Bad Day At Eagle Rock

By Lee Gabor

Billionaire oilman Spot Jeffers decides its time to rid his life of his greedy brother and nephew, the greedy and unfaithful wife and, at the same time, ruin the reputation of a local golf course under which he's sure there is oil. If his third goal is reached, he can buy the land for pennies on the dollar. He contacts an international killing-for-hire business. The Master Mind instructs world famous Paddy Finnigan to leave Belize and travel to a small town in Texas to kill the father and son. His perfect location for the hit is a hill at the golf course. Will the local sheriff be able to solve the murders or will it take FBI Agent Harris to find Finnigan? Paddy's greatest regret is that he had to leave the beautiful Lily at home in Belize. How does Lily react when she learns there is an FBI search for Paddy? In fact, just who is Lily? Others at the golf course have intrigue on their minds and after the murder of another member, the local law enforcement work diligently to discover the person who installed the car bomb as well as the person who hired him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Gabor
• Release date: Jan 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301397839

Lee Gabor

I am first and foremost inquisitive, always wanting to know what goes on globally and locally and wanting to understand WHY! Being a newspaper reporter was the career with which I began. Then, as a pianist and vocalist, I spent a number of years entertaining throughout the U.S. I also owned a talent agency during that time. After those 25 years, my next career was in public education, which was something I never intended to do. Getting "drafted" into teaching and the time I spent as an Academic Coordinator were very interesting and I do so love the students and teachers, administrators, and staff members I met. I'm very proud of our students. After six years, I left teaching and moved near my son and his family. I became a Master Gardener and Master Composter, joined local organizations, and have been able to enjoy more time with my children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I am thrilled that my professional focus now is limited to writing. I will be publishing both fiction and non-fiction works and begin that in new venture in 2012.

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Bad Day at Eagle Rock

By

Lee Gabor

Published by Leciana (Lee) Gabor and Aquarian Age Incorporated at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 by Leciana (Lee) Gabor and Aquarian Age Incorporated

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Layout by Leciana (Lee) Gabor

Thank you for downloading my ebook. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Your comments are welcome. My goal is to provide you with an excellent reading experience. Your support and respect for this property is greatly appreciated.

This ebook is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or to events is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. There is no relationship between this novel and people who play at any actual golf course. No character or event in this story reflects a real person or event.

To find out more about me and see other titles I've published, please visit http://www.Smashwords.com/profile/view/LeeGabor

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Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1 - The Hitman

Chapter 2 - The FBI Agent

Chapter 3 - The Oilman

Chapter 4 - The Sheriff

Chapter 5 - The Wife

Chapter 6 - The Golf Pro

Chapter 7 - The Master Mind

Chapter 8 - The Lesbian

Chapter 9 - The Owners

Chapter 10 - The Baby

Chapter 11 - The Banker

Chapter 12 - The Landman

Chapter 13 - The Farmer

Chapter 14 - The Deputy

Chapter 15 - The Daughter

Chapter 16 - The Lover

Chapter 17 - The Cop

Chapter 18 - The Student

Chapter 19 - The Uncle

Chapter 20 - The Mother

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*****

Introduction

Parker Hill is the tall land mass that sits off to the east side of the northbound frontage road on I-45 a few miles north of Ennis, Texas and just south of the small town of Palmer. From the Interstate, one can see the hill and, in front it, the clubhouse for a golf course. The asphalt street, named Parker Hill Road, runs along the north and east boundaries of the course. Though sometimes closed because heavy rains have created flooding, normally one can drive the road from the Exxon on I-45 to Farm to Market Road 879 near Garrett. Along Parker Hill Road, ranches continue to survive and houses have been built on multi-acre plots. As one nears the FM 879 end of the road, we see a housing development to the right.

This book is a work of fiction and none of the characters in it resembles in any way real people who have been or who continue to be involved with any golf course in Ellis County, Texas.

