Month: July 2022

The story behind the story: A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers

To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.

But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continue on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.

That, I think is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much idea of where it’s going as the reader does.

It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and although I finished it last year, it looks like the beginning to end will have taken exactly 30 years.  Had you asked me 30 years ago if I’d ever get it finished, the answer would be maybe?

My private detective, Harry Walthenson

I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mold of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Phillip Marlow, but he’s not.

But, I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modeled Harry and his office on it.  Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.

Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life.  I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breathe life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.

Then there’s the title, like

The Case of the Unintentional Mummy – this has so many meanings in so many contexts, though I image back in Hollywood in the ’30s and ’40s, this would be excellent fodder for Abbott and Costello

The Case of the Three-Legged Dog – Yes, I suspect there may be a few real-life dogs with three legs, but this plot would involve something more sinister.  And if made out of plaster, yes, they’re always something else inside.

But for mine, to begin with, it was “The Case of the …”, because I had no idea what the case was going to be about, well, I did, but not specifically.

Then I liked the idea of calling it “The Case of the Brother’s Revenge” because I began to have a notion there was a brother no one knew about, but that’s stuff for other stories, not mine, so then went the way of the others.

Now it’s called ‘A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers’, finished the first three drafts, and at the editor for the last.

I have high hopes of publishing it in early 2021.  It even has a cover.

PIWalthJones1

“The Price of Fame”, A Short Story

I looked at the invitation, a feeling of dread coming over me.  It was not entirely unexpected but like a great many things that had suddenly come into my life, it caused equal measures of fear and excitement.

The gold edging and the perfect script displaying my name in the exact centre of the envelope made it almost unique.  Very few people ever received such an invitation.

I held it in my hand for a longer than necessary, then put it down on the desk carefully, as if it would explode if I dropped it.

My first instinct, driven by fear, was not to accept.

But, fear or not, there was no question of me not attending.  Circumstances had painted me into a corner; I’d agreed to go a long time ago when I thought there was no chance it would come to pass.

Way back then, I had been compared to the aspiring painter in an attic having to die before I made any sort of impression.  In those days people thought it amusing.  I thought it was amusing.  Kirsty, in particular, had thought it was as impossible as I had.

Now it was not amusing.  Not even remotely.

My life was once quiet, peaceful, sedate, even boring.  That didn’t mean I lacked imagination, it was just not out on display for everyone to see.  Inspired by reading endless books, I had the capacity to transport myself into another world, divorced from reality, where my boring existence became whatever I wanted it to be.

It was also instrumental in bringing Kirsty into my life.  In reality, I thought she’d never take a second look at me, let alone a first.  So I pretended to be someone else.  Original, witty, charming, underneath more scared than I’d ever known.

And yet she knew, she’d always known and didn’t care.

As we spent more time together, she discovered I liked to write, not finish anything, just start, write a hundred pages, then lose interest.  Like everything I did.  Start, and never finish.

Why not?  It would never be published.  It would never succeed.

So she bribed me.  If I didn’t finish my first book and send it away, I couldn’t marry her.  It didn’t matter if it was rejected, all I had to do was finish a book, and send it.

The thought of marrying her had not entered my mind, because I hadn’t thought she would.  Incentive enough, I picked out one of the unfinished manuscripts and humoured her.  She read bits of it, not saying a word.  Sometimes she’d put a note or two on the manuscript, her equivalent to sweet nothings, and with it I gained inner confidence in my own ability, not only to write but in many other aspects of my life.

When it was finished, it was Kirsty who sent it off.  She read it, packaged it, addressed it, and sent it before I had a chance to change her mind.  Once gone, I heaved a huge sigh of relief.  It was done. That was, as far as I was concerned, the end of it.

It was not possible that one letter could change a person’s life so dramatically.  I came home to the all-knowing smile, and mischievous whimsicality that had always suggested trouble.

Trouble indeed!

My book was accepted.  With a cheque called an advance.  For more money than I knew what to do with.

This was followed not long after by publication.  And a dramatic change to my life, one I didn’t want.  To become a public person, to face an enormous number of people, people I didn’t know.

I went back to being scared.

