The Cinema of My Dreams – It ended in Sorrento – Episode 61

Evan and Juliet are a team

…

It didn’t take long to sort out what we were going to do next. Alfie, Francesca, and Cecelia were going to look at the remaining properties and find out where the Countess and Mrs Rodby were being held. Once found, surveillance until I’d done my part.

I didn’t have to tell Cecelia what to do if Francesca caused any problems, but Alfie muttered under his breath, which I took to mean he didn’t like the idea of being a nursemaid.

I had my own problems to deal with.

Juliet and I were going to see Dicostini. I was not sure how I was going to approach him, but I was hoping the fake countess would be there.

Alfie was surprised that I would take Juliet with me given her history, and the trouble she had caused us in Venice, but I had to admit that a lot of the trouble she got into wasn’t necessarily her fault.

Larry had used her brother as leverage so she would do his bidding.

Vittoria concocted a story that I almost believed myself, so why wouldn’t she want to believe her father might have been a count and not a footman or gardener.

After consulting with the briefing team back in London, they had a set of targets to investigate and left.

While we had been discussing tactics Juliet had gone to have a shower, clean the wound on her head properly and change into clean clothes. If she hadn’t been the person I knew, and it was for the first time, she would have warranted a second look.

Not that I was interested in having second looks at any woman, including Cecelia, because I had to get my mind back in the game.

“I was listening, you know,” she said after the others had gone.

She picked up the notepad computer with the file of Dicostini and read it. After five minutes she looked over at me, and said, “This guy is a five-star loser you know. And five-star losers, when desperate, are very unpredictable.”

“That’s your psychoanalysis of him, is it?”

“It was one of the fields I studied in med school. And,” she sighed, “that feels like an eternity ago. Life was so much simpler then, eighteen hours shifts, no sleep, get legless drunk, turn up the next day for more of the same.”

“No shagging in the storeroom?”

“You’ve been watching too many TV shows. I was not the promiscuous sort, that was the purview of some nurses. By and large despite the insanity, people behaved.

“No crush on another doctor?”

“Again, TV stereotype, Evan. And despite what you might think, not with the patients either. Especially not with the patients because you can’t get emotionally invested and still do your job. You were an exception, but as you are aware, I broke it off quickly before it got too far. I’m sorry, but it should not have started in the first place.”

“Was that the start of your spiral?”

“No. That came later, when one of my patients died, and I was blamed for it. It wasn’t me. I got another doctor to cover, but she didn’t stay for the full shift. Then she lied and got one of the other interns to back her story. I got suspended, and then it all went to hell in a handbasket.”

“What happened to her?”

“She killed three others before they decided enough was enough. The truth eventually came out, but they didn’t reinstate me, or offer an apology. Bastards.”

I could see why anything other than the life she had been handed would be better, but it seemed it just didn’t get any better.

“You don’t have any other dirty secrets waiting to come out of the woodwork, do you?”

“Not today.”

I don’t know whether that was good or bad, whether she was joking or not.

I drove to the Dicostini farm and went back to the surveillance position that Cecelia had set up previously. I’d brought the sniper rifle and high-powered binoculars. I gave the binoculars to Juliet. It would not surprise me if she knew how to use the rifle.

“What are we doing?”

“Watching and waiting. I want to see if the fake countess is in there, and I suspect this might take a while. I’d get settled in for a long session.”

“Is this one of those famed stakeouts? Where are the snacks and coffee?”

“TV stereotype. There’s water in the bag.”

We took turns to watch the residents, Dicostini, his wife, his children, farm hands, people helping out in the house, and visitors, but not fake countess.

“You think she might have gone to where they’re holding the real one?” Juliet asked the question I’d been asking myself.

“It’s possible. It’s also possible she won’t show herself in daylight.”

We both heard the rustling at the same time, and she shrunk back further into the undergrowth. Someone was coming, whether they were looking for us, or just taking a short cut to the road, or simply patrolling just in case. I was surprised no one came to check that spot Cecelia had taken. It was one of two places that had a clear view of the house, without anyone in the house being able to see us.

