by P F Walsh
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter One – Book Two
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter One - Book Three
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE COUNCIL OF HHEARN
Three Book Set
This is entirely a work of fiction. Characters, Companies, and events in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination, or if real, are used fictionally without any intent to describe their actual conduct or infringement upon any registered name status. Any scenes involving their products, services or employees are intended to be complimentary and entirely fictional.
Similar companies not included by the author does not represent a disapproval or critique of their products or services in any regard.
Copyright © 2019 by PF Walsh
White Tie Publishing
All rights reserved, no part of this novel may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
For information contact the Author at [email protected]
Acknowledgments
This is the section everyone skips. But,
I must recognize my long-deceased parents who, uninfluenced by our humble station, instilled a passion for music, arts, social graces, honesty, and literature while encouraging me to successes in business and technology. Thanks Mom and Dad.
Lastly, in the late silver of my years, this book was rolling around in my head for a long time, decades even. I finally had to let it out for good or for ill. I do have to express my thanks to the Lady in the Cape for re-inspiring me that life at any age, has the possibility of providing enough juices to oil the gears of creating. You are never too old to begin again on a dream.
If you have no dreams, they can never come true.
I hope you enjoy this book as much as I did in writing it. Thank you.
The Council of Hhearn
Book One
Blood Hunt
Chapter One
“That’s just plain BS! Why does he do stuff like that?”
Four Senior retirees were seated in the restaurant at the Atrium in Rancho Mirage, California trying to keep their voices down but unable to suppress long-felt opinions about fair play in relationships, Artie’s recent dating behaviors, especially since most were now crossing the 80-year-old mark, was under discussion, and he was absent.
Al followed up quickly.
”Doesn’t this dimwit realize that here in the valley, the female network will just label him as a professional cheater and a player, and once that happens, he won’t be able to even get a date to go to McDonald’s?” All heads nodded at that. Karl spoke next,
“How does a guy juggle four or five women at the same time, where does he get the energy, or the organizational skills? Jeez, I can’t remember where I parked my damn car, much less four women’s names, and what I said last time we were together?
Sean decided to keep his mouth shut on that issue. While he didn’t approve of running a stable at this age, his friendship with Artie held him back. After all, Artie was now a year into being a widower, and guys sometimes go a bit nutso at an advanced age when the new found freedom and deep loneliness take hold at the same ugly time. Sean knew they could see that Artie couldn’t handle the impact of watching his wife die slowly of cancer over the past two years, but the social judgements of others always seem to get it wrong with lack of understanding across the board.
“OK, guys, I’m outta here,” Sean announced.
He put some money on the table to cover his breakfast and got up from the table, slipped on his jacket and headed to the door. Once in his car, he reflected on his own status. Retired Air Force Fighter pilot finishing up his service in F15's, and after that, thousands of hours of commercial piloting as a Captain flying 747's for Air World and retired. That was then, now a Real Estate Agent and living alone for ten years, abandoned at the age 70 by a wife pursuing a romance with an incarcerated felon.
“They certainly can’t understand what my kind of abandonment was all about. They still have partners.” He thought. “Maybe it was all the time I was on International flight duty?” He would never figure it out.
He headed back to his home. It was early in the day and the weather was perfect for this time of year in Palm Springs, a wealthy, and satisfying location for seniors to retire and play out the remaining days of their life playing golf and drinking at the club. Sean did none of that, preferring the solitude of the hundreds of miles of remote and silent trails among the desert canyons there. There was an element of peace and ability for clear reflection out there that a noisy clubhouse or bar wasn’t going to be able to provide. Aside from the abandonment, came the added humiliation at being rejected for a jailbird who suaved his ex-wife with love letters and impossible temptations. So silly, but ugly too.
“I will never understand what she did.” He thought. Nobody could.
And, of course, it didn’t work out. The Felon gets out, perhaps with an early release because he has a sponsor, but then, reality sets in, it’s all a sham. The damage is done by then of course. Loss of trust, and betrayal all roll up together to shut the doors and a strong inducement to move on and find someone who values devotion and honesty. But where do you find someone like that? All the dating sites hadn’t helped, in fact, some of those meetings were better performed on Saturday Night Live. The only compensation for Sean was getting out of the house and having a nice dinner with company, however below desirable.
