Month: April 2016

A story page by page – PI Walthenson

How thrilled Harry Walthenson, Private Detective, had been to see his name painted on the translucent glass window in the door to his office.  Located in Gramercy Park, in an old building full of atmosphere, he had a space renovated to resemble that of Spade and Archer in a scene right out of the Maltese Falcon.  His desk had an antique phone like those used in the 1930’s, and a lamp that cast eerie shadows at night.  Along one wall was a couch, his bed for more nights than he wanted to remember, and on the other a filing cabinet, waiting for the big case files.

Up till now it had been missing cats and dogs.  Then, everything changed…

Starts at episode 1 – The Wrong Place, The Wrong Time

http://tinyurl.com/PIWalthenson01

To read the latest episode:  http://tinyurl.com/PIWalthenson59

 

My Website:  http://charles-heath.com

My blog:  https://aloysius5.wordpress.com/

 

Enjoy

 

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Thoughts, maybe

Nostalgia

Ever hear someone say it was better in the old days?

I have.

I’ve been guilty of saying it myself.

But, was it?

When I was a child there was no such thing as personal computers and calculators.  Everything came out of books, and maths had to be done in you head.

Holidays were about joining up with other neighborhood children and making your own entertainment.  I remember for long time, as a child, we didn’t have television.

It was down to the meadows near the creek to pick blackberries, swim in the water, or raiding new housing estates for off-cuts to build a cubby house.

Not like today with television, video players, movies on demand, personal computers, game boys and a plethora of other entertainment choices.

Were we better off back in the old days?

We were in the sun with no idea that sunburn led to cancer and death.  Sunscreen was unheard of, so in that regard maybe not.

In the old days the only telephones were in the house and were expensive to use.  You could have a colored phone so long as it was black and made of bakelite.

It was a long time before we had plastic colored phones or even wall phones.  Those were also the days of telephone boxes, the only way the make a call when away from home

Now every man and his dog has a mobile phone/computer while on the move.  I know, they keep crashing into me on the street.

And then I also remember my father saying it’s not like the old days, so I had to wonder what he meant.

Perhaps it is an oft-used but less understood lament for a time when we remember we were happy and carefree, those days before mortgages, children, maxed out credit cards, and the children’s mobile phone bills.

Short Story Writing – The end of the story

The stage is set for the big finale, though I’m not quite sure how ‘big’ it’s going to be.

Jack is ready to go having been given the green light by the girl with the gun.  It seems collateral damage is not on the agenda for her, though he does admit to himself she is between that proverbial rock and hard place.

The store keeper still has a plan, shaky at best, to regain hold of the situation, once the customer is out of the shop.  Nervy or not, he doesn’t think she had the capability to pull the trigger.  He knows what sort of person it takes to do that, and she isn’t one of them.

The policewoman is not sure what to expect but thinks that surprise is on her side, and whatever is going on, she will be able to resolve it.  She has her weapon drawn and ready to use.  She had yet to shoot anyone with it

The girl is at the point of no return, that point where she had nothing left to lose.  Anything she had before was gone, destroyed by the choices she’d made.  No one ever handed out a manual on how you should live your life, or provide a list of people you should avoid, and her father’s prophetic words the last time they men came home with a thud, ‘your life is defined by the choices you make’.

She was not going to jail so it was going to be death or glory.

 

Now read on:

 

Jack had heard there were moments where, in a split second, your whole life flashes before your eyes.  His did, and what he saw he didn’t like.

But, then, neither was he very happy about the fact he was nearly out the door before the policewoman on the other side crashed into him and sent him sprawling to the floor.

That was about the same fraction of a second he heard the gun go off, twice, or so he thought, and knew he was a dead man, waiting for the bullet.

Another fraction of a second passed as the policewoman tried to unravel the mess they’d become, and in that moment in time felt the tugging at his sleeve and then, as if in slow motion, the sound of the glass door disintegrating behind him.