I got us, and moved silently to a position behind two trees and waited. If the knew about this spot then they would have to walk past me.

A minute later a man appeared, one I hadn’t seen before.

He was trying not to disturb the undergrowth and was moving stealthily. On the edge of the cleared patch, he spotted the rifle, and said, to himself, “I thought I saw a flash.”

Just as he raised his radio, I hit him as hard as I could with the gun, and thankfully he went down and didn’t move.

I quickly got the tape for a gag and rope to tie him before he regained consciousness. He was big and would be hard to tackle in a fair fight. Juliet came out to see what was happening.

“Put some tape over his mouth, but not his nose.”

“After hitting that hard, why would you care?”

She ripped off a length of tape and put it over his mouth.

“I don’t. I didn’t want to upset you, being a doctor and everything.”

“Do I look like a doctor?”

“You will be one for as long as you live Juliet, whether they let you practise or not.”

She glared at me.

“And get eyes back on that house. It’s getting dark soon and we don’t want to miss her if she’s there.

I tied him to the tree so he couldn’t escape, and reapplied the gag so he couldn’t make much noise. If he told anyone what he was doing, it wouldn’t be long before someone came looking for him.

…

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 62

This story is now on the list to be finished so over the new few weeks, expect a new episode every few days.

The reason why new episodes have been sporadic, 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.

Things are about to get complicated…

I was straight back to the scenario where O’Connell was expendable after performing his role, and that Anna was cleaning up before leaving, or she had already gone.

O’Connell had no doubt told her about the Peasdale address, and the fact he’d told me, and she might have assumed that there would be a window of opportunity to get some belongings at her flat.

Would she be there?

I switched off the light, backtracked to the door, and then went back outside into the passage. Jennifer appeared beside me.

“O’Connell’s in there, dead. Shot in the head.”

“Your friend?”

I’m not sure how she came up with the designation, ‘Your Friend’, but after the shortened version of my time with Josephine, and the fact we had a hotel room together, could have inspired such a thought.

I went to her flat and listened at the door.

Nothing. There was no light showing under the door, so this could be a fruitless exercise. The same operation as before, Jennifer waited outside, and I would go in. It didn’t take as long to pick her lock. Practise.

I opened the door, the gun in hand, and went slowly into the room.

There was a glow from what might be a night light coming from the end of the passage where the bedroom was.

She was in, or she forgot to turn off the light.

It was also not so dark in this flat, with several pilot lights casting red, blue or green hues over the furniture and floor. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust.

“Drop the gun, Sam.”

Josephine, now just discernible across the room, a gun of her own aimed at me.

I shot her. Without hesitation.

She was taken utterly by surprise, dropping her own weapon and spinning sideways into the arm of the chair, lost balance and crashed down to the floor.

Jennifer was in the door and had it closed behind her, and switched on the light. We were both blinded for a second, enough time for Josephine to reach for her weapon which hadn’t fallen very far from her and for Jennifer to shoot her gun hand.

I remembered in that instant, that Jennifer scored the highest in gun training. She would be ‘deadly’ Maury had said.

“OK, enough, what the hell was that for?” Jo said, stretching out on the floor and holding the hand that Jennifer shot.

“You played me, Anna.”

“Operation necessity. I had to know what you were up to. O’Connell said you were going to be a problem.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Me? No. He was dead when I got here. We were here just to get our away bags. How did you guess?”

“Lucky. I was going to the other flat, but I figured it was too new for O’Connell to probably tell you. He may have been planning to double-cross you too. It seems the way of things in this op. Where are the USBs?”

“What makes you think I have them?”

“The fact you just said them, when all we knew for sure was there was only one. I assume you have one each for safety’s sake, and coming back here, one or other of you was going to pull a double cross.”

“Until someone else got another idea. Right now, you have a window of opportunity, Sam. A big payday, for the two of you.”

“Tempting, but no. I’m not in this for the money.”

“Then you’re a fool. No one does anything except line their own pockets. If you give the USBs to your chief, what do you think they’re going to do? O’Connell got five million, the person who gave him the money will get ten at the very least. They’re not interested in saving the world, Sam.”

