Huka Falls is located in the Wairakei Tourist Park about five minutes north of Taupo on the north island of New Zealand.
The Waikato River heading towards the gorge
The water heading down the gorge, gathering pace
until it crashes over the top of the waterfall at the rate of about 220,000 liters per second. It also makes a very loud noise, so that when you are close to it, hearing anything but the falls is impossible.
A small job, really?
…
Nothing Rodby did, didn’t have an ulterior motive, and as cynical as that sounded, I had to wonder what it was.
Rodby just didn’t understand I didn’t want to go back to that life of always looking over the shoulder. Disappearing and reinventing myself with Violetta changed my life.
Now she was no longer there, it was like that cloak of invisibility had gone. Rodby hadn’t said as much but I knew he was going to formally ask me to return to work, citing the reason I’d be better off doing something rather than dwelling on the past.
It was hard to dispute that fact. I needed something to do. Just existing even in a place like Venice was not living. And finding someone else, well, I was not sure what Violetta might think, but I knew she would not want to see me like this.
I was not sure how going to the opera as a plus one was going to make a difference, and I was trying not to play down Martha’s invitation. She didn’t share her passions with just anybody, nor would she be a cohort in one of Rodby’s recruiting schemes.
He was not so circumspect
So, I dusted off the tuxedo one more time, even though I didn’t really feel in the mood for anything. Time had not made me a size too large or smaller, despite the good life I’d had over the last few years. Italian cooking was hardly the manna dieters went to as a first choice, but then, I was not under so much pressure to stay fit.
This was in part due to the fact I didn’t forsake the fitness regime I had adopted for many years; I just didn’t go at it so hard, and it had served me well. The suit still fitted.
The text from Rodby arrived about ten minutes before the car was due to pick me up outside the front door. I was hoping I would not have to get a cab, expecting I would have to get myself to the Royal Opera house
When I reached the curb, the car was waiting, the chauffeur waiting to open the door for me. My first impression, he was more a bodyguard than a chauffeur; I could just see the earpiece connecting him to an invisible army.
As the door opened, I could see there was another person in the car, and, at first sight, I thought it might be Martha, Rodby, who detested opera, somehow getting out of going, but it was not.
It was another woman, very elegantly dressed about my age or perhaps a few years younger though she had managed to keep what must have been, in her younger days, devastating beauty.
A princess perhaps of a foreign country, she had that classical European look. Martha knew a lot of different people, rich, poor, aristocratic, and others like me.
I climbed in and the chauffeur closed the door.
“Welcome, said the spider to the fly.” She said it with just a hint of a smile, discernible in the light striking her just right from a streetlamp overhead.
“Rodby didn’t tell me there was another guest, so please forgive my momentary surprise. My name is Evan Wallace, but no doubt you already knew that.”
“I did. It was going to be my next question. Rodby would be very annoyed if I picked up just any man off the street. I am Countess Heidi von Burkhardt, though I do not want you to use that title tonight. I am, today, just Heidi.”
“Then just Heidi it will be.”
The car eased its way out into the traffic quietly and smoothly. It was so quiet I could just hear the symphony playing in the background, one I’d heard before but could put a name to. Just yet. It would come to me.
“Rodby failed to mention you would be coming to the opera.”
“He would. Martha’s idea, she seems to have this soft spot for you, or at least that was the impression I got when she mentioned you might be coming, and I suspect she might also be dabbling in a little matchmaking.”
It wouldn’t be the first time. She had tried finding someone for me after Violetta died, but I told her it would be too soon. Perhaps she had assumed enough time had passed.
“There isn’t a Count?”
“There was, but he passed some months ago. It would not have mattered though; we had an unusual and mutually agreeable arrangement. I spent his money, and he did, well, whatever it is Counts do. He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask, but I suspect it killed him in the end.”
“Did you love him?” An odd question that had popped into my mind and was out before I could stop it.
“My. Martha did warn me you could be direct; she called it refreshingly honest.”