Also, please don't be discouraged by the length of Chapte4 1. In addition to introducing the first character, Hitman Paddy Finnigan, it's almost a how-to on thinking through every detail of performing a hit. All of the subsequent chapters are short, about the size of a short story.

While most novels are written with time in consecutive order, this book emphasizes the point of view (POV) of each person involved in the event at the golf course. It is fun to write the book this way because it is against tradition. Each POV is in first person, representing what is happening in the here and now for the character. As a result, a few character's experiences will be a bit out of the timeline of the experience of a previous character. In other words, read each character for his or her experiences and reflect only generally upon what you already have read. This is a different way of writing and reading, but seemed to best fit this book.

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TUESDAY

Chapter 1 - The Hitman

It's July 6th at 1 am and the oversized man called Paddy Finnigan wheezes as he struggles the final few feet to the top of Parker Hill. He has been told this is the highest elevation between Dallas and San Antonio, although the nearby landfill in this area of Ellis County will, at some time, compete for that accolade.

Slowly, he unrolls the Army green wool blanket and lays it on the flat terrain toward the center of the plateau.

Centuries of rain have washed away the peak, leaving a level field large enough for a building. In fact, the owner's mother had suggested from the day her son bought the golf course that they establish a barbeque restaurant there, designing it with a Bonnie and Clyde theme. After all, Parker Hill allegedly was named for the famous Bonnie Parker. It was said she and her violent partner, the infamous Clyde Barrow who was born in Ellis County, had sat on top many times in the early 1930s watching law enforcement vehicles drive the nearby dirt roads. Of course, this was long before Interstate 45 had been created.

The 44-year-old Paddy lies down at the edge of the fabric, pulling to his chest the Remington Model 700 BDL 30-06 rifle. He holds it tight against him as though the gun is a lover. Paddy feels this way about every weapon and truly hates the moments after each job when he must discard the piece.

He tugs the side of the blanket to cover his lower body and looks at the dark sky. Clouds hide the stars and the new moon means there is no light to reflect off any metal exposed by the assassin.

Even if the moon were full, there wouldn't be metal to reflect. Years before, Paddy committed himself to always undertake three actions that would prevent him from being discovered as he waited to perform a hit.

For one thing, he made sure to always order plastic rims for the eyeglasses that augmented his 20-50 vision. There are no metal rims whose reflection could reveal his presence to residents in the quarter-million dollar homes across from the golf course.

For the next few minutes, his ungloved hands practice the skill Paddy has worked hard to acquire. His left hand lifts the barrel of the rifle and moves it back and forth to find the perfect angle while his right index finger gently taps the trigger. Seconds later, he pulls his right hand away to push the pads of index finger and thumb together, rubbing for a few seconds before his index finger returns to the trigger. He had discovered in his early days as a Marine sniper that he loved the feeling of his raw skin against the part of the death instrument that would send a bullet flying about a kilometer a second to slaughter an enemy.

Paddy stops playing with the rifle and lays it next to him, carefully to keep it on the blanket. There will be no risk a bit of grass could get into the mechanism and spoil the beautiful devil of death.

Before he sleeps, he decides to risk another smoke. He's already rewarded himself with too many, but a man has to have some vice to curb his anxiety. Paddy's breathing has settled enough for him to light up one of the expensive Cassar cigarettes he carries. After his final drag, he takes the round plastic container from his right pocket and lays it on his belly. In his early days as a hitman, his mentor, the famous Carlos, had pounded into his psyche the need to leave absolutely no trace of himself.

Paddy places the stub and the burned down remnant of the match into the clear container to join other remains he's accumulated during the night on lookout in the rental car. If he smokes more during his wait on the hill, those butts and match remains will also be secreted in the small plastic bin.

Paddy presses the top on firmly and returns the box to the deep pocket of his black pants.

Tonight, smoking isn't as enjoyable as it usually is when he's lying on his hammock, relaxing by the ocean, and watching the beautiful Lily walking naked around the yard. The past two years of retirement have weakened him. Too much high-calorie food and too little activity slowly added 50 pounds of flab to his six-foot frame. Ascending from his normal existence at sea level, his lungs are not as amiable as he would like. In fact, only the $100,000 offer for the two hits has dragged him from his home in Belize onto a plane bound for Dallas.