She was probably right.

I looked at Jennifer. “Are you in this for the money, Jennifer?”

“I just want my old life back.”

“Then keep an eye on the door, we’ll be having visitors very soon. Anyone who comes through it using a key, disarm them. Don’t hesitate.”

Back to Anna. “Where are they? Bear in mind I have no qualms about shooting you until you do tell me, so make it easy on yourself, because the next thing I shoot at is your knees.”

A moment’s thought, and a shot into the wall that just missed her head, decided the matter.

“In the backpack pocket.”

She nodded her head in the direction of the backpack sitting on the kitchen bench.

I went over and in the third pocket I opened there were two USBs in a plastic bag.

“What are you going to do with them?”

“Destroy them. The world doesn’t need any more pandemics any time soon.” I went over to the microwave oven and put them in and set it running.

“You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

“We’ve got company,” Jennifer said.

“You know what to do.”

…

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 59

What story does it inspire?

…

…

There’s nothing like a mass of ice to start thinking about the Titanic.

Come to think of it, there are so many sayings that use the Titanic as an expression of disaster, it’s impossible to imagine that an icescape could be a thing of beauty.

Of course, being stuck on the ice is probably the worst thing that could happen to you.

Firstly, if you were to fall overboard on a cruise in icy water you probably wouldn’t have much time before you froze to death.

If you were flying over the ice and the plane came down, and if you are that lucky you survived the plane crash, being exposed to the cold outside without adequate clothing will have the same effect.

If you decide that doing a stint as a scientist at one of the Antarctica scientific stations is something you would consider, perhaps a little practice in icy conditions and freezing cold would be required.

We visited the replica of the Mawson hut that was on Antarctica, when we were in Hobart last year, and it was interesting. Although rather primitive, it had a recording of the sounds of the wind and snow in the background and that would have driven me nuts after a day.

And yet, it must be interesting working down there.

Story wise though, Alistair McLean wrote the definitive story, Ice Station Zebra, one I suggest you read.

Writing a book in 365 days – 46/47

Daya 46 and 47

A writing exercise

…

This end-of-week writing exercise is to take a particular painting, one of three suggestions, and write a story.

Well, I haven’t exactly been doing this forever, but as a variation, I take photographs and write stories around them.

I call it ‘A photograph from the inspiration bin’.

Nearly all of my short stories come from a photograph, either one I’ve taken or one that I’ve found on a royalty-free site.

However, today, it’s going to be different. I’m picking a painting and writing a story.

…

Night Windows by Edward Hopper, 1928

…

It’s not so much that my apartment building was across the street, that it was overlooking another that had an occupant who was not afraid to pull the curtains and take what privacy that might offer.

At first, it was disconcerting, because I had a little balcony and on the warm summer nights I would put a blanket down and lie down, staring up at the sky, not that any part of it could be clearly discerned.

What that balcony offered was any coolness that was on offer and the sounds of the city gently drifting up to my level. Sounds often soothing enough to put me to sleep.

But it was the apartment opposite, one level lower, a corner with three windows, and the room that was clearly set aside to sit and relax.

The first time Josie appeared in that room, the first time I saw her was the day after she moved in. It was not hard, in the confines of the apartment building on that part of the street, to notice who came and who went.

She stood at the window and surveyed what were to be her neighbours, her eyes finally resting on my balcony, not that I was looking, but when I did, our eyes met, and she smiled.

It was the beginning of summer. Life was easy, and the post-war malaise had long dissipated into a feeling that things could only get better. The newspapers were calling it the Roaring Twenties.

Over the next few weeks, she appeared at odd times, opening the windows and taking in the breeze. I took to speculating what her profession might be and landed on the most obvious showgirl.

Then, one night, I saw her peering out into the night, glancing in every direction as the rain began to fall, and I had to beat a hasty retreat.

Ten minutes later, there was a light rapping on my door; a surprise because I had yet to cultivate any acquainted in my building even though I had seen and briefly spoken to several.