Kirsty smiled at me and told me how wonderful I looked in my monkey suit.  Why couldn’t I go in jeans and a dress shirt?  All the best actors in Hollywood did it.

“This is not Hollywood.  You’re not an actor.”  It was a simple, practical, answer.

The hell I wasn’t.  I could act sick, dying, fake a heart attack, anything.  “What am I going to say?”

“You could talk about books.”  Quiet, efficient, oozing the confidence I didn’t feel.

She didn’t fuss.  She took it in her stride.  She dressed in her usual simple elegance, in a manner that made me love to be seen with her.  I couldn’t tie my tie, so she did it for me.  She straightened my jacket because I couldn’t do that either.  Nerves.  Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.  Or was that a reference to wives, or mistresses, or something else?

The palms of my hands were sweating.  Meatball hands, I thought, the sort of palms that betrayed the pretenders.  Me, I was the pretender.  My neck felt too large for the shirt.  Beads of sweat formed on my brow.  Where was a sponge when you needed one?

“I can’t do this.”

“You can.”

We hadn’t even left the hotel yet.

“How long before the execution.”

She looked at me with her whimsical smile.  “Long enough for me to give you a hard time.”

I lost count of the number of times I had to go to the bathroom, for one thing, or another.  Nerves I said.  Perhaps a dozen Valium or something similar.  Did I have any?  Had she hidden them?  Why did she keep smiling?

In the car, I looked at my watch at least a dozen times.  I couldn’t breathe.  It was too hot, too cold.  She held my hand, and it served best to stop the trembling that had set in.  Why did I agree to this?  Why?

We were greeted by the Events Manager, who was polite and genuinely interested.  He took us inside where he introduced the interviewer, another woman who oozed confidence and charm, who went over the format and generally tried to set me at ease.

I didn’t let Kirsty’s hand go.  Not yet.  She was my lifeline, the umbilical cord.  When it was severed, I knew I was going to die.

Bathroom?  Where was the bathroom?  Hell, five minutes to go, and I felt like passing out.  No, Kirsty couldn’t come in.  Comb my hair.  Straighten my tie, no it was straight.  Maybe I could hide in here?  I looked around.  No, maybe not.

Time.

The cue man was standing beside me, hand gently on my back.  He knew the score.  He knew I would turn and run the first chance I got.  Kirsty was on the other side, smiling.  Did she know too?

Then the announcement, my cue to walk on.

The gentle shove, the bright lights, the deafening applause, the seemingly endless walk to the chair, dear God, would I make it without tripping over?

How many times had I made this trip?  I stood, facing the audience, waved, then sat.  It was the fifteenth.  You’d think I’d learned by now.

There was nothing to it.

© Charles Heath 2016-2022

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.

A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?

A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.

A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.

After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.

From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.

It is available on Amazon here:  http://amzn.to/2CqUBcz

In a word: arm

Like leg, arm is a word that is mostly associated with a body part.

Like being legless, another description for being drunk, being rendered ‘armless’ means you are no threat, in a rather awful but funny way by saying it.

I guess we all have a dash of ‘sick’ humour in all of us.

However, arm can also be used to describe a part of a structure too.

It could also describe the arm of an ‘armchair’.

But…

Arm also means to give people weapons like guns, usually from an armoury.

I’m guessing that a whole lot of people with arms is an army!

You can also say that taking those weapons away would be to disarm them.

It might take the long arm of the law to do it, too.

And to disarm someone doesn’t necessarily mean to take away their arms, but to ‘charm’ them with your wit and humour.

An arm can also be a river or streams tributary, so I could say instead of staying on the main river, I’ll take the ‘named’ arm, but just remember, sometimes this can be dangerous, getting off the main route.

On a boat, there is a yardarm, and this was once used to hang seamen who committed serious crimes such as mutiny.

A call to arms was to declare war,

And lastly, an arm of the defence services could be any one of Army, Navy, Marines or Airforce.

Just steer clear of the Navy for the aforementioned reasons.

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 30

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Chasing leads, maybe

 

Collecting the car was easy because it was not kept near my flat.  I could not afford to park nearby, and couldn’t get a permit to park on the street.  I had cursed my bad luck at the time, but now it was very useful.

