Tag: Tom Fahy

The Beekeeper ➸ A Novella by Tom Fahy

In a world in which guile reigns, can justice be wrested from the hands of those that dictate the status quo? Val Tyner and veteran handler Jagger Namzamo are about to find out. Join them and a cast of unforgettable characters as they attempt to expose the fraud of the century and beat the Establishment at its own game.

Ted

“My biggest mistake?” “Yeah, the biggest one. The one you regret, the one that keeps you up at night, makes your throat dry,” said Duff. Ted put his foot up on the rickety wooden railing skirting the weathered deck, scratched his chin, squeezed his eyes shut and said, “My Father’s House. Writing it, taking the time, doing the research. It was a terrible thing, a monster. I shouldn’t have done it.” “It was the big one—” “Biggest!” Ted confirmed. “I wrote it for the wrong reasons—sat up in the hole with one light burning, the window open, listening to those…

My Name is Eoghan Wyndham

My name is Eoghan Wyndham. I represent the estates of Tom Fahy and Aestrid Byrne on the behalf of the Lionel William Eisley Cos., Galway, Co. Galway. Not only do I serve as chief legal counsel to the aforementioned business concern, but also, with varying degrees of success, as digital curator for its extant media catalogue. My relationship with the Fahy, Byrne and Eisley families was not superficial. We were childhood friends. The Byrnes’, Thomas and Aestrid, were neighbors, in as much as intersecting copses may be constituted as such. And Byrnes and Fahys were bound in love and business…

Hotel Ivanhoe

I was out, it was cold, I needed a ride, was shivering in front of the post-office, wasn’t wearing a jacket. It was snowing. Two girls in a Volkswagen, one an old classmate, pull up to the curb, say they will give me a ride. The car is warm. I begin to thaw. The girls smoke and giggle, say they need to make a quick stop, that I should come along. I come along. We drove to the outskirts of town, parked behind a fleabag hotel. The classmate, who was driving, bruises all over her body, but mostly on her…

Each Arrow Overshot His Head

Reviewer: Philip Hartley, “Each Arrow Overshot His Head.” Berchtesgaden Review of Books, Vol. 1, No. 1, May-June 2012 It is an unseasonably warm day in March. I sit with Fahy under an awning of an Italian restaurant in Poughkeepsie, NY a handful of blocks from the edge of the Hudson River. Overhead, a bald eagle tucks in its wings and aims for the horizon like a missile. Several minutes pass before Fahy and I speak again about practical matters. He is thinner than I remember and his hair longer, but the lightning flashing in his eyes is unchanged. I have made the…