Florence is littered with endless statues, and we managed to see quite a few,
If those statues came to life I wonder what they might tell us?
Like castles on the shores of the Rhine, there are only so many statues you can take photos of. Below are some of those I thought significant
Michelangelo’s David directs his warning gaze at someone else.
The impressive muscles of Baccio Bandinelli’s Hercules from 1533. The worked-out demi-god is pulling the hair of Cacus, who will be clubbed and strangled.
Achilles with Polyxena in arm, stepping over her brother’s body
Menelaus supporting the body of Patroclus, in the Loggia dei Lan
Statue of Hercules killing the Centaur by Giambologna in Loggia dei Lanzi. Piazza della Signoria.
On the back of the Loggia there are six marble female statues, probably coming from the Trajan’s Foro in Rome, discovered in 1541 and brought to Florence in 1789
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
——
A second report from Blinky’s surveillance of the castle had Leonardo on the move, and a second shadowy person following them.
It had to be Jackerby, Atherton thought. Jackerby would be the only one who didn’t trust anyone, or, perhaps, he had more murderous intentions. Maybe he had worked out that Leonardo was rapidly becoming a liability.
Or he had some other agenda.
“How many of resistance are waiting at the barn?” Atherton asked the soldier.
“Four. The fifth went to find them.”
“OK. Carlo, take some of the soldiers and stop them.”
He grinned. At last.
“I’ll deal with the other man.” I whistled and Jack came over. “We have a job to do, Jack.” He had no idea what I was saying, but his enthusiasm was obvious.
“Taking any prisoners,” Blinky asked.
“If the situation warrants it, but if the fire on us, we fire back.”
“And, once that’s done?”
“We retake the castle.”
“Sounds a bit like a story out of a Boys Own annual.”
“It does. It’ll certainly make a good story to tell your grandchildren one day.”
“If we make it back.”
“We will. If we’re careful and don’t take unnecessary risks. I won’t be bringing a prisoner back. If it’s Jackerby, I have a score to settle with him.”
“Don’t let revenge cloud your judgment.”
“I won’t. See you soon.”
When we reached the woods, on the opposite side of the castle, I planned to come at Jackaby from an angle he would not be expecting anyone.
From the moment we entered the woods, Jack went into what I would call stealth mode as if he was hunting. In a sense he was, and perhaps he knew instinctively what we were looking for.
It took about a half-hourof carefully moving through the woods to get to a point where I could just see Jackerby, sitting beside a tree, watching the barn. I moved a little closer, and the change of angle brought Leonardo and two other men of the resistance, sitting behind the barn, and one of sentry duty, waiting for the fifth to return.
I turned back to see where Jack was, but he had gone off. A rabbit perhaps, or something else.
I moved closer; Jackerby’s attention was fully on the resistance members, so he would not hear me coming.
What was he doing? He was taking an enormous risk coming out of the castle alone or did he think that if I was clever enough to have the castle under surveillance, he could assume I might be stupid enough to follow him.
It was an interesting thought, broken by the sudden rustling through the undergrowth, and then a yelp, as Jack launched himself at Jackerby, taking him completely by surprise, then, when Jackeby tried to get a gun in hand, Jack attacked that hand.
Long enough for me to get there, gun in hand. “Stop resisting, or I’m sure Jack will do some serious damage to that hand.”
It looked serious enough to me.
“So, this is where you’re hiding?”
“Enough, Jack.”
Curiously, the dog stopped, but remained menacingly close, growling.
“I should have shot that dog when I had the chance.”
Jack moved forward and growled in his face, baring his teeth, and Jackerby shrank back.
“Don’t upset him. He obviously doesn’t like you.”
Our attention was interrupted by gunfire, and a glance over to the barn saw two men with their hands up against the wall, and the two on the ground, including Leonardo. Carlo was in the process of ‘interrogating’ the other two.
“Carlo is not a happy man, Jackerby. And I promised him five minutes alone with you.”
Another glance over at the barn, Carlo was kicking one of the men who had fallen on the ground, with enthusiasm. I didn’t rate the man’s chances of surviving. “You really shouldn’t have let Leonardo mistreat Chiara or Martina, wherever you’ve got her.”