“Sorry, sometimes the words come out before I consider whether they’re appropriate or not. Just ignore that question “
“No. It’s one I asked myself after his passing, and truth be told, I did. I had such romantic notions when I was young, that I was going to find a prince and marry him. I didn’t find the prince, but I live in a castle, with turrets and towers and dungeons. Just no dragons, except for the housekeeper.”
She shuddered.
Cold or memories?
“You live there?”
“I did, I haven’t been back since Gustav died, but I will have to, some inheritance matters have come up, and I’ve been summoned to Bacharach to meet with the Rechtsanwalte. Perhaps I’ll go after the opera, literally joy followed by pain.”
The car stopped and we arrived outside the Royal Opera house. For a few seconds, the smile had disappeared, and it was replaced with a frown, no doubt brought on by the thought of facing the German legal system.
Then, as the door opened, she changed.
No one told me she was a celebrity and there would be limelight, flashing cameras, and a host of journalists.
© Charles Heath 2022
There are high rollers, and then others
…
I’ve been to the Monaco main casino, a rather interesting piece of architecture, and of all things in the bathrooms, gold taps.
And it was fascinating to watch the patrons, people who had single articles of clothing or jewellery that was worth more than my house, if fact probably more than I would earn in twenty years of my working life.
Let alone the value of the chips they had in front of them on the tables.
There was a sort of elegance and unreal atmosphere about it all like I was in a place where I shouldn’t; the proverbial ‘on the outside looking in’.
Not for David.
He belongs here, among these people, where he could, if he wanted to, pull a wad of money out of a coat pocket and make a splash.
But that’s not why he’s here. He’s filling in time until the date and time of the message, tomorrow.
Only there’s no one there that he recognises, just a particular high roller who stands out from the others, and a girl at the bar, looking like she needed to be rescued.
Perhaps the night will not be a dead loss.
…
I can see how it is that a writer’s life is one that, at times, has to be shut off from the outside world.
It’s a bit hard to keep a stream of thoughts going when in one ear is some banal detective show, and in the other, a conversation that you have to keep up with. I know how hard it is because I’ve tried doing three things at once, and failed miserably in all three.
So, out I slink to the writing room and start by re-reading the previous chapters, to get back into the plot. I should remember where I am, and get straight to it, but the devil is in the detail.
Going back, quite often I revise, and a plotline is tweaked, and a whole new window is opened. God, I wish I didn’t do that!
Then I get to the blank page, ready to go, and…
The phone rings.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Phone answered, back to the blank page, no, it’s gone, got yo go back, blast, another revision, and back to the blank page.
Half an hour shot to pieces.
The phone rings again.
Blast scam callers. I nearly rip the cord out of the wall.
All through this the cat just watches, and, is that a knowing smile?
It can’t be, I’ve just learned that cats can’t smile, or make any sort of face.
I’m sure his thoughts are not a vague or scrambled, or wrestling with the ploys of several stories on the go, getting locations right, getting characters to think and do their thing with a fair degree of continuity.
The cat’s world is one of which chair to lie on, where is that elusive mouse be it real or otherwise, and is this fool going to feed me, and please, please, don’t let it be the lasagna. I am not that cat!
Unlike other professions, it’s a steady, sometimes frustrating, slog where you can’t just walk away, have a great time, and come back and pick up where you left off. Stories have to be written from beginning to end, not a bit here and a bit there.
It’s a bit like running a marathon. You are in a zone, the first few miles are the hardest, the middle is just getting the rhythm and breathing under control, and then you hope you get to the end because it can seem that you’ve been going forever and the end is never in sight.
But, when you reach the end, oh, isn’t the feeling one of pure joy and relief.
Sorry, not there yet.
And no comment is required from the cat gallery, thankyou!
Yes, you know what it is, and it can be very unpleasant when it hits – hail.
Hailstones as big as golf balls, hailstones that make small or large dents in your car, smash windows, wreck trees, and, sometimes, give the appearance that snow has just fallen.
And hail with snow equals sleet, and it’s not very pleasant to be caught in it.
Of course, there’s a different sort of hail, one that you might also not want to be subject to, that from someone across the street trying to get your attention.