As he drove home, he thought ahead to later when he would be meeting Artie at Acqua Restaurant and Bistro for drinks and bar food, and the very strong likelihood that he was
n’t going to mention today’s parting subject. “At least Artie understands pain.” He kept thinking.
“We’re all 80 years old, or on the way. What is there left for old men? Spirited discussions on meds and poorly functioning prostate? Boring.”
“What we all need is a mission.” He thought.
“Some type of adventure that consumes the last years we have left.”
What that might be was beyond all of them. Nothing more than occasional dinners, birthdays, volunteering, and surviving medical procedures, was all they really had now.
“This was not the end I dreamed of.” Thought Sean, but he really didn’t have a clear vison of what his dream ought to be. And with that, drove into his garage to an empty house.
Sean could see the ever-present ‘mission’ problem and was troubled he couldn’t conceive of some goal that would make sense. The deep desire was there, but sharp intellect held him back as so many items that other seniors did seem to roil in a vat of boredom along with aimless tasks to stay busy while waiting for the final call.
His home set a bit back from the quiet street. He recalled the last owner telling him about how he picked the color of the house when he painted it. Sean was the third owner of the house built in 1958, and was always amused to learn the house had been painted the same color as the sauce in a Big Mac. Kind of peachy, but not garish or in conflict with the surrounding desert, and to be truthful, unique.
Maintaining it had been Sean’s retirement plan. As a multi-talented craftsman, Sean had devoted many weeks updating, building, and improving, doing all the work himself, and took a reasonable amount of pride in how well it turned out. But now, without a financial partner, limits of dexterity, budgeting with only one retirement income, etc., all hit seniors hard as the income falls and retirement begins to sap away the assets and strengths. The extra money for improvements and repairs diminishes, and so many seniors see their assets decline right before their eyes, and not by choice.
Sean came in the back door and entered the kitchen turning off the alarm which responded with a robotic voice acknowledging in a single cryptic word “Disarmed.” Opening the kitchen door always caused a double beep from the alarm panel. This cued Sean’s cat Miss Twerpy to come lolling out of a snooze to greet him. She was dependable, and made Sean feel not so lonely, even while he recognized that Twerpy had multiple reasons for putting in an appearance, one of them being fed. Despite that, she was the only company that had been living with him for nine years, and she was always resting close by him in his darkest times. For that, he was grateful and took very good care of Miss Twerpy.
Sean loved animals, and like other people who do so, the animals all seem to know when someone likes them and is not a threat. He had three feral cats he fed every day that basically lived in his backyard and stayed by the pool or in the cool bushes to avoid the desert sun. Years ago, he had trapped them all and had them neutered before their numbers began to grow beyond reason and he would then become known as the neighborhood Cat Guy. They were all sweet and friendly to him but not others, who they didn’t know.
“They have become my dependents,” he thought, “I can’t really just go off for weeks wandering the world without someone to take care and feed them.” He thought. Responsibility always weighed heavily on Sean after years of habitually providing for his family with long hours of work, risk, and efforts at improving the family circumstances, like a million other men who do so and get abandoned. Just like his friend Harry who after being the ‘mom’ in the household for decades, was dropped like a rock once the wife became financially successful.
“It Happens to women too,” he thought “but they always seem to survive better with their social supports and wealth recovery from the husband.” There was no bitterness from Sean as he considered the seeming injustice, just deep hurt and regret.
Now, home for a while, the doorbell rang and after opening his front door he saw that visitor was Marne from the house next door. Marne and Bill Griffin, neighbors who bought the vacant lot next door and built a large new home now that their children were all grown and away with careers. Yet, despite the normal size reduction seniors did, they built a full-sized house of about 3,000 square feet with dual wings. While Sean had been there for dinners, and a bit of familiarization with their home, the one wing was never offered for visitations. That was Bill’s private workroom and bath where he tinkered endlessly on his hobbies of electronic communication devices. He retired from DensonCom a manufacturer of advanced communication systems for both government and industry. It seemed he just couldn’t let go of his work as a developer and researcher for the company after retirement.
While he was employed, there was not a single unsuccessful, abandoned research project that Bill didn’t make an offer for the scrapped equipment. His workshop was full of these devices, enough junked parts to ostensibly build something of use eventually. The Company agreed to sell all that equipment at deep disposal prices as long as they had a twenty-five percent split right to anything he came up with. The company thought it was a good idea to accomplish the clean termination of unfruitful projects and force researchers to refocus and move on. It also achieved the disposal of equipment without many security concerns because of his decades of company loyalty. And, who knows? He might invent something.
