The Hounds of Atlantis

By Alexander Bunny

Beyond the Pillar of Hercules lays the sunken city of Atlantis. There it lays, somewhere out in the vast realm of the Atlantic ocean. Hundreds of books have been written about Atlantis and its secrets. Lives have been sacrificed to the search.

Archeologist in training Francesca Lopez-O'brien is enlisted by a wealthy industrialist to find Atlantis and free its secrets from the secret sect of guardians who are intent on keeping the mystery just that. With an assembled crew, Francesca finds the perfect yacht to carry them on their expedition. A cursed boat with a brutal past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Sutton
• Release date: Oct 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465771995

Book preview

Hounds of Atlantis

Alexander Bunny

ISBN 9781465771995

Smashwords.com

Published by MDS

Part 1 The Stroke of Luck

Papa Toc's convenience store, on the corner of Salem and Arkham. Home of booze, candy, soda and of course lottery tickets.

Give me a lotto ticket too. This is really just shorthand for the phrase, I would like to donate this money to the state in exchange for that fancy slip of colored paper that I will hold as proof of my inability to grasp basic concepts in high school mathematics! The state takes your dollar, it goes into a giant pool with all the rest, and members of the senate frolic around in the giant money pile. Every now and again someone defies the odds and the state cuts them a check.

When your chances are about the same as those of getting hit by a lightning bolt cast by the wizard riding the asteroid that destroys your home right on the day of the celebration of your triumph winning the US presidential election after running your slightly controversial Death to America campaign.

But some people do win.

Fueling the dream of vast riches.

That one day it will be you to walk away with that golden ticket worth a hundred million dollars. Fifty million after taxes. They give with one hand and take with the other.

But who really needs fifty million in cash money? Not wants. Needs. Nobody. All anyone needs is food, water, air and shelter from the elements. Love and companionship too, but you really can't buy those, though you might be able to rent them. Usually. Fifty million is easily more money than most families might make over the course of two, three, even four generations. What would you do with it all?

There's the question. What to do with all of that money?

Now that's where the fun really begins to kick in.

Pay off those pesky credit cards and cumbersome student loans? Sure. Your family's too? If you're still on speaking terms. Buy a private island... does it come with the naked native girls? Or are they extra? Who cares, give me two! Make that five!

Francesca Lopez-O'Brien slipped the ticket into her wallet and dropped them into her purse. Out of sight, out of mind. She picked up her six pack of Bastille Some Kisses, and walked back to her tiny apartment and stashed the beer into the fridge. She was going to need that later. If not tonight, then sometime during the weekend for certain. At least the manual labor was behind her until Monday next.

Now she just had to somehow navigate through thirty-six hours or so of dealing with sodden idiots.

This was the life!

First though, to grab a shower and a change of clothing. The morning spent baking under the sun while peeling back layers of dirt with a toothbrush, in search for arrowheads, had left her feeling dejected, exhausted and a little achy. Six hours in a pit with a death-grip on the toothbrush had netted her a severe cramp in her hand, two pieces of broken glass and a bent bottle cap. Miller High Life. That was one for the museum. Francesca popped a couple of ibuprofen and washed them down with water. Cool refreshing water.

Omar! Francesca yelled! Get out of there! A gray stripped cat stared at her for a long minute before slowly standing, stretching, and then climbing out of her clean clothes basket and swaggering off towards the kitchen in search of food. There wasn't any. He came back to complain.

Damn cat! She cursed as she shook the fresh layer of discarded fur from her uniform. Well, not so much uniform. They low cut t-shirt with the bar's name on it and a tight pair of jeans. She always wore them while bar-tending. They seemed to generate larger and larger tips as the evening wore on. Francesca could always use more money.

The shower helped. Some. The streams of hot water massaged away some of the deeper aches as the ibuprofen began to work their magic and blocked out the rest. By the time she finished toweling off and getting dressed, Francesca had convinced herself that she was ready fully recharged and prepared for anything the weekend had to throw at her.

She just had to make it through Friday first. Friday, the longest day of the week. Eight hours at the dig site, followed by another six bar-tending. Which in turn was followed by a weekend working her stall at the Renaissance Festival. Francesca stopped for a moment as she locked her apartment door. When was the last time she had a day off? June? She had to work the weekend of the Fourth of July, she remembered that, she had missed the fireworks display. Must have been June. Three months, no wonder she felt so ragged all of the time.