“She is still alive. We can do a deal here, Atherton.”
“The trouble I have with anything you say is that I can’t believe you. I’m sure you’d say or do anything to stay alive and renege the moment you got back to the castle.”
“I give you my word as an officer. We are, like you, men of honor.”
I shook my head. “You’re Gestapo, or worse, Jackerby. And they, as far as I’m concerned, are the lowest of the low, little more than murderous thugs. No.”
I aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.
The only way Jackerby was leaving the woods was as dead weight.
With my attention elsewhere, I walked into a man who was hurrying in the opposite direction. He was a big man with a scar running down the left side of his face from eye socket to mouth, and who was also wearing a black shirt with a red tie.
That was all I remembered as my heart almost stopped.
He apologized as he stepped to one side, the same way I stepped, as I also muttered an apology.
I kept my eyes down. He was not the sort of man I wanted to recognize later in a lineup. I stepped to the other side and so did he. It was one of those situations. Finally getting out of sync, he kept going in his direction, and I towards the bus, which was now pulling away from the curb.
Getting my breath back, I just stood riveted to the spot watching it join the traffic. I looked back over my shoulder, but the man I’d run into had gone. I shrugged and looked at my watch. It would be a few minutes before the next bus arrived.
Wait, or walk? I could also go by subway, but it was a long walk to the station. What the hell, I needed the exercise.
At the first intersection, the ‘Walk’ sign had just flashed to ‘Don’t Walk’. I thought I’d save a few minutes by not waiting for the next green light. As I stepped onto the road, I heard the screeching of tires.
A yellow car stopped inches from me.
It was a high powered sports car, perhaps a Lamborghini. I knew what they looked like because Marcus Bartleby owned one, as did every other junior executive in the city with a rich father.
Everyone stopped to look at me, then the car. It was that sort of car. I could see the driver through the windscreen shaking his fist, and I could see he was yelling too, but I couldn’t hear him. I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and he drove on. The moment had passed and everyone went back to their business.
My heart rate hadn’t come down from the last encounter. Now it was approaching cardiac arrest, so I took a few minutes and several sets of lights to regain composure.
At the next intersection, I waited for the green light, and then a few seconds more, just to be sure. I was no longer in a hurry.
At the next, I heard what sounded like a gunshot. A few people looked around, worried expressions on their faces, but when it happened again, I saw it was an old car backfiring. I also saw another yellow car, much the same as the one before, stopped on the side of the road. I thought nothing of it, other than it was the second yellow car I’d seen.
At the next intersection, I realized I was subconsciously heading towards Harry’s new bar. It was somewhere on 6th Avenue, so I continued walking in what I thought was the right direction.
I don’t know why I looked behind me at the next intersection, but I did. There was another yellow car on the side of the road, not far from me. It, too, looked the same as the original Lamborghini, and I was starting to think it was not a coincidence.
Moments after crossing the road, I heard the roar of a sports car engine and saw the yellow car accelerate past me. As it passed by, I saw there were two people in it, and the blurry image of the passenger; a large man with a red tie.
Now my imagination was playing tricks.
It could not be the same man. He was going in a different direction.
In the few minutes I’d been standing on the pavement, it had started to snow; early for this time of year, and marking the start of what could be a long cold winter. I shuddered, and it was not necessarily because of the temperature.
I looked up and saw a neon light advertising a bar, coincidentally the one Harry had ‘found’ and, looking once in the direction of the departing yellow car, I decided to go in. I would have a few drinks and then leave by the back door if it had one.
Or not. It’s just an expression, where a lot means plenty. Only the rich and idle seem to have a lot of time on their hands, and a lot of money, sometimes more than they know what to do with.
It spawns another saying, the devil finds work for idle hands.
This is distinct from the other form of a lot; a piece of land that can be used to build a house, an office building or warehouse, or just land to graze cattle or sheet.
For those with a lot of money, they can buy two lots or four lots.
Lot can also mean everything, i.e. he bought the lot.
Now it’s getting confusing, as only the English language can.
How about, there’s a lot of love in the room. Well, it’s certainly not at a political debate that’s for sure!
