Month: March 2019

Back to the treasure hunt – Part 4

Here’s the thing.

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and back on the treasure hunt.
“Who the hell is that horrible man?” I asked, still staring after the car, long after it had gone.

I knew trouble when I saw it, and that man was serious trouble.

And the fact he believed there was a treasure map…

“My uncle Rico, he was the one my mother always credited leading my father astray.  Whatever they had been doing back then, it was never anything legal.”

So, he knows about the treasure map?”

“He knows nothing.  He thinks he knows something, he thinks I know something, but he’s not going to get it out of me.”

“What if he comes after me next?”

It was a daunting prospect, and just looking at Rico was enough to scare me.  If he had a machete to back up his insistence I tell the truth?  I shuddered.

“You tell him the truth.  We have a map, we bought it at the bar like everyone else.”

He was right.

“Boggs?”

His aunt yelled out his name in a manner that meant he was in trouble.

He motioned to keep quiet and follow him.

He took one step before she added, “You take one more step away from this house, and you’ll have more than Rico to worry about.”

A shrug, a wan smile, and then he turned back.  “Nothing more today.  See you at the Bar tomorrow, and we’ll start the search.

“Surely you don’t think that map is real?”

“Real enough, with missing pieces, we have to track down.  Tomorrow.”He turned and went back into the house, the wooden screen door slamming shut behind him.

Followed by the raised voice of an angry Aunt.  “What is all this malarkey about a treasure map, and what the hell were you doing in a bar?  I bet it was that Johnson kid leading you astray again.”

Never, according to her, Boggs’ fault, and always mine.

I guess it was time to take one for the team!

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Check out the cases of Harry Walthenson PI, a serial

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 1930s, 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://bit.ly/2J4aEBP

The latest episode:  Episode 50 – Restart

http://bit.ly/2EzV9zM

Enjoy

Being undead isn’t being alive

I remember one day many many years ago seeing a piece of graffiti in a railway tunnel:  “Being undead isn’t being alive”.

At the time I think I was suffering from a mega hangover.  Those were the days where there was no limit to stupidity, particularly when you had to go to work the next day.

But it made me wonder often over the next forty years what the graffitist was trying to tell the world.

Being undead?  What sort of expression is that?

I think he was alluding to the fact that being alive was more than just drawing breath, eating and sleeping.

I wondered what his predicament was.

Had he or she just broken up with a long-term partner, that painful time when one or other calls it quits?

Or that time after an argument with one of your parents, or a best friend, and it seemed there was no path back?

I knew what that was like because it happened to me, and no doubt just about everyone else, over the years.

It is a pain like no other, that emptiness you feel, the reaching for the phone to talk to the one person you thought understood you.

Or is it like that feeling of being betrayed, that awful feeling when you discover your partner is cheating on you, and inevitably everyone else knew, but you’re the last to find out.

That everyone else knew and thought they’d spare your feelings, hardly spares your feelings and only makes the betrayal worse, because your friends were hardly acting as friends

Being undead?

At some time or other, we’ve all been there.

Being Alive?

That to me is spending time with family and particularly when my grandchildren come to visit.

And being the writer I am, the happy ending of one of my romance novels.

Sorry but I’m an optimist.

“Echoes From The Past”, buried, but not deep enough

What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

http://amzn.to/2F7gqAL

newechocover5rs

 

Conversations with my cat – 17

Am I seriously reading my work to a cat, as an aid to correcting errors and grammar

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This is Chester, he helps with the proofreading.

It’s not his favorite job, and truth be told he’d rather be outside being chased by a dog.  But that’s why he’s not allowed outside.

He mistakenly wanders into my writing room ready to take up a spot on the seat near the window.

I watch him, and he’s pretending not to care if I’m watching him.  A wide yawn, and a dour look in my direction.  Yes, I can hear him now, “do your worst.”

For a moment while I read, trying to add the right amount of inflection and accent into the voices of the various characters, I realize that some of the conversational pieces seem a little awkward.

I think, judging from the expression on Chester’s face he agrees

Stilted, forced, or ‘mate, you’ve got a bloody awful accent, that sounded nothing like an Italian using English as a second language’.

OK, so I can’t write accents very well.  Note to self, find an Italian and spend some time talking to them.

So, the conversation needs a little rework, let’s move on.

The next part is a little descriptive, just to set the scene.

‘Flowery’ is the word Chester uses.  Flowery?  It isn’t describing a garden.  Oh, overly descriptive with too many comparisons.

What’s wrong with the sky is as blue as the ocean?

Have you seen the ocean?

Yes.

I doubt it.  The ocean is green.

How do you know, you’ve never seen an ocean?  This cat is starting to annoy me.

A gentle shrug, he gets up off the floor and heads towards the door.  A condescending look over his shoulder and he’s gone.

What’s the definition of madness?  Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

It’s official.  I’m mad!

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.

My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.

Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.

So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.

So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.

I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.

And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.

There was motivation.  I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample.  I was going to give them the re-worked short story.  Instead I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’

Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.

But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself.  We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.

One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and their were apartment building, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.

It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected.  I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.

I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.

Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.

The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party.  I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble.  No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.

Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?

But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

 

Is this really English … American?

Ever since I heard Ray Romano say, in an episode of his TV show when they visited Italy, ‘does anyone here speak American?’ I’ve often wondered if, being an English speaker, there were two very distinct different versions of the language.

Spelling wise, there is.

You say color, I say colour, you know the sort of thing.

But then there are words like ‘heater’.

Yes, like a lot of people I thought the word means a device that warms you up in winter, or when it’s cold.

