Month: June 2023

“The Devil You Don’t” – A beta readers view

It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.

John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.

So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?

That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.

What should have been a high turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point every thing goes to hell in a handbasket.

He suddenly realises his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.

The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.

All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.

…

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

Lost and Found, a short story

I had once said that Grand Central Station, in New York, was large enough you could get lost in it. Especially if you were from out of town.

I know, I was from out of town, and though I didn’t quite get lost, back then I had to ask directions to go where I needed to.

It was also an awe-inspiring place, and whenever I had a spare moment, usually at lunchtime, I would go there and just soak in the atmosphere. It was large enough to make a list of places to visit, or find, or get a photograph from some of the more obscure places.

Today, I was just there to work off a temper. Things had gone badly at work, and even though I hadn’t done anything wrong, I still felt bad about it.

I came in the 42nd street entrance and went up to the balcony that overlooked the main concourse. A steady stream of people was coming and going, most purposefully, a few were loitering, and several police officers were attempting to move on a vagrant. It was not the first time.

But one person caught my eye, a young woman who had made a circuit of the hall, looked at nearly every destination board, and appeared to be confused. It was the same as I had felt when I first arrived.

Perhaps I could help.

The problem was, a man approaching a woman from out of left field would have a very creepy vibe to it, so it was probably best left alone.

Another half-hour of watching the world go by, I had finally got past the bad mood and headed back to work. I did a wide sweep of the main concourse, perhaps more for the exercise than anything else, and had reached the clock in the centre of the concourse when someone turned suddenly, and I crashed into them.

Not badly, like ending up on the floor, but enough for a minor jolt. Of course, it was my fault because I was in another world at that particular moment.

“Oh, I am sorry.” A woman’s voice, very apologetic.

I was momentarily annoyed, then, when I saw who it was, it passed. It was the lost woman I’d seen earlier.

“No. Not your fault, but mine entirely. I have a habit of wandering around with my mind elsewhere.”

Was it fate that we should meet like this?

I noticed she was looking around, much the same as she had before.

“Can I help you?”

“Perhaps you can. There’s supposed to be a bar that dates back to the prohibition era here somewhere. Campbell’s Apartment, or something like that. I was going to ask…”

“Sure. It’s not that hard to find if you know where it is. I’ll take you.”

It made for a good story, especially when I related it to the grandchildren, because the punch line was, “and that’s how I met your grandmother.”

 

© Charles Heath 2020

Where does time go?

When has time gone?  I mean, just yesterday it felt like the start of a new year, and all those projects I had lined up are still on paper, somewhere.

Has anyone else over 65 got the feeling time is speeding up rather than slowing down?  It sounds weird doesn’t it, that as you slow down as old age approaches, time goes faster, and those things you wanted to get done seem further and further away.  I’m 70 this year, and it feels like I only turned 65 a year ago!

When you’re young it always seems like you will have all the time in the world, and that seems to play out over the first forty or fifty years, putting this off, putting that off, while all the little details of life take more and more of your time.

And there’s that one huge thing that hangs over your head, the fact that you might never get to that time when you said you would have time for it.  People are dying younger again, of stress, bad habits and overexercising.

I’ll never be guilty of the last once.  It’ll probably be bad habits, something we are all guilty of.

That’s also a reason why I don’t have New Year’s resolution, and I try not to make plans for anything too far ahead.

It’s also the reason why we decided to travel and do all those things people say they’re going to do when they retire, only to discover they can’t for one reason or another, or they just simply died.

Stopping work after being so wrapped up in it, can kill you, and it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that you can quite literally die of boredom.

It’s why I write.  Keeps the mind active, gives me something to do, and believe me when I’m writing I’m never bored, and is a perfect fit between bouts of being a grandfather, a taxi service, and doing everything else that needs a not-so-handy handyman.

Time flying is the same reason why my granddaughters have grown so much because it seems like it was only yesterday they were babies, and now the eldest is 16.  When did she get so grown up?

Oh, well, back to childminding duties.  It’s the school holidays and tomorrow we’re off the travel down ‘the coast’ what most ubiquitously call the Gold Coast, or otherwise known as Surfer’s Paradise.  It’s glitzy, has a dark side, and always looks shiny until the sun goes down.  We go there during the day.  Tomorrow will be the first time in over a year.

If we can get the kids off their computers and smartphones.

The cinema of my dreams – It all started in Venice – Episode 19

An interview with Jaime Meyers

…

I went in and closed the door, leaning against it.  She glared at me, for a moment not recognising who it was, then the expression changed.

And it gave me a tell.

“You’re supposed to be in Venice,” she said, with a hint of amusement in her tone.

“You’re not supposed to be in here, and yet here you are.”

“It’s all part of a witch hunt.  We’ve been down this road before, and like the last time, and the time before that, they’ve got nothing on me.  They know it and you should know it too, but if you’re retired, why are you here?”

