2 was perfect. Turns out the government still used them despite crazy gas prices, even while they preached hybrid technology to the masses. It had a full tank with six 5-gallon cans of extra gas anchored to a rack on the rear bumper.
Hemp had been running around the large garage investigating. The space was massive, and the walls that were not bay doors were loaded with racks of black pipe, PVC, flat steel, angle iron, and other fabrication materials. There were rolling tool chests jammed full of every kind of tool and corresponding cutting bit you could think of. Upon our first inspection of the stuff I knew he’d be in the Toys R Us of engineering.
He came back, winded. “Could get pretty crazy out there, Flex,” Hemp said. “If you can spare about fifteen minutes and pitch in, I think I can make this ride a tad safer and more of what you John Wayne types might call bad ass.”
I clicked on to Gem. “Babe, are you staying clear? How’s the girl?”
“I can’t see her from where I am now, Flex. Why?”
“I’ll leave in about fifteen minutes. You’ve got to wait. It’s an idea of Hemp’s for the truck I’m bringing.”
“Hurry, Flex. If you’re not here in twenty, I’m loading up and going in after her.”
I didn’t say anything. I looked at Hemp. “What’s the plan?”
Hemp used the striker to light the acetylene torch, then started heating four steel flat irons around one inch wide and fifteen inches long. When the steel glowed red, he started hammering on them. He had shrugged out of his Daewoo earlier, and now eyeballed the gun, hammering on the steel rods. He bent them the way he wanted them, and when he was done, all were identical. I was duly impressed.
“These mounts will bolt to the doors on both sides. You won’t have side windows, but nothing should be able to get close enough to you for you to need them,” he said as he drilled holes in the top of each u-shaped piece with the ultra sharp ¼” diamond-tipped bit. “They should rest nicely over the door panel when you roll down the windows.”
Wearing leather gloves, he spun open the bench vise and repositioned the pieces, then pulled the drill press down again and again, drilling more holes at the ends of all four pieces. Then he unclamped them again and dropped the hot steel into a bucket of water beside the bench. They splashed in with a quick hiss and sank to the bottom.
“Give them a couple of seconds to cool then roll down the windows on the Hummer and center them on the door panels on both the driver and passenger sides. I’m using the Daewoo because the barrel is thick and cylindrical and will mount well using a couple of beefy U-bolts. Take two of these big metal screws for each one to mount them. There’s a good driver drill right here.”
He handed me a big Makita.
“You did two too many,” I said.
“You don’t think we’re leaving your truck unprotected, do you? I’m doing it, I might as well whip out four of them. We’ve got enough of the K7s.”
I shook my head. “Hemp, you are amazing, man.” I grabbed the steel pieces out of the water and got the bolts and the driver bit I needed.
“When I screw through the door it’s going to break the glass,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter. Let it shatter. Hurry, Gem’s waiting for you. I’ll finish the pivot pieces.”
The mounts attached perfectly in less than five minutes. The windows did shatter with a loud pop as the screw pressure drove the tempered glass past its limit.
By the time I’d mounted them to the Hummer, Hemp had completed four heavy-duty U-Bolt mounts. He had found oversized wing nuts for quick installation and removal of the weapon on the pivoting bracket. Pure genius.
“I’ll mount this one on the passenger side further out on the barrel, since you’ll be the only one in the vehicle initially. You’ll need to be able to fire the weapon from the driver’s seat. These bolts are hardened steel, and will handle the kick without damaging the pivot or mount.”
Hemp checked his watch. “You’ve got four more minutes to get out of here.” He finished mounting the gun and tightened the wing nuts with a t-handled wrench that he handed to me afterward. “Try it out. Get in. You’ll have to mount the other K7 when you get back to your truck. Do that first, okay? Before you go in.”
I nodded and got inside the Hummer. Sitting comfortably in the driver’s seat, I could hold my hand out and grip the weapon. When the magazine was empty, it would easily tilt up, allowing me to eject the mag and put in a new one.
“Bitchen,” I said. “Fuckin’ bitchen.”
“We’ll do your Suburban when you get back. Now go. I’ll get started on the gas line.”
I handed him my H&K and the extra mags. He dropped his Daewoo mags onto the passenger seat.
“Thanks, Hemp. We were lucky to run into you in that police station.”