Send Lawyers, Guns and Money

By Elizabeth Donavan

Liz Duncan is a chaos magnet. Wherever she goes, disaster follows. Fortunately, she is also a news reporter, and winds up in the middle of the storm. She finally takes a vacation to a neighboring town to visit her friend Carrie, the mayor of Oceanside. After going to the beach, she locks horns with the Sheriff and local minister, who gives her a ticket for public indecency for sunbathing topless at the beach. This leads to an investigation that spirals out of control involving smuggling, drug running, covert ops, and mind control. The story is told tongue-in-cheek, however the situations and technology are very much real.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Donavan
• Release date: May 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463570999

Elizabeth Donavan

Elizabeth was born and raised in the Chicago area. She worked in several jobs until finally settling down in a small southern town editing two newspapers. She did a lot of short stories that went into other people’s work, at times ghost writing. You can tell her style, which is tongue in cheek, and a dry sense of humor. She traveled across the US, and came back to the south—to the old homestead before leaving for Australia, staying several months there before leaving for Europe. She is still in Europe, and is compiling material for at least two more novels, as well as corresponding with scientists and inventors that specialize in exotic technologies that are for the most part suppressed, and hidden from the public. Sound like a good plot for a spy novel? You betcha, and when that one is ready, it will be released. “No one has a novel that shows what a world might be like with free energy, and advanced tech. Tomorrowland came close, but stopped short. The world is ready for a work that shows what kind of world we could have, but is kept from us for political reasons and corporate profits. Where would we be today if those forces failed at suppressing all this stuff? What kind of alternate universe is out there with all these amazing things?” We shall soon see!

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Send Lawyers, Guns and Money!

Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Donavan

Published by Elizabeth Donavan at Smashwords

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 enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

About Elizabeth Donavan

Connect with Elizabeth Donavan

Acknowledgements

Thanks go to Toledo Hues for allowing me to stay at her place while this baby was gestating, and to all those that helped. Also to Smashwords for distributing this book. It has been both fun, and frustrating at times. I am an old timer with the print medium, and ebooks took quite a bit getting used to, along with learning new software and what it can do, which was amazing.

Writing on a Linux operating system was another thing to get used to. I likened the combination of the two with climbing a mountain. There were several revisions that the text went through to get it in compliance with submittal, and each one was a step forward. I also would like to thank Karen Elkins and Kerrie Claire for their suggestions for graphics and titling. Any suggestions are good suggestions! Hopefully, this text is bug free enough for the meatgrinder, and Sigil, which is the ebook creator.

And a final thank you for the readers, who I will be depending on for support1 I make a solemn promise not to disappoint, and will endeavor to make any fiction as readable as possible, and any nonfiction as thought provoking as I can.

Prologue

First, how the heck did she come up with that title? I went through several prospects, like trying on clothes. Does that fit? What about that one, does it capture the essence of the story? And then Warren Zevon’s Send Lawyers, Guns and Money came on, and it clicked. The second stanza is The shit has hit the fan. If you read the story, it certainly does. And so that became the title.

Yes, this is a work of fiction. However, some of these events actually did take place. I’m not saying where, or when, but they did happen. This was a carthartic purge. The characters are either modeled after those I have known, or are pieces of me. If you read my bio, you’ll see that I was an editor, and I worked at a newspaper. You write about what you know. I was a pilot for a while, and used that knowledge to write Broken Wings. I’ve had so many professions that I feel like the Jared character in The Pretender, a series that aired nearly 20 years ago. I’ve been called a chameleon, and had one for a pet for a while.

The list that the DHS is producing is real as well, and is both scary as well as disturbing to me, as it has parallels to the old Nazi regime of WWII Germany. In fact, there are so many parallels that you can track where this is going as a result, and that is a very dark place indeed. I try not to prognosticate, but the blowback of America’s drug wars is very evident as well, and one can see where that is going. If I produce a sequel to this, it will probably be in at least 2 parts before we see a resolution. It is that complicated a problem, and very messy.

Here is a brief history for the characters: Liz has worked at the newspaper for a number of years after her rape, and kept pretty much to herself during that time. She came out of her shell when Freddie came along, and Freddie acted as a protector for Liz. Most recently, Carrie felt like she was her protector as well. When the two of them are in the same room, there is that dynamic. Liz doesn’t date much. It’s not like she’s gay, she just hasn’t gotten past the rape completely. Carrie doesn’t date for other reasons: Her town is her child, and romances get in the way. Liz uses work as an excuse, as does Carrie, and to a certain extent they understand each other that way. Colin is not only Ex-IRA, but ex army as well, and he has seen things that turned him away from the military for good. He has seen too much blood and gore in his lifetime, and hopes to never see it again. However, he hates bullies, and if push came to shove, would go berserker to keep the peace. Both Carrie and Liz would like to be in that white picket fence world, but it seems like it’s beyond reach in this lifetime. They would like children, but not in the world that they are living in, which is too harsh and cruel.