Then, still having more money than sense I went to an auction and bid for two lots. Unfortunately, there was someone else who had more money than I did.
My mother had a lot of quaint expressions; once we were sitting opposite a man of dubious character and she said, he’s a bad lot.
Back in the old days, and sometimes these, the word lot was used instead of lottery when names were put in a hat and one drawn as the winner. Today its a little more sophisticated, balls are put in a cage.
And I was never happy with my lot in life. Not till I got older, anyway.
For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
It was clear, however, that Marina was familiar with the man and very annoyed with the woman.
When I took a longer look at the man, I realised he was not a man at all, but a boy in his teens, blessed by the fact he looked older than he was. My guess, about 16. I was surprised he had not been conscripted into the war, there seemed very few young men in the area.
Marina went straight over to him and snatched the elderly rifle he was holding away from him, the glared at Chiara
“Are you stark staring mad. Enrico is not supposed to be out in the open, hell, it’s been a battle to keep him hidden away. What will his parents think when they discover he’s here?”
“Pleased,” Enrico said. “My father said it’s about time I did something to rid of the Germans, of the English too for that matter. None of you has any right to be here.”
Fervently spoken, and to the wrong person, it would earn him a bullet to the back of the head. But I agreed with him.
“All well and good,” Marina said to him, “but now there’s no easy way of doing that. We must be careful, and you must stay put with your parents. What we’re doing isn’t a game, you are neither trained or equipped to take anyone on, except perhaps rabbits.”
Back at Chiara. “Take him home, and never bring him back here. You don’t want to be the one who has to tell his mother if he gets killed. Now, both of you go now, before I shoot both of you myself.”
“This is not the end of the matter,” Enrico said.
“And when you’ve taken him back, come back here. We need to talk.”
Chiara said nothing, just nodded sullenly. I think she believed the less said the better and did as she was asked, nodding her head in his direction, and adding a few choice phrases in Italian to him that I couldn’t understand. It also just occurred to me that she had not asked Chiara the questions about the two men from the castle. I guess that would have to wait until the safety of Enrico was settled, and she returned.
“Make sure they’re safe,” she said to Carlo, and he disappeared, leaving us alone.
“I thought all of the young men had been taken away by the Italian Army.”
“Not all. We managed to hide a few away, but as you can see, despite our best efforts, they don’t seem to appreciate the trouble they could get into. We used to have about a hundred young men from 14 through to 20 at the start of the war. Two have found their way back, casualties of war, the rest, we may never see them again. Enrico just doesn’t see the trouble he could get into.”
“It’s called youthful enthusiasm. In the first world war, joining up, or going to war, was a lark. It was a little less so this time because most of the parents knew from firsthand experience what it was like and tried to shield them. And if you didn’t join up, questions were asked, and quite often jail, except for some who landed cushy jobs away from the fighting.”
“You were not so lucky?”
“No, I was one of those mad buggers who thought joining up to fight would be an adventure. That quickly faded when the enemy started shooting at me.”
“And now you’re here, and a spy to boot. That’s what they’ll hang on you if you get caught.”
“Then I shall try very hard not to get caught. Again.”
Chiara came back about an hour later. It seemed to me it was a lot safer to move around at night with the blackout, and I doubted Thompson would spare any men from the castle to check up on the local farmers.
And while I was at the castle, I didn’t hear anything raised about the local resistance, which I thought odd at the time, but now I knew why. Most of them had joined him. Better that than be hunted down and killed.
Chiara still looked sullen. A closer look showed she was not very old herself, barely out of her twenties, and surprising that the Italian army, or Thomson for that matter, had not rounded her up for ‘duties’ at the castle.
There were a number of the local women working up at the castle, but they were mostly staff, or more likely forced labour, though I had thought we, when I believed it to be a British outpost, would be fairer to the locals than either the Germans or their own Italian military. It’s odd how you tend to look at certain situations because of who you are, and the fact you would not do similar things at home. The Germans, however, we would always treat differently, because they were the enemy, and because we expected the worst from them. At that moment, though, wouldn’t the Germans think the same of us if the positions were reversed?
Best not to think about that. My view of the war and the people in it was clouded enough.