“Your new best friend forever, Larry.  You know he wants me dead.”

“He says you killed his brother, but he’s never said anything about killing you, just getting justice for his brother.  Through the legal system.”

“Of course he would say that.  I assure you I had nothing to do with his brother’s death but that’s another story.”  I crossed to the chair and sat down taking a moment to look at her.

Drugs, alcohol and stress had taken the shine off what had once been a stunningly beautiful young woman.  The loss of her father and betrayal of her husband had taken their toll.

“If that’s the case perhaps you should tell me what happened so I can make up my own mind.  After all, there are always two sides to a story.”

I shook my head.  “That would be a pointless exercise.  Let’s talk about you instead, and the reason why you’re sitting in that chair.  Larry.  Until you took up with him, we had no idea who you were or what you were doing and had no reason to find out.  Larry, on the other hand, well, he’s shoulder deep in a shit pile of criminal activity, and my old boss, when I used to work for him, is very interested in everyone who even looks sideways at him.  So, bottom line, you’re only here because of him, and because of him I know everything there is to know about.”

“So you say, but there’s nothing to know.  Never was, and Larry is just a friend who’s going through a rough patch.”

“If you mean losing out on a fifty-million pound inheritance because he killed his brother is a rough patch, then your right.”

“I don’t know anything about that.  All I know is his wife is being difficult.”

“That’s the same line all married men use.”

Her expression sharpened conveying annoyance.  “It’s not that sort of relationship.” 

“Not what his wife is telling his mother back in Sorrento.  And that’s saying something considering how much Brenda hates his mother.”

A change in expression.  Another tell, a nerve hit.

“How do I know this?”  I asked the question for her.  “Simple, and perhaps I will give you a side of the story.  His mother crossed paths with one of my investigations back when I worked in intelligence as an analyst and I got to know her quite well.  As a favourable, knowing I was in a position to help, she asked me to watch over his brother, her youngest son.”

I could see the question before she could ask it.

“Before you tell me I didn’t do a very good job, I was at the handoff Larry sent him to that went bad, one he was told would be a simple briefcase exchange, and ended up having to defend him in what became an impossible situation.”

“What was in the briefcases?”

An odd question but I could see from the furrowed brow that she had seized on a significant detail.

“I don’t know and didn’t ask.  In my position, it was better not to know, but you can guess.  I’m sure you are aware of Larry’s interests.”

She didn’t say, but she knew.  My guess had been drugs on one side and money on the other.  It was anything but a simple job and my reasoning was Larry tried to keep it low-key using a lesser-known courier without backup, and someone found out.  With drugs and cask on that scale, it was too much of a temptation to pass up.

“Anyway, he was shot, not fatally, I patched him up, he called Larry and I stayed with him until Larry arrived, but left before Larry saw me, for obvious reasons.  If you talk to his mother she will verify everything I said.  She was still talking to him after I left and up to the point where he could see Larry coming.  After that. He was DOA at the hospital.  You can draw your own conclusions but 50 million is a great incentive to use a particular situation to get rid of a problem.”

“An interesting story, as you say, but I’m not likely to be asking anyone anything because I’m just not interested, in you or him.”

“As I said before, a pointless exercise.  But, interested or not, you will be helping us with our problem with Larry and his explosives.”

“‘I know nothing about that.”

“Well, let’s talk about something you do know about.  Emily Broadhurst, or to Wendy, Aunt May.”

The look on that fraction a second was both malevolent and fearful.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I shrugged.  “I thought you might say that.”  I took out my cell phone and dialled one of the two numbers displayed.  “Let’s bring them in and have a chat, see what they have to say.”  A voice answered on the other end.  “George.  Bring them in.”

“Stop.”  She glared at her lawyer.  “Give us the room.”

“I strongly suggest…”

“Give me the room.  Your objection is noted.”

Her lawyer reluctantly got up and left the room.  She glared at the policewoman standing by the door.

“Pretend she’s not here,” I said.  “She has to be here for your safety and is the very soul of discretion.”  I looked up at the camera.  “This is not to be recorded or observed, so camera off.”  I waited until the red light below the camera went off.

I could see she was about to say something, more than likely regrettable, but understandable.

“Let me say this before you say something you will regret.  You’ve been lying to me.  I don’t ask questions I don’t have answers to.  Because you started working with Larry, we went the extra mile on your life and operations.  You were there when the crates were delivered, as was Larry himself and he told you what was in there.  So, where there’s one lie, what is there you can say that cannot be taken with a grain of salt.”

“Be that as it may…”

“No.  You are the head of a criminal organisation.  It might be dressed up very cleverly to look like something else, but we have a very clear view of what goes on.  To be honest, we don’t care.  You’re not the focus of my ex-bosses obsession.  And, believe me when I tell you, I don’t like being Larry’s target.”

