If you ever thought everything was all wrong, you were right.

Read Lifted and find out why.

A famous internet myth suggests that evil lizard people from another dimension rule our world. After my experience in the music industry, I decided that might not be a myth. Running with the premise, spinning fantasy lit into Gonzo terrain, I took a shot at our inter-dimensional overlords.

Set in New York City, tripping out into alternate dimensions, Lifted sifts through hyper-capitalism, narcissism, corporate sociopaths, mass media, drugs, spiritual warfare and other rotten parts of humanity. But rattling through these metaphysical trashcans, Lifted pulls fun, meaning, and inspiration from the abyss.

Of course, Lifted didn’t get published— nothing about the lizard people EVER gets published. But check out the free sample below and see what happens when Hugh Gallagher takes on the Lizard People

LIFTED

Synopsis

Syd Sane should be on the cover of Fired magazine. Drifting through jobs since the lead singer of his band overdosed, the young rocker's dreams of New York stardom are finished. 

That changes when Mr. Li calls. The billionaire Chinese entertainment mogul offers the tough, street smart drummer work: a beautiful, hard partying pop star needs a “chaperone” through the New York night life. Syd will do nicely. Paid cash and given a company car, life looks good.

But when the ravishing star vanishes, Syd's glimpse of the high life shatters.

Chasing the missing pop princess through New York, the young drummer stumbles upon a realm of sinister forces. “Lifted” into multidimensional awareness, Syd is thrust into a mind-bending chase through time and space.

From Park Avenue fashion parties to Hollywood in the 1920s, through hidden underground mazes, world wars, and wild, alternate realities, Syd fights to stay sane while unraveling humanity’s most terrifying mystery.

1. EVERYBODY ELSE

The four train whooshed into Union Square, pushing dirty air with a screaming metal grind. Syd tumbled in, bleary-eyed, dodging sticky stains and one sleeping bum. It was three A.M. Buzzing lights flickered. The train jerked forward. He leaned his head on the rattling window, pulling out his pale blue check for $5.37.

$5.37

This time, they had paid him for the half hour it had taken to be fired. Syd’s life was a cover story in Fired Magazine. For the past year, he had been bounced from jobs most people did half asleep or drunk. Sometimes, it was both. They always managed. Syd never did. It didn’t matter. Nothing had, for a year. Syd hadn’t felt anything since he had felt for his friend’s pulse.

“If God be for us, who can be against us?!”

Syd looked up from his check. The small Latino preacher, dressed in a neat, cheap suit, clutched a battered Bible in his chapped hands. Perfectly balanced in the rocking car, he yelled to the sleeping riders.

“I say again my brothers, if God be for us, who can be against us?!”

“Everybody else,” Syd muttered.

In the morning, he went for the mail.

Syd had moved five times since being evicted, but kept a P.O. Box near Union Square. It was $13.99 a month. On his income, that was like maintaining a chalet in the Alps. Mostly it collected bills, but there had been a few fan letters for his old band, Void7. He kept it in case there were more.

“Hi Syd, where have you been?”

Dorothy, the upbeat P.O. Box lady was happy to see him. It wasn’t personal; Dorothy was happy to see everyone. Sometimes Syd stopped by, just to see her smile.

“Getting fired.”

“Oh, Sydney.” She checked an incoming fax. “I’m sorry. What’d you do this time?”

“A really bad job.”

She laughed. “At least you’re honest. Your mail, I suppose?”

Dorothy came towards him in gray slacks, her white sweater comfy. She had an apologetic frown.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry, you’re two months late with your bill. You can look, but you’ll have to leave them here.”

Syd shuffled through the thin stack of bills and fliers. He decided to close the P.O. Box.

“Oh wait, this came in yesterday.”

Dorothy handed him an envelope marked Magic Moments Entertainment. Syd’s heart did a double beat.

“Dorothy, it’s for work. Can I take this one?”

“I didn’t see anything.” She turned back to the row of mailboxes. “But next time bring chocolate.”

Outside, sunlight dazzled off of office windows, shining down on busy New Yorkers. Stepping quickly through the bustle, Syd caught the light, crossing 14th into Union Square. Lunch-break workers filled the steps, chatting happily in the sun. Syd found a park bench in the midday glow. He stared at the envelope. Squirrels ran along the rails of the fence. Syd ran his fingers over the Magic Moments logo. His mind ran back in time. Union Square faded away.

