A Raccoon On The Run [The harlie Series Book III] by J. F. Bernard
A Raccoon On The Run [The harlie Series Book III]
by J. F. Bernard
In book three of the Harlie Series, ‘A RACCOON ON THE RUN’, Elmo Cotton is forced, through a series of unfortunate events which he still doesn’t quite understand, to make the most difficult decision of his life. As the prime suspect in the murder of Red-Beard ‘Rusty’ Horn (and possible seven other men), and under the squinting eye of a sceptical sheriff, he leaves his wife and child behind and becomes a fugitive from Justice; or, if you prefer, a raccoon on the run.
Before he leaves, however, Elmo is given some sound advice from his Uncle Joe, an old black sailor who dies suddenly in his rocking chair one day shortly after he looks into the mysterious Motherstone. He leaves his nephew with a few intriguing hints of the past, a suitcase and a pair of ‘sailin shoes’ which he hopes Elmo will find useful along the way.
The Harlie heads south, along with the Motherstone, and before long finds himself living among a tribe of ancient Redmen, or Indians, who promptly and for reasons that soon become obvious, bestow upon him the coveted but sometimes precarious title of ‘The Great Raccoon’ and demi-god deluxe! But he is not alone; for ever since he ran away from home, the raccoon has been stalked by someone who not only knows what really happened up on the mountain when Red-Beard was killed, but moreover, what it is that Elmo has brought back down with him, the Motherstone.
I was born and raised in New York City but presently hang my hat in Port Saint Lucie Florida where I now live contently, and in relative comfort, along with my lovely wife, Maria, and my two little tax deductions…I mean kids, Wesley 9 and Maria 6. I’m a civil engineer by profession (hey, got to pay those bills somehow) who’s been writing off and on for about the last twenty years with moderate but satisfying success.
I actually prefer, and am probably better at, writing non-fiction, which, for whatever reason, seems to be a hell of a lot easier to sell nowadays, especially when it meets the current moulds and criteria set forth by the ‘big publishing houses’ that continue to churn out such modern day classics as (fill in the blank). Then again, sometimes there is more truth, and facts, to be found in one page of fiction than there is in the entire Sunday edition of the New York Times. But first you got to get it printed. Right? And in the immortal words of Mister Herman Melville (Moby Dick), another author rejected by his contemporaries and who died in virtual obscurity: “Dollars dame me! What I write, I can not sell. But to write any other way, I cannot.” I think I know how he felt.
For perhaps when they are old and curious enough, and not too busy doing whatever it is grown up kids do, and I am, to quote the dead philosopher ‘food for worms’, they just might come across, quite accidentally, of course, one of my old manuscripts tucked away in the attic, under a box of old Christmas ornaments, perhaps, dust it off, and actually begin reading the damn thing! And, you see? That’s the pay-off. The Motherload! For then, and perhaps only then, will they finally find out who the old man really was, and what he was thinking about all those long and lonely hours he spent banging away on the computer keys (if computers still have keys by then) and discover that, maybe, he really wasn’t as ‘whacked-out’ as everyone said he was. Or maybe not…
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