Thomas A. Phelan
Tom Phelan, as a New York City Detective, had been shot at; stabbed; bitten; dragged by a stolen car; and crushed by another. As a private detective things turned out to be just as bad being on a hit list for injury and then death. His assignments were to protect Jimmy Hoffa, the Rolling Stones and then things really got dangerous when he was assigned to be Security Advisor the US Delegate to the Mid-East. While in Athens he had to save the Delegate from being harmed by 3 Arabs believed to be the ones that assassinated the CIA Chief of Station in Athens, Greece.Unknown person/persons tried to blow up his car; his plane from Madrid, Spain was sabotaged at 39,000 feet.The investigators in this book are all dead except the author.
Tom Phelan served in the United States Marine Corpse during World War II and the Korean War and was assigned to Military Police duties. He studied modern criminal investigation under the auspices of the US Marine Corpse Institute. Upon being honorably discharged attended a special school for advanced techniques in criminal investigation and forensics for the field and in laboratory. Tom worked as a lead investigator for the Wm. J. Burns Int'l. Detective Agency. He joined the New York City Police Department and made detective after making 500 arrests as a patrolman and plain clothes officer.
When Tom Phelan left the police department he took out a license for The Hunters, Inc. a private detective agency. That's when it all hit the fan.
As a private eye, Phelan was assigned as, Security Advisor to the Venezuelan Ambassador to the United Nations; Security Advisor to the US Delegate to the Mid-East, Greece and Grenada, South America; and assigned as Personal Security for Jimmy Hoffa.
Tom is now semi-retired and writing his memoirs.
I turned to the bar, took a sip of my coke and felt a sharp pain in my ankle. Somebody must have kicked me by mistake, I thought. Then a second kick, harder this time. I pretended not to feel it. The young man standing next to me was a tall, blond, husky, good looking punk executive type, wearing a gray suit. Stepping out of range, I waited for another kick, then I was going to do a job on him.
The punk stretched his six foot three frame and raised his arms out, flexing his chest and biceps."My muscles feel tight as a drum," he said so everyone at the bar could hear.
Saft nudged me. "Tom, lets go sit at a table with Toots Shor."
I was happy to go. This guy looked like he was on something other than booze.
Suddenly he was standing in front of our table threatening us with a stiletto. I reached down under the table and slowly aimed my .38 Colt Agent at his balls and said, "Listen,." I cocked the gun. When he heard the noise of the trigger, he quickly folded the knife and went back to the bar.