I spend a few hours resting in the car, stopping along the way at a park, and then, well past nightfall, I drove to the block in Oakwood Avenue, easily recognizable from the exterior photo also provided by the realtor.

Twice around the block, I stopped around the corner, past the block, and noted that I could walk back and then take cover from the trees and shrubs growing in front of, and around the building.  To reach the right flat, I would have to pass down the inner side towards the rear where, hopefully, there might be a door.

Otherwise, it would have to be the hard way.

At 00:45, I left the car, and walked back to the block, keeping an eye out form people walking, or looking out their windows on either side of the street.  Then, satisfied I hadn’t been seen, I ducked through the trees and quickly walked the distance from the front to the side where I stopped and waited.  After a few minutes, and nothing had stirred, I started down the side of the building.

Several flats had lights on, but the curtains were drawn.  Being the ground floor, I doubted whether those curtains would be open at night.  It didn’t take long to be alongside the flat in question.

It was in total darkness, and the curtains had been drawn.

First problem.  There was no back door.  The traditional entry point would be the front door, and no doubt there was a communal back door as well.  Next, I checked the windows, and those that I could see were complete glass and non-opening.  Worse still they had a metal grilled across them to deter thieves.

Near the corner, leading to the rear of the building was a window, higher up and ajar.  By its location, I guessed this was the bathroom or the toilet.  I was hoping for the former.

It took a few minutes to unlatch the window and several more to scramble up the wall, and it through the window opening, which wasn’t much wider than me.  I had to be careful not to drop any of the bottles on the inner ledge.

Once down of the other side, inside the room, it was a narrow bathroom, without a bath, and almost impossible to see.  I fixed the window and put everything back on the ledge, just in case someone did a circuit of the building at a security measure.

Once inside, and after one in the morning, little stirred.

I could just faintly hear the flat owners above, hardly enough noise to be concerned about, and bringing a thought; shouldn’t they be asleep like everyone else.

It was certainly a quiet neighborhood.

I brought a small torch from the car with me and sparingly used it to find my way around.  When my eyes got used to the semi-darkness, I found that the flow from small lights of appliances adequately lit the rooms.

It had two bedrooms, one empty and being used as a storeroom, a lounge room, a dining area, and the bathroom, and kitchen area.  It was big enough for a couple, or even a couple with one child.

Inside what I assumed was the front door, I found several letters shoved under the door.  They were addressed to Mr. Adam Quinley.

I hoped that I’d not made a mistake and broken into a flat belonging to another person.  O’Connell didn’t see to me to be a Quinley, because it was an unusual name.

The dates on the letters went back a week and told me whoever the flat belonged to, they hadn’t visited it for a while.  I went back to the lounge room and over to a desk.  There were the familiar cords leading to no computer, but there was a printer.  It meant he had a laptop he carried with him.

A laptop that no one had found.  It suggested to me that he had it somewhere near him, perhaps in a car, which may be still parked in a garage, or parking station somewhere.

I searched through the neat pile of documents on the desk, and in a folder marked ‘Accounts’ and found one for the car registration, in the name of Quigley.  I noted the registration and type of car, and just in case I forgot it, folded the piece of paper and put it in my pocket.  It would be the subject of my next search if nothing showed up.

The next half hour I made a thorough search of the flat and found nothing of use.  I checked for all the spots he might have hidden the USB, but it was not there.  He had kept it somewhere else.

Done, I left the flat by the front door, and for good measure, checked his mailbox, outside, and found a number of letters.  I took them and would look at them back in the car.  Just as I made the tree line to walk back, a car stopped outside the building.

The door opened and I watched the driver get out of the car, stop and look up and down the street, then walk towards the front door,

By chance, the occupant of the flat above the door switched on a light in the room which, uncurtained, spilled out to shed light on the person now at the front entrance.

I recognized her immediately, just before the light was switched off and darkness took over.

It was Jan.

 

© Charles Heath 2020

Searching for locations: Vancouver, Canada – 2

This morning we wake up to rain.  Or so we thought.  Taking a closer look out the window of our room on the 16th floor, we notice the rain is speckled with snowflakes.  As the morning progressed the snow got harder until there were flurries.

