True Dawn - False Dawn

By Andrew Coster

Riddle me this: Fly into my web said the spider to the fly. There I will hypnotize, mesmerize, and suck you dry. Dont live with hate or call it fate or try to escape. Do not anguish and moan or beg and plead as you bleed. Dont try to barter and trade to make your day or be afraid just to lighten your load; let it flow and dont be sad, for now youre dead. Deaths are intertwined one with the other; the dead we see drop like fleas in windy fall, but ours, our own, are ruined worlds. A global collapse of the do-re-mi alas ends it all. Befall or fail us, we will prevail.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Jul 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514461907

Andrew Coster

The author was born on January 6, 1960, in Old Isleworth, London,England. Andrew Coster came from a humble working class family, having aspirations to become a professional footballer from the age of eight and onward. Having done many numerous dead-end jobs, he found his niche in health care. He became the English composer Sir Michael Tippett’s personal carer, nurse, housekeeper in the mid-90s. This was when he became aware of what he wanted to do in life, painting and writing. He is also an artist in his own right, preferably painting in abstract in oils and acrylic. He came across the book idea True Dawn False Dawn while travelling across southeast Asia with his then Thai wife and having big problems with his bank due to his account being infiltrated.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Andrew Coster.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-5144-6191-4

                eBook           978-1-5144-6190-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Scripture quotations marked NASB are taken from the New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/17/2015

Xlibris

800-056-3182

www.Xlibrispublishing.co.uk

719799

Contents

Foreword

Introduction

Chapter 1: Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

Chapter 2: The Road to Riches

Chapter 3: Busted But I’m Not Broke

Chapter 4: Best Laid Plans

Chapter 5: What Are Buddies For?

Chapter 6: It Takes a Thief to Catch a Thief

Chapter 7: Until Death Do We Part

Chapter 8: All Things Old are New Again

Chapter 9: Lost is Found

Chapter 10: No Honor Among Thieves

Epilog

References

Foreword

The characters and incidents portrayed and the names herein are fictitious and any similarity to the name, character or history of any actual person living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

-  Strong Language

-  Situational Sexual Content

-  Reader Discretion Advised

Introduction

Power and revenge are like two hits from the same gun, creating for some of us an aphrodisiac effect. When Robert L. Jackman and Spencer Joseph first met during their European train travels, surely neither suspected then their lives would soon be altered forever. Spiders often use great strategy as they weave their web to entrap unsuspecting victims. These two were in kinship with the most devious, calculating, deadly kind of insect; the kind that prey on clueless victims and free-bleed them until they are nothing but empty shells baking in their own tomb’s.

As the two passengers entered the Eurotunnel, they were embarking on a journey that would take them to the cornerstone of world history. As the chain of events unfolded, who knew then that when their life journey came to an abrupt halt, that nations would tumble and lives would hang in the balance.

Realizing the fine line between myth and mystery is often interwoven with fact, happenstance, and damned blind luck, Robert made deliberate attempts to keep his own memory alive and his own heart beating as he revealed the songs and writings jotted down in the, Journals of Robert L. Jackman, a name you will soon learn possessed an edge all its own.

He reasoned, even as a young man, that traditions may linger as he walked though the oracles of time. In later years he thought his mind may one day blur, should he survive to an old age, but as he spread ink on paper, transmitted and shared with those who came after him his experiences, his own great adventures, he believed perhaps they, like he, would give way to pause to reflect on how goddamned hard it always was to open his eyes to begin a new day.

Some may judge him coarse around the edges, but women liked his sandy sense of humor, and the middle ground he drifted between rough-cut good looks. He often looked like he was in need of an occasional barber, his blue-eyed smile got attention, and his all out dapper manner of style and good taste for Kentucky Straight Bourbon made him elite within his class. By his own admission, he liked the strong, true flavor and aroma coming from a vintage Cuban Cigar, which often tangled from the corner of his mouth. If his smile didn’t capture your attention, then the gleam in those, icy blue eyes bouncing off the glow of firelight would, to these attributes, he certainly stood unchallenged. Yet, the poison housed in his brain resurfaced again and again, revealing uncertain death to those unlucky enough to get caught up in his spell and pulled into his viperous pit of his charm.

Trusting that an openhanded reader may hail with delight by slapping his or her knee with an occasional and hardy sonofabitch, let’s press on, ever determined to vent his life to you as he lived it.