“Then make him disappear.”

“Unfortunately, despite what you and others might think, we did not unilaterally kill people for no reason, and, even if I still worked for that organisation, I wasn’t able to make people disappear.  The paperwork would be horrendous, along with endless external, internal and government reviews.”

“Then what do you want me to do?  I’m not an informer, nor will I become an informant.”  Spoken by a person who still thought they had a choice.

“You’re going to do what you negotiate with the police, who, despite your endless denials, are aware of the truth.  So, first things first, you are going to ignore Larry, and not proceed with any of the arrangements you may have agreed with him..  You can do that with plausible deniability, telling him leaving C4 in your warehouse was not an act of good faith since the police now want your hide for it.  Once again I will reiterate, I’m not interested in you, and nor is my ex-boss, so you are in a unique position to use whatever knowledge you have as leverage for your freedom.”

“And the matter you brought up?”

“Will never see the light of day, or be mentioned by anyone ever again.  Unless you break our agreement.  I used to have the best investigative team on the planet, and they can find anyone or anything, so if you’re thinking of running, don’t.  My ex-boss will have no hesitation in destroying you and your organisation.”

“And yet you say you work for no one.”

“Haven’t for years.  I retired and hope to stay that way, but my wife died, and Larry decided to come after me.  At the moment I don’t have much to live for, so if you want to get in my bad books, believe me you’ll not live to regret it.  When I walk out of this room, don’t get in my sights.”

“And why should I take you at your word?”

“I swear it on my wife’s grave.  Good enough?”

It seemed it was.

© Charles Heath 2022

A score to settle – The Editor’s draft – Day 18

I have the story, the editor is asking for it, and I’m putting the final touches to it

…

There’s only so long you can keep the real world out.

That notion that you can write for as long as you want is a myth. Aside from the fact you have to stop for coffee breaks, meals, and sleep, all entirely optional, there are other factors that come into play.

Family.

Just to name one, there is still my usual job of picking up my granddaughter from school as and when required.

And this impinging on the world that you have created for yourself, in that writing bubble that is November, it doesn’t take much to crack it, even just a little.

So, here I am, sitting in the queue waiting with the hundreds of others who have decided public transport is way too unsafe, health-wise in this world of COVID scares, that we should pick them up and deliver them safely to their homes.

My phone then becomes the principal instrument in my office, the equivalent of a computer with writing software and a cloud directory where I can work on any part of the manuscript, in the office or anywhere in the world, but today, from my car.

Toll back 40 years, and this wasn’t possible, except if you had a writing pad and a pen or pencil. Such a messy and time-consuming way of writing, but it was all we had back then, other than a typewriter that could not be used in a car.

How times have changed, and for the better.

…

Today’s word count: 2,238 words, for the running total of 45,434.

Searching for locations: The Kingston Flyer, Kingston, New Zealand

The Kingston Flyer was a vintage train that ran about 14km to Fairlight from Kingston, at the southern end of Lake Wakatipu, and back.

This tourist service was suspended in December 2012 because of locomotive issues.

However, before that, we managed to go on one of the tours, and it was a memorable trip.  Trying to drink a cup of tea from the restaurant car was very difficult, given how much the carriages moved around on the tracks.

The original Kingston Flyer ran between Kingston, Gore, Invercargill, and sometimes Dunedin, from the 1890s through to 1957.

There are two steam locomotives used for the Kingston Flyer service, the AB778 starting service in 1925, and the AB795 which started service in 1927.

The AB class locomotive was a 4-6-2 Pacific steam locomotive with a Vanderbilt tender, of which 141 were built between 1915 and 1927 some of which by New Zealand Railways Addington Workshops.

No 235 is the builder’s number for the AB778

There were seven wooden bodied passenger carriages, three passenger coaches, one passenger/refreshments carriage and two car/vans.  The is also a Birdcage gallery coach.  Each of the rolling stock was built between 1900 and 1923.  They were built at either of Addington, Petone, or Hillside.

I suspect the 2 on the side means second class

The passenger coach we traveled in was very comfortable.

This is one of the guard’s vans, and for transporting cargo.

The Kingston Railway Station

and cafe.

A poster sign advertising the Kingston Flyer

The running times for the tourist services, when it was running.

Who do you think you are?

I have seen this television program once or twice, where a television personality digs into their past and sometimes they discover they had famous, or sometimes infamous, relatives.

I don’t think I would be so lucky, or unlucky as the case may be.

But, to be honest I haven’t really been interested in digging into the past.

On the other hand, my older brother has a keen interest in genealogy in general, borne from a desire to find out more about our family tree.

And he has gone back to the 1600s, for the relatives who came out from England, and no, they have no transported convicts, or at least he’s not saying.