He had almost parked the dark rented sedan at the Exxon truck stop and Subway Sandwich Shop located in the southeast corner at I-45 and Parker Hill Road. Knowing he could never make the trek from there to the back of the hill meant he must re-think his strategy. After studying a map of the course layout and driving its boundaries, he decided to drive the car off the road and into the woods by the tee boxes of Hole 17. With so few houses on this end of Parker Hill Road, it was doubtful anyone would notice the vehicle. He hoped the Mexican laborers who worked at the course wouldn't see the dark chassis when they passed by at dawn, but that was a risk he had to take. He hated taking chances, but sometimes there was no alternative.

He had opened the trunk and taken out the cheap black golf bag filled with inexpensive clubs, the blanket, and the precious rifle. For Paddy, the only part of a hit he has found difficult was having to discard an excellent firearm after using it only once. This act, however, ensured his killings could never be linked to each other and eventually to him. And Paddy never bought the ejector accessory for the gun so all cartridges remained in the rifle. He hated hunting around for spent metal.

Other than letting go of good weapons, Paddy truly loved killing people. It made him feel macho and powerful and the money was outstanding. He could do a hit a month if he had wanted to and earn $600,000 beautiful tax-free American dollars in cash. Of course, most of the bills had to be kept in a safe deposit box, but that was fine. He just hoped he never had to run and leave money behind. And he did have a couple of accounts outside the U.S. Each held over a million, in case he did have to disappear some day and walk away from the cash. But these days, a million dollars in a bank account was hardly noticeable.

A second method Paddy uses to prevent reflections that could attract the attention of anyone near an assassination location has been his habit to always order flat black metal and dark wood instruments of death and, in his opinion, the Remington 700 30.06 is the best for most jobs. He had learned from Carlos to always dump the weapon and, as hard as that has been for Paddy, he always has made himself stick to the rule. He has always been proud of his self-discipline.

And thirdly, he never carried anything of metal that could reflect light. Matches were used for his smokes; there would be no flashlight, radio, or other object. His binoculars were covered with black electrical tape and, although he carried them to ever job, he never worried about the Bushnell causing him concern.

Before Paddy's time, the best hitman in the world had been Carlos and Paddy had learned the lessons very well when his mentor drummed them into his head, often with a right clip to Paddy's jaw.

The wheels of the cart should have made it easy to pull the golf bag and its contents across the dark course to a safe hiding place at the pumphouse servicing the original pond nearest the clubhouse. He will need it there once the sun comes up and his deed is completed. However, the task of walking from the car to the pumphouse has almost shut down the man's heart, leaving him breathing in short puffs. And then he has had to climb the hill. The night has been a tough one for Paddy Finnigan.

He had bought the used golfing equipment almost two weeks before in the pro shop at a course in Dallas. As he listened to the sales pitch covering that store's inventory, he learned to appreciate the quality put into the Ping, Callaway, and Taylor bags and clubs. For his purpose, however, he must remain anonymous. Nobody must even notice his golf equipment. In fact, he carries only 8 clubs instead of the usual 14. It would be assumed by any curious observers that he is new at the game and since most people who paid the fees to play were better at the sport, Paddy believes he will remain unnoticeable.

The previous evening, he had parked on Eagles View Drive. His perch gave him a direct line of sight to the clubhouse, letting him know when the usual Monday Night Texas Hold 'Em Poker Game broke up. Once all the cars left the parking lot, he grabbed the binoculars and watched the Carts Manager hoist himself onto the seat of his 2006 EZ electric cart to drive along the south side of the hill toward the back of the course where he lives in a small mobile home.

The guy has been a regular at the poker table and usually loses more than he can afford. Paddy had heard the rumors that the man often drank as much of the bar's bounty as possible without being caught.

The only other