He has and had a dry sense of humor. He once said I make no apologies for 99.9% of my behavior, but do with all humility, humbleness and modesty seek the forgiveness of the 1% I may or may not have offended, staying ever meek as a monk and avoiding all pretense of arrogance and pride. To these latter, I do apologize.

And so it is. We dedicate these pages to all lovers of mayhem, stupidity, guts, glory, ambitious scholars who forge ahead of the pack and dare anyone to call them by any name other than pure genius, or to those able-bodied men and women who are ever in need of only the true electrical-eel feel of fire in their bellies simply because they, like you, knew they could, would, and should accomplish what others failed to see possible.

By God’s might and by God’s glory and withstanding all odds stacked against him, we advance forward. And above all else, know the same blood flowing through the entrails and organs of his manhood are as available and as real to you as they are and were to him. Know, most accomplishments in life don’t mean a thing if they don’t have a sting to the end of them.

When you read these pages give heed, but never stop believing in the impossible, for great men and women are made every minute of every day because they dream the impossible and create the possible. Enormous spirit rests in the heart of humankind, and has embodied many a humble person who dared to defy the odds and who ultimately willed himself or herself to succeed; knowing too well their inner drive to succeed was often mightier than their commonsense wisdom to fail.

Permit him to reveal to you a life less-lived by many. If there was ever a lucky Ace in the black suits within a deck of fifty-two, it was Robert L. Jackman; determined, self-confident, and with all odds piled against him, he was able to use his wit, wisdom and mentality to accomplish what he set out to do in life.

Chapter 1

Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

The day began like most days; a waiter on the EuroStar brought a shot of cognac with a brandy chaser to the first-class carriage table where Robert sat. He pursed his lips and made a gesture of disgust, simple because there was no KY Straight Bourbon on the train; a crime, in his estimation should be punishable by solitary confinement for 90-days minimum. It wasn’t uncommon for him to say I feel like the world is my oyster.

Robert L. Jackman didn’t worry about tomorrow because he had it all figured out today. The first thirty-five years of his life were spent figuring out how to manipulate the rest of the human race. His next thirty-five plus years, or how ever many years he could expect, would be spent applying all he’d learned. What could possible go wrong with an attitude like his? Yet, there was something sticking in his craw this particular morning, right behind the occasional sip of cognac, right in the middle of the straight brandy chaser, just a little rough spot on the back of his throat that told him something just wasn’t on the up-and-up. He dismissed it as perhaps laying with his neck in an awkward position in his single private sleeping compartment. First class wasn’t what it used to be years ago.

Care if I sit down and join you Mate? asked a slender gentleman with a strong Irish accent.

Robert eyeballed the intruder with skepticism. He looked like a normal, run of the mill fellow, a working class stiff, going nowhere in his life, a ne’er-do-well. Yet, the moment he opened his mouth to speak, Robert’s opinion of him changed for the better. My name is Spencer Joseph, he said, reaching out his right hand to shake Robert’s.

Have a seat; glad for the company. My name is Robert L. Jackman, Robert replied, as he gave the stranger a firm handshake. What are you drinking?

"George Dickel straight on the rocks, he replied, as he shifted his gaze to the waiter that came alongside their table. He quickly added, It would probably be rude of me to ask for the best sipping whiskey in Tennessee, being I’m among all your Brits, but I do keep trying."

The waiter started to speak, as the two men at the table watched him shift his weight from foot-to-foot. Robert looked at him, and then said, I’m a KY Straight Bourbon man, but it’s nice to see you enjoy an aged Tennessee sipping whiskey.

Hell they don’t carry your liquor or mine, he said, nodding to the waiter, followed by, I’ll have a shot of your best premium vodka on the rocks with a twist of lime and water by.

As Spencer shifted his weight in his seat and sat down, Robert studied him from the opposite side of the table.

Finally, he said, clearing his throat, You know, I confess when you opened your mouth, no offense, I thought you were just a commonplace guy, a little boring, good looking enough for the women, thin and buffed at the same time, but now I don’t know. You’re about my age for sure, but man, you look like life has dealt you a few hands you were forced to fold on. Guess you’re an enigma.

Are you trying to be funny? I’ve been called worse. Spencer said, smiling. As far as a few hands I was forced to fold on? I keep my cards close to my vest.

Like I said ‘no offense intended.’