Apparently not, and this is where it pays to know a little about the American language, though maybe not necessarily that one Ray was talking about.

For instance, a heater – is a gun apparently, and an expression used often during the 1930s through 1950s, particularly in films.

Quite loses all of its magic though when you yell out to your friend, throw me a heater will you, and it’s not the gun!

Give him a heater, no, not because the recipient is cold, but it is an instruction from the catcher to the pitcher – yes, it’s another name for a fastball.

And what do you know, all three definitions turn up in an American dictionary, the one referring to the gun being labeled ‘dated’, and, yet another adds the notation ‘slang’.

I’m betting Humphrey Bogart used the term more than once in a gangster film.

There are other definitions, but none so colorful as that for the gun and the fastball, except perhaps for the short winning streak at the casino.

There’s nothing like finding something that works, and then it disappears

You know the story…

Finally, someone out there gets it right and produces a product that really works.  For years, out of loyalty, you have persevered with all the little niggles because the product is almost there.

Then, finally, they get it right.

I’ve got one of those.  It’s called a Holden Commodore car.  It’s made by General Motors, in Australia.  It’s a car designed for Australia and built to work in Australia.

‘For years their cars have been great, but just miss the mark in a number of aspects, each year being beaten up by the Japanese and Asian imports on quality and extras.

Each successive model got better, and better, until, when I bought mine, it was as good as any import, if not better.  And it was ours, we knew buying one of these, the money was going to stay in the country.

Except…

General Motors decided to stop building Australian made vehicles because it was uneconomical, despite the Government handing over millions in incentives to stay.

Great decision General Motors.

Overnight it went from the number one bestselling car in this country to number twelve.

Apparently, no one is surprised.

Ford already left town years before, and there are no news Fords anywhere, not the Australian build variety anyway, and those in their last few years of life were terrible.  IT was a pity they didn’t work as hard as they do elsewhere to produce a worthy product the public might buy like Holden did.

But, alas…

There are no more homegrown Holdens, mine is one of the last few models made here, and about to, if not already, about to become a part of history.  I refuse to buy an imported version of the Holden Commodore.  They are not made for this country, or by Australians.

Sorry…

Someone has to make a stand, and that’s me!

What happens after an action-packed start – Part 12

It’s still a battle of wits, but our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because the enemy if it is the enemy, doesn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

If at first, you don’t succeed, try a few threats, or leverage

 

He took a deep breath, gave me a look a parent would give a miscreant child, and started again.

“What’s the deal with you and Commander Breeman?”

Yes, he does know about her proclivities, but he was hardly in a position to condemn her.  He, too, had a ‘thing’ for the female trainees under his command, and one in particular.

“She has to eat, I have to eat, in the same mess as it happens.”

He gave me another of his penetrating glares.

“Nothing else?”

“That would be against regulations, as I think you are fully aware.”  I returned his glare but with more intensity.

“What did you discuss over the dinner table?”

Odd question.  Not operational matters, if that was what he wanted to hear.  But what we spoke about had little relevance to work.

“Cars.”

It was true.  She liked restoring old cars from the mid-war period, some of which had been used as props in period movies.  I had an old Cadillac, the sort that would fail any fuel economy test.

I could see it was not the answer he was looking for.  He would have to ask a specific question in order to get a specific answer one way or the other.

“Did she mention the no-fly zone?”

I thought about it for a moment, and then said, “No, there are no cars out there to speak of.”

“Flippancy doesn’t become you, Alan.”

Perhaps not, but it was all he was going to get.

And for added emphasis, I said, “Like I said to your predecessor, I don’t know how or why you would have to ask the pilot.”

He stood abruptly, nearly knocking the chair over.  Angry.

“You know something, Alan, otherwise you would not have been on that helo.  She threw you under the bus, and the quicker you realize that the better.”

Then he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

What happens after an action-packed start – Part 11

It’s still a battle of wits, but our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because the enemy if it is the enemy, doesn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Old friends, new tricks.

Genial tone, trying to win my confidence.  I wasn’t going to ask, but wait for an explanation.  Asking would be like leaving the door ajar.

He sat after pulling the chair closer to the table and put his clasped hands on the table.

“This is a secret military operation known only to very few, apart from the team that is in situ.  Commander Breeman has been, against very specific direct orders, trying to find out what we are doing here.”  He stopped.

I think this was the moment I was supposed to ask, what was going on here.

If it was secret, then I didn’t want to know, and he was not going to tell me anyway.

I just looked attentive.

“You have been caught up in a jurisdictional issue.  It’s not hard to assume that you were sent here, with the pilot of that helicopter, to do an off the book search for this camp.  That, in itself, would be impossible, but the flyover coincided with a provedore run.  Just plain bad luck.”

For Joe, the pilot, it was.  Or not, if he had been given specific verbal orders, making it out to be a training run.  And the odds of me being on board at the same time, given my association with Breeman?

One coincidence too many.

And if it was as the man before had said, they knew everything, then Bamfield would know of my connection to her.

“You said you had no idea where you were when you were shot down?”

Time, I guess, to speak.  “No, I didn’t.  The desert looks all the same to me.”

“You will forgive me if I say I find that hard to believe.  I know you are better than that, Alan.  Who sent you out here?”

“I was along for the ride.  Standard operating procedure.  A helo goes up, someone like me has to be on board in case of trouble.  More conventional trouble than rockets.”

“But you specifically?”

“I don’t make the rosters, I just go where they tell me.”

Bamfield frowned.  I think he’d finally noticed I was not addressing him as ‘sir’.  Until I knew what side he was on, I considered myself a prisoner of war.

 

© Charles Heath 2019