D. Larry Patterson
Author

 

Books Fiction



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When 15-year-old female sniper Billie Jean Hardin is unwittingly pitted against the Thibodaux clan of hardcore hillbilly tush-hog meth cookers blood flows, body counts build, and maniacal mayhem ensues.

Billy Jean grew up tough in rural northwest Arkansas in the heart of the Ozark Mountains in Hardin Hollow. Abandoned by her mother soon after birth, her father Hank was a disabled, disfigured former Army Sniper suffering from Posttraumatic Stress Disorder and increasing bouts of deep depression that eventually caused him to become barely functional.

Soon after her fifteenth birthday, two vicious, degenerate meth addicts murdered her father in cold blood, leaving Billy Jean alone in the world to fend for herself and seek retribution. Fortunately, she was well equipped to do so. From her first recollections, her only goal in life was to become a sniper like her father. Therefore, before his death Hank taught Billy Jean the ways of the sniper and instilled in her a love for the Ozark wilderness and the ability to survive there. An apt pupil, Billie Jean became an expert marksman skilled in martial arts.

By the time pretty blond Billie Jean was in her teens, she was a real head turner. However, staring into her beautiful smiling face, in those cornflower-blue eyes lurked the chilling look of steely-eyed determination—normally found only in experienced snipers and seasoned fighter pilots—that gave the warning, “Danger. Danger! Danger! Billie Jean Hardin is a pretty girl that can totally kick your ass in a heartbeat!”

Billie Jean’s superb skill, animal cunning, strength of character, well developed analytical mind, and overpowering resolve to do absolutely anything it takes to survive makes this an exciting and unpredictable read that causes one to wonder if this might have actually happened. If it hasn’t, it sure as hell could!

***** (5 star) Review

Real Life "Hunger Games" with a 15 year old Female sniper pitted against a bunch of Hardcore Hillbilly Meth Cookers and the Author has the ability to make you think this really could have or did happen. A touch of Clancy with the details on weaponry, equipment etc. Also the ability to paint very good, what I call, mind pictures. If that isn't good enough the author has put over 60 color photos of the area of the story and you can tell he's done his location research. I really liked this and have read all the Swagger, Reacher, and Clancy books and it felt like he left an opening for more to come which I hope he does.

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Over 60 color photos

If you enjoyed reading about what fifteen year old Billie Jean Hardin did when she was unwittingly pitted against the Thibodaux clan of hardcore hillbilly tush-hog meth cookers in Hardin Hollow, you’ll love what happens three years later when she travels to Colorado and runs afoul the Rocky Mountain Militia and Pendejos motorcycle gang.  

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Many color photos

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Your favorite female sniper Billie Jean Hardin is back again in the third novel of the Hardin Hollow series. After her run in with the scumbags from the Rocky Mountain Militia, twenty-year-old Billie Jean settled down to an enjoyable life in Hardin Hollow, attending classes at Arkansas Tec University in Russellville, and serving as a part time Newton County deputy sheriff. Unfortunately, this enjoyable life of tranquility was short lived. In less than a year, a deranged assassin began blowing away pretty blonde girls, forcing Billie Jean to take up her M-24, sniper up, and begin tracking The Shooter—first throughout Newton County, and eventually all the way back out to the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains.


In the fourth in the “Hardin Hollow” series, The Cold Hardin Facts Of Life, your favorite female sniper Deputy Sheriff Billie Jean Hardin teams up with an unlikely ally to settle the score once and for all with the Peoples Temple Of Jesus (PTOJ), a pseudo-religious cult dealing in the human trafficking of young girls. If you thought Billie Jean kicked ass and took names in the previous three books, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!

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By May 1965, 22-year-old Steve Scheer had the world by the tail. High Performance Mustang convertible. New BSA motorcycle faster than the speed of heat. Beautiful live-in girlfriend. Steady gig with a popular local bar band. All set to take the FAA check ride for his Commercial Pilot’s License. Only one more year of college before he was almost certain to nail down a lucrative job as an airline pilot. Then he stumbled across 1.6 million bucks and everything went to hell.

