Day 153 – Writing Exercise

…

I was lying in a hospital bed staring at the ceiling, after being told that morning that a few seconds either way of me getting to the hospital could have been a matter of life and death.

No visitors for two days, and a very laborious interview with the police where I was practically browbeaten into making a confession, of stuff I hadn’t done, and through mistaken identity..

They were determined to make me the scapegoat.  Now, looking at my brother who had made a special trip to see me, I was annoyed.

He should have been the one who was attacked. 

And all because I borrowed his car?

It seemed to me he was oblivious, or pretending to be obvious, to the fact that it should have been him and not me, but something told me I was never going to get him to admit that he was the one they wanted to hurt, not me. 

And this was not the first time it had happened.

“I think you know I was not the target,” I said, “and definitely not the one who committed any of the crimes I’m being accused of.  The mere fact that we are almost alike is a very telling factor.”

We were not twins but the year apart in age did little to tell us apart, even from quite close.  Cerise, his wife, had taken years before she could accurately tell us apart.

“You were running their distributional network,” he said.  “That had nothing to do with me.”

“I did what I was told, believing that what I was doing was at the behest of the company, and I would believe that was the case if I were in my own car, not yours.”

He was clutching at straws.  I had only told him a few days ago that the people I worked for were the McKenzies, people who were direct competitors.  It hadn’t gone down well.

It was when I realised I was being set up.  It might have explained what happened, but it came back to the car, and why he had asked me to take it from a downtown car park to his house.

“The bottom line is that they targeted the car and then hesitated before they tried to beat me to death.  I was not who they were looking for.”

He shrugged.  “Unless the police catch them, we’ll never know for sure.  I’ll get some people to investigate and arrange for some protection.  You’ll survive.”

I almost laughed at that.  I’ll survive.  Not if they came after me again.

“Thanks for nothing.”

Another minute, and he left.  I was surprised he’d stayed as long as he had.  It reflected the disdain he held for me and my choices when, a dozen years back, I refused to join the family firm.

Perhaps it was the people who turned up at all hours of the night and say, people who were not the sort of customers general merchants dealt with, not out of a shed at the back of the house, or an old factory turned into a warehouse.

My father was consolidating his criminal empire.  I discovered that when he was shot at the warehouse and died in the hospital three days later.  The shooter was never identified, despite the description I’d given to the police.  My brother refused to back me up.

He had no doubt done a deal not to shop them in return for them leaving us alone.  It was never going to hold.  But I left the business the day after my father died and got a legitimate job.

Or so I thought.

I guess that criminals and the kids of criminals never quite escape the stigma.  I got what I thought was a legitimate job, only to discover it was a rival organisation trying to muscle its way into my brother’s territory.

He didn’t know, not exactly, and I didn’t know until recently, and if there was a silver lining, this bashing had given me the perfect excuse to walk away.

That being the case, I had no job, I was nearly dead, and I had nowhere to go. I was not going to join the family firm.  Robert could have it all to himself.  If anything, I wanted revenge and to make the McKenzies pay.  If they were the attackers.

…

The room was empty and quiet.  The TV was on mute, running some game show that dealt with words and phrases.  It seemed pointless.

It was when Detective Chief Inspector Ramsen came in and closed the door behind her.  Years ago, when she was a Detective Sergeant, she had been the one to tell me the organisation that was behind my father’s death, just not who did it.

Perhaps she knew I would kill them if I found out.  The fact that I was the son of an alleged murderer did little to assuage her opinion.

She sat in the chair next to the bed.

“I hear your brother came to visit.”

She never said hello, nor asked how I felt.  Just sent the interrogators. 

“He was very sympathetic.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”

“Nor does fake sympathy from a heartless bitch.”

Her expression hardened.  “Someone got out of bed on the wrong side this morning.”

She frowned.  I had called her worse.  She liked the idea that people thought she was as hard as any man in her station house.

“I wasn’t the target, and I am not part of my brother’s organisation.  He won’t admit it, but it was him they were after.”

“Perhaps, but you were working for the McKenzies.  They might have assumed you were a spy.  That could explain this attack.”

“I didn’t know that until last week.  You might want to tell that interrogation team that I was in his car.  Whoever sent the thugs made a mistake.”

She shook her head.  “They would have been watching you.  The car is irrelevant.”

“So, it’s the old adage, dead men tell no lies, or the truth.  I’m very lucky to be here.”

“Are you going back to the McKenzie’s?”

“No.  If old man McKenzie was the one who sent in the thug squad, simply because he doubted my loyalty, then what’s the point?”

“So, that means you’re in no man’s land.  Perhaps with no allegiance to anyone, you could help us.”

“I’m not going back.”

“You could end up in jail.”

“Good.  I’ll take my chances.”

“They’d be slim to none.”

“Better than going back into a nest of vipers.  Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

…

When everything goes wrong, you find out just who your friends are.

I didn’t have many, and those I thought I had were more acquaintances than friends.  We spoke, we had coffee, sometimes a drink after work, but that was it.

