Monague O'Hara Paranormal Detective
Chapter 1

Montague O’Hara

None of the Above

I am Montague O’Hara, the paranormal world’s greatest detective. Last night had been another night of epic proportions. Last night was epic because it was St Patrick’s Day, and I had been partying from dawn until well passed midnight, in the best Irish Bars here in New York City.

I have in the past celebrated St Patrick’s Day in Dublin, Glasgow, London, along with several other cities in Europe. One of the wildest cities I have encountered a particularly unexpectedly wild St Patrick’s Day was in Hamburg Germany. This time round I am in New York, the first time celebrating St Patrick’s Day on this side of the Atlantic. My business card says I’m Montague O’Hara Paranormal Detective, but that is all my creation. I have absolutely no belief in any paranormal world, but I have discovered there are plenty of fools, out there that do, and I have mastered the art of fooling them for profit.

This is my first trip across the pond. In the past all of my exploitation of fools has been on the other side of the Atlantic. Isn’t the power of the internet wonderful. Some rich sucker on this side of the Atlantic found my website, believed the bullshit I had placed on there, and has hired me, for exactly what I am not sure of, but will get to find out tomorrow. With the hangover, I have after last night, I am pleased it is tomorrow and not today.

I will take this opportunity, to let you all know, a bit about myself. My mother is from an old aristocratic English family. None of these snobs like to admit, to her past, or worse still, that I am part of the family, she is the one, they all try to disown.

They all avoid admitting this part of her life, although part of the family. My mother was an out of control hippy, or flower child. From the time she was eighteen to over thirty, she lived a somewhat interesting life. Most of this time she was stoned, and partaking in a free love lifestyle, living on the edge of reality. When she was thirty-one, she turned up pregnant, carrying me. When pushed to identify the father involved, the only story, she has come up with, is my father was a leprechaun, by the name of O’Hara. The family suspects my father was an Irish Gypsy, with the name O’Hara, who took advantage of a silly woman, who only had a small attachment, with the real world at the time.

When I was born, my mother insisted of giving me the surname of O’Hara, on my birth certificate. She told her family that my father, O’Hara, the Leprechaun had insisted that she does this. The family were only too pleased, at this decision, as this embarrassment of me having the same surname, as them and my mother, has been avoided. With my dodgy way of making a living is even more of an encouragement, to deny that I am part of this aristocratic family.

I was always good at school. I was given a quality education, and have arts and history degrees, fluent in both Latin and Gaelic, along with a vast knowledge of ancient peoples of Europe, back to the days before Stonehenge was constructed. If I had been a legitimate member of my mother’s family, I would have, by now, acquired a good academic post, at one of the main British Universities.

At University, I had made European Folklore a bit of a specialty. European Folklore was the topic I chose for my PhD. But in spite of my good performance, in the academic world, I always come up against a road block, that prevents further progress, in the pursuit of a good position, as an accepted academic, the influence of my mother’s snobby aristocratic family.

The attention and publicity, that one of these academic positions, would bring, may force them into acknowledging my existence formally. There are many holding these posts as they have the right connections, that were my intellectual inferior at University. Without being too boastful, I would possibly be one of the world’s leading authorities on European folklore, myths and legends, but have never been permitted to take up an academic position where I would get the chance to prove this.

My education has been a great foundation for my business. When required, I can baffle with bullshit, all those that seek me out for my services. Britain, being an old country has many old buildings and legends, I can exploit. There are many creatures from folklore, that I can make use of, elves, pixies, goblins, leprechauns banshees witches, just to name a few. Being prevented by the snobs and posers, from my mother’s aristocratic family, from reaching my potential, in the academic world, has upset me somewhat, but the other half of my genes, from O’Hara the Irish Gypsy, takes great delight in me ripping off, scamming and generally exploiting, rich aristocratic fools, in the best Irish Gypsy tradition.

Now for the first time being on the USA side of the Atlantic, there may be a market, for my trickery, I had never considered before. Compared to the British Isles, the Americas seems like a relatively young country. But when I thought about it all, and did a bit of research, the first colony, Jamestown Virginia was in 1607. Then we think about the Salem Witch trials, there is a bit more opportunity over here, than one would first think. Then I considered the Vikings came here about over thousand years ago, I could tap into all that Norse legend and mythology. There is also some Native American stuff to exploit.

It will be most interesting, to check out opportunities, while I am here. All that is required, is a good supply of rich fools, all with too much money, and too little intelligence or common sense. I am sure, without much effort, I will be able to find a good supply of these fools to make it worth my efforts.

Today I will be meeting Ms Gloria Sullivan. Before committing to make the trip across the ditch, I googled Ms Sullivan, but could not find out that much about her. Google gets a few hits, but no one particularly super rich and famous. I have an appointment to meet Ms Sullivan in the hotel lobby at 1:30 pm. As she has been on my website, she informs me that she knows what I look like, so she will come up to me.

Right on 1:30 a very prim and proper lady, I guess around thirty years old, walks into the lobby. Dressed in a “power suit”. She has glasses, and her hair is dark, and pulled back into a tight bun. The scowl on her face, and general appearance, caused the word lawyer, to pop into my head.

She walked straight over to me. “I am Gloria Sullivan, a lawyer.”

In my profession, the word lawyer, sends a chill up my spine. Meeting one, before I have even met the client does scare me a bit.

“I am representing my father, Frank Sullivan, in this confidential matter.” She continues.” Before anymore can be said, about this matter, I will need you to sign this non-disclosure agreement. If you are not prepared to sign this, the meeting will finish now, and you can go on your way.”

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