 Later we discover this is called wet snow by the local Vancouverians, and whilst they winge a lot over the endless rain, to them rain is infinitely better than snow.

To us, by the afternoon, it was almost blizzard conditions, with lots of snow.  Then the only thing is that it does not accumulate on most of the ground so there are no drifts to play in.

Because the weather is so dismal we decided not to go into Vancouver to do some sightseeing because the clouds were down to the ground and then the snow set in.

Another interesting fact is that construction workers do not go off the job if it’s raining, or worse when it is snowing.  Our room overlooks a new apartment complex under construction and the workers battled on through what seemed like appalling conditions.

At four in the afternoon, the Maple Leafs are playing the Ohio Blue Jackets, in Ohio.  It is a game we expect they will win.  Sparks is the goalkeeper, not Anderson, they’re playing back to back games and Anderson’s starting tomorrow.

They win, four goals to two.  

Just before darkness falls, about four thirty, the snow stops and there is a little rain, which melts the snow.

Time to go up to the executive lounge to get some snacks and coffee, then sleep because the next day we’re taking on the Trans Canada highway from Vancouver to Kamloops.

The forecast is for snow, more snow, and just for a change, more snow.

A photograph from the Inspirational bin – 36

This is an inlet near Port Macquarie in northern New South Wales. It is adjacent to a caravan and camping park, close to the ocean and parklands.

But, for our purposes, this scene is going to have a few more interesting connotations than just a few campers going for a jog along the beach, fishing in the estuary, or further out to sea on the other side of the wall in the background.

Firstly, to my favorite kind of story, a spy story…

It’s basically the evil billionaire’s backyard to his island hideaway, and our hero intends to come ashore at night and do battle with the guards, break into the underground holding cells and save the girl.

As always, saving the world comes second!

Or, it’s a place like Fantasy Island, without the landing strip on the beach, where people come to have their fantasies fulfilled. OK, to start there are no robots that are going to go berserk, that’s so ten years ago.

And, no, the hosts won’t be dressed in white safari suits. They went out in the 70s.

Then, I suppose, a story that I like, about people who have secrets, people who are broken, people who just want to get away from everyone else, come to this island where they can live in anonymity, without having to interact with anyone unless they want to.

Two such people accidentally meet.

What happens after that, that’s up to them!

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 36

A Russian ship?

…

The navigator had left the object on screen allowing it to materialize as we got closer. 

I had to marvel at the magnification the scientists had managed to produce for the scanners on this vessel, the first of a new class, and based on our experiences, no doubt later ships would have less of the quirks we had found so far.

Not that any were serious, or if they were, that common sense and prior experience couldn’t resolve.  It was the reason why we had this chief engineer.

He had retired and was happily spending the rest of his life with the woman who had put up with all those absent years, until she died suddenly, and left him without purpose.

This ship had changed that.

I could see the outline of the distant ship and although it might not follow a standard design, it showed all the signs of coming from our planet.

Was that because we had no idea what a ship might look like from another planet or alien race?  I still wanted to believe there were other life forms out there, but how much of that was hoping they looked like us?

“The system still cannot identify what type of ship it is, sir, but it doesn’t look alien.”

It didn’t, now that it was much clearer.

“Would you know if it was?”

“No, sir.  Not really.  Time to intercept, just under fifteen minutes.  If they are intending to intercept.”

Number one just came out of the elevator and onto the bridge.  He wasn’t rostered for this time, but I suspect he had been watching the drama unfold in his cabin.

“Suggest we go to code Red, just in case their intentions are not friendly.”

We had a weekly meeting of department heads to discuss what we would do in an alien encounter, other than shoot first, and talk later, usually the military first response to any problem.

Some ground rules were implemented, one of which was to keep fingers off the triggers of our weapons, until we had justification.  It was noted we had no idea what kind of weapons they would have, or how good our shield systems would be, that would come after the first encounter.

But we did know the ship could withstand any attack from an earth-origin attack, from the nuclear bomb to cutting edge lasers.  It was a little more problematic for the humans though.

“Agreed.”