2 MAGIC MOMENTS

It had been a year ago. Their apartment on Eldridge street was dark. Dyn liked it that way. His records were stacked high on the warped wooden floors. His books messed the place, stuff on magic and yoga, littered with song pages, mixed in with Syd’s drum parts. The couch was sunken and ripped. Dyn didn’t sit. He posed.

“Screw Magic Moments!”

His dark, mascara lined eyes had been shining with hostility. The tattooed fingers twirled through lush black hair. “Why are we even taking this meeting? Every label in New York wants us!”

In May, that had been true. Dyn’s lush voice, flying over Syd’s pounding drums had won New York. Blasted at loft parties, rocking the clubs, Void7 had been written up and downloaded all summer long. Reps came at them from every label. The parties got bigger. The drugs got better. Dyn’s habit hit harder as meetings blurred by. He showed up high, too many times. People talked. Offers fell off. By September, their minute had passed. Magic Moments, the label from China, was their only hope.

“Just meet them,” Syd had pleaded. “A lot of bands start in Asia.”

“Please, Shanghai?!” The singer’s fierce eyes had blazed. “I want New York!”

“We had New York!” Syd had shouted. “It’s over!”

“Forgive me, O Holy Syd, it’s all my fault…”

“I didn’t say that, damn it. But we need this!”

“No, you need this,” Dyn had shot back. “What else do you have? You’re just the drummer boy.”

“Right, Dyn.” Syd had pointed to his black eye. “I got this drumming.”

Dyn knew he wouldn’t last alone. He didn’t do reality well. Syd did. That’s why the singer had come around. After a half hour in their dingy bathroom, Dyn had stumbled out glassy eyed, laughing.

“Are there girls in China?”

Seething, Syd followed him down the slanted stairway, to their meeting with Mr. Li.

Mr. Li was the Chinese entertainment mogul who owned Magic Moments. It was his custom to meet every act he signed, no matter how small. The meeting was at an opulent, vaulting hotel suite on Fifth Avenue. It was a penthouse with soaring views. Assistants were everywhere: slick Chinese beauties with shining black hair, matched in designer dresses. Plugged into laptops, chattering on phones, they filled the suite with business. One of them saw Syd’s black eye and winced.

“Do you need anything?” she had asked.

“A girlfriend,” Dyn had laughed. “You do violent drummers?

Two nights before, Syd had punched a promoter to get them paid. He had gotten their money, and a black eye with it. This happened too much. It was one of the reasons he wanted a record deal.

“What happened?” the sexy assistant asked him.

“The promoter didn’t pay us,” Syd had shrugged. “I had to step up.”

“Step up?” a powerful voice boomed.

Syd turned to see a barrel-chested Chinese man in a sparkling white three-piece suit. Sipping tea by a large window, the man had shining white hair and a matching mustache. The city stretched out below him. It looked soft and far away.

“Mr. Li,” the secretary said nervously. “Forgive me for not-- “

Mr. Li silenced her with a gentle wave. His pinky ring glistened. “Explain this American phrase… step up?”

Dyn was a born performer. Bounding to center suite, he re-enacted the drama in a swirling twirl of scarves. The tale wasn’t pretty; trashcan lids had been involved. But Dyn was wildly charming when he wanted to be. In a five star hotel suite filled with hot Chinese women, he wanted to be.

Within a few magic moments, every woman was in love with him. The effect was not lost on Mr. Li. After the short meeting, there was a black town car waiting downstairs. Inside was an envelope, with a check and contract for Void7.

“Fifty thousand?!!” Dyn had crowed, rolling down Fifth Avenue. “Syd, you said fifteen!”

Syd had said fifteen. So had all the reps, and every page on the tentative contract. He snatched the check from Dyn, staring at numbers neat and plain.

$50,000.

“It’s a mistake,” Syd said. “We have to take it back.”

“I want you to hear something.” Dyn slid down the tinted electric window. “Listen: that’s the sound of record companies, screwing musicians all over town. Guess what? This time, we screw them.”

“They’ll catch it down the line in accounting.”

“What, a month from now? Are you crazy?! We cash this check today, spend the money and tour!”

“Then legal will catch up with us!”