But even with all that they have gone through, it shows a tremendous strength of spirit to overcome it all. You will see as we accompany them on their journey.

Chapter One

Travels

Carrie, you have to be careful with these guys, they don’t play nice. Terry, her secretary said over the tops of her glasses.

T, I can handle those alligators. They’re the last in the swamp. With the dirt I have they don’t dare to cross me. Besides, they’re not as tough as they think they are. Carrie said after a quick exhale. She looked out the window at the beginning of summer. She had a few pounds to lose, but could still look good in a one-piece at the beach. Time to get back into Yoga… she thought. When she started the regimen, Carrie though she was going to die. After climbing mountains, just a few poses took the wind out of her, and made her realize that she was far more out of shape than she thought she was. Ambling over to a coffee pot in the corner, she poured a cup, looked at the sugar, and then her mid-section, and then dropped the packet back down and went with it black.

It was more work than she thought being mayor. At first, it was more like a glamor job, cutting ribbons and making speeches. Now she was getting into nitty gritty, and looking at ordinances and proposals to go to the council. The last one could sit on his fat ass, but being a reactionary was hard work, especially to undo all the damage of the past 20 years. She took a sip, and pulled a stapled stack of sheets from her in box. Oh God, not another one… she looked at the legal-looking pages.

T, I thought these disputes and complaints were going to the Sheriff... Her secretary was in the office getting a cup for herself, clinking her spoon in the cup making tinkling noises, stirring nervously.

They want you to arbitrate. They don’t trust or even like Bubba. Terry smiled, shrugging her shoulders.

Fine then. Let me take a look at whose dog shit on the lawn this time. She made a noise showing her irritation. Then the phone rang. Saved by the bell, she thought.

Boss, it’s Liz on line one... Terry said.

She picked up. Hi you! What’s up? She said, scanning the pages one last time.

Do I really have to go? I mean, it does no good, and I had no dreams or amazing revelations, so I’ll have to make stuff up. Liz sounded exasperated on the speaker.

Yes, you do. We went over this before Lizzie. It was court ordered because of that little incident with your room mate—you know the one they took away and institutionalized. What the hell happened with that anyway?

It wasn’t my fault that she mixed up her lorazepam and my speeders. You know I need those to keep my edge so I can do my work. She almost sounded whiny, and chided herself for doing that.

Well, they found her standing in a fountain claiming she was a prophet of the lord, and was taking Baptisms. Then when a cop came over she tried to hold his head underwater, and whacked another with her Bible. Then they did the blood test and your cocktail showed up. Where the hell did you get that anyway?

It was a compounding pharmacist that shall remain un-named. I never reveal my sources, and he was a whistle blower for that article I did on the evils of pharma. Now she was sounding indignant.

"You do realize how hypocritical that sounds, don’t you? You’re using the very same mojo that you’re preaching against." Carrie sighed. My poor Liz. What a loose cannon.

Yeah, I guess so. OK, so I’ll go….I’ll go. But no promises.

Look, you said there were 4, maybe 5 sessions left, and then they cut you loose. You never told me why exactly they ordered this.

Well, they think I drove the judge crazy. I answered everything he asked, but then there was this argument that popped up between the defender and the judge, and judgie tried to strangle the poor guy. They called me a ‘catalyst for chaos.’ Not very nice if you ask me. Then they ordered it.

Carrie let out a long breath with a whooshing noise, almost a half whistle. "That explains it. OK. So, try, please try to behave yourself, and let’s talk afterwards. OK?"

Sure Carrie. Let’s talk after the fallout.. She smiled.

Hey...hey...what did I say? Carrie shouted.

All right...all right. Forget what I said. I’ll be a good girl. Liz looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head.

OK, bye. Carrie’s blood pressure was up 10 points. I’m going for a walk T. Be right back.

Sure boss. See you then. I’ll hold down the fort. Then she turned as Carrie was about to go through the door, Don’t be so hard on Lizzie. You know she means well, even though she sounds like a brat sometimes. It’s just...

Carrie turned, Yeah. I know. Sometimes I treat her like a younger sister. And she treats me like an older one. Kind of a strange arrangement. But it seems to work. She headed toward the park to clear her head.