Chiara, however, clearly thought the worst of me, and of those in the castle, and certainly didn’t think I was as neutral as I appeared. A gun always in hand, I was sure she would shoot me again with the least provocation.
We sat, both Chiara and Marina with their weapons on the table in front of them. I wasn’t trusted enough to be given a weapon.
Marina’s first question was directed at Chiara, “I’m told there were two men from the castle following Sam, and that he told you about them.”
“He did. We did not see them. We didn’t take the path, because, as you know, it’s not safe.”
It was a reasonable answer. If the men at the castle were unfamiliar with the area, as I’m sure they would be, because they hadn’t been there for very long, and I doubt Thompson would want to advertise the nationality of those at the castle unless he had to, they would stick to the clearly-marked roads and paths.
I had on my way to the castle, from a different direction. It didn’t explain why I had not been met by the leader of the resistance as arranged, but that was now explained, both by the former leader trying to kill me in a roadside explosion, and then what I learned at the castle in the last few days.
“Even so, there’s not that much distance between the two, and it is possible to shadow them.”
“I keep well away from them. Perhaps Leonardo saw them. He doesn’t have to worry about what they might do because they use him to supply food. Maybe he knows more.”
“Perhaps I shall ask him next time I see him. We need to know who from the castle is about and when so that we don’t get caught.”
“I’ll remember next time. Is that all?”
“Yes.”
Chiara picked up her gun, gave me an extra-long sullen stare. “I don’t trust this one, Marina. You
need to be careful.”
“I will.”
We waited a few minutes until after she had departed, and then Marina said, “We should be going too. This place is a little eerie at night. There are far too many ghosts for my liking.”
One the first things you notice when driving around Beijing, other than the roads are congested with traffic, is the number of trees and flowers that have been planted, in the median strip as well as along the edges of the road.
What you also notice is the large number of multi-story apartment blocks, which are needed to house the millions of Beijing residents. What we have, so far, rarely seen, is single-story houses. These continuous areas of trees and rose bushes are, every now and then, broken up by very colorful garden beds:
Nearer to the square we are able to get up close to the flowers. These, we are told, are a variation on the rose, one that flowers for nine months of the year.
They come in a variety of colors.
And they are literally everywhere you go, on the side of the roadway, often blotting out the concrete jungle behind them.
Today, we’re back in Vienna, with Zoe planning their escape. We’re off to the railway station and catching the train. Unfortunately, Worthington is able to track them and knows exactly where they are, and where to direct his hit squad.
And you guessed it, mayhem is about to erupt in the station. But, as Zoe knows all too well, chaos can be her best friend, and they escape.
Sebastian knows something is afoot with Worthington, because all of a sudden, he has disappeared.
That’s good for Sebastian in one sense, he can go ahead with the interrogations of Isobel and Rupert in his quest to find out where John, and ultimately Zoe, is.
But the thing is, they are disinclined to be helpful in any way shape or form, and Isobel in particular, tells him to bring on the torturers.
Weird maybe, but Sebastian knows she’s probably getting a kick out of it.
…
Today’s writing, with Isobel laughing in the face of danger, 1,905 words, for a total of 43,067.
My great grandfather used to say the mark of a man was not how wealthy or wise he was, but by how much respect he garnered.
Well, my great grandfather was wealthy, wise, and also respected … by everyone but his children.
It was an interesting tale, oft-told by my father over the dinner table, when we, his children, would bemoan the fact that he was too hard on us.
Like my great grandfather, our father had also made something of himself, took every opportunity afforded him, and made it a success.
Yes, there were failures, like how our mother couldn’t handle the success and virtually abandoned us because of him, like our first stepmother, who hated children, and for a while, virtually turned him against us, setbacks that were eventually overcome.
To the outside world, we always said everything turned out all right, but the reality of it was completely the opposite. Appearances were just that, appearances.
My eldest brother, John, was out the door as soon as he could escape, and into the military, and from that moment we never really saw him.
Then there was me, Toby, with a name I hated, stuck at home to weather the endless storms, and to look after my youngest sister Ginny, who really didn’t have a care in the world.
I don’t think I ever got to have a childhood.