Well, only two more weeks of working the Renn, then she'd either have to find a new job, or enjoy her weekends off. Which was more frightening?

The Eye-patch and the Parrot bar and grille, an Oceanside dining experience that happened to be three blocks away from the ocean. So Oceanside was of course relative, and the Parrot sat next to the ocean when compared with, say Kansas. Over the last half-dozen years, Francesca had wiled away so many of her nights in this dive, first as a patron and then later as an employee. Her patron days were much more fondly recalled. The hours spent as an employee though were much less detrimental to her bank account.

The parking lot Eye-patch and Parrot was just beginning to fill up as she walked around to the employees entrance in the back. Francesca wiped away a drop of sweat that had begun to bead on her forehead. A half mile, and she already needed another shower. How was she going to feel at midnight when her shift ended. Quickly pushing the thought away, she went inside, into the blessedly cool air-conditioning. Tonight, she thought that she was actually going to appreciate being at work. She punched in.

Hey Franny! Gregory stuck his head into the hallway. He was grinning as usual. I thought that was you. Just in time! Gregory was wearing his usual pirate hat. No real reason why, he just liked how it looked on him. Sandals, t-shirt, shorts, and a big red pirate hat with a ton of colored plumes. He just became part of the décor. Another sight for the tourists to see. There were pictures of him all over the internet. He was becoming something of a minor celebrity.

What do you mean? Francesca asked as she checked her watch. I'm five minutes early!

No. Not that. There's going to be a meeting in a couple of minutes here in my office.

A meeting? What for?

A chance for everyone to meet the new owners. There are going to be some small changes in policy that we all need to know about.

Ok. Let me put my purse into my locker. Her purse secure, Francesca joined her coworkers in Gregory's small office. There were about ten of them crammed into the small space, all trying to face their boss at the same time.

What's up Greg? Donald asked. What changes do you mean?

They haven't told me yet. When I sold the place they said they were going to keep it just the same and not change anything. What we have here seems to work, they said. And they didn't want to mess with our long-standing practices that have brought so much success. Don't worry too much.

Janet's high, girlish voice piped up. Greg, why did you sell the bar? Again. This would be at least the twelfth time since the sale went through that Janet had posed this very question.

Greg blinked. Francesca sighed. Donald winked broadly left to take a smoke break as Greg launched into his normal, practiced response. The same one that Janet had heard at least a dozen times now, without it seeming to make an impact. I sold the bar because I don't want to be in charge anymore. I don't want the responsibility. I wanted to move on with my life and enjoy myself. I wanted to take vacations without having to worry the whole time that the place burned down while I was in Ireland getting drunk at someone else's pub and puking all over their bathroom.

Ohhhh. Janet said. Across from Francesca, Lisa counted to three on her fingers. Then why are you still working here?

Janet, sweaty, I'm managing The Parrot for the new owners, since I know the operation better than anyone else alive. Does that answer your question? Janet was the prettiest girl on staff, and a good thing for her. She could easily be a model, if she had any sort of ambition in her life. Or direction. So, here she was, serving drinks, and raking in money. She made at least twice as much as the next highest person on the wait staff.

Yeah, I think so. Thanks Greggy. Francesca had tried calling Greg – Greggy once, and only once. As did everyone else who managed to keep working there for more than a month. She learned what everyone else had learned up to that point. Only Janet could get away with calling him Greggy.

You're welcome Janet. Anyone else. The phone rang. Greg answered. He spoke for a moment. Ah hell. Ok second shift, the meeting will have to be postponed for about an hour or so. The new owners are going to be a bit late. So I guess break up and get out on the floor and get to work. Greg went back to some paperwork and everyone else filed out of his office.

Still think they're not sleeping together? Lisa whispered as they headed towards the bar.

Francesca looked over her shoulder. Some topics of gossip were touchy subjects for whatever reason. Greg's sex life, fascinating as it may be, was taboo. Completely forbidden and grounds for termination of employment. No. I don't think they are. I don't think he's vaguely interested in Janet.

What do you mean? Greg's gay?

I don't think that he's gay. No. In fact I'm pretty sure he isn't. She had caught him staring at pretty girls in the past, a grin spread across his face. He just never made a move. Greg was married. And to a woman would cut off his penis and feed it to him if he ever had an affair with another woman. Dierdre was fierce like that. Greg could look all he wanted, even when his wife was standing right there, he was just limited to window shopping.

