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Driver Chronicles
Book 1 – The Passenger
Niall Roche
Niall Roche Books
Copyright (C) 2015 by Niall Roche
All rights reserved.
Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited. The author (me) greatly appreciates you taking the time to read his work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends about it.
The idea of ever releasing these books scared the living crap out of me, so I hope you enjoy them!
Dedicated to everyone who encouraged me to keep going when I didn’t want to.
What people are saying about Driver Chronicles – Book 1. I’m genuinely flattered by these reviews folks, I really am.
'A highly entertaining read, I couldn't put it down. I feel I will spend my days begging the author write more. The Author creates a tension in the story that is enrapturing, the character development is almost 4 dimensional and the plot will have you completely engrossed.' - Stephen Stone
'Not certain how to describe this book! I only know that I am calling Mr. Roche's home to see when book 2 will be ready. I would have bought it tonight! This takes the most controversial headlines, puts a ring of truth to the conspiracy theory behind them, and then plunges you into a tub of ice water! I don't have enough yet so I am ready to go back for another plunge! Just read it!' - Raindance
'This book caught me by surprise, I haven't read fiction in an age so was sceptical about reading this but it came highly recommended so I gave it a shot. I did not regret it, the pacing is excellent - the story rolls along wonderfully, in fact I couldn't put it down - my only complaint is that it finished far too quickly. A friend compared this to Dan Brown but that is a disservice to the book, its way better than that. I'm looking forward to #2.' - shibboleth
'A great story based on real events but what really happened. Leaves you wanting more. Get it you will not be disappointed.' - Paul M
Things do not happen. Things are made to happen.
- John F. Ke
Driver Chronicles
The Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Driver Chronicles – Book 2 – Chapter 1
The Author
Niall Roche started out in life wanting to be a rock star, but when the reality of that ever happening vanished, he decided he should have a career doing stuff. He wasn’t quite sure what he should be doing (and some people would argue that’s still true), so over the space of the last 22 years, he’s worked in IT (nerd), as an IT trainer (teaching other people how to be nerds), and finally settled on doing something that ranges between freelance writing and working as a business communications specialist for a company.
Now that’s he finally grown up, at the ripe old age of 42, he’s now decided he wants to write books for a living, and for fun, too.
Niall lives in Waterford, Ireland with his long-suffering girlfriend, Trish, and their dog, Butters. And, yes, Butters is named after the character in South Park, despite the fact she’s female and looks absolutely nothing like Leopold “Butters” Stotch.
If you really like his stuff why not leave a nice review of this book, or any of his books, on Amazon?
And if you’d like to keep up with his writing you can always add yourself to his mailing list:
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P.S. He will totally bribe you with free stuff for subscribing.
Chapter 1
There'd been some crappy days in his life so far, but today was definitely moving a notch higher on the 'Day from Hell' charts every time he looked around. In the end, he was just glad to park his cab, turn the ignition off, and say "laters!" to cheap fares, traffic from hell, and a throbbing headache that made his left eye feel like it was trying to eject itself from his head with as much force as a small nuclear weapon. It hurt. A lot.
His small-ish apartment had that smell you only got around single guys - old food mixed with stale farts and even staler beer. He liked this dump though, it was his dump after all. It was the kind of organized chaos that appealed to him in its own special way, he knew where he could put his foot on anything. He wasn't a neat freak, hell no, but he wasn't a slob either, or at least not a very serious kind of slob. If there were a “Slob Olympics”, he was from one of those poorer countries that would show up, do badly, but get a round of sympathy applause anyways.
He looked around at a room that was lit only with whatever light was streaming in through his blinds. It had been a long time since he’d actually lived here, now he just existed here instead. Turning on the lights would only remind him of how he was coasting through his life instead of actually doing anything with it. It had also been a long time since this place had seen a woman. That goes on my ever-growing ‘to do’ list then, he thought to himself.
Being a taxi driver was a strange job at the best of times. For example, he’d accepted that taxi drivers hear a lot of stories – that was part of the job. It was the same deal for people working in bars. People come in, tell you their woes, and then leave again. He’d heard it all in the last few years, but today had been a lottery win of crazies. From the suicidal business man, to the lady who wanted to pay her fare in a currency he was sure she’d printed at home, right on to the crazy guy who kept telling him he could be “saved” if he wanted to. Today had been enough. This day had been more than enough.
The word "beer" appeared inside his head again, almost like it would in one of those old hilariously violent cartoons kids used to watch when they were...well...kids. He missed cartoons. Sure, kids had edutainment programs, filled with important moral messages, but they’d never know the pleasure of laughing so hard at cartoons that they squirt milk out their nose. Maybe they do. Maybe he’ll ask that giant purple dinosaur he always sees on TV.
He threw his jacket across the room, landing on top of the other jacket he'd thrown there yesterday, and slumped into a chair, staring at a TV that was switched off. Probably just as well really because the only news they seemed to show lately was bad news. War, famine, death, and more war. Wars fought for oil and land now turning into wars fought for the sake of big business. Wars fought for water were coming next – it was only a matter of time. He’d had his share of warfare. A big fat slice of it he was still chewing on years later.
He felt a lot older than his years tonight. A lot older and more tired than he had in a long while. It was that kind of whole-body tiredness where you almost ached from it. "Bone tired" barely even covered it.
Beer would make it better. At least he hoped it would. He decided to get up and test that theory, rubbing the sleep from his face as he pushed himself upright.
Fortunately, he had a few cold bottles of that imported German stuff in reserve. In case of personal emergency, open fridge, he smiled to himself. He reached inside, pulled out a bottle, and opened it. Each motion was completed as if he was on autopilot. It was like a sixth sense for a seasoned drinker. He drank down as he vaguely listened to the static of life floating in off the street, a constant hum of existence that never really went away. Some people would hate it, but he found it kinda comforting to know that they world was still ticking along out there, while he was ticking along inside here.