Kindle Edition Amazon Category:  Literary Fiction Publisher: Neverland Publishing LLC ISBN-10:  0982697112 Type: Fiction Pages: 403 Copyright: Nov. 1, 2011 ISBN-13: 9780982697115 Price: $2.99 (eBook) The last thing Riley Mansfield ever wanted to be was a hero. Riley Mansfield is not your typical hero. He writes songs for a living, smokes pot for recreation, and just wants to live and let live. When Riley foils an apparent terrorist plot to blow up the small plane he is on, he is thrust into the spotlight, which is exactly where he doesn't want to be. Suddenly, everyone wants a piece of him, including both major political parties. They aren't willing to take no for an answer, partly because it's an election year and partly because what happened on the plane is a bit more complicated that it appears.       Excerpt CHAPTER ONE WHOLESOME GOODNESS Riley Mansfield sat quietly in a world of dull glistening. The stool was wooden, and the floor was brick tile, but everything else emitted the blurred reflections of pots and pans, sinks and spigots, steel cabinets, steel stoves, steel everything. It wasn’t exactly charming, Riley thought, but charm wasn’t likely to be a priority for the kitchen of the First Baptist Church, Killeen, Texas. Nor should it be. He was hiding. His Aunt Sally didn’t know he was here. She didn’t know he was within eight hundred miles of here. Through the double doors, Riley could hear people talking about her, paying homage, offering up tributes and all kinds of other heartwarming shit. Riley was the picture of relaxation. He wore khaki trousers, a black dress shirt and red-and-blue striped tie. His hair, which had extended to his collar, had been freshly shorn at the Great Clips in a nearby strip mall. He looked at himself in the glistening door of a stainless-steel refrigerator. By God, I could almost still pass for a quarterback. A veteran quarterback, but still … The emcee sounded like a coach. He had to be. He might be an administrator now, but like most male principals and superintendents in public high schools, he had once been a coach. Riley was sure of it. He imagined Darrell Royal. “Now, Sally, next up we’ve got someone real special, young lady,” said Coach Royal’s voice. “I’m pretty sure you’re not expecting this, but you’ve got a relative from way back in South Carolina, and I’m told he writes pretty fair songs.” Riley heard Sally Sue Ramseur Lollis gasp. She was a drama teacher and had once been an actress. People could hear Aunt Sally gasp on the rifle range at Fort Hood. Riley had written a song for Sally’s retirement party. When he had played it for his mother, he had fretted that perhaps Sally might cry. Sara Mansfield had lowered her chin, looked over the top of her reading glasses and said, “Riley, you know Sally Sue, she’s gonna cry.” Sally cried as Riley grabbed his guitar, pushed open the double doors, walked behind tables littered with valuable Aunt Sally memorabilia, blew her a kiss and plugged in his guitar to a public-address system that, in Riley’s professional estimation, might or might not work. He sang the song he had written on Tuesday, worked out on Wednesday, studied on the plane on Thursday and played over and over in a Fort Worth motel room on Friday. He had sung it over and over in the rental car driving down I-35. His fingers were trembling now, oddly. He spoke a few words to test the sound, strumming the guitar to make sure the audio was going out into the “fellowship hall” with some rough semblance of balance. “It is apparent to me that all you folks in Texas know my aunt merely as Sally,” he said, “but back in South Carolina, where her family’s from, we still know her as Sally Sue.” I knew you, Sally Sue, back before I could walk I knew you, Sally Sue, before I could talk Your mother wrote me letters Your boy shared my name Your cousin was my father Your heartache was my pain I remember you in Panama You told me of L.A. You came to town for Christmas And stayed past New Year’s Day I remember back when Texas Was a trip of several days When Frances was my tour guide But Cas knew the way CHORUS Riley’s sense of humor Matched up with my own I shared his love of baseball I can’t believe he’s gone I argued with his father A most insistent man But you raised Riley gentle Molded in your hands CHORUS So now I’m back in Texas This day belongs to you I finally get to see just Exactly what you do I knew your sense of drama Was advanced and well conceived But you don’t have to tell me now How well it’s been received CHORUS Though his fingers continued to tremble as he strummed the guitar, Riley pulled it off the way he always did, looking relaxed even as inside he felt nervous. Sally Lollis, who had for 32 years been drama coach at the local high school, continued to weep throughout it, and when it was over. Riley stepped down, leaned his