 

Annalisa was quite prepared to let the customer go.

She kept one eye on the shopkeeper and one on the customer, sidling towards the door.  The gun was ready to shoot the first person who made a wrong move.

Or so she told herself.  It was getting heavy in her hand, she was shaking almost uncontrollable now, and was getting more and more frightened of the consequences.  She didn’t think, if she aimed, she could hit the side of a barn let alone a person standing ten feet away from her.

The customer reached the door.

At exactly the moment he put his hand 0on the door handle to open the door, another person was pushing the door, trying to make their way in.

With force.

She saw the blue cap, guess it was the police, though she hadn’t heard the siren, but also guessed the shopkeeper might have a silent alarm.

Damn.

One shot, instantly in the direction of the door, not necessarily ailed at the two people now collapsing to the floor in a tangled mess, but at the door itself.

The impact, yet another guess, might shatter the glass and make it easier to escape.

After one more job.

The hell with Simmo.  He’d dragged her down the rabbit hole far enough.  Simmo knew her first name, that she had rich parents, but nothing else.  Besides, he was in such bad shape she didn’t think he’d recover.

The shopkeeper had no idea who she was, it was the first time she’d been to his shop, and now, after a few weeks with Simmo, not ever her mother would recognize her.

She swiveled the gun and aimed it at the shopkeeper and pulled the trigger.,  One less dealer in the city was good news not bad.

She saw it hit, not exactly where, but it caused him to twist and start falling to the ground, at the same time letting out a very loud scream.  Panic or anger?

She wasn’t waiting to find out.

A last glance at Simmo, now down for the count, she ran for the door, past the two on the floor, what she could now see was a policewoman with her weapon drawn, but unable to use it.

She crashed through the remainder of the glass shards put into the street and ran.

In the distance she could hear a police car coming, siren blaring.  A warning if there was ever one to run harder, up the road, down an alley, out into another street, then down into the subway.

Gone.

 

It took fifteen seconds to disentangle herself from the customer, pushing him away, and getting to her feet, weapon aimed.

At nothing but air.

The girl had gone, and then she had the vague recollection of a shadow passing her as she was facing the other way getting to her feet.

And running out the door.

Five more valuable seconds as her brain processed this piece of information, before it issued the command to go out the door and see which way she went.

Another ten seconds to get out the door, and see the police car coming from the same direction she had earlier, screeching to a halt outside the shop, a car door opening, and an officer getting out.

Margaret was guessing at the driver to drive down the road where she guessed the girl had run, managing to yell breathlessly at the office getting out, “She’s gone that way,” and pointing.

The officer relayed the message and closed the door as the car sped off.

“What happened?”

“Shots fired by a woman, more a girl, in the process of a robbery.”

She ran back inside the officer following.

The customer had moved to a corner and was standing, testing his limbs, with an expression that said he was amazed he was still alive.

“Over behind the counter.  She shopkeeper.  He was standing there.”

The policeman rounded the end of the counter and looked down.  “He’s here.  It’s not looking good.”

Margaret didn’t hear him.  She was calling an ambulance.

 

 

Next:  The whole story, first draft

 

Thoughts, maybe

Have you ever wondered how much of your life you have spent

a) waiting a doctor’s surgery or hospital appointment, and

b) waiting on the end of the phone to reach customer service, or a public servant.

In the first instance I have had a lot of recent experience with injured children and soouse, and, more recently myself.

What bothers me is that they give you a time and place and issue all the threats around the place if you don’t turn up on time, but it seems to be perfectly ok if they are late.

It could be for some perfectly logical reason but most of the time they don’t tell you why they’re runnibg late, and sometimes don’t even apologise.

Then there is the chairs they make you sit in, obviously specially designed so you do not get comfortable, especially in hospitals.

But the most infuriorating aspect?  Just how small the waiting room is and how often it is overcrowded with people also waiting to see a doctor.