Then he must be dead. If I were a man, I'd totally want to fuck Janet. Hell, I'd fuck her as a woman too. She's freaking hot! Isn't that right Donald?

I wouldn't say no to her, that's for sure. At least not to a fling. Anything longer, and I don't know if I could make it. But if you do hook up, be sure to get a lot of video. I'm pretty sure we could make a killing on it. Donald's face took a far off expression and a bit of drool formed at the corner of his mouth. Lisa wiped his chin with a napkin, bringing him back to earth. Where were we? Oh yeah. I have to back up Francesca on Greg, he isn't gay, he turned down Leo at that one party last fall.

Leo was gay? Lisa asked. Her jaw dropped. Francesca remembered the kid. He was a god on earth. Lisa had spent hours flirting with him. He flirted back. Nothing ever happened.

Yeah. Flamingly. That was why he got fired.

Because he was gay? I didn't think Greg was a homophobe.

He isn't.

But he fired Leo for being gay. What would you call that.

Smart. Lisa's eyes began to burn. She jabbed Donald in the stomach with her finger. He stopped her. Leo was selling favors to customers out in the parking lot.

Favors? What kind of favors. For a college educated girl, sometimes she wasn't too worldly.

FAVORS. Francesca said, emphasizing the word as best she could. Lisa stared at her a moment as if she were a complete and utter imbecile. Then her slowly eyes widened.

You're shitting me! She said with a giggle. That explains so much.

Nope. Donald said, shaking his head.

He got away with it?

For about two months. Then he got arrested by an undercover cop. I heard he was making some decent cash out of it all.

Oh my god! Lisa said one last time as she picked up her tray and began to make her rounds. Francesca and Donald took their places on the mat behind the bar, and the shift began in earnest. Orders for drinks poured in. Chatter rose and fell, a dull crash, as the Parrot began to fill up for the evening. Regulars found their usual booths, as tourists wandered around and gaped at all the strange relics hanging on the walls. Each had a story. Only Greg knew them all.

The new owners finally made their presence known at around nine. Greg summoned his people a few at a time to meet and greet with the new owners, so as best not to disrupt business. Donald was grumbling as he returned to the bar and sent Francesca back. Greg was in his chair, his back stiff and his face a mask of cold iron.

They new owners were a strange sight to behold. The man had a fringe of stubble gray hair, a goatee, and he was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts. He was playing with a battered Panama hat. The woman had bright red lipstick and her black hair wound up in a bun. She wore a suit jacket and a tight, form-fitting pencil skirt, with a slit up the left leg. Was she the secretary?

Hi! The woman said with a warm smile as Francesca joined the meeting. Greg's face was unreadable. Come on in and join us please! She waved Francesca in and pointed towards an empty spot on the floor. She sounded like a stewardess. We're Donnie and Marie. No, not that Donnie and Marie! And we're the new owners and are happy to join your wonderful family here!

Give it a rest Marie. Donnie tossed aside his hat. We haven't got all night.

I'm trying to properly greet our peons Donnie, and make them feel comfortable with us.

You try a lot of things, and you fail at most of them. You had your chance with the last group. Let me just get this done. I want a beer, and can't have one until we're done working. He turned to the small group of employees. There will be a few small changes. And here they are: First, wages will remain frozen where they are. We'll only change those when we've had a fair chance to evaluate your individual performance, with Greg's input taken into full account. Second, all tips will be collected at the end of the night and the total will distributed equally to the entire staff working that shift, including managers. This will happen every payday. I don't care what any of you think here, this is how it's going to be. Finally, you front staff will adopt more of a pirate-centric theme in uniform.

Marie glowered at Donnie until the final point. Keep in mind, we don't want anything too slutty or revealing. No low cut blouses or mini-skirts. We're planning on making this a family-friendly establishment.

Yes Marie is correct. Marie smiled and leaned back. Her own blouse looked like it was cut low enough to reveal her navel. Her breasts seemed intent to escape with each breath the woman took. And she was complaining about slutty clothing? Are there any questions?

Marco raised his hand. Donnie nodded. Will the dish dogs have to wear pirate uniforms too? Cause them things will get hot back in the kitchen proper. You know what I mean?