And lastly, my younger sister, Melanie, the tearaway tomboy troublemaker, a devil in disguise, that was responsible for ten nannies in twelve years.
We were as disparate and different as any group of siblings could get, and that was all because of how, in the end, our father finished up exactly like the man he often disparaged, our great grandfather.
Wealthy, yes, wise, the jury was still out in that one, and respected, yes, by everyone but his children.
And, now, I was looking at the body of the man I called my father, sprawled out on the floor, and it was quite plain to see he was dead.
There was no mistaking the bullet hole in his head, Or the puddle of blood emanating from the back of his head.
Someone, obviously, hated him more than we did.
…
I was surprisingly calm in the face of such a calamity, faring better than Ginny, who was the first to discover him.
She was once subject to bouts of hysteria, and that it had not happened in these circumstances was, in a sense disconcerting. She had reason to hate him more than the rest of us, the reasons for which I had only learned the night before.
She was sitting on the floor, not ten feet from the body, staring at what she had described as the devil incarnate. She had every reason to kill him, in fact, I had wanted to myself when she told me.
And when confronted him and demanded to know the truth, he had laughed at me, telling me that it was just a figment of her imagination.
I had to call the police, but before that, I needed to have a clear idea of where everyone was.
It was a weekend where, for the first time in twenty years, all four siblings were home. It was ostensibly for an announcement regarding the family, read how my father was going to bequeath his worldly possessions in the event of his death.
And I suspect, to tell us about the fact he was dying, the running battle he had with cancer finally getting a stranglehold in his body, and that he had about six weeks to three months left.
Not that he had said anything, I had received an anonymous email from his doctor telling me, that he didn’t believe we should not be kept in the dark. But it was not the news I’d shared with the others, hoping the man himself would.
That secret had died with him.
John and Melanie had both yet to put in an appearance. It had been a late night, and we had all ended up in John’s room, drinking shots of whiskey and talking about how different our lives had been, and how it had been too long apart.
I’d been very drunk at the end and barely made it back to my room before collapsing on the bed. I had no idea what happened to the others.
Ginny didn’t drink, or so she said, but the few drinks she had, had no effect on her. She had Bern in a dark mood and no wonder. She had left all of us in utter silence, devastated at the revelation our father was a monster, the reason why our mother left, unable to do anything to stop him.
She should have taken Ginny with her, but she didn’t, probably saving Melanie from a similar fate.
Threats against his life flew thick and fast, and the once made by John actuary sent a shiver down my spine. He was the only one experienced in killing, and I could totally believe he could kill in cold blood and not even blink.
Had he?
“Fuck!”
Great timing. John just walked into the room, still in his pajamas and looking disheveled, as if he had just fought off a pack of bears.
“This your doing?”
“What? No. Saying and doing are two different things, Toby.” He looked down at Ginny. “Ask her, she had more reason than any of us.”
I was going to, but she seemed in a catatonic state.
“No. I did not, and believe me, I’ve wanted to for many years.”
Ginny, obviously not in a catatonic state.
“Have you called the police,” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Good. Let’s think about this first. Any sign of a breaking?”
I checked the French windows behind the desk and they were intact and locked. The room, other than the body on the floor was as it always was.
Not a book or paper out of place. The desk was clear. Usually, there was a computer and cell phone on it.
“His laptop is missing. A robbery gone bad?”
“Robbers don’t usually carry guns, let alone be able to shoot so accurately.” He was standing over the body making strange body movements, then, “whoever shot him was behind the desk. He must have heard something and came to investigate.”
If it was any time up to the fifty shots of whiskey, we would have heard a gun going off.
“Silencer?” I said.
“I’m a light sleeper, so I would have heard it. Others too. It screams premeditation. Robbers don’t bring guns with suppressors. If it was a case of being caught unawares, that shot could have gone anywhere. No, whoever was in her was looking for, maybe found, something, and may have made enough noise to get his attention with the intention of killing him.”
“Holy Mary mother of God!”
Melanie just arrived, riveted to the spot, just inside the door.
“I take it you didn’t do it?” John said to her.
“Me? You have to be joking. I wouldn’t know what end of the gun to use.”
