In a word: Zip

Which, unfortunately, I do not have a lot of in my step.

At last, we have reached the end of the alphabet because I’m running out of zip to write these blogs.

So…

Zip is the sing, the energy, the spring we have in our step, that usually gets us from a to b quickly. Without this zest, we would need to take a bus, train, or cab.

Then comes the variations like …

Zip code, we all have one of these, though in some countries it is called a postcode.

Zip it up, meaning do not speak, especially if you’re about to spill a secret.

A zip, which is a part of some types of clothing, usually in trousers, jeans, and skirts to name a few. Some dresses have long zips, some short, all seem to get tangled at one time or another, or, in the most embarrassing of situations, split.

Then there is a colloquial use of the word zip, meaning nothing, zilch, zero, in other words, a basis for of z words.

And that’s about as much zeal I’m going to show for writing this blog, and I’m going to close the book on it.

Thank you, and goodnight.

‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s 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 solace after disappointment, turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

He suddenly realizes 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

…

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 79

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

Show down with the Cossatino’s

…

“What was that?” Boggs roused from his reverie and stood.

“I think that was Nadia. Wait here, while I go and check. You might want to check that exit, see if it leads anywhere. It’s obvious Ormiston and your dad did not come in via that doorway on the cliff.

“You think we’re going to need an exit strategy.”

There was another scream, longer and nearer, and that wasn’t one of shock or surprise, but pain.

“Yes.”

In that instant I think he realised what was happening. “We both should go.”

“No. I got Nadia into this. See if there’s a way out, and if there is, call Charlene and tell where we are. She had a rough idea so help might not be too far away.”

“You told her, too.”

OK, not happy about my willingness to share, but I’d already made the assumption there would be no treasure.

“Just in case. Go.”

He disappeared into the darkness, and, seconds later, the torch light disappeared. A minute, maybe a little longer passed before Nadia came into the cavern, with Vince and Alex right behind her.

Alex shoved her in my direction, and I just managed to catch her before she fell down.

“Where’s your mate Boggs?”

“Dead.” I nodded my head in the direction of the body on the ground.

Judging by her dishevelled look, Nadia had put up some resistance, trickles of bloody coming from her nose and mouth, both Alex and Vince had the bruises to prove it.

“The other Boggs,” Vince was angry, and I had instant and vivid memories of him. It would be silly to antagonise him.

“Do you honestly think where treasure is involved that I would share its location with him?” Greed was something both Alec and Vince could appreciate.

I just hoped Nadia had told them nothing about who was in the cave.

“So much for being a friend.”

“There’s no treasure here, by the way. If it was, it’s long gone.”

“There never was,” Vince said. “We just fed the frenzy by dropping clues, though no one has ever got this close, at least not since Boggs and Ormiston. Couldn’t have them tell anyone there was no treasure or the maps would be worthless. Now, unfortunately, Sam, you’re going to join them. Can’t have you telling anyone the truth.”

“You’re telling me Boggs and Ormiston were murdered?”

“Neither of them would let it go. And after everything we did for Boggs. As for Ormiston, he was just a raving lunatic.”

“The professor?”

“He actually knew where the treasure was and was going to tell the world about it unless we gave him a cut of the map sales. Came down here making all sorts of threats.”

“And now you’re going to kill me?”

“No. We’re not murderers Smidge, we’re just going to tie you up and leave you here. No one knows you are here, so no one will know where to look.”

“I’ll know,” Nadia said.

“Of course you will. But you’re a Cossatino first and foremost, and you won’t tell anyone.”

“You’re wrong Vince. I’m not like you, or any of them. Soon as I get out of here, I’m going to the police.”

Vince shook his head. “I was hoping you’d be more sensible than that, but clearly you’re not. I can’t tell you how much of a disappointment you’ve turned out to be.”

“One thing I can tell you, when I get out of here, I’m coming for you.”

“Of course you are.” He pulled out a gun and aimed it at me. “Cause any trouble and I’ll shoot him, so turn around and face the wall.”

“That’s your style isn’t it Vince, shooting people in the back.”

He ignored her, and we both watched Alex tie her hands beside her back and then her feet, then dumped her on the ground. Vince then aimed his gun at her while Alex did the same to me.

When he finished, and made sure neither of us could do anything, he rejoined Vince. “Goodbye. I can’t say it’s been a pleasure.” Then to Nadia, “We could have had something special, you know, how it was like back at school. You were so much fun then. What happened?”

“You’re nothing but a thug in a cheap suit, in fact, that describes the pair of you. I tolerated you because I was told to, Alex.”