They ask if we remain respectful but after an hour and a half in those chairs and not treating us with that same respect they ask for, I’m surprised I have only witnessed one case of angry patient.

In the second instance there are two circilumstances I take issue with.

The first is where you have to srlect from a menu and what you want isn’t one of the menu items and there’s no catch all just disconnection, and

After waiting patiently on the line for up to thirty minutes or more you hear the connection, you think you are about to get to aa agent and the call disconnects.

That is only one step removed from being connected … back at the selection menu and then sent to the back of the queue.

I’m sorry, but this technology is no advancement but I doubt if we will get back to the ‘old days’.

Of course there is that other major advancement in telephone answering technology, voice recognition.  I’ve been on the end of it, and quite frankly, it just doesn’t understand me.

Odd, I Know, because I speak very good English with no accent.  Perhaps that’s the problem.

I can’t wait for the first humanoid robots.  I hope they can understand me better than the inhuman phones do!

Thoughts, maybe

There is a saying ‘you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone’.

For a long time, in days before the current technological age, I didn’t really understand what that meant.

Until now.

How many times, in the last few days have I heard the question, “Where’s my mobile phone?”.

It seems we can lose almost anything else but, without the phone we are completely lost.

Then, the other day I heard, “We aren’t able to do very much because the microwave oven is broken.”

How did we manage in the days before we had such devices.  I know my grandmother used to have a wood stove and cooked everything, from bread to a roast to making a cup of tea.

I don’t think I ever had a cup of coffee at her house, but I have a lot memories of some amazing food.  No such thing as electric kitchen appliances, or a microwave oven, not in that house.

We had the same experience ourselves when one of the fridge/freezer units broke down, and severely restricted what we could cook and store, especially the freezer.

And perhaps that’s the problem.  We take so many things for granted, and live a life that is centred around convenience.

What  would happen if those conveniences were taken away?

Certainly, for me, I know, what it’s like to lose an important piece of equipment and having to improvise, but I’m not sure how we would react if we had a real catastophe.

I haven lost my phone yet.

Let’s hope it never happens.

Thoughts, maybe

Some people we know have come up for a holiday to what could be described as a very touristy location.

But is it for a ‘holiday’?

They have come from one state to another and are staying in what could be called an apartment, not a hotel.  They are here for a week.

They have a kitchen of sorts and can cook their own meals, unlike staying in a hotel room and having to eat out or in the hotel restaurant, and the apartment also has a mini laundry.

How much different is this to being at home?

Perhaps we need to have a definition for the word ‘holiday’ and its variations.  A lot of people use the term ‘vacation’.  Others use the term ‘leave’.  Leave’s not a very good description, because it can cover a number of types such as annual, sick, and maternity.

But whatever we want to call it, is it when you’re taking some time away from work?

Or is it when you go ‘away’, that is to say anywhere but home?

You say, ‘I’m going on holiday.”

We say, “Oh, where are you going?”

Some say camping.  Is that any different than staying in an apartment, or even a holiday house?  Still all the same chores, cooking, cleaning, washing.  It’s just a different place, and perhaps the only difference is the attractions, like fun parks, or activities such as swimming or surfing.

Some go boating, or house boating, and granted there is a little more excitement being on a river, a lake, or the ocean, but, there’s still the same drawbacks.

My preference is hotels, and not having to worry about the cooking and cleaning.

A friend of ours likes caravaning.

Another likes cruising the seven seas.  They love it, kids go into the child minding, there’s movies, strolling, swimming, relaxing, and everything is provided for.

Is this why so may people are now going on cruises, and hotels are so full these days?

I guess we are all different, and all have a description for what they will define as a ‘holiday’.

There will always those who will go camping and stay in self service places like apartments, but for me, a holiday is staying in a hotel, and not necessarily one with five stars.  We have found quite a few ‘quaint’ places researching on the internet.

Other than that, when I wake up every Monday morning, I wish is was the first day of a holiday, and that I didn’t have to go to work.