Friday, October 26, 2012

Doyle-Flynns Alaskan Environmental Crime Story by Rhony Phelan

I Didn't Write the Book, But I Did Do the Cover Art!
Doyle Flynn, disbarred Alaska environmental lawyer, afflicted by depression, recently divorced, is haunted by ghosts both living and dead. Fate, in the form of an aged Chinese businessman from Doyle's past, gives to Doyle the opportunity for deliverance from his transgressions, present and past. The opportunity comes in the form of an assignment uniquely suited to Doyle's conscientious nature, grit, and training in environmental law. The issue is whether Doyle, confronted by threats internal and external, can beat the odds and break the cycle of self-destruction he has been heretofore unable to rise above. Where better to test Doyle's resolve than in the Alaska he inhabits.

Roany Phelan lived in Anchorage Alaska and practiced environmental law there until leaving the state in the late 1990s. His heart remained in Alaska, motivating him to write this story, drawn from the colorful side of the city he once inhabited. Roany is working on the sequel. He is married with children.


1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
Phone: 1-800-839-8640
© 2012 Roany Phelan. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
Published by AuthorHouse 8/15/2012
ISBN: 978-1-4685-5552-3 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4685-5551-6 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012903369
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.
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

This story is a work of fiction. As in all fiction, while the literary perceptions, insights, and descriptions in the story are drawn from the author’s experiences, the events and characters are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. No reference to any real person is intended or should be inferred.

The front cover illustration is from a painting by Wasilla, Alaska artist Judy Vars. For information about Ms. Vars’ artwork contact her at Cabin Fever In Alaska.

This book is dedicated to my sweet wife, to whom I am likewise dedicated. Without her encouragement and suggestions I would not have had this story published. Having her in my life has made the story much, much better. Thank you, my love.
In addition, I send my heartfelt gratitude to those in the writing and publishing industries who read the story, offered their constructive criticism, and encouraged me to get the story published. Thank you for you indulgence.
Roany Phelan

Picture this. In the cold winter a late middle-aged man who is fit for his years looks out through small, square, imperfectly glazed panes of antique glass that distort his view. He is alone. Then through the distortion he espies the familiar figure of a younger man he has never before seen. The younger man who has materialized from nowhere approaches and, still at a considerable distance, looks in the direction of the place where the middle-aged man stands.
The older man is unconcerned by the intrusion. He knows he cannot be detected because there are no lights and he stands back from the glass panes, in the darkness. He realizes he is in the middle of what they used to tell him was a black spell. The distorted illusion of the younger man is part of the spell. The late middle-aged man appreciates that the spell and the illusion that comes with it signify it is alright to be doing this. Consequently he feels relief.
The older man does not mind that the door is not locked. He welcomes the approaching illusion’s anticipated entrance because now he knows the illusion that is part of the black spell is coming to rescue him from the spell itself. Encouraged, the late middle-aged man turns his back on the imperfectly glazed panes of glass that are the only source of light on this dim, overcast winter afternoon. He walks to the middle. He inhales very deeply and enjoys the comfort of what he smells. Gasoline, engine oil, tractor grease. Cut hay. Through his nose he exhales evenly and with measured force.
He comes to a point of tranquility when he hears the door rattle open behind him. He hears the younger man enter and move about. He finally senses the presence of the younger man standing right next to him, no longer an illusion but really there, whispering into his ear. The younger man brings the exact salvation that the late middle-aged man had hoped for when he first saw the younger man through the small square, antique glass panes.
Thousands of feet above, in the sky, a commercial passenger airplane moves in the direction of the place where the late middle aged man and the younger man are still standing. The aircraft, a 747, begins its descent. It comes over that portion of the Alaska Range that separates Southwestern Alaska from what is known as South Central. It comes down toward where the Anchorage Bowl sits along the Cook Inlet. The fuselage of the big 747 is marked with the name “China Airlines.” Aboard, the pilot announces in Mandarin Chinese that the passenger cabin crew should make final preparations for landing.
The passengers talk rapidly, almost all in Chinese, excited by the view as the plane descends towards Anchorage International Airport. One passenger does not speak because he is traveling alone and is preoccupied by thoughts of his business in Anchorage. He speculates about whether has come too late.

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