Genealogy is a rather fascinating subject, and, I’ve discovered, is taught in university as a degree.  My brother has one now. 

What I didn’t realize is that I’ve been playing with it for years because in writing what might be called sagas you need to create your own set of mythical families, and then trace to forebears back in time.

I have one novel I’m writing that has required a family tree, and recently another for a story that required starting with a character who participated in the Eureka Stockade.  We had to create parents, a migration from England to Australia, and then construct a family tree through to today so we could write a story from the perspective of a fourth-generation girl at school doing a school project.

If that sounds complicated, believe me, it is.  But from my granddaughter who came up with the idea, she is very excited about it.

Much better than sitting in front of a computer playing games or a tv watching cartoons.

But once again I digress…

I have found a lot of genealogy stuff that my mother had been working on, and I’m taking it to my brother, and at the same time, l will get the latest installment on our family.

So far I’ve learned that I come from a combination of British relatives on both my mother and father’s side, the most recent my father’s mother who was born in England, and German from my mother’s side, her surname being Auhl.

No doubt, and with a great deal of irony, my relatives probably fought against each other in two world wars.

I’m sure more will be revealed on Wednesday.

But, the more I learn the more I feel inclined to create a fictionalized history with my family members as characters in the story.  At the moment a biographical account of the family would be reasonably boring since as yet no one notorious had been discovered.

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 18

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.

 

The debriefing team were not quite what I expected, a man and a woman, one a Major, the other a Lieutenant, and it was apparent they had just met before coming into the room.

He was Major Lallo, Army intelligence, and the woman, Lieutenant Jill Monroe, a familiar name as I’m sure I’d heard it before.

Lallo was not a fighting soldier, he was a paperwork man.  I suspect he was more at home with an order book, and filing communications though that didn’t explain the rank, which he would have to have front line experience to attain.

Monroe looked to me to be the sort of woman soldier that had to prove she was better than any man and had the muscular form to go with it.  Not the sort of a woman to get into a fight over or against.

She stood at the end of the bed, and I suspect by her posture that she was there to make sure I didn’t run, which, by the way, was physically impossible.

Lallo sat in the chair beside the bed, tried to make himself comfortable.  He was going to ask the questions.  He had a small notebook he took out of his pocket with a list of questions.  The small pencil that slotted into the binding was there to write down the answers if any.  I was not sure I was up to answer any questions.

Settled, he started with, “You don’t have to answer, but I suggest you do.  I think by now you are starting to realise that, no matter how strong you think you might be, you’re not.  If you decided to be unforthcoming, then you can be assured that we will be interrogating you with a lot more, shall we say, enthusiasm than in the past.”

By the way he said it, I got the impression he would be the one.  His tone had changed suddenly, to a man who enjoyed others discomfort, and he was looking forward to breaking me if it came to that.

“And if I don’t have the answers to your questions, or should I say, not the answers you are expecting, what then?”

“One step at a time.  We’ll start with the easy questions first.”

I’m not quite sure what he classified as easy.  I didn’t think there were any.

“How long have you been at this base?”

Maybe I was wrong.  “Two months, three days.”

“How did your transfer to this specific base come about?”

“I don’t know.  I was at a training base in Ohio one day, then being presented with orders to get the next transport out the next.”

“Did you, or someone else you know, request your transfer to a new base?”

I didn’t think that was possible.  Someone of my rank went where they were told to go.

“No.  I’m a Sergeant, not a General.”

But was it possible Colonel Bamfield arranged for me to be transferred.  Given the fact he was here, now, it was not beyond the realms of possibility.  But if so, why?

“What was your function at your last base?”

What had this to do with my current situation or anything else for that matter?

“Instructor.”

“In what?”

“Infiltration, covert operations.”

“And I’m assuming then you been involved in these, shall we say, covert operations?”

No use denying it.  It was obvious he had seen my file, which all of a sudden had some very disturbing possibilities.  Just how much information though.

“Yes, but they’re classified and I can’t tell you anything and that.”

“Normally that would be the case, but…”  He left the sentence hanging there for a few seconds before adding, “There was a problem with your last operation, the reason, it appears, you were transferred to the training base in Ohio.  Is that correct?”

A mission that I had been told never to mention, speak of to anyone, no matter how high their rank in the military or government, or even think about again.

A mission I was told had been buried so deep it would never see the light of day.

Until now.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

“The Devil You Don’t”, she was the girl you would not take home to your mother!

Now only $0.99 at https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.

Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.

If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.

At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.

That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.

Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.

newdevilcvr6

Searching for locations: Huka Falls, Taupo, New Zealand

Huka Falls is located in the Wairakei Tourist Park about five minutes north of Taupo on the north island of New Zealand.

2013-03-12 12.28.21

The Waikato River heading towards the gorge

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The water heading down the gorge, gathering pace

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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.