The kitchen crew's attire will remain unchanged. A company t-shirt, which you can buy for twelve dollars each and a baseball cap to cover your hair. We also expect that you'll wear a pair of pants without any holes in them and proper work shoes. That means no sandals or flip-flops or stilettos. Your safety is our primary concern back there. Any other questions.

Marco nodded along. Ok, that's cool. At least we don't have to wear big stupid hats man. They look so uncomfortable.

Silvia, another server, raised her hand. Um. Why are you changing the theme?

Marie was the first to respond. Our business is in restaurants, not bars. We want all of our new acquisitions to blend. We're a family company.

Silvia looked even more confused. Her face scrunched up whenever she didn't understand something. But this is a bar. Why didn't you just open a new restaurant if you wanted some place for families to go eat?

We wanted a place with a built in customer base, as well as a presence in the community and a history. That way we don't have to worry about getting our new business off of the ground. People are already in the habit of coming here.

But we're a bar. Mostly we get adults who come to chill with their pals and drink. If we turn into a family restaurant, we'll lose all of our customers.

Marie sneered down at Silvia. We're not worried about that girl. Trust us, we've done this loads of times before. You see this? Marie held out her hand, it was wreathed in gold and diamonds, and tipped with long curling, perfectly pedicured nails. This should tell you how good we are at our jobs, so you don't need to worry, just do your job.

Francesca finally spoke up. How much will our costumes cost?

Marie waggled her fingers. Uniforms dear, not costumes. Costumes are what children wear to trick-or-treat in. You're wearing a company uniform to do your job.

How much though? I need to work this into my budget.

Donnie nodded. We're planning to let you work on your own outfit. We'll even subsidize it up to fifty dollars. The rest is up to you, to make it as elaborate as you wish, so long as you follow some guidelines.

Francesca thought it over for a moment. Fifty dollars won't buy too much. Good thing she already had a pirate outfit from her years hanging out at the Renn.

At the end of each month, we're going to hold a fashion contest open to all employees. The one who gets the most votes gets a bonus of one hundred dollars. And two free meals at any of our businesses. The customers of course will be the ones casting the votes, with a ballot printed on the back of their receipt for the meal.

Marco raised his hand again. What about us dish dogs man? We don't get to deal with the customers. And we just wear jeans and t-shirts. How do we get in? Donnie checked his watch and grunted.

All employees will get their pictures taken in their costumes, and those pictures will be posted around the ballot box for everyone to see. For the servers and bartenders though, the uniforms will be a full time part of their attire. But don't worry, this won't take affect until the end of the year. We want you to have time to work on what you'll be wearing and to make the outfits look as good as possible.

Sweet! Marco began to rub his hands together. That sounds awesome. Francesca almost had to agree. Some of it did sound like fun. She liked to dress up in costume. But as a uniform? She tugged at her shirt. Good thing she only worked this job a couple days a week.

Donnie put on his hat. It is time for us to leave, and you to get back to work. If you have any more questions, please direct them towards Gregory. Come on Marie, let's go get something to eat. The two owners pushed past their new employees/peons and out the front door. Greg's face didn't much change. Then he shrugged.

Sorry folks. They told me that they'd leave things as they were when they bought the place. I didn't know about any of their plans. But, the way things are going, I might not be around too much longer anyways. The last of the group drifted away back to their tasks, leaving Francesca alone in the office with Gregory. She had been working at the Parrot for four years now, and she liked her boss and considered him a friend.

What are you going to do with your free time? Francesca asked. I mean now that you're only a manager.
Oh. Well I just finished getting my Baker's certificate. So I guess I'm going to cook more. Deirdre and I were actually thinking about getting a sailboat after we retire. We want to see the world. Might as well start learning now, then when we're ready to go, we can just jump right in without much practice! Deirdre has been bugging me to take some scuba-diving classes too. We're going to start tomorrow morning now that I only have to work weeknights..

Sailing? That sounds like a lot of fun. I always wanted to learn how to do that! Though fat chance that either of you will ever get to it.

Really?

You're both work-a-holics. I bet that you'll probably die of heart-attacks before you're fifty!

You think so?

Yes Greg. You're going to work yourself to death and love every minute of it.

You're on!

What?

We're going to start taking sailing lessons. After we finish taking lessons, I'm going to use some of the money I made on the sale of the Parrot to buy a boat. We'll have absolute freedom to go wherever we wish! This is going to be great!