One thing I knew better than most was to never discuss business or your job in a workplace that thrived on secrecy, real or imaginary.

After all, when I first started, there were constant reminders not to discuss anything that happened with anyone inside and especially outside the company.

Now I knew why.

But, here’s the thing.  I didn’t talk to anyone when I discovered the true nature of the business.  I was simply shocked at the discoveries I made, but I kept them to myself.  That’s why it was impossible to believe they sent people after me.

It was also odd that they hadn’t sent someone to see me yet, though it was plausible they didn’t know.  The fact I hadn’t turned up for work, or called in as unavailable of course, would set off alarm bells,  and the last person who did that caused havoc.

Except if I knew the Chief Inspector, she would have turned up on their doorstep first thing for her version of a short chat, so the odds were they were still trying to figure out what to do.

Old Man McKenzie, one of the four Mackenzies in management, was by far the nastiest of the group.  I rumbled the fact that the legitimate business was acting as a front, that a well-trained group that kept the separation, and one of the four slipped once.  A step so slight had I blinked I would have missed it

Though it could be said that being brought up in a crime family should have made me very aware of what was really going on, it didn’t.  I was kept at arm’s length at home for a long time, and only introduced gradually once I was old enough.

But what I saw, I didn’t like. 

When my father was murdered because of warring families that had once worked together in harmony, I left home and left the business, not that I had spent much time working for it.

What happened after that was a matter of reflection, and disappointment.  I had been naive if I ever thought I could escape.  Perhaps had I moved to the other side of the country, or overseas, maybe, but I didn’t go far, just across town.

I went to an employment agency, filled out all the forms and was surprised when they found me a job, not far from where I was living at the time.

The people were friendly but not too friendly.  I was given on-the-job training, couriers work delivering parcels.  I thought it was like working for FedEx.  Over time, I rose to be a distribution manager, and then was in charge of a whole division.

And like I said, I would have been none the wiser if one of the drivers hadn’t made a fundamental error, delivering a parcel to the wrong address.  A report had been left on my desk, in my absence.  I came back, looked at it, checked the delivery against the orders and shipping dockets, noticing there were products on the delivery dockets not on the order.  Then I realised it was not my distribution centre but one of the other three; they were just dovetailing their deliveries in my vans.

A report not for me to action, I put it back where I found it, and went out to lunch, and when I came back, it was gone.  Later that night, I checked the orders and delivery dockets for the day, and at least forty of the customers got the same product.  The product?  Sugar cubes.

Then I checked the customers and found they were on a secondary distribution list, with about four or five hundred others.  Names, not businesses.  Runs every two weeks.  A bit more digging, quietly, I found what the product was.

None of my business.

Of course, even that wouldn’t have mattered, had it not been the one person I would never have believed to have any criminal intent. 

…

I must have drifted off into an uneasy sleep, something I thought would be impossible given the number and off times the nurses came to check what they called ‘vitals’.

Being annoyed so many times must raise anyone’s blood pressure.  I know mine was up.

When I woke, it was not a nurse, but someone dropping into the visitor chair.  Someone who wore a fragrant scent.

I opened my eyes.  And blinked.

Scarlet McKenzie.

Most of the people in that company were scared of her.  She had a temper and could make a grown man wither before her.

I spent most of my time avoiding her.

“Chris.”

“Scarlet.”  I decided to use her first name, which was a risk.  It didn’t matter; I wasn’t going back.

She scowled, but let it pass.

“You’re not at work.”

Was it a statement or was it something else?

“For obvious reasons.”

“What happened?”

“I thought that was obvious, too.  Are you here to finish the job?”

She looked surprised. “What job?  You think I had something to do with it?”

It was hard to tell whether she was utterly shocked or a darned good actress.

“I was attacked in my brother’s car by a McKenzie hit team.”

“And your brother…” A strange look came over her face.  “.. is Callum Waterson.”

“I used to be Christopher Waterson.  I left home after your people killed my father.  When I joined the firm, it wasn’t owned by the McKenzies, that came later.  I knew who you were; I simply expected you would continue to keep a legitimate company.  I thought you were the straight man running it.”

“I am.  And it is legitimate.  I made it very clear I wanted nothing to do with their business.”

“You just supplement the drivers deliveries.  It’s brilliant by the way.”

“I’m not in charge of that side of things, and I wasn’t impressed when I discovered what they were doing.”

“You didn’t deny setting the dogs on my brother.”

“That wasn’t me, and believe me, if I had a seat at the table at would not have happened.  But then, if I put two and two together, I would bet on the fact that it was Bennie making a move on the leadership.  My father’s retiring, and stupidly made it a contest between Bennie and Reggie.  Only Reggie could come up with a hair-brained scheme like trying to assassinate your brother.”

She shook her head.  “And only Reggie could get it so spectacularly wrong.  I’m sorry.”

In that moment, I think I could see the dilemma I had in her expression, that spot between the proverbial rock and a hard place.  And dare I say it, I felt sorry for her.