“So sue me! Take my futon! I’m sick of starving! This is ours. Once we’re famous the lawyers will work it out.”

The plotting singer sunk back into his seat. Syd saw the singer’s eyes. They were sharper now, losing their glassy sheen. Soon they would be bloodshot, piercing. He flipped fast when he was using: funny to fierce in a minute. He was skinny but fought dirty. Dyn bit. This was a lot of money. He would bite hard.

The Magic Moments car stopped at a red light. Syd sat staring at the mistaken payment. It was wrong. Cashing it was dirty. Syd liked feeling clean. It was all he had. Dyn extended his tattooed hand like a king.

“The check, drummer boy.”

Syd bolted out the car door. He ran. Faces blurred past. For a desperate moment, he heard the singer’s boots, pounding hard on the pavement behind him. Then they fell away, fading into curses.

“You bastard!” Dyn had screamed.

It was more of a shriek than a scream. It had been chilling. But on returning to Mr. Li’s hotel, Syd had been sweating. The beautiful Chinese secretary met him in the lobby, confused. The white boy with the black eye was back, red faced and gasping.

“The check.” He had handed it to her. “It’s wrong.”

“I’m sorry.” The fresh, crisply pressed woman replied. “It’s insulting to underpay our artists.”

“No, it was flattering,” Syd said, turning to the door. “You paid us too much.”

He crashed in Brooklyn for a few nights. Sleeping on a friend’s floor while Dyn chilled was nothing unusual. And Dyn disappearing for a week was nothing strange, either. He had fifteen girlfriends and people all over town. Dyn’s whole life was a flowing mystery, something Syd had fallen into by answering an ad for a drummer. He loved it. He hated it. He loved it. Things happened around Dyn. They never happened around Syd.

That’s why sweet relief flooded him, one week later, when running water in the bathroom woke him up. Dyn was back. Magic Moments was on. Lost in their Asian future, Syd lay staring at the digital clock. It morphed through fifteen minutes, but the water didn’t stop. Syd cursed. Water running, lit stoves, open doors and unpaid bills: this was life with Dyn. But it was parties and fashion shows, too. It was girls, lots of girls. All of them wanted Dyn. Some of them settled for Syd.

Jumping from bed that night, Syd had been annoyed. Down the dank hall, he had banged on the bathroom door. No answer. He pushed at the bathroom door. It was blocked. Syd shoved again, but the heavy weight didn’t budge. There must have been towels, he had thought. Wet and bunched up with the rug, wedged in at the bottom. Furiously, Syd had smashed open the door. Freakin’ Dyn, he had thought, I’ll kill him!

But Syd didn’t have to.

“You alone?”

Syd snapped up from the past. A smiling office worker stood pointing at the half empty bench in Union Square.

Syd left. Birds flew in a rush from his feet. He drifted through the park, holding the envelope. Memories made him lost and foggy. It hurt. What did Magic Moments want? The deal had died with Dyn. Syd hadn’t touched a drum since. He looked for a trashcan but couldn’t find one. What the hell. Syd opened the letter.

Mr. Li in New York on business.

Requests your assistance.

MM

3. CHINESE BILLIONAIRE WEIRD

It was the same hotel. Syd walked through the gilded lobby: crystal chandeliers, a spray of exotic flowers, pastel friezes of bathing nymphs. A chic Italian couple breezed past in tennis whites. To the side, near the curving staircase, Syd saw the lounge. The secretary had said Mr. Li would be waiting there. He passed through the door, leaving the bright lobby behind.

It was dark. Suave designer couches sloped abstractly in the shadows. Sweeping, plush velvet drapes covered the windows. Far across the floor, one was left open. A slanting shaft of sun lit Mr. Li.

His white hair was brilliant in the light. He held a cell phone. Beneath heavy lids, his eyes darted back and forth. The pinky ring flashed in the sun. He handed the phone to a hovering secretary; another placed papers before him. Mr. Li scratched a signature and waved both away. As Syd approached, he smiled.

“Sydney Sane, thank you for coming.”

Mr. Li nodded towards the seat across the table. His three-piece suit was white; a platinum watch chain crossed the barrel of his chest. “I was quite sorry to hear about the lead singer of your pop band,” he said.

Syd sat down. “Thank you.”