In dinner conversations, his enthusiasm always leaked out that he felt they were so close to a huge step forward.
“What’s up Marne?” Sean asked,
“Can you help me get the cover off the pool cleanout? Bill is in one of his ‘Do Not Disturb’ modes and the cleanout is full of leaves” she said.
“Sure,” Sean answered, “What’s he up to now?”
“Oh, I don’t know, he said something about tangling and untangling, does that have anything to do with string being tangled? In fact, what the hell is string theory” she said.
“Beats’ me Marne, I never understood all that stuff, way over my head.” Sean replied.
“Let me get my tool pouch in case the cover is really stuck.” And with that Sean went out the front door with Marne to go in the garage and get his tools. It was just another day of neighbor to neighbor courtesies.
After helping to clean out the neighbor’s pool filter and cleaning his glasses from a pool water splash, Sean had a light lunch of a banana and an Atkins shake, He then decided to take advantage of a perfect cool day in the desert and head for the Agua Caliente Indian Canyons to hike. The multiple trails there quickly take hikers out of sight of any traces of city and neighborhood settlements. Silence is the rule since even birds shun areas where water is scarce. New hikers from places like New York City where sound always pushes upon their ears, sometimes believe they have lost their hearing since they can’t hear the noises of a crowded city life. They are amazed at the serenity, the item that Sean valued most. He often reflected on the mention of solitary desert experiences in the Bible.
“No place better to clear your mind and think.” He thought.
He changed into his hiking clothes and began filling his water bottles and checking his fanny pack to get ready to go.
“Maybe some of the cactuses will be blooming from the recent bit of rain.” He thought.
“Officer Lang, you are a veritable Shit storm!” The lieutenant with a red, contorted face, yelled at the unresponsive Officer standing before his desk in the Lieutenant’s office with the door closed. The Officer, Doris “Moosey” Lang, was not a normal uniformed street officer, but an undercover female officer with multiple tattoos, body piercings, heavy eye shadow, and definitely unwashed clothes.
“When the Hell did you start carrying that goddamned cannon?”
“You know it’s not regulation, Jesus, you blew the guy’s leg clean off, for Christ’s sake!”
“How am I going to explain this the Chief who, I suspect strongly, is right now getting calls from the pussy press about Police brutality?” The Lieutenant ran out of breath. Moosey answered,
“Well, to tell you t
he truth, I was aiming for the big ass knife he was pulling out of the leg sheath concealed in his pants. Biggest damned knife anyone ever came at me with.” She fell silent.
“Well, that’s probably the only thing that’s going to save your ass on this one,” said the Lieutenant, “but you have to go back to a regular sidearm that doesn’t scare the shit out of everybody in the press, Jesus!” Are you all right Moosey? You’ve been twitchy lately; the other guys are talking that your screws are getting a little loose. You need time off? Well, shit, forget the question, you’re getting time off because of the shooting, with pay, two weeks. Get your shit together and when you come back, you’ll be required to see the Police Shrink first day back, you hear me? The lieutenant finished at high volume.
“Now get the Hell out of here and go home, take this piece of shit report with you and rewrite it before you go. Watch yourself Moosey. His freaky buddies will be looking for you!” Now finished, the Lieutenant pointed at the door, exasperated at another political problem dropped on his desk.
Doris “Moosey” Lang, Los Angeles Police Officer five years on the force, and in the beginning, was considered a gift to the force because of her physical appearance, tattoos, Goth piercings, and a “Moose-like” long face, along with a strong, semi masculine body that didn’t quite mask that she was female. Intimidating was the word most used to describe her, and the nickname “Moosey” stuck from the first week on the force. She was able to move among the lower, actually much lower, echelons of society. Because she was unsuspected, she could observe the illegal trafficking in an alphabet of selections. Along with that, she could work personal security for rock bands and blend into the group. She picked up quite a stash of cash doing those. The Rock groups did not want unformed officers around. She fit in perfectly, and got all the calls to the envy of the other officers who wanted the cash, and she usually could bust a few heads during the night, which was always fun, and a huge surprise to the offender who limped away.