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Turn back the clock and return to the spring of 1957 in the Heart of America where Rock ‘N’ Roll is king—still new, raw, and spontaneous. Divorce is the exception, not the rule. Cars are American: big V-8 mothers made in Detroit sporting shark fins, shiny chrome and are fast as pure-D-hell. Though there is undoubtedly a commie hiding around every corner, front doors are never locked, and ignition keys are left in cars. Gangsters are Mafia “made guys.” The business of America is business, and it’s booming. Dads have good jobs and money in the bank. Moms don’t work. Kids play outside and walk to neighborhood schools. Teachers teach. Kids learn. Recreational drugs haven’t seen the light of day. All movies and TV programs are “G” rated. Even discussing sex in polite society is taboo. Behind closed doors, anything goes.

In this Eisenhower-Fifties environment, fueled by fast cars, booze, sex, and rock ‘n’ roll the close-knit group of friends from Isom High find themselves unexpectedly caught up in a wide variety of life altering events that suck them up and thrust them headfirst into a swirling maelstrom that continually flings them to and fro, back and forth between the emotional heights of ecstasy and depths of agony, bliss and heartbreak, understanding and confusion, joy and misery, love and hate, peace and rage, harmony and discord, trust and doubt, happiness and displeasure, success and failure, calm and panic, courage and cowardice.  

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Three years into a comfortable retirement, the economic meltdown of 2008 wiped out any chance of Larry Preston and his wife Lynne continuing their privileged lifestyle, forcing them to deplete their devastated, dwindling savings each month. Now a rabid pit-bull, Lynne made Larry’s life a living hell, constantly berating him with a never-ending harangue that he abandon retirement and find employment. The only other option was to sell their big home in an affluent neighborhood, give up vacationing three months a year, and drastically downsize their cushy lifestyle.

Larry always ended up in the right place at the right time, living extremely well, without exerting much effort. The trend continued. A History Channel documentary about the failed Whittaker Aircraft Company reminded Larry that shortly before dying in 1954, his Uncle Arel gave him a Whittaker stock certificate he believed to be worthless. In fact, Whittaker eventually merged with Boeing and the 1941 stock split so many times that it was currently worth enough to solve his financial woes and, best of all, get Lynne off his back.

The stock could be Larry’s salvation. Unfortunately, over fifty years had past since Larry, at age nine, buried the stock certificate and a few treasured objects in a cobbled-up homemade time capsule, in the backyard of his childhood home in Kansas City.

Confident the stock was still where he buried it, Larry set out to find it. Locating the time capsule and reclaiming the valuable stock certificate seemed like a simple task. In reality, the search quickly turned into a twisting, turning, seemingly endless bi-polar Odyssey of ups and downs, near-successes, blind alleys, and frustrating failures.


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From the very first glimpse Henry Wilton caught of Hank Williams hunched over the mic moanin’ the Love Sick Blues up there on the Grand Ole Opry stage in the Ryman Auditorium, he knew what his destiny was: become a hillbilly star just like ole Hank. Henry changed his name to Hank, bought a guitar, formed the Rovin’ Rangers, and the rest is history. This then is the “feel good” story about how a good ole boy from Okmulgee, Oklahoma and a lil’ ole po’ girl from Foat Wuth (as Kathy Jones often referred to herself) chased their elusive dream until they finally caught it. 

***** (5 Star) Review

If you are in a band, been in a band, or run with a band this is a great book. It shows the hard life it really is making it to the top. The author really is showing the history fairly accurately of the transition from old country music to the rocking country with electric guitars and the changing technology and the beginning influences of Rock n Roll and Blues into Country Music including the overwhelming acceptance by the audience versus the resistance by some of the old hardliners. It makes for a funny, fast paced and interesting read. I didn't care about all the song lyrics but it realy didn't detract from the story and the photos of the old places showed that the author had been there and done that.