He looked at me and I could see him trying to come up with a suitable retort about her current choices, but didn’t. Perhaps nothing he could say would make a difference.

“How are you going to explain my disappearance?” She said, not waiting for a retort.

“I’ll just tell them you and Smidge run away together. It’s almost believable.”

“Come on,” Vince said, after looking at his watch. Obviously, he had somewhere else to be.

“See you in the next life,” Alex said, and then laughed as if it was a huge joke. Vince just told him to shut the hell up, or he leave him with us.

Then they were gone, the silence and darkness enveloping us. I was surprised they had been willing to believe I was there on my own. They had to be following us and know for sure Boggs was with us. I tried not to think about what might happen if Boggs was somewhere else, tied up like we were and no one was coming to get us.

All I had to hang on to was what I’d told Charlene in general terms where we would be, just in case something happened to us. It was now a matter of how long she would wait before discovering we were missing.

“Not quite how I imagined the rest of our lives,” Nadia said. “What do you think happened to Boggs?”

“I told him to go, and I stayed. If we’re lucky, he’ll get word to Charlene.”

“There’s two entrances, you know. I just found out from Vince. Loves gloating. He’s been expecting you or Boggs to do exactly what you did.”

“You could have walked away, not hang around on the beach. There was always a chance we’d be discovered.”

“I keep telling you I’m not one of them and didn’t invite them to the party. I guess now you have to believe me.”

At least that was true. They would not have tied her up and left her behind.

I shrugged. It didn’t really matter now. “For what it’s worth, I always knew I could trust you, but that’s not going to help us now “

“Don’t lose faith, Sam. We are going to get out of this, and when we do, I’m going to kill the pair of them.”

I couldn’t see how, and if I was by myself I might have given up. Now, at least if anything happened, I would not be alone.

…

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 9

What’s the worst that could happen?

…

Captains invariably hated the word ‘problem’. I did too, because it conjured up so many different scenarios, each more scarier than the last, and maginified exponentially because we were in space.

We took a closer look, and it was the sort of damage if it was back on Earth, one would associate with weapons fire, lasers to be exact.

Yes, in the 24th century we had ray guns, handheld, and ship bound.

The only problem was, only the cruise class vessels, like the one I was now on, were allowed to have them, and using them, well, the paperwork alone could keep a complement of 20 working day and night for a month.

Test them, yes, less paperwork, use them, no. There had never been a reason to.

But someone had, and on a freighter, which only meant one possibility, that whatever the freighter had been carrying, had been worth violating a thousand regulations and rules.

And bring their ship and selves out into the light.

It was, of course, Space Command’s worst nightmare realised, that the ideal of space exploration as a united effort by everyone, had a member who had decided against unity.

Unless, of course, the improbably had happened, there was life outside our solar system, and we were dealing with a new planet, or people.

Except I would not expect them to use something as conventional as a laser.

Myrtle had put us very close to the damaged area and taken a number of photographs, and the engineer had analysed the damaged area.

Then, cleared to enter the freighter, she took us up to the cargo doors and waited as we watched them open.

It was the same time the engineer’s hand held computer started beeping.

And a warning light on the console in front of Myrtle started flashing, accompanied by a warning klaxon.

Another vessel had just entered our proximity zone.

…

“Oh, my, God!” – a short story

I was one of six people who answered a house-sitting ad. What stood out was the money, as was intended.

When I arrived at the interview, held in an accountant’s office downtown, there was no suggestion that it was a trick, or that there were ulterior motives.

Just $5,000 for a week’s work. Move-in, act as a security guard, and check all entrances and exits, and all rooms that had windows to the outside every four or so hours, particularly at night.

The reason?

The owner had to maintain residence in the house for the week, as he was going away, under a clause in the sale contract. The reason for hiring civilians was that it was too expensive to get live-in people from a security company.

The owner freely admitted he was a cheapskate.

But for someone like me, the $5,000 was a lot of money and would help pay back everyone I owed money to.

I earnestly pleaded my case, submitted myself to a background check, and then waited to hear back.

When I didn’t hear anything by the due date, I figured some other lucky person had pleaded a better case, and then, exactly a week later I got the call.

The next day a courier delivered the keys to the house and the address. My week started at exactly 9am the next morning.

…

The cab dropped me off at the front gate of the house, only it wasn’t a house so much as a mansion, and one that had seen better days.

It was at the end of the street, behind two large gates, and a high brick fence. I could see the driveway on the other side, and just make out the house behind the unkempt shrubbery.

I had a bunch of keys, and it took a few attempts to find the one that fitted the lock and chain preventing the gates from opening.

I just unlocked it when another car pulled up in the same place my car had, and a young woman got out. She rescued her sports bag from the trunk and paid the cabbie.