Code Red, our highest alert, meant that Number one and I could not be in the same place, for obvious reasons.  He would go down the attack room, where the bridge systems were replicated, along with an array of other units.  It would be from there where a relation, or attack, would be managed.

And no, the lights in the bridge did not turn red, just dimmed.  The only indication was a red bar running across the top of the viewing screen, on which the oncoming vessel was now clearly visible.

“It’s from earth, the scanners have identified the propulsion system, and from the scan analysis, it appears to be more advanced than just about everything back home.”

“The infamous Russian ship, do you think?”

“Doesn’t have to be.  Anyone with enough money could have financed the project, though it would be hard to hide something like that.  The question has to be, what’s it doing this far out, and, for all intents and purposes, returning.”

“We’re assuming again.  Perhaps they were just going to the outer edge of our known galaxy so that they could say they were the first.”

There had always been that great space rivalry between the Russians and the Americans.  Later, the Europeans and the Chinese had also thrown their hats in the ring, and it was possible this ship could be Chinese.  They too had a burning desire to be the first, and there’d be no surprise if we found a Chinese or Russian flag on the first liveable planet outside our solar system.

But, right now, that was all ahead of us. At this moment, it was a little disconcerting to discover we would not be the first outside our known galaxy.

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2022

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 86

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 we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

Two captives

…

Inside the mall looked totally different, they had cleaned out the whole inside and all that was left was the pylons holding the roof, and the floor above, up.  It was clear from the front to the back or would be if there was enough daylight.

There were explosives tied to each of the pylons, and wires running along the roof everywhere, resembling a spider’s Web.

They were going to bring the whole mall down in one go.  I’d seen similar demolitions on TV, but this one would be more manageable, being only two floors, at most.

“The demolition was stopped only an hour before they were going to push the button.  The control panel is still in place, ready to be detonated remotely.  All it needs is power.”

Nadia seemed to know a lot about it.

“We’re not here for nostalgia are we?”

“Could be.  I’d tell you my most predominant memory of this place but it would probably make you mad, so I won’t.  It’s probably the one thing I’d like to forget, but as a first, you tend not to.  What about you?”

“In this place, nothing.  It was just a mall, and not the best I’d been to.  Boggs and I used to come here and sit by the pool, and drink beer out of Thermos flasks.  It’s about the worst we could do.”

“You probably thought that was being badass at the time.”

We did, but we were young and stupid.  Others were more daring but always seemed to get caught by the mall cops, who had a fearsome reputation when handing out punishment.

We crossed the floor to the center fountain, and then took the stairs down to the carpark, then headed towards the ocean end, stopping at a wire fence that separated the customer park from the staff carpark. 

There was a lock on the gate, and I thought it was odd, given the rest of the building had all the walls removed.  The chain and lock were new, so it had been put there by the demolition team.  A minute later 8 could see the reason, they still had demolition equipment stored there, along with poles of recovered materials they were obviously going to take away.

Behind that was a shipping container which was obviously where more valuable stuff was stored. She also had a key to the lock, removed it, and swung the door open.

I pointed the flashlight inside and when it reached the end I could see two people tied up and lying on the floor.

If I was to guess…

“I told Alex to run.  Obviously, he didn’t listen.”

“He didn’t.”

She didn’t deny the identity of one, and I think I could guess who the other person was.  Vince.

“You think this is a wise course of action, considering who the parents are?”

“Don’t care, Sam.  I told my father what he did, and he told me I should have minded my own business.  I said there would be consequences and he laughed.”

I suspect he didn’t realize just how annoyed his daughter was at being treated like she was irrelevant.  I felt the same, but I couldn’t take it to the level she had.

“What do you intend to do with them?”

“Nothing.  I have some questions, maybe we’ll get some answers, but when we’re done, we’re leaving.  If the demolition people get here in time, they’ll be rescued.  If they don’t, they’ll have plenty of time to reflect on what they did.  I’m not going to harm them in any way, Sam.  Once, I might have, but I want to be better than that.”

One of the forms moved, groaned, and then began to struggle, suddenly realizing they were tied up.  It didn’t last long, once he realized trying to escape was futile.

The other form also woke, did the same then stopped soon after.

Nadia went in and leaned over each one, ripping off their gags.

