MOSTLY MOABLY: A modern Philippine adventure series -- grounded in reality (Book 1), #1

By Robert Hatting

REAL EXPERIENCE IN PHILIPPINES, UNEXPECTED ADVENTURES AND HEAT OF ROMANCE 

Peter Moably, forced out of his business by an ugly divorce becomes an accidental treasure hunter tossed into a foreign country that scrambles his life. Learning a culture the hard way, he fumbles through a myriad of foolish encounters, falls in love, foils an Abu Sayyaf attack and finally takes the fight to the terrorists. 

Take a romp through the Philippines with this new action adventure story by Robert Hatting. The author living in this exotic and dangerous environment used his first-hand inspiration and own adventurous personality to create a story you will not put down until the end. 

And this is just the first book of this Philippines series, with Book 2 already in the queue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blair Pacific Publishing
• Release date: Aug 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540193575

Robert Hatting

Born in Seattle, raised in numerous locales during his youth; including many years in the Panama Canal Zone, and on his grandfather’s ranch in eastern Oregon, Hatting was worldly and rural, bilingual, and developed the ability to observe and record at an early age. He also developed a strong work ethic and bravery beyond his years. He was a gifted athlete and an above average student. Moving often because of his father’s profession, he had to adapt quickly and positively. Plus he was often called upon to defend himself, so his martial arts skills were honed in reality — not in some gym (Being a new kid in school was a constant and often bloody challenge). Rob Hatting’s novels have been read by thousands around the world.  Rob writes from experience — his locales are actual places — described true-to-form; his characters are depictions or amalgamations of real people and his stories are grounded in reality. The underpinning of each novel is the base character of the writer. An adventurer by nature, his experiences range from that of a cowboy, rancher, deep-water sailor, professional diver, rodeo performer, businessman, auctioneer, pilot, trucker, knife maker, horse-trader, commercial fisherman, beach bum, and inventor. Each craft and adventure has given him a myriad of experience from which to write.  He can pilot a plane, drive most anything with wheels, and captain/pilot a ship. He boxed, rodeoed, and competed in numerous team and individual sports. Hatting spent two tours in Vietnam as a brown shoe, (civilian contractor) ten years as a computer salesman with NCR, and has bought and sold over forty businesses throughout the world (eight were weekly newspapers, four were knife manufacturers,...). Rob attended Western College of auctioneers in 1977 to augment his business and journalism degrees from OSU; using his creativity as a ‘turn-around’ specialist. His personal adventures morphed into novel writing while working on the Alaska Pipeline in 1975. His first novel was published in 1978; his second in 1981. He wrote and published several each decade and currently has twenty-one fiction, three non-fiction, and six screenplays available to his credit.  Rob became a full-time expatriate in 2003; Mexico, Costa Rica, and finally Panama for over a decade. He moved to the Philippines in 2015 where he currently resides.

Book preview

PREFACE

MY DESTINATION, A LITTLE town call Drain, Oregon was almost in sight when my great aunt called me on my cell. Since I’m such an upstanding citizen, I was able to take her call while I turned off the I-5 freeway onto the county road, because the cell was mounted in a holder on the dash and could be controlled by the aftermarket Bluetooth. I clicked the connection button as I passed the road sign for Drain. I always thought there were two towns in Oregon whose names were hilarious; Drain, Oregon and Boring, Oregon. Both were situated in the Willamette Valley.

Hi Aunt Betty. How are you? I queried on the speaker-phone.

"Peter, he’s gone. Arlis died this morning sitting in his Jeep. Can you come home and help me?

I slowed my Jeep Wagoneer and pulled off the county road to the first available turn-out. I’m on my way. I should be there in three or four hours, I replied without hesitation. Aunt Betty had lost a husband; I had lost a friend and father figure.

Bless you Peter. I knew I could count on you!

She closed the connection and I did a quick list in my mind. I also choked back my tears.

I was ten minutes from my appointment. The problem was — the appointment would take several hours; assessing everything I had to auction off and negotiating with the owner. I speed dialed Shornfield. Sorry I can’t make our appointment. I had a death in the family, mister Shornfield. Can we delay for a couple of weeks?

Nah, its jest like yore ex-wife said to me when I called to see where you were. She said you’re a damned flake. Death my ass, he mumbled.

"I hung up on the misled potential client and kicked my 1972 Jeep Wagoneer in the ass. It was a two hour run from where I was to Sisters if the Mackenzie pass wasn’t clogged with motor homes. From Sisters it was an hour and a half to Maupin.

Arlis and Betty had owned the same forty acre farm since he’d come back from WW2 in 1946; he paid it off in 1950. Sixty-five years in the same farmhouse. The farm didn’t see much action until Arlis retired. He had worked for the US post office for forty years. Never missed a day.