Or a hail that you do want someone or something to stop; a taxi, or cab
Or a ship across the water… though I’m not sure why you, personally would want to hail a ship
Perhaps you could be praised in some way, like, he hailed from London – no, not yelled so loudly he could be heard in New York
And no, we do not go around saying, Hail Minister, or Hail Friend! Not unless we’ve used a time machine and gone back to ancient Roman days
This is not to be confused with the word hale
Yes, our man on the job is hale and hearty, which means in good health – and I have to say I’m envious because I’m anything but hale
There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?
A retired spy, well not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.
But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.
And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.
Susan is exactly the sort of woman that piqued his interest. Then, inexplicably, she disappears. That might have been the end to it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum, find her or come back to work.
Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!
A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.
When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.
I’ve been told there’s a sequel in the works.
Bring it on!
…
The book can be purchased here: http://amzn.to/2Eryfth
…
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 of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.
We flew out of an unnamed base in an unmarked aircraft, heading for Africa. It would be my second visit. The first didn’t quite go as expected, but there was a chance of redemption this time around.
I was the only one who had been there before, other than our two-faced guide, Jacobi, who by now would be working out how he could double-cross us and save his skin. I had no illusions about a man who would turn in his own mother if he had to.
We were going to need a plan b and a plan c going in with him because I had no doubt plan a had already been sent to the relevant people, who were awaiting our imminent arrival with bated breath. Pity we would not be landing anywhere near that location.
In fact, none of us would know where we would be dropped, until minutes before it happened. Security, this time, was going to be formidable. Lallo explained why it was a matter of need to know, and all I had to say was, I didn’t need to know. I suspect Monroe knew, but she was the sort who could keep a secret.
As for the rest of the team, they were a motley crew, but within the group, there was an odd sort of camaraderie between them. Perhaps Lallo had told them that if they stepped out of line, Monroe would shoot them.
Aside from the passengers in the C47 transport, there was a pack for each of us, and enough weapons to start a war. Since we would not be calling at any recognisable airport, I doubted we would be having any customs or immigration problems. No one was travelling with any identification papers. It was that sort of mission.
Bamfield met me at the airport before we took off. Monroe had come over and told me there was a visitor in one of the rooms, the one with Operations crookedly glued to the door. She opened the door, ushered me in, then stepped back out closing the door after her.
Mental note: the door to that room would not withstand a good kick.
There was a table, two chairs, and one of them had Bamfield sitting, looking up expectantly when I entered the room. His eyes beckoned me to the other chair, so, after a look around the room, nothing else other than the table and chairs were in the room I casually made my way to the chair and sat.
We glared at each other over the tabletop.
”I’m guessing this is the last place you expected to be?”
“You have a funny way of issuing invitations?”
“Would you have come along if I asked you politely.”
“Probably not.”
Another minute’s silence while he looked for the words that would be anything other than an apology for coercing me into a corner. I’d come to realise that Bamfield was far from the sort of officer I’d first thought him to be.
An excuse could be made that because he needed to find people to do a particularly dangerous and covert operation, nothing was off the table, including blackmail, in order to get the job done. How he was justifying it using armed services personnel was anyone’s guess, but it would have been kicked higher up the food chain before approval was given.
These operations weren’t just conceived by military commanders, just the CIA on a good day, allowing the armed services to tag along. But make no mistake, this would be a CIA operation, and the CIA to take the credit if it worked out, and the army would take a hit if it didn’t. Either way, it would never reach the newspapers.
“You don’t need me to tell you how important this is, and that we’ve only got one shot at it. If you get caught, any of you, we cannot acknowledge you, so you will be on your own. Your team will obey orders. Monroe is there to maintain discipline if it’s needed.”
“So she’ll be shooting first and asking questions later?”
“Something like that. She’s a tough officer, and worthy of your respect.”
“And the rest?”
“Good soldiers who just got into trouble. They’re being given an opportunity for redemption, and this mission will count towards lessening their sentences. At any rate, Monroe will have your back.”
Good to know.
