Two experienced entertainment industry professionals become action heroes in spite of their better judgement at an age where their contemporaries are thinking of retirement.
Set against the backdrop of the arcane world behind the scenes in the live entertainment industry, "Stagehands Walk" is an action story about two men and the people they care for as they deal with threats both to their lives and their livelihoods. Unlike the typical young action hero acting in relative isolation, these men are approaching retirement age and must make accommodations that would not inhibit younger men. The environment in which these men live gives the story more depth than the typical action story.
Excerpt
The bright red granular spot of laser light appeared on O'Donnell's chest. He gazed at it with as much calm as he could muster given his current state of exhaustion. The still functioning part of his brain instantly recognized the laser's characteristic dispersion pattern. It could be either a benign laser pointer in the hands of one of his coworkers or a hostile gun-sight laser in the hands of a trained assassin. Although why anyone would want to threaten him this way was beyond him. The days when this might have made sense were decades gone. In any case, he was in no mood to sort this out. O'Donnell was way too tired for whatever this was. He attempted to focus his bleary eyes on the short elderly Chinese man blocking the walkway in front of him. He shook his head to clear his mind. If this was someone's idea of a joke, it was not funny. They could bother him later. He might enjoy the humor later. He was going home and no vertically challenged refugee from an old age home was stopping him. He had worked too many hours in a row with no sleep and had every intention of dragging his sorry little self to the car and going home to bed. There was nothing wrong with him that a good night's sleep and a solid breakfast could not cure.
The Chinese man had appeared from behind a hedge and caught O'Donnell by surprise. O'Donnell tried to step around the stranger. He was doing his best to control one of his most intense hatreds. Old animosities died hard. Half a world away and a generation ago he had patrolled a tropical jungle where the Pentagon's official "smiley faces" mouth pieces insisted there were no Americans. The Chinese insisted that none of their people were there either. They both lied. O'Donnell knew differently. He had been there. In those days he would have quickly taken his rifle and shot this intruder. Killing came easy when he was younger. He had plenty of experience. He had few regrets. But today he had no rifle. Of course, even in the close quarters of jungle combat, he would not likely have gotten this near the enemy without being shot himself. Thirty straight hours with no sleep working in the Convention Center made him testy. When the small man blocked his path, O'Donnell roughly pushed him aside.
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