I waited until a second knock and then went over to the door and opened it.

The girl from across the road, half damp from walking in the rain, water in her hair, and a few drops running down the side of her face.

“Hello,” she said.

I thought she had come to tell me to stop looking over. It was difficult not to, given how close the buildings were, and it was not as if one could look in that direction and not see her.

“Hello to you.”

“May I come on?”

I nodded and stood to one side to let her pass. A passing thought, she was very brave to enter the apartment, not knowing who was there.

I closed the door but did not lock it. She crossed to the window and looked out, then turned.

“Would you like a towel?”

“I am a bit damp, aren’t I. I misjudged how heavy it was. Yes, if you have a spare.”

I did, fetched it, and gave it to her, then I waited until she’d finished. I think it was an advantage that her hair was short.

Then, after another glance over at her apartment, one indeed partially open, the soft lighting left on casting a subdued glow over the room, she looked at me.

“I wanted to look at what my living room looked like from the outside.”

“I believe some people would kill just to get that room. You were lucky if you were rich, perhaps?”

“My grandmother’s, I’m afraid, and I am only staying there while she takes the steamer to Europe for the summer. Then it’s back to the farm.”

“First time?”

“No, we come once a year. I came this time to audition for dancing roles in stage productions or cabarets, but it’s a brutal business. A country girl like me has a lot to learn, and I’d hate to come here without anything, and try to make it.”

“Have you had any success?”

I had to admit I was surprised that she made the effort to come over, in fact, to work out which apartment I was in, that she would want to.

“No. Got sore feet and aches in places I never knew existed. It’s a lonely business. I see you out there soaking up what little breeze there is, and I wondered how you manage.”

“You should not be so trusting.”

“Call it country girl common sense, but I can tell good from bad. You spend more time pretending I’m not there. That, to me, says a little about your character. My name is Josie, short for Josephine, but I hate Jo.”

“Tim, short for Timothy, and only my parents use Timothy when they’re angry with me, which was most of the time.”

We shook hands or perhaps touched hands.

“City boy?”

“No. Midwest, I learned to ride a horse before I could walk. I don’t hate it, but there’s a lot of worlds out there, and I want to see some of it before I have to go back. How long are you here?”

“A couple of months. I don’t see success on the horizon. I thought my dancing skills were quite good. Perhaps back in Wisconsin, maybe, but not here. Can I call you a friend?”

“If you are in need of one.”

She smiled. “In a place like this, at least one.”

“Would you like to have dinner one night? There’s a diner not far away, and the food is quite good.”

“A date?”

“Dinner. Is that a date?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be. If you can work out my apartment number, call on me tomorrow night.”

…

Searching for locations – Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia – 3

Quite often on holidays, we train ourselves to get up early because when you’re away in a different place, you don’t want to waste the day.

I’d like to think that since we can’t do a lot of the usual touristy activities we can sleep in and take a more leisurely approach to the day.

Not this morning.

Not yesterday, either, but for different reasons.

Today, it was the shooting pains down my leg from the bad back. Perhaps that walk to the coffee shop aggravated it, but since when did exercise harm you?

Anyway, finally giving up the notion of sleeping, I bounded out of bed, sorry slowly climbed out of bed with care, at 6:40 a.m. Unless you’re going on a tour that is the greatest thing since sliced bread, who, on holidays, gets out of bed at that hour.

Me, apparently.

Just four minutes after sunrise, which I missed.

I managed to get yesterday’s and was hoping to go one better and catch the sun coming over the horizon. Maybe tomorrow.

So, what do you do in such a hideous hour of the morning?

With the beach just 50 meters away, it was beckoning me to take a walk. When I looked, there were probably a half dozen people with their dogs taking a walk. And another three or four out for a power walk.

For me, it was going to be a leisurely stroll after picking my way across the loose sand to where it was a lot more solid.

The tide was on the way in, so every now and then, the water came up the beach near where most people walked.

By the time I started the foot traffic on the path had increased exponentially as had that on the shoreline along with the number of dogs exercising their owners, and a number of fishermen perhaps trying to land a fish for breakfast.