At the Clinic…

Liz sat in the waiting room. There were nondescript magazines—Womens’ World, Modern Design, Bridal, and none relating to news, current events, or anything violent. They took away the ones she dropped off earlier—Modern Mercenary, Guns & Ammo, Modern Mystery (featuring the story 50 Ways to Kill Your Lover) as well as several others to spice up the place. The receptionist moved her desk outside the glass partition. The doctor wanted her to keep an eye on the patients after the last time.

What happened to the other mags? Liz pointed at the scattered stack.

The receptionist glared at her. The doc went nuclear when he saw those other ones show up. He personally set fire to them in his office to make sure they were gone, and then the fire alarm went off and they came and fined him.

Why didn’t he just toss them in the dumpster?

He did and they just showed up again. He got rattled. She looked at her computer.

Oh yeah, that was the time before...right. She nodded.

What was that? She looked over the computer.

Oh...nothing. I’ll just wait here for a few minutes, or the next ice age, whatever comes first. Hey, I’m the only one here. Is he late or am I early? Liz pulled the cell phone out of her purse, looking at the time.

He’s just getting ready. It won’t be long.

The intercom came on. Send...HER...in. It was a gruff sounding voice. Liz flinched, and then rose putting the phone back and slung the purse over her shoulder, looking back at the receptionist, who shrugged and motioned her into the office.

His last name was Jung, so he thought it was predestined that he would be a psychologist. His first name was Samuel, but hated the name Sammy, as it seemed too far beneath him and all he did. Samuel had blond hair, was 6 foot 5, and wore tweed suits with a bow tie. He also had a pencil mustache. Some of his patients said he had a stick up his ass, whatever that meant, but he knew what was proper attire as well as behavior for dealing with his patients. In school he smoked cigars, but graduated to pipes with rum soaked tobacco. He liked the flavor, and on the jacket of his book he had his signature pipe with the smoke swirling as he sat in his high backed chair next to his fireplace. It was a good image to project. He was all about images. If his patients got the wrong image, he might lose them. He couldn’t have that.

But there was something about this woman…

She did something to him. He felt like the mixture in a martini shaker after she left. It took a good ten minutes to compose himself beforehand, and then he made sure she was the last patient of the day. She always wanted an earlier appointment, but he gave explicit instructions that was not to happen. Then there were the days that those magazines showed up, not once but twice, and the incident afterwards with the couple that came in for counseling whose husband was sent to the ER after a session from an accidental poisoning. There was a riot in the reception area once as well, so now the receptionist stood guard. But he was sure that woman had something to do with it. His little finger started twitching again, and he held it.

Liz knocked on the door, and leaned over peering inside, after tentatively opening it.

Come in, come in. You can either do the couch or the chair. He said.

Liz came in and sat in the big overstuffed comfy chair that the doctor used for his patients. He sat across from that chair in an identical one, and had his pen and pad in hand. Most of the time he just doodled, but if something seemed interesting, he would make note of it.

Liz flashed a nervous smile, and then sat down, smoothing her dress as she did so. She put her purse on a small table beside the chair, and folded her hands in her lap. She sighed, and nodded. The doctor gave a momentary smirk, and nodded as well. If something were really interesting, he would light his pipe and try to look distinguished. That impressed the patients.

OK, I’m ready. Liz said. She didn’t have a frigging clue what to do, and sometimes just made up things that would get a rise out of him. She thought the last time she would be cut loose for sure, but it wasn’t enough. It was a thin line—try to be irritating enough to be discharged, but not mentally disturbed enough to need more sessions. It was complicated.

So let’s begin. Any interesting things happening in your life? Any disturbing dreams?

Hmmm. Disturbing dreams...disturbing dreams...Yes! That’s the ticket! Why yes, doctor, I have had some interesting dreams. Do you want to hear one?

Well, yes, that is why I am here, to help you dear. Please continue...

OK. Well, I am this Greek Goddess in a big boat, like a barge…. Oh God, I hope this works…

Yes...yes...go on. This might be interesting enough to document, he thought. He started writing.

Well, there are all these people on the barge and the shore, and the men are throwing bananas and hot dogs at me, and the women are throwing tacos...

He drops his pen on the floor, and stoops over to pick it up, and whiffs some fragrance that causes the hairs in his nostrils to curl. He notices something stirring as well. Uh...go on.

Liz could see that the pheromone perfume she borrowed from a friend seemed to be having an effect. Yeah, and I take one of the hot dogs and put it into the taco, and then take a bite out of it, and it was really good. She didn’t take Psych for nothing in College. Nothing you learn goes to waste, as her mother always said.

The doctor noticed his head felt odd, and he pulled his jacket over his lap to hide something. This is an incredible dream! I have got to document every element! Please go on...don’t stop...remember every detail.

Then there is this really big guy at the bow of the boat, and he has a stick that must be six and a half feet tall, and he is lifting it up and pounding the deck of the boat to keep the oarsmen in sync. Pounding...pounding...pounding.