“You’ll be going to a new destination, after stopping over in northern Uganda. We’ve arranged for the plane to land at a disused airstrip when you’ll be met by Colonel Chiswick. He’ll be arranging you and your teams travel arrangements from there. I can’t tell you any more at this time for security reasons.”
“I have only one question.”
“Only one?”
“There is another 999 but I figure none of those will get answered. It was the same question I asked the last time, who are these people we’re supposed to be rescuing?”
A long and thoughtful look. Could he trust me?
“Two CIA operatives, meddling in DRC affairs without authorisation. They were originally sent to clean up the child soldier problem but somehow got in the middle of the war between government forces and rebels, if you could call them that. They’re mostly militia groups, and the situation was too fractured for them to do much good. Problem is, they made promises, and now we have to bail them out.”
“Another CIA stuff up then.”
“It had good intentions, but in Africa, good intentions are often mistaken for something else entirely. This is, however, one other possible problem you may have to deal with.”
Of course, there always was. Nothing covert operations was involved in didn’t have a wrinkle or three.
“Good or bad?”
He shrugged. “They might not want to go with you. We now suspect they may have had something to do with the last fiasco, and it wasn’t entirely Jacobi’s fault. But, that doesn’t necessarily mean he might not be working with them. You’ll be travelling with a small fortune in diamonds as payment for their release, but it may not necessarily be what it seems. I tell you this, so you don’t get any surprises.”
“Good to know, but I suspect there’s more to the story that you’re not telling me. I’m sure Monroe will keep you in the loop.”
I stood.
Was I expecting a handshake or a good luck, maybe, but I don’t think that was his style? He was probably used to sending men to senseless deaths, so another few would stir his conscience. I shrugged, and walked out of the room, not looking back.
…
© Charles Heath 2019
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.
Perhaps it was.
© Charles Heath 2020-2021
Coming soon. Find the above story and 49 others like it in:
Back on the alien vessel
…
I was surprised the alien captain was not getting impatient with the way this matter was dragging on.
If this was back on earth and we were dealing with an alien incursion, there would be a lot of shooting by short-tempered small-minded fools who only knew one way of dealing with seemingly insurmountable problems.
In that regard, these aliens were better than us, and I had to wonder if they were dealing with this problem in a manner we would understand, and if that was the case, what would have happened if my ship had not made a timely, or untimely, arrival.
It also begged the question of how either of us could move forward from this point, because the only logical outcome was to hand back the criminals.
I wonder what Nancy was thinking, the fate of diplomatic relations, if they were possible after this, in her hands.
There was also a question of what the Russian captain had been promised in return for trying to save them. It would have to be significant for him to put his vessel and its crew on the line.
I looked at the Russian Captain, not looking very comfortable, on the end of a weapon he clearly knew could kill him, or worse.
“What did they promise you?”
His mouth moved, an indication to me he was going to say they didn’t, which to me meant that it was not something he wanted to talk about in front of the Aliens.
The alien answered for him. “Technology, perhaps our secret weapons, the criminals are all people who have worked with or worked on some of our most secret projects.”
Which begged the question, what did they do wrong that they were labelled criminals.
Perhaps the alien could read my mind because he added, “and who had used that technology illegally, or tried to sell it to our enemies.”
So, a new piece of information; the alien has enemies. It raised another question, what if we had met their enemies first?
“Sir.” Number one had come back online, hopefully from the location if the so-called criminals.
“What the situation?”
“I’ve spoken to a chap named Midava, who seems to be the spokesperson for a group of seven I can see. Firstly, they are different from the captain of the vessel you are currently on. He tells me, and several of his colleagues are from a different world, as are others, who were recruited to work on advanced technology. It seems their home planets are far more advanced than the captains.”
“OK. Just hold it there for a minute.” I looked over at the Captain. His expression hadn’t changed, but he had been listening intently.
“Would you like to explain your planets existence among what it seems to me, a galaxy of other civilisations.”
“We are just part of a much larger galaxy, yes, though I would question our level of development in their eyes “
“So, these so-called criminals are from different worlds?”
“We do not discriminate, as some others do.”