I had time to keep an eye on the cloud formations, and the waves came in, some a lot higher than others. That meant there were also a small number of die-hard surfers hoping to catch a big one.

You could see the rain out to sea, and with the forecast for rain later I entered of it was sitting out there waiting to arrive at the appointed time. I was just hoping it didn’t rain while I was out.

All in all, it was a pleasant hour or so up the beach and back. The hardest part, trudging over the loose sand, particularly after walking for the hour.

The fishermen had caught nothing.

The number of dogs had increased, but the power walkers had been replaced by families, visitors, and older people. I think if I lived here, I would be one more of the old people, out getting my daily exercise, and then stopping off at the coffee shop for a flat white and a cake.

And the best thing about it. It was still only half past eight in the morning and just in time for breakfast.

Pity I was the designated chef.

Going to church on Sunday

This is my least favored option for spending a Sunday morning, but having married a Catholic and agreeing to adopt Catholicism, it’s one of those things that has to be done on rare occasions, usually a child’s milestone.

Yes, we went through our children’s moments like baptism, first communion, and confirmation, or these days in a somewhat different order. Then it came to the turn of our grandchildren and today the last child is making her first communion, and there will end our involvement till the last rites.

Hopefully.

Church to me doesn’t hold any real significance. It doesn’t mean that I would debunk the idea of religion and I firmly believe that if anyone believes in God, then that’s their right.

And it seems there are a lot of believers. I’m sitting in the church now and it is packed. It might be that it’s a captive audience given that it’s a first communion for grade three students and others. but given the enthusiasm of the children involved, I’d say the church was about to get over a hundred new followers.

Of course, a lot depends on the enthusiasm and devoutness of the parents who may wish to spend their Sundays in a different manner, but I suspect there are many here who will continue their devoutness in some form or other.

As for me, sadly, I will continue to use the only day of the week it’s possible to sleep in.

Searching for locations – Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia – 2

No, there was no fish and chips on the menu today.

In fact, we did not venture far from the apartment. The only foray outside was to find a cafe and get a decent cup of coffee and breakfast if they had a reasonable breakfast menu.

We found a quaint cafe, which appeared to be an old house converted, with tables inside and out. That aged factor gave the place atmosphere, and it seemed a lot of people agreed; there were few tables free, and it was very busy.

Like most places these days, they have QR codes on the table that allow you to get the menu us on your phone, opening up a wide selection of fare.

Since we were there for breakfast and I like bacon and eggs, I ordered a bacon and egg burger (naturally) and a flat white coffee (my usual).

The coffee was perfect, but the bacon and egg burger? Well, it would have been great if they’d dialled down the tomato relish. I’m still trying to work out why gourmet burgers have to be ruined by lashings if very sharp relish.

Needless to say, tomorrow I will be getting it without the relish. It was fine other than that.

The walk was our morning exercise, and it bothers me that as we are getting older and our mobility issues worsening, the distance was almost a challenge. For people who find going to the supermarket difficult, it’s the idea of going out that makes us think twice about going away.

Because isn’t going away all about discovering new places and visiting the sights, all of which requires, you guessed it, walking.

This walk was slow but pleasant in the morning sun. In Queensland, this is the best time of the year where the temperatures are between 21 and 25, the skies are blue, and the days are almost idyllic. It is that period before the heat and humidity come and stay for 5 months.

That same walk in two months would be physically debilitating.

It’s for this reason we now select places to go where we don’t have to walk far or do much walking at all, just be able to sit and watch the world go by.

Or, in this case, the many different people who go out for a walk during the day, and when tired of that, watch the tide come in or go out.

It might be for some people a waste of time being in a place that certainly would merit a lot more exploring, we’ve been here and done that, and much prefer, these days, to watch the world go by.

And these apartments are just the place to do that!

“The Things We Do For Love”

Would you give up everything to be with the one you love?

…

Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?

For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, a place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.

Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.

Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.

A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.

But can love conquer all?

It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.

The cover, at the moment, looks like this:

Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?

For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, s place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.