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               Two Volumes of
   short stories and novellas





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A few winters ago, while vacationing at Cedar Lodge, a rustic venue secluded way back in the deep woods of Northwest Arkansas, the author and his wife were stranded there by the worst ice storm in the recorded history of Newton County. Ice incased trees fell by the hundreds. Soon over a foot and a half of snow followed the ice. For nearly a week, downed trees and drifting snow choked the narrow, rutted dirt road making it impassable for the entire two and a half miles out to the paved county byway. With the power out and no way to escape the lodge, in an attempt to stay warm and amuse themselves, they huddled around the roaring fire in the Great Room of the lodge with their hosts Rich and Katy Rhyme
and four other guests and passed the time telling stories and sharing their experiences.

 Captured verbatim on a digital voice recorder and transcribed to print, Ice Storm Chronicles is a two-volume collection of these dialogues. Despite the fact that some of the characters’ names were changed to maintain anonymity, most of the stories were claimed to be true. It is left up to the reader to determine which stories are fact—which are fiction—and who the characters actually are.

Author’s Note

Before proceeding, the reader should know that several months after completing the Ice Storm Chronicles manuscripts, I drove back to Arkansas seeking the Cedar Lodge owners’ Rich and Katy Rhymes approval before publishing it. I previously had entered the exact lat/long coordinates of the lodge and the entrance to the drive on the forest access road into my GPS. Additionally, as I drove away after the ice storm, the GPS recorded the exact “Track” of the driveway between the lodge and the forest access road.

When I returned in the spring, I drove down the forest access road and the GPS took me right to where the entrance to the drive should be, where to my surprise I found nothing but undisturbed forest; no road, not even a trail through the trees and thick underbrush. Out of airspeed, altitude and ideas, I parked along the road and started following the GPS track, bushwhacking my way through the dense forest, which was a real bitch, due to the almost impenetrable jumble of debris left in the ice storm’s wake of destruction.

The going was slow. I continually had to clamber over piles of fallen branches, or skirt around downed trees. Therefore, it took three times longer than it should have to beat my way through those two and a half miles of nearly impassable woods. When the GPS finally indicated I was at the exact coordinates of the lodge—and it’s accurate to within 20 feet or less—I recognized the unique rock formations I’d seen there before, but there was nothing else in sight other than the unusually sizable stand of tall, undisturbed old-growth cedar trees along the edge of the bluff where the lodge should have been. At that point, I knew that I was screwed, blued, and tattooed. However, being the stubborn bastard that I am, I kept up the futile quest for Cedar Lodge for another two days.

I never found even a trace of the place. I didn’t even locate anyone in the local area that had ever heard of Cedar Lodge, or the owners Rich and Katy Rhyme—if those were actually their names. I finally gave it up and headed for the barn, wondering over and over what the hell? for the entire seven hours I ground down the freeway headed for the house.

 Upon returning home, I found the files of narrated stories missing from my MP3 player/recorder, replaced instead by the 6-gigs of music I deleted at the lodge before recording the stories. Furthermore, the cedarlodge.com website where I made reservations and downloaded driving directions no longer came up when I clicked on it. Googleing Rich and Katy Rhyme or the names of the other guests met with similar results: nada! It was as if Cedar Lodge and all those people never existed.

 At least I still have the manuscript of the stories for proof. I certainly couldn’t have made them all up. Could I?




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The summer of 1999, fresh out of college and traveling through the mother of all rainstorms across rural Indiana on a routine business trip, Rick Ryan unexpectedly found himself thrust headlong into implausible surroundings inhabited by a gorgeous blond flapper and musicians he had previously only read about on the dust jackets of old jazz records. Rick soon discovered that sometimes a violent thunderstorm is much more than just a turbulent atmospheric disturbance. 

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