The author must apologize for this abrupt transition in the story, but it has just occurred to him that he has never explained in any great detail the vehicle owned by Larry Croft. It has been described as a black, battered, chugging thing that backfired and belched. That's all very creative, but it doesn't really give an accurate picture of the vehicle. What follows is henceforth to be considered the official description.

Larry owns a 1977 Ford Econoline Van in basic black. The right front quarter panel bears a series of light scrapes and dents. Small dots of rust are scattered down either side. The back fender on the left-hand side is dented inward sharply, making the extreme end of the fender jut backward at an angle similar to a Cadillac fin.

The Ford Econoline series was part of their E-Series, and was considered their standard in work vehicles. Like most commercially available vans, it could be purchased as a conversion van, which would include, among other things, carpeting the interior, installing windows on the back and sides, and installing rows of seats. Larry's van has the maximum amount of customization, which includes a built-in luggage rack on top of the van, accessible via a small ladder bolted to the right-hand cargo door, and a trailer hitch for boats or other recreational vehicles.

It was originally purchased by a family of four, the Brunelli family, in Santa Cruz. However, it was sold the next year when Ginger Brunelli found out that her husband, Trevor, was sleeping with her best friend. Since the family was breaking up, Trevor took the van, largely out of spite, moved to San Francisco and traded it in for a Trans-Am like Burt Reynolds drove in Smoky and the Bandit.

It was resold to a pair of local plumbers, the Ogden brothers. Rick and Ron Ogden haggled a better price by letting the dealer strip out the seats and carpet. For the next ten years, it served the Ogden brothers faithfully as they hauled literally tons of tools and metal (and later PVC) pipes to and from jobs. The van's interior accumulated a considerable number of dents and scrapes, as you may expect. But Rick and Ron Ogden were nothing if not careful drivers, and they continued to use the van for work and the occasional fishing trip until Ron's unexpected heart attack in 1990. Rick, by himself, found that he didn't have the heart to install septic tanks without his brother to tell him what he was doing wrong. He sold the whole business, minus the van, to Speed-E-Plumb, making it their third location in the Bay Area. Rick kept the van for another three months, but found that it reminded him of his brother too much, and so he sold it for a sensible small car.

The van sat on the lot for several months, until the price was lowered to the point where Harry Croft couldn't say no. His wife, Connie, had a different view of the situation. After all, she said, the van was dirty and used and smelled like a sewer. Harry told her, no, see, this will be my weekend vehicle. Me and Larry can take this to the beach when we go metal detecting, or fishing, or camping. Connie knew better to argue with Harry where their son, who was fourteen, was concerned.

That summer, Harry and Larry (with judicious prompting from his mother) did indeed hook the boat up to the back of the van and take it down the California coast for a week. It was the last time father and son would spend any significant time together. After that summer, it became Harry's special project van, taken out of the garage only when he needed to haul lumber or go get a new sink for the upstairs bathroom. Later, when Larry learned to drive, it became his vehicle, along with an object lesson in responsibility. Larry rightfully regarded the van's upkeep as a chore, something the old man made him do that interfered with his role-playing games and miniature painting. But Harry never let up on Larry to keep the engine tuned up, replace the oil every 3,000 miles, and routinely check the plugs and wiring for possible trouble spots.

When Larry left home at the age of 20, Harry gave him the van, along with a warning: don't you kill this car, son. You aren't getting another thing from me, so you'd better make this one last or buy yourself a new one. You're a man, now. Act like it.

Larry, of course, had resented the little speech, but he found out later, ironically, that he wanted to keep working on the van. It made him feel manly to do it without having to be told, and it helped him stave off some major repairs (money saved which was, naturally, funneled back into his unique lifestyle). It also made him feel closer to his father, something he would never admit to anyone out loud.

There were object lessons, to be sure, like the time Larry lost a fight with a metal support pole at his first apartment. That Christmas, he deliberately parked the van with the left-hand side facing the house so the old man wouldn't notice. Or the time he took a shot in the back from a disgruntled secretary that he refused to fix as a point of honor. After all, the accident wasn't his fault; she'd been talking on her cell phone when she rear-ended him. Larry was too embarrassed to ask the attractive lady for her phone number, so he gave her his phone number instead. She never called. However, in spite of these unfortunate dueling scars, the van ran more or less like it did when his father first bought it way back in 1990.

Which is a good thing, because Larry is about to dog the shit out of it.