It took a moment before both realized who was in the container with them.

Vince spoke first, “What the hell are you doing, Nadia.  Untie us now and we might just let you walk away.  There’ll be hell to pay if father finds out what you’ve done “

She walked back a few steps, collected a chair, went back, and sat down, just out of reach.  They were not only restrained but also tied to the wall.

How did she manage to do it, and did she have help?  Not the time to ask.

“You tied me up and left me for dead, Vince.  I nearly died; Sam nearly died “

“It’s a shame you didn’t.  You went against a direct order.”

“That’s on you, Vince.”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you, because you’re nobody.”

“And yet here you are, trussed up like a Thanksgiving Turkey with your newest best friend forever, and both looking at a very bleak future.”

“Don’t be an ass, Nadia.  When father finds out what you’ve done, you’ll wish you had died in that cave.”

“He won’t.  You will have just disappeared like you do from time to time, only this time you won’t be coming back.  And when this place comes down, there’s not going to be much left to identify you.”

Alex had been lying quietly on the ground listening to the exchange between brother and sister.  As an outsider, he must have felt the discussion was going in the wrong direction.

“How much do you want, Nadia.”

“What makes you think I want anything?”

“Look at this realistically.  Between the two of us, you could walk away with a couple of million dollars.  You’ve had your revenge, we both get it, we didn’t think it through when we left you there, but it doesn’t have to end this way.”

He sounded very reasonable, and if I was a reasonable person, I might have believed him.  I’m sure he could be very persuasive when he wanted to be.

“You sound almost sincere, Alex.  What do you think Sam.”

“A couple of million dollars is a powerful argument, Nadia.  Worth considering.”

They hadn’t realized I was there, not till she spoke to me.  I wondered if she wanted me to be the voice of reason.

“It is, isn’t it.  We’re going to need money where we’re going.”

“I can make it happen,” Alex said.  “All you have to do is let us go, and I’ll transfer the funds the moment I get to the bank.  I promise.”

And there was the catch.  We had to let him go.  The moment he got away, the bank was the last place he’d go.

“You really do think girls are stupid, don’t you Alex?”

“No.  And not you, Nadia.  I made you a promise, and I keep my promises.”

“So do I Alex, and I promised Sam that I would make the pair of you suffer the consequences if we got free.  We did, and now it’s time to make good on it.  I don’t need your money Alex, not that you have any, so I’m not sure how you were going to pay me.  No.  Sam and I will be going away, and not coming back.  I’m not sure if I’ll remember to tell anyone where you are, but maybe Sam will remind me.”

“Or maybe he won’t,” I said.  “There’s a lot of years of school torment for you to atone for Alex.”

Vince had been watching and listening to the back-and-forth banter, but I don’t think he believed Alex could bargain their way out.  Perhaps he understood the grit Nadia showed, and perhaps, again, that might be a Cossatino trait

Whatever he was thinking, it was clear that they were not going to be set free, his sister was madder than he’ll with him, and Alex was only making a bad situation worse.

“You don’t want to do this Nadia.  You’ve had your revenge, and now it’s time to end this charade.  We both know you’re not going to kill me.  That’s not who you are.  You’ve always been soft on what needed to be done, and for once I’m glad that’s the case.  Go away, by all means, take Sam with you, but never show your face here again.  If you do, you know what will happen.”

At last, some truth.  Of course, Vince would not honor any promises made under duress, but what it told me, more than anything else, was that it wasn’t his idea to abandon us in the cave.  Neither Vince or Alex for that matter were leaders or thinkers.  Just blunt instruments, doing what they were told to do.

That meant Vince could make all the promises in the world because it was not him who decided our fate.

“I do,” she said.  “So, here’s the deal.  We’re going now.  I’ll wait until we’re out of the country and then I’ll tell our father where you are.  At least that way, you’ll know how we felt being left to die.  Think yourself lucky Vince I’m not the hardnosed batch I was supposed to be.”

“I’d make it sooner rather than later Nadia.”

“Sure.”

She stepped back, and closed the doors, leaving them in the dark.

“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” I said after we headed back to the ground level and the exit.

“It depends.”

She didn’t say on what.

...

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

Read an extract tomorrow.