Mr. Li shook his head. “Drugs, a terrible business.” He sipped his tea, and appraised Syd silently for a moment. “A great blow to you, I’m sure.”

Syd said nothing.

“Would you care for tea?”

“Sure.”

He snapped and a woman appeared with a ceramic kettle. She poured steaming brown liquid into crystal glasses. Syd watched her body: lithe perfection in a tight black skirt.

Mr. Li said, “How is life on 207th street?

Syd was surprised to hear his address.

Mr. Li laughed lightly. “Yes, I know where you live, and I know where you worked, until your last paycheck. Tell me, how far does five dollars and thirty seven cents go in New York City?”

It was OK getting a note from a billionaire out of the blue. But not a personal profile in an empty hotel lounge. Syd wondered if this was a short-term employment offer, which involved taking off his pants.

“I’m sorry, but our band broke up. I’m out of music. Maybe you’re looking for--

“Please, don’t tell me what I’m looking for.”

Mr. Li’s low voice never raised a decibel, but thundered with authority. Syd was shocked into silence. Mr. Li shifted back to his affable purr; a charming smile beneath his pencil thin, white mustache.

“I take care to research investments, Mr. Sane. There is very little I do not know about you. Mostly, I know that you are honest. That is why you are here. One year ago, you returned a substantial amount of money to me, at a time when you had none.”

Syd shifted uncomfortably. “It was just the right thing to do.”

“It is not hard to be honest on a full stomach,” Mr. Li nodded. “When a hungry man is honest, he is to be remembered.”

Mr. Li snapped his manicured fingers. A secretary floated in on a breeze of fine perfume. She placed a folder before Syd, then disappeared.

Mr. Li said, “Open it.”

Syd opened the glossy blue folder. There was an 8 x 10 of a stunningly gorgeous blonde with regal, European features. She wore a black evening gown that was plunging, clinging, boosting, and slit. It did everything a dress could do. The chick was oozing sex; Syd imagined a pile of battered, discarded hearts just behind her and to the left.

“Ana Nev,” Mr. Li said. “Singer, actress, model. The new face of Magic Moments.”

“And the body, too,” Syd replied. He looked up to see that Mr. Li was not smiling.

“She is passionate, she is young, and she is in New York City. I am not pleased with this combination.” Mr. Li paused for a moment, choosing his words. “Ms. Nev is an enthusiastic woman. There have been situations of unsavory nature, regarding her leisure time.”

Syd thought that was an excellent way not to say ‘coke whore’.

“She is under considerable stress, as her contract with Magic Moments is finalized.”

“You haven’t signed her yet?”

Mr. Li pursed his lips, as if deciding how much to tell Syd. “Ms. Nev received informal backing from certain Russian businessmen, of ill repute. She was also part of a powerful New York modeling house. Both of these relations are in the process of being negotiated. It is costly, time consuming, and delicate.”

“I bet.” Syd gazed again at the photo. Dyn had dated girls like this. Costly, time consuming and delicate was a great way to describe them.

Mr. Li motioned for more tea. The hot liquid filled his glass. He sipped. Pursed his lips.

“I remember the day I met you and your pop partner. With all respect to his passing, he was foolish, impetuous. He was an artist; I expected as much. But you were different. Modest, serious, neatly dressed.”

It was true. Syd was the only drummer downtown who ironed his T-Shirts.

“Then your band mate told a tale,” Mr. Li continued. “How you procured payment from a dishonest club owner, with very persuasive reasoning. I said to myself: ‘Here is a young man who can take care of himself.’”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Not so long ago. But when I myself was paying similar visits to night club owners in Hong Kong-- to protect the first interests of Magic Moments-- that was a long time ago.” He winked.

Syd decided that he liked Mr. Li. He was weird-- Chinese billionaire weird-- and that would take some getting used to. But the old man was OK.

4. STEP UP

Syd sipped his tea. He relaxed a bit in the comfortable chair. Mr. Li continued.

“I need an honest young man, who can handle himself in New York. That is why you are here.”

Mr. Li glanced ever so slightly to either side. The secretaries were not nearby. Satisfied, he reached into his jacket pocket. A small, black velvet box was placed before Syd. His manicured fingers lightly tapped the front of the box.

“This is for Ana. It is sealed until the proper time.”