Not true, I thought, Melanie was in the gun club at her exclusive school and won various awards for pistol shooting, and we’ll as an expert clay pigeon shooter to boot. But it was school days, a long time ago.
I looked at her pointedly, and I think she realized what my glare implied.
“I think it’s time we called the police,” I said.
“Can’t we just dig a hole and bring him out there somewhere and pretend he’s gone away?”
“A thought, but not practical, unless one of us did it and we need to hide the evidence. Anyone going to own up?”
No one spoke.
“Good. Just remember from this point on, if you have any deep dark secrets, they won’t be for much longer. We will be the prime suspects. Leaving isn’t an option.”
“Let the chips fall where they may. At least the bastard got what he deserved.
I pulled out my phone.
“Last chance.”
John was looking resolute. Melanie was in a state of shock. Ginnie went back to being almost catatonic. I don’t know what I felt, sad, maybe, but with all that had come before, perhaps a sense of relief.
I dialled the number.
“Daisy. No, I’m alright. We have a bit of a problem here. Someone has shot and killed my father. I think you’d better get here.”
“Right. Don’t touch anything and keep the scene clear. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
I disconnected the call and put the phone back in my pocket.
At that same moment, I had a great overwhelming feeling that one of them did it. I couldn’t see how anyone from the outside could or would.
As John said, let the child fall where they may.
“OK. Daisy wants us out of the room. Let’s go.” I said, helping Ginnie up from the floor
“Daisy? She that girl you were pining over back in elementary school?” John muttered.
“Married her too. Deputy sheriff now, so be a good boy. And don’t think our relationship will make this any easier.”
As I closed the door to the office and turned the key in the lock, I could hear the sirens in the distance.
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 instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
When I woke, I was outside the warehouse near an ambulance, and when I opened my eyes, I could see my mother, looking close to hysterical. Further back, behind her, was Benderby himself, looking concerned.
A voice was saying, on the other side, “Just take it easy. You’ve had a nasty knock to your head.” I tried, instinctively, to move my hand there, but it was not responsive.
That scared me.
I tried wiggling my toes, and it felt like something was happening. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
Then I realised there were more people around the gurney I was lying on and a lot of chatter about a break-in and possible casualties. There was only one, wasn’t there? Me.
I went to say something to that effect when I stopped. Not a good idea to say two masked assailants came to interrogate me about a map. Firstly, my mother would be annoyed I was wasting my time on frivolous matters with Boggs, and secondly, everyone would think the blow did more damage to my sanity.
If they were calling it a break-in…
“What happened?” I asked.
I moved my head sideways further and could see the Sheriff standing next to Benderby. The sheriff moved closer.
“We think one or two unknown persons got past the perimeter security, disabled the alarm system, and broke into the warehouse where you were. One of the night security guards was doing his rounds when he found you on the floor in the main office. Can you tell us what happened to you?”
One of the paramedics answered for me, “We need to stabilise the wound, check for concussion and any other side effects before you can question him. That might have to wait until we get him to the hospital. Now, I need everyone to stand back.”
And he meant everyone, including my mother. I guessed they would let her come to the hospital with me, but if not, I was sure Benderby would bring her. He actually had his arm around her, talking to her. I didn’t think she liked him that much or was I just delirious?
I was about to tell the paramedic to tell the sheriff to go check on Boggs, but that would only lead to uncomfortable questions, and since Boggs had been so cavalier in putting the assailants onto me, I wasn’t very happy with him. But I did wonder if they had gone back to him about my lack of co-operation, and what they might do to him.
Or, I just remembered, maybe nothing, because they thought it might be an elaborate hoax. I was beginning to think that myself, despite Boggs giving me a copy of the map. When I looked at it, on the surface it seemed to be the same as the one Osborne was peddling.
Whilst getting my head bandaged, I saw one of the sheriff’s men come running up to him, speaking and gesturing wildly. I thought I heard a name, but the paramedic chose that exact moment to accidentally wrap the bandage around my ear.
Then I heard it, sharp and clear, perhaps as an answer to a question by Benderby.
“It’s Boggs. Looks like someone gave him a severe beating and left him outside his house.”
The result of an equally forceful interrogation, or had it been a warning not to waste people’s time?
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 