There was no acrimony or anger in his tone. He was relating information, and answers to my questions, from their perspective. I realized that I could not judge these people in the same terms as I would one of my own people, and that was going to be the hardest problem we were going to have in dealing big with new people
Quite simply, they were not us.
And, equally, we had no right to judge them according to our rules.
“Sir.” Number one again.
“Yes?”
“Midava tells me they are being held against their will simply because they want to go home. Apparently, their hosts do not want their homelands to know their level of technology improvement. I think you can understand the implication.”
I could. “Thank you, number one.”
“It’s all a matter of perspective,” the alien captain said. “Other worlds, like other countries on your planet, group together in what you call blocs. They are more technologically advanced, so they deigned to ignore us, and it has taken a long time for us to become as advanced. Those people came to us and said they wanted to help us, without the knowledge of their leaders, because it was unjust. We willingly accepted it and for years the association was mutually beneficial, they got the recognition they would not get on their homeworlds, and we got the technology. This ship is one of the benefits, along with its weapons. When they wanted to go home, their work, they said, was done, and they wanted to see their families, the high council decided against it, for security reasons, and when they tried to escape, they were detained. You would call it political expediency.”
“But in an enlightened and just society such as yours, don’t you think that is wrong to deny them. I suspect as you might give a bit more thought to the matter, that telling their homeworlds what they’d done would most like condemn them to death, so I’m sure telling anyone anything about their time with you was the last thing on their minds. It’s food for thought. However, since is not my objective to interfere in your sovereign right to dispense justice in accordance with your laws, I will have the prisoners returned to you.”
“You can’t do that,” the Russian captain said.
“I can, and you will. There are far larger implications in play and if necessary, I will enforce our laws upon you, which will, if the Captain desires, hand you over as well. I suggest, to avoid trouble you give the necessary orders to your crew forthwith.”
To the alien captain, “I expected as a courtesy that you, myself, and the leader of these so-called criminals sit down and have a discussion about their options.”
“I will need to deal with the high council.”
“Then do so now, before we make any arrangements. And release my fellow captain. Using force will not give what you want, and sets a bad precedent if you seek to have any sort of relationship with us.”
A nod from the alien captain to his subordinate, and she let him go, and it was hard to tell if she was upset or not.
Both then disappeared, leaving us alone on an empty bridge, if that was what it was.
“You do realize what will happen to them when he gets them back,” the Russian captain said.
“That’s not our problem. If our roles were reversed, would you want them to weigh in on our affairs?”
“That’s not the point “
“That is the point. Were not here to tell others what to do but to hopefully forge new relations with people who have the means to help us find a place in a new galaxy. We’re here to learn and share if that’s what it takes.”
“And if they are the devil instead?”
“I’m sure you will be very well placed to discern whether they are or not, based on your own actions.”
He didn’t seem annoyed at the inference, which to me showed a marked disregard for anyone but themselves, underlying the people who had put him aboard his ship and what their purpose in getting out into the galaxy first was.
The cold war back on earth had just moved out in the galaxy, and if not now, they would eventually be a threat, not only to ourselves but anyone they came across in their travels.
“You’re making a mistake, once they get what they want they will dispense with us.”
It was a possibility, but the problem for the alien people was, we were here, now, and if he did destroy us, they had to know we knew about them and more of our ships would arrive in time, and they would be hostile, especially if we didn’t report back. And if they had been observing life on earth they’d know we would seek retribution
Perhaps that was the reason why he didn’t destroy us in the first instance.
“How long do you think they will be?” Nancy had found her voice, finally.
I’d almost forgotten she was there.
“How long do you think it would take to talk to a high council? If it’s anything like back home, it could take forever. Any ideas on how, if you get the chance, you’re going to approach setting up diplomatic relations?”
“None whatsoever, sir.”
“Good, a clean slate. Start thinking about it.”
She looked around. “You’d think there’d be a chair to at least sit down.”
A second later three chairs appeared.
“You only had to ask!”
…
© Charles Heath 2021-2022
Available on Amazon Kindle here: https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4
…
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.
Just in case.
© Charles Heath 2015-2020
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 