Syd saw a small, purple and white band. It had a silver Magic Moments globe on it, circled with tiny stars. It would break if the box were opened.

“Take it,” Mr. Li said softly. “Do not open it. Do not show it to anyone.”

Syd reached for the box. It was the kind that held wedding rings. It wasn’t heavy.

“Are you two getting married?” he asked.

Mr. Li stared at him. It was clear he wasn’t used to being asked questions.

“I’m sorry,” Syd said. “I—

“No, that’s all right,” Mr. Li nodded. “You should know, being the bearer of this token. I wish to keep it quiet. It will cause great jealousy within my organization.” He gestured to the women in the background, smiling a bit. “Women.”

Syd nodded thoughtfully, as if he understood the stresses of being a billionaire babe magnet.

“Magic Moments is a family,” Mr. Li continued. “Prone to petty jealousies. You are to tell no one, I repeat, no one, about this token, under any and all circumstances.”

Great, Syd thought. I’m an errand boy for billionaire love affairs. He felt stupid being involved. He was a drummer. Is this what happened to musicians who didn’t make it? Then the sound of a fat envelope hitting the table before him broke the trance.

“Seven thousand five hundred dollars,” Mr. Li said, “At the end of the month, you shall receive the other half.”

The Chinese gentleman relaxed back in his seat. Syd looked at the envelope. He liked the size. It was much more than $5.37.

“I am leaving New York, to make arrangements for Ms. Nev,” Mr. Li continued. “You will remain with her. She enjoys nightclubs, discos, the dubious places where standard business practices lack... effectiveness. You handle yourself in this world well. I need a man like that. Ms. Nev needs a man like that.”

Syd’s eyes played over the fat envelope of money. “Keep her out of trouble? Give her the box when you say? That’s it?”

“There is one more thing,” Mr. Li slowly added. “Something you won’t do. You will not tell anyone, under any circumstances, about this box. Should the very sky fall to pieces, it will be our secret. Do you understand?”

Syd held the powerful man’s gaze. “I understand.”

“Excellent.” A broad smile broke on Mr. Li’s face. “We keep several suites in the city for our clients.” He held up a shining set of silver keys. “The Delsamo, Central Park West: yours for the month. I’ve had a Magic Moments company credit card activated for your expenses.”

“When do I give her the box?”

“Precisely when I tell you. I will call you on this telephone.” Mr. Li placed an impossibly thin black phone on the table. “You will be ready at all times for my call.”

He pushed the phone across the table. It slowed to a stop between the cash, the keys, and the picture of Ana Nev.

“What do you think, Mr. Sane?”

Syd thought Ana must be a major bitch to warrant a 15K baby sitter. He thought he’d pour her into taxicabs, pay off doormen, and dump a lot of coke in the toilet. He thought he’d get slapped a lot. But he thought of three ex-girlfriends he had done the same for, without getting paid. Then he thought of the box, but didn’t like thinking about the box. So he thought of the money in the envelope.

“I’d be happy to help, Mr. Li.”

“Excellent.”

Mr. Li neatly pushed his chair back from the low table and stood, snapping his fingers twice. One of the women appeared with a silk lined topcoat. Mr. Li placed his arm in one sleeve, then fished in the coat pocket.

“Take this.” He tossed something at Syd.

Syd caught the matchbook in mid-air, and read a name spelled in expansive, flowing gold script. “Rublev’s?”

“A Russian bar in Brooklyn, owned by Ana’s former backers. You will find her there this evening. Then you will find a more fashionable environment for Ms. Nev. She does not belong in these…” He waved his hand dismissively. “Russian nightclubs.”

“Right,” Syd said. “I know some places downtown.”

“Of course you do. That’s why you’re here.” The woman adjusted his coat collar. “Should you need assistance, a fellow employee will greet you at the Delsamo. But I have the utmost confidence in you, Mr. Sane. You were not chosen lightly for this assignment. Should anything untoward occur, I have no doubt at all that you will…how was it again? Step up?”

Syd had to smile.

Mr. Li nodded cordially, then turned and walked away. The sexy secretaries fell in step behind him, a parade of power through the shadowed gloom.

Syd watched the man in white vanish through the far curtains. He felt the small black box in his pocket. He stared at the money. He wondered what Mr. Li wasn’t telling him.