Sure Greg, sure.

And you're going to join us!

I can't.

You can't? Who's the coward now?

I work seven days a week until October.

We'll start our lessons after that.

That's great of you, but I still can't afford to pay for the lessons. Less so now that we're splitting our tips.

Three jobs and you can't afford to take sailing lessons? You don't seem to have a severe drug problem. You don't own a car, and you live in a crappy part of town. You didn't get into trouble with the mob did you? No, they don't usually opt for the payment plan, they want their money all at once. So?

I adopted a stray cat. He gets sick every other month. I also have all my college loans that need to be paid off. Archeology work doesn't seem to pay as well as they made it look in the movies. And it isn't nearly as exciting. I haven't fought a single Nazi yet. Not one!

Ah college. I remember that. Of all my friends, I'm the only one who actually managed to find a career that meshed with my degree, He pointed to a framed diploma on the wall. and here I am now!

I sort of have the job that I wanted. I just didn't think that it would be so boring. I thought I'd get a job that would let me travel and find treasure while piecing together the lives of people who lived and died a thousand years ago.

Who do you work for? A college?

No. A freelance group. We get called in whenever a company wants to build on a site, but there are concerns that it might have historical value. We do our search and report our findings. Usually it's just a giant waste of time one way or another.

Ever found anything good?

A lot of dirt. That might be good, if I were a farmer. Besides that, pottery shards, bits of glass, the occasional bottle cap. Gregory laughed as if it were a joke.

Well, in a couple of weeks you can join Deirdre and I as we learn how to sail. Who knows, it might come in handy one day. Come on, my treat.

I'll think about it.

You do that. And while you're thinking, I'll sign us up for the lessons. Sometimes you just need to get that push to get you going in the first place. Speaking of a push, Donald is probably wondering where you are.

And so Donald was. The dedicated drinkers had begun to trickle in while Francesca was in the meeting, and Donald was being overwhelmed. Silvia had even stopped back to help out.

Finally. Silvia said. We're getting killed out here. Take this, I have to go. She handed Francesca a order and scuttled off to see with one of her tables. The dining room was packed. The bar was brimming. And there were a half dozen patrons on their feet, drinks in hand, waiting for their turn to sit down. Three more hours to go and it was only going to get worse.

"Two scotches, a piña colada and three beers for table sixteen please. Oh, and another order of jumbo chili fries. Janet said, setting down an order. All on ice. She leaned against the bar for a moment. Oh, it's so busy out there. My feet are killing me."

How can they eat that crap in this heat? Donald asked.

Are they some of your regulars Janet? Francesca asked as she mixed a martini for Lisa.

Nope. Tourists. They just asked for beer. Didn't say what kind.

Then they must have hotel rooms with air-conditioning. Francesca said, as she handed two mugs of beer over to Janet. The customers hadn't specified. So they got the best, and most expensive, brand that the house carried. House policy. It always got the tourists. Regulars knew better. Donald finished the order as Francesca stepped over to pick up an order from Emily.

This place is insane tonight! Is there a game going on? Donald said, as a customer walked away with a couple pitchers in hand. The man had left a five dollar tip on the bar. Donald looked at the money for a moment, glowered, and then tossed it into the tip jar.

Home-coming I think. Francesca answered as she pulled two more beers, and a half dozen whiskeys and passed them off before moving onto the next customer. it is about that time of year. The two of them went silent for a few minutes as they fetched some more beer bottles.

I can't believe that they're going to start taking our tips away! Donald said almost at random. He must have been really boiling for a while now. Honestly, for Donald, the outburst wasn't really that long in the making.

I know. A good thing we work here and they're not changing our pay at all. It could be worse, at least Greg paid us minimum wage. A lot of other servers in other companies worked mostly for tips. The restaurant or bar only paid them a pittance, well under minimum wage and expected them to make the rest of their money directly from the customers generosity. That was ok if you had a steady stream of tipping customers. Not so much so if you had a group that stuck around forever and then stiffed you. That made for a lousy night, and a worse paycheck. She had to face it, working in food service just sucked. If I didn't like Greg and everyone else, I'd quit this job. And if she didn't still need the money.

I hear that. So what did Greg say?

What about?

Whatever you were talking about so long.

Oh. Well, he feels betrayed by the new owners. Gin and