Uhhh...right. He was getting really uncomfortable. Suddenly his pants were tight, he felt hot, and his ears started ringing.

And you know what was odd? I noticed that the big stick must have been some kind of green branch, because every few times his struck the deck, there would be sap coming out of the end. And he would be pounding...pounding...pounding. And the oarsmen would be groaning every time the sap came out of the big stick.

He couldn’t take it any longer. Maybe it was the imagery, or the perfume, but he had to do something. I think we are through, miss Elizabeth. Samuel got up and walked painfully around to the back of the chair.

Oh my. It looks like you have a sore leg. There is an old remedy for that...you put honey on the knee, and rub it in. And keep rubbing until the pain stops. But some people don’t like things that get hot and sticky...

Leave NOW, please. He pointed toward the door, and when Liz was nearly out, she saw him stiff leggedly go to the bathroom in the back of the clinic that was used for collecting urine specimens and slam the door.

She stood in front of the receptionist. So what do I do now? He said we were through. No more sessions?

The receptionist looked at the schedule. He has you for at least four more. I’ll have to confirm that with him, but if you’re done, you’re done. We can call you later. Same number we have listed? She looked up.

Yeah, same number. It’s my cell. I have it with me all the time. She ambled off, and left the clinic.

A few minutes later the doctor came back looking flushed. Either get me a referral, or an exorcist. I do not want to see that woman again.

Do you really want to do that? I mean, what would your colleagues say? They might give you the same kind of referral to get rid of one of theirs. It might actually be worse. She looked up at him. A thin line of perspiration was on his forehead.

Yes...yes...you are quite right. I will get her paperwork, and sign off on it immediately. Please let her know not to come back here again. That’s all I want.

The text came through on her phone that she was done. She smiled, and went to the park for a hot dog. The band was playing and the weather was warming up. Life was good.

Carrie was more than a little concerned about her friend being alone in her apartment. Especially when she learned that the doctor signed off on her early and took a sabbatical. Summer was finally here, and she felt like going to the beach, but not alone. No...no...too many weirdos would hit on you if they saw you were alone. And since they cut Lizzie loose, she was free to come to her town and go to the beach. Perhaps even celebrate with a few drinks and a trip to a club or two. Besides, she could watch to make sure nothing happened. Things happened around her friend, and she knew that. Whether it was her fault or not, they still happened. It’s not like she was a jinx. What was that term they used? A catalyst for chaos? It was as accurate as anything else. She gave her a call.

Hey Liz, whatcha up to? I hear you’re a free woman now. What happened with that anyway? She wrinkled her nose. Something suddenly itched.

I just told him a dream, and then after that we were done. Nothing much. You know, I still have two weeks of vacation time coming up, and they keep suggesting I take it soon, since they’re renovating the offices at the newspaper.

Great minds think alike! I was thinking exactly the same thing. I can clear up the pile on my desk, and be ready for the beach. We can do a couple of clubs there as well. Flamenco sound good? Carrie was smiling.

"Flamenco sounds fantastic! Let’s do it! I can pack my bikini." She looked around to find her suitcase.

You can fit into it? How much weight did you lose? She was wondering what she looked like. It had been a while since she saw her friend. You’re not starving, are you? Sometimes I worry.

Naw, nothing like that. Remember when you suggested I do yoga? My abs are firming up. I want to show them off, and in my one piece it would be such a waste, no pun intended. So I’ll pack both. Hey, do you have a nudie beach there? I heard rumors.

We were going to, but powers that be prevented that. Once in a while they allow going topless, but that’s about it. Besides, I wouldn’t want to go nude. Too self conscious. Maybe if I do some serious body sculpting, or lots of yoga. The desk job I have tends to make somebody look like the Michelin Man. I never thought I would get stuck doing that.

Well, it happens, doesn’t it? But an hour a day can do a lot for your figure. That and a lot of salads, with an occasional dietary transgression like a hot dog. She cleared her throat.

Carrie laughed. I hear that. You and your hot dogs. We will have a better diet, for sure. Well, other than our beer and pizza night. That is a must.

And a murder mystery? Or a chick flick? Liz liked her mysteries. She liked to solve them before the protagonist.

Both. It’s a movie night, after all. One for the head, and another for the heart. And if we cry, who cares? Carrie was planning the whole weekend as they spoke.

Absolutely! Hey, I found my suitcase. Then I’ll get my makeup case, and we’re good to go. I’ve got these great shoes with gold straps and a Versace dress for the club. She started packing.

I know those shoes...too gaudy. The black ones go with that dress. Pack those, and beach shoes or sandals.