“If it’s any consolation, I know how you feel.”

She gave me a strange look, one that I couldn’t interpret. 

“Are you coming back?”

“No.  It would be rather awkward facing up to the people who ordered a hit on your brother, made a mistake and tried to kill me instead.  I don’t really care what went on there. I’m done with it.  When I get out of this place, I’m disappearing for good.”

“Where?”

“It wouldn’t be an ambush if I told you.”

“And if I came with you?”

“We’d disappear together.  But I would get your hopes up thinking it would be the life you’re accustomed to.”

“You’d be surprised to learn what I could become accustomed to.  Make plans for two, and I’ll call you.  I’ll sort out your absence at work.”

She smiled, more of a grimace than amusement, then left.  I wondered for a moment how a girl with an outfit worth more than my car was going to disappear without leaving a trail of cash payments or credit card records in her wake.

Never going to happen.

…

Nevertheless, as the weeks passed and the physios got me back on my feet, albeit awkwardly at first, when I was discharged from the hospital, I could walk again, after a fashion.

My brother had visited me once to tell me that he knew who had attacked me, and realised it was him they were after.

He was surprised to learn anyone cared that much.  It surprised me that he was a leader of a crime family, because it usually meant he had to be ruthless.

What I didn’t know was that he had been transitioning the crime proceeds to funding legitimate businesses, and that was making more than the crime was with less risks

And cleaning up the vulnerable youths by taking them off the streets and giving them something to do.  Perhaps he was a target because he was reducing the McKenzie’s customer pool.

I asked him what he was going to do, and he said nothing.  What would be the point?  He did say that he had passed on the message that if anything happened to me, there would be repercussions.  As for Reggie, he intimated that he wasn’t the smartest one in that family and would never take over from his father.

I went home, such as it was, and spent a few days staring at the walls.  I’d told Callam that I was going away, overseas on a slow boat, and probably wouldn’t be coming back.

It didn’t seem to bother him.  I was always what he called a lost cause.

I found the slow boat, what might have been called in days gone by a tramp steamer, but in reality a cargo ship with a few passenger cabins.  It was heading to Florida, as good a place as any to start an odyssey.

What I wanted, rather than needed, fitted into a small battered suitcase.  Then I sent a cryptic message to Scarlett’s cell phone, and decided if she didn’t call, I was going anyway.  I had never quite believed she would just up and leave.

Her family probably wouldn’t let her.

I found my way to the ship, did the customary immigration checks and cleared to board the boat.  I waited an hour, and she didn’t show.  I was not surprised. 

The steward gave me the tour of the ship’s facilities, which were first class, as to be expected considering how much the tickets cost, and then delivered me to the suite. 

He opened the door, I went in, and he closed it behind me.  I leaned against the door and took it in.  It was a surprise even after seeing photos of it.

“You took your time.”

A female voice came from another room, and then she appeared.

Scarlet.

“You came?”

“Would I ask you to get me a ticket if I wasn’t coming?”

“I didn’t hear anything from you.”

“I didn’t want them to find out.  They think I’m visiting an aunt up country.  They’re never going to change.  And I don’t want anything to do with their criminal activities.”

“And you don’t mind being with me?”

She smiled.  “I’ve kept my eye on you.  You get on with the job, you don’t try to big note yourself, you handle people with respect and care.  I know you like me, because every now and then, I see you, calculating the odds of whether or not I would say yes to an invitation to coffee or lunch.  I would have said yes, you know.  I don’t bite.  Well, maybe sometimes, but I believe your company will be exactly what I need.”  She looked around.  “I love the boat.”  She held out her hand.  “Come.  I’ll show you the suite.  Do you know how nice this was going to be?”

“I had photographs.”

“It’s better than that.  And a balcony.  Sea air, hazy afternoons, reading or just sleeping…”

“Or we’ll get tangled up in an Atlantic storm.”

“Hush, you’re denting the romantic feeling that’s running through me.”

I took her hand and felt a shiver go through her.  It was most likely the aftereffect of the notion she had escaped.  It would wear off once the reality set in, but perhaps I should try being in the moment too, as she gently pulled me in the direction of the bedroom.

There was only one bed.

“So.  Sleeping arrangements,” she said.  “I like the left-hand side, I do not like people who snore, and, well, you’ll find out soon enough.  There’s enough room for four, so it’s not like we’ll run into each other.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious.  I wondered how I could have contemplated doing this on my own.  For years, I had denied myself the pleasure of company, given the family I had and the world I was in.  I had given the idea of finding a nice girl and dating, but it only got as far as Scarlet.  I had no idea how she would respond, so I didn’t bother.

And if I were truthful, given who she was and who I was, it would never have got to first base.  It never occurred to me that she was in exactly the same boat as i was.

Perhaps I should just let it flow and see where it takes us.

I relaxed.  “Have you been put on the balcony?”

“Of course.  Come.  You’re going to love it.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2026