Spencer then laughed, a deep, good-hearted laugh, and replied with a smile, None taken. Hell, I’m just working my way around Europe, checking out the scenery and trying to figure out how to get my shit back together.

I know what you mean by trying to find yourself. I used to be full of visions and dreams. I sailed through the first half of my life like a maritime navigator; my problem is I never discovered new shores that didn’t leave me with bad nightmares. I’m a wandering, happy, mistrial at this point.

Well, like attracts like I guess, because I’m doing the same thing.

The waiter delivered another round of drinks. As Spencer lifted his glass with his right hand and spun the ice around, clicking sounds of ice on glass resonated through the space. Sometimes, he said, between sips, "I don’t know. I think I want to change my life, but change to what? I keep asking myself how I can change my life around when I’m in doldrums central. I keep saying to myself things will change, but I’ve said it so much, hell, I don’t even believe it anymore."

As the train sped across the European High Speed network at 187-mph, nature seemingly came alive in thrilling clips like one of those old slide projectors stuck on fast-forward; vivid green scenery, followed by a kaleidoscope of colors, wild and forbidden corners of people’s lives, presenting an offbeat chance to see how other people live. Soon London’s Waterloo International terminal would be in view. Shortly Robert would awaken to a brand-new city; he’d yawn, dust off his pecker, and look expectantly out his train window at another place that promised adventure and excitement.

None of my business, Robert offered, but what do you do for a living, to earn your keep so to speak?

Without hesitation, Spencer said, For the last several years I’ve dealt in precious stones, diamonds and gems, the gold trade; though I’ve not been too successful at it. One of my many talents, I suppose.

"As Steven Tyler might say fuck the duck and see what hatches. I’d never believed you banked lots of bills dressed the way you’re dressed, I mean…"

I know –no offense, right? replied Spencer.

I’ll be damned! Who would have guessed it?

"Well, ye be right about one thing who would have guessed it? Truth be known, my mum died from cancer, later my sister passed on, and a few months ago my elderly father passed away too. My dad, hurriedly, taught me my trade, may his soul rest in peace; sadly I think maybe he didn’t let me it on all the trade secrets. The last six-months or so I’ve developed a gambling addiction, and when I ran out of a case of George to keep my palate wet and my belly warm, I tuned to the clear stuff with a twist of lime. My mum wouldn’t be too proud of me if she could see me now."

Robert felt ache in the bit of his stomach. Man I’m sorry about your luck. I lost both my parents in a plane crash in the states. They were visiting some friends, and their plane crashed short of the runway. I know how you feel, but you’ve got to get a grip and come back to the land of the living. I mean, I’m not trying to advise you what to do, but how much longer do you think you can go on the way you are right now?

Spencer took a long, deep breath and blew it out in controlled, measured intervals. I know what you’re saying. Maybe I needed to hear it said aloud. I…

It’s none of my business what you do, said Robert, as he lit a cigar, his dark brown hair catching the overhead light. But I’ve been where you are and I can tell you right now if you don’t roll with the flow, the flow will swallow you up and spit you out along a train track in the middle of nowhere and no one will care if your cold, dead corpse decomposes atop the trash and gravel along the rails.

Wow! Why don’t you tell me what you really think?

Both men gentle laughed in unison. Spencer shook his head from side-to-side, smiling at the same time, while Robert raised both his eyebrows and shook his head up-and-down.

Finally, Spencer said, For fucksake give me a break! I feel like I’ve been to hell and the ticket back was worse than the ticket down.

The two laughed again, as they lifted their glasses and toasted fate; a light rattling of glass against glass sealed the friendship forged from the cards both men were dealt in a never-ending lifecycle played out in real time. A lifecycle where the hand you’re dealt isn’t always the hand you play.

As the smoking car filled with a mixture of mild to pungent smoke to faint whispers of lavender and musk, Spencer’s eyes showed a distance in them. Between sips of liquor and the rattling of ice in his glass, Spencer broke the silence, saying, By the way what do you do for a living? I know it’s none of my business; just curious.

"I’m a stock trader, but mostly I’m a jack of all trades master of most kind of guy. Few people have ever pulled my hat over my eyes. I try not to blink too much afraid some crafty sonofabitch might get lucky. People tell me I was cut from the same fabric as my grandfather, tall, proud, a take no prisoners man’s kind of man. I guess I like that image and I hold it tighter than most."

"I see. Well, when we arrive in London in an hour, I’m thinking of getting a