guitar against the stage and walked into the crowd to embrace his aunt. “I tried to put some little phrases in there that would mean something to just you and me,” he said, “and at the same time, I tried to make it where it would be entertaining even to people who didn’t know all the little hidden meanings.” “Oh, Riley, this means so much to me. You performed magnificently.” “I reckon,”he said. After Sally released him from her robust hug, he awkwardly walked over to a table nearby and watched as would-be Coach Royal introduced the next testimonial. The remaining tributes were equally divided between fellow faculty members and former students. Coaches talked about how much Sally’s late son, Riley John Lollis, had meant to them when he played baseball and football for them. A struggling actor told about how “Miss Lollis” had helped him earn a scholarship at the University of North Texas. Two other young college graduates talked about their friendship with the son and enduring love for the mother. Afterwards, cake, punch, cheese-and-sausage balls, chips and dip were enjoyed by all. Then Sally invited Riley to join a small group of friends for dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant favored by “officers from Fort Hood.” Sally’s father had been an officer at Fort Hood, which is why her part of the family had settled there after he retired. At the restaurant, Sally explained to her friends that her nephew still lived in Henry, South Carolina, from where her family had moved when they settled in Texas. She told them he made a living as a musician and that his songs had been recorded by Jimmy Buffett, John Hiatt (actually it was John Prine) and others. She also told them that he had played football in college and that she had known him since he had lived at his grandparents’ house, along with his parents, until he was two. Sally wasn’t precisely Riley’s aunt but rather his second cousin. Her first cousin had been Riley’s late father. Just like her mother, also deceased, she often called Riley by his father’s name. Riley never corrected her. She’d been doing it his whole life. He was sure it was confusing to Sally’s friends, though. “Yeah, Buffett recorded a song of mine called ‘Down by the Sea Side,’ and I guess that’s the song some people know me by,” Riley said. “It’s just a feel-good song, I reckon, not much heavy lifting. It’s funny how the simplest little songs you write are the ones that wind up being the most successful.” “Did you ever think about becoming a recording artist yourself?” asked the only other male member of the party, whom Riley remembered as being Riley John’s baseball coach at some point. Riley was pretty sure he’d said he “played a little guitar,” too. “Well, I am, a little. I’ve recorded several albums, one that came out just a couple months ago. But I guess you’d say that I make a living off royalties from my songs, and I kind of just break even selling CDs and appearing in person,” Riley said. “I think it’s good to try to stay visible, and I don’t think there’s anything I enjoy more than singing my songs in front of audiences, but I haven’t ever really had that burning desire to be a big star.” The coach nodded and said “I hear you,” but the look on his face suggested that he found Riley’s attitude similar to a third baseman who wanted to play but didn’t care about winning. To each his own, Riley thought, determined to remain convivial. He had Diet Coke with his ravioli and refrained from the use of profanity. “I just kind of like to do my thing,” Riley said. “Not that I’m good enough or anything like that, but I’ve been around famous people, and there’s a trade-off. I believe I’d rather make a little less money and have a little more privacy.” It was impossible to explain it to people who had plenty of privacy and didn’t appreciate it. Sally invited Riley to stay over, and she may have even meant it, but he explained that he had a flight to catch the following morning and that he needed to be heading back up the interstate to Fort Worth. Back on the road, Riley realized why his hands had been trembling. He couldn’t remember it ever happening before. It was because he was sober and he didn’t often play music in front of people sober. He’d known he should’ve smoked a little weed in the parking lot, but after all, it was a church and it would’ve been a really stupid way to fuck up a surprise party. Riley hadn’t come all the way from South Carolina just to mess things up. The next morning Riley rose early, blazed a little and took special care to hide the rest of his weed in his overnight bag. Then he ate voraciously at the motel’s free breakfast and headed for the Dallas-Fort Worth airport and an American Airlines flight home. As it turned out, it wasn’t that easy. The flight from DFW had a big, flashing “canceled” blinking on the video boards