One day Arlis explained why he’d taken such a boring and reward-less job. Pete, those of us who fought in the war saw all the adventure we wanted; especially we enlisted men. We weren’t interested in gettin’ rich or famous. We jest wanted to be free. Free from worry.

I thought about that statement often.  It applied to a lot of the guys who I’d served with in the Gulf War.

The Wagoneer was headed home to help my aunt. I couldn’t help Arlis anymore but was remembering all the times he’d had an influence on my life. I used my time to make calls. First on the list, my attorney, Buster Bain.

...she slandered me to Shornfield. I need you to stop this bullshit! It’s been a year and it’s getting worse. File some of those injunctions like her lawyer did to me!

Pete, your constant soliciting of auctions is bordering on breach of contract. The judge awarded Danielle the business. Not you!  I’ve taken two calls from her lawyer and one from the judge. If you don’t cease and desist, it will be a contempt charge and you could spend some jail time, Bain advised.

I’m an auctioneer! The judged didn’t strip me of my education and experience, just the auction house! Read the decree for Christ sakes!

I thought he was on my side. I guess he isn’t. Time to pull the plug on this SOB.

Pete, if you look back, this situation you find yourself in was your fault. You should have bought her a new car. No war, no divorce, a good business and happy children, Bain lectured.

Hey Buster. You drive a Lincoln SUV. What year?

There was a short pause.

It’s only a year old. A 2014 model.

Do you know the major difference between what I’m driving and that Lincoln Navigator?

Okay, I’ll bite, Pete. What’s the major difference?

Sixty-thousand fucking dollars is the difference! You shove that Lincoln up your ass, hoetoe. We’re done!  If you ever see me — cross to the other side of the street or I’ll plow yore field! I shouted and then disconnected.

It had been twenty-five years since the Gulf War. I’d seen my share of incompetent people in that circle jerk of a war. None were as bad as the current war I was fighting. My ex, my kids, the judges and now my knot head lawyer were all sided against me. FUBAR defined!

I tuned north out of Redmond and began my last leg home. I dialed a Realtor I slightly knew. Barnes, you know the Moably Auction house property? I asked.

Sure, Mister Moably. Who doesn’t?

Okay, listen carefully. In forty-five days a court awarded lease will expire. I will have no further obligation to lease to the tenants. I want you to prepare a listing agreement for one-point-three million dollars. The tenants will be served notice to vacate the premise shortly after the 45 day period. You erect all the ‘For Sale’ signs and begin advertising the place for sale. I’ll pay double commission if this is accomplished in sixty days from the time I sign your listing.

I didn’t let the young man respond. I canceled our connection and began focusing on Aunt Betty and Uncle Arlis. They were my family. I lived with them; took my meals at their table; stored my belongings in their barn and my collection of Jeeps in their farmyard, slept in an old travel trailer I pulled out back of the barn. Their farm had become my home when I was locked out of my own home by Danielle and the kids. A messy divorce over a fuckin Jap car.

Maupin is not pretty. The town is nicknamed tumbleweed because the wind scathes across the eastern Oregon desert and drops all the tumbleweeds into the Deschutes River canyon. Mostly it’s dry and dusty but Betty and Arlis have good water rights.  Their little acreage is lush and green.

I pulled my Wagoneer into the lane toward the house. Two cars were parked in front. One belonged to the 88 year old couple; a 1953 Dodge with a Gyro-Matic transmission. The other was stranger to me. It was a late model foreign car. I pulled up to the front door and went to see Aunt Betty. She met me at the screen door and hugged me hard with her frail arms. I led her to the sofa and looked at the stranger sitting in Uncle Arlis’s chair.

Peter, this mister MacVoy. He drove here from Portland to help me settle my husband’s affairs, my aunt offered as explanation. Her look into my eyes told me more.

I looked more closely at the middle-aged man. He was overweight but I could see he was athletic under the flab. I looked him in the eye and he didn’t like that. He had that thousand yard stare most killers seemed to acquire with experience.

MacVoy, did you know my uncle? I asked politely.

I never had the pleasure. I’ve heard of him? he replied with a bit of sarcasm in his tone.

Aunt Betty do you know this man? I asked gently as I sensed an unsettling in the room.

She don’t know me and neither did your Uncle. I’m with the Veterans watch and I came to help, MacVoy almost shouted.

Peter, have you eaten? Madge came by earlier and brought some food. I’ll go prepare you a plate. Mister MacVoy?

MacVoy is leaving, Aunt Betty.

I opened the door and turned to MacVoy. Thanks for dropping by, I said as the guy heaved himself out of the chair.

MacVoy glared at me as he walked through the door.  It was a dark dusk so I waited at the door until he started his car and pulled away. I went back inside and met a grateful Aunt Betty. Thank you Peter. I wasn’t comfortable with that man.

I gave her a hug and then went to the kitchen to take some dinner.

Betty and