Pigeon Springs

The FBI had become a part of him. It wasn’t all of him. He was a lot of other things, too. He was a husband, a father, a grandfather, a son, a brother, and a veteran. He was a friend to some and to a few, a hated bastard ¯ but just a few. Now he was a director of security for a Las Vegas casino and hotel. Life was a series of building blocks: one on top of the other, each one dependent on the other. But he wouldn’t have the position if he hadn’t been an FBI agent for twenty-five years. He wouldn’t have been an agent if he hadn’t gone to college after serving in Vietnam, and he couldn’t have attended college if he hadn’t been drafted into the army. And none of it would have happened if he had never met Alex: Especially the mystical journey called Pigeon Spring.