when he walked in with his laptop in a backpack, carrying a guitar and the overnight bag. Riley checked his cell and found a text message saying the same thing. After fifteen minutes in line, he found himself rerouted through New York’s LaGuardia Airport, which, in turn, meant that he would be getting home five hours late. It wasn’t a big deal. He had a gig on Monday night at a small bar in Columbia, so, as long as he got home sometime on Sunday, everything would be cool, though slightly more complicated. He checked the bag with the airline and proceeded through the security check points with the backpack and guitar. For two hours, Riley consumed a blueberry muffin and cup of coffee, reading first the New York Times and then a couple of Annie Proulx short stories from a collection he’d bought secondhand in Dover, Delaware, a month earlier and never removed from the backpack. For a time, Riley watched the people bustling through the airport. He thought it amusing to separate the commuters by part of the country. Some people could be from anywhere. Others were obviously either from abroad or obviously still connected there. Some wore their regions in their hair, their footwear and maybe even the looks on their faces. Women were particularly interesting, he thought. Many Northeasterners, Riley reasoned, tried with some diligence not to be particularly attractive. He thought there might be a song in it but couldn’t come up with a hook. Riley got mildly annoyed when the gate agent hassled him about his travel guitar. “You may have to check that,” she said. “Ma’am, whatever you say, but the very reason people use undersized guitars like this one is so they can carry them on planes. They’re really pretty easy to fit in the overhead bins.” The woman frowned, disappointed at Riley’s lack of submissiveness. “Well, check with the flight attendant,” she said, waving him reluctantly past. Riley looked around, reckoning that the plane was only going to be half full. It was hassle for the purpose of hassle. “Another glamorous day of air travel,” he mumbled, drawing a nod from the businessman filing in behind him. “Woman must be a Yankee who don’t like Southerners,” he muttered to no one, because the businessman might himself be a Yankee.

A Very Entertaining Read!
I just finished reading Monte Dutton's "The Audacity of Dope," and I was thoroughly entertained by the book! Having read Monte's columns in the Gaston Gazette, I was eager to read his first novel, and I was not disappointed in the least.
Mr. Dutton's writing style for "The Audacity of Dope" reminds me of Peter Gent's "North Dallas Forty," or Richard Hooker's "MASH." Both of those classic novels, like Monte's, presented a story steeped in the battles of bureaucracy, drug and alcohol acceptance, and government ineptitude, but written in a humorous manner to engage the reader. The main character in Monte's story, Riley Mansfield, could easily be a relative of either Phil Elliot, the football player in "North Dallas Forty" who coasts through life with the help of alcohol and drugs, or Dr. Hawkeye Pierce, the blithe and glib army doctor in "MASH."
In addition, the story Monte written is relevant to a lot that is going on today. Particularly, the recent downturn in the economy, the upcoming presidential election, and the long-standing war on terrorism. Parts of the story may appear extreme in viewpoints, such as good versus evil, right versus wrong, but I felt that enhanced the story in maintaining its humorous style.
Overall, a good, and entertaining read!

Outstanding Reed!
It's an outstanding read. I only put the book down twice. Once was to watch the Alabama vs. LSU game after reading the first three chapters. Picked it up again the next day and only put it down to take my lovely wife to dinner. Just like a good country song it has everything. It has political intrigue, romance, suspense, humor and surprise plot swings. I laughed, said 'wow' out loud several times, and I bet some people might even blush. Congratulations, Monte! Your character, Riley Mansfield, gave me a fun day of reading that made me want to skip watching Sunday NFL football and the NASCAR race. I'm looking forward to your next novel.

Even Non-Fiction Readers Will Love This Novel
I am always skeptical of fiction novels so it was a leap of faith for me to tackle this book, but I am glad I did. The author's ability to describe the characters, settings, and conversations make this story seem very real. I found myself staying up too late trying to get to the next chapter to see how the story would unfold. You don't have to be a pothead to find this book interesting; it is entertaining and ultimately alarming to think how the story could play out in real life. Do yourself a favor and dive into the world of Riley Mansfield for awhile to see things from his point of view.