“Who are you,” she said.

“The caretaker for the next week. I might ask the same question.”

“The ex-wife with nowhere to go.”

No one mentioned an ex-wife that was part of the deal. “I wasn’t told anyone else would be here, so it would be best you left.”

I slipped the lock back in place and stood my ground. She could be anyone.

She pulled out her phone and rang a number. I heard the voice on the other end say hello.

“You can tell your deadhead caretaker that I’m staying for a few days.”

Then I watched her expression turn very dark, and then the words, “I have nowhere else to go, and it will only be a few days.” Then silence and an accompanying ground, ending with, “You don’t want me to come after you because you know how that will end”.

She listened, then handed the phone to me.

“Hello.”

“I’m the owner requesting the service. You are not responsible for her, but if she becomes a problem, lock her in the basement.”

Then he hung up. It was not the best answer to the problem.

“Are you going to open the gate?”

I shook my head and then pretended to fumble through the keys looking for the right one. “You own this place,” I asked without turning around.

“No. The bastard didn’t tell me about a lot of the stuff he owns.” Her tone bristled with resentment.

I ‘found’ the key and opened the lock and started pulling the chain through the fence. I could feel her eyes burning into my back.

When I swung open the gate, she barged past and kept walking. I stepped through and immediately felt the change in the temperature. It was cold, even though the sun was out, and I could feel an unnatural chill go through me.

By the time I closed and relocked the gate she had gone ahead and round a slight bend in the driveway. I thought about hurrying to catch up, but I didn’t think it mattered, she didn’t have a key to the house. Or perhaps I hoped she didn’t have one.

I headed towards the house at a leisurely pace. I didn’t have to be there in the next instant, and I wanted to do a little survey of the grounds. I checked some of the windows to see what access might be through any of them. Barred and locked, very little could get through.

As I got closer to the house, the overgrowth was worse, but that might have been because no one could see it from the roadside, or through the iron gate. Accessibility via the gardens would be problematic for anyone who attempted it because there was no easy access. It was one less immediate problem to deal with.

The driveway widened out into a large gravel-covered square outside the front of the house. It had a portico under which cars could stop and let out passengers undercover, ideal for ballgoers, which meant the house had been built somewhere during the last two centuries.

These were aspects that would warrant me taking a look on the internet about its history.

She was waiting outside the door, showing signs of some exertion and the mad dash had been for nothing.

“I take it you have a key?”

I decided to ignore that. I hoped she would disappear to another part of the house and leave me alone. I had too much to do without having to worry about where she was, or what she was doing. It seemed, based on the short time I spoke to him, that the owner had made a mistake marrying her if they were in fact married. Ex could mean almost anything these days.

Again, I made a show of trying to find the right key, though in the end it was hit and miss, and it took the fourth or fifth attempt to find it.

The door was solid oak, but it swung open easily and silently. I had expected it to make a squeaking sound, one associated with rusty hinges. This time she was a little more circumspect when she passed by me. I followed and closed and locked the door behind me.

Inside was nothing like I expected. Whilst the outside looked like the building hadn’t been tended to for years, the inside had been recently renovated and had that new house smell of new carpets and painted walls.

There was a high vaulted roof and a mezzanine that was accessed by a beautifully restored marble staircase and ran around the whole upper floor so that anyone could stand anywhere near the balustrading and look down into the living space, and, towards the back, the kitchen and entertaining area.

The walls had strategically placed paintings, real paintings, that looked old, but I doubted were originals because if they were similar to those I’d seen in a lot of English country estates they would be priceless, but not left in an empty building.

I had also kept her in the corner of my eye, watching her look around almost in awe.

“What do you think these paintings are worth?”

Was she going to suddenly take an inventory?

“Not a lot. You don’t leave masterpieces in an abandoned house. I suspect nothing in here would be worth much, and really only for decorative purposes so the owner can have a better chance of selling the place. Empty cavernous buildings do not sell well.”

“What are you again?”

“No one of any particular note. I’ve been asked to look after the place for the next week until it is handed over to the new owners. Aside from that, I know nothing about the place, nor do I want to. According to the note I got with the key, there are bedrooms off that mezzanine you can see up there.” I pointed to the balustrading. The kitchen has food, enough for the few days I’ll be here, but I’m sure there’s enough to share.”

“Good. You won’t see me again if I can help it.”

I watched her walk to the staircase and go upstairs. The mud map told me there were bedrooms up off the mezzanine level, and also across from this area. There was another large room adjacent to this, a games area or room big enough to hold a ball, a part of the original house, and which led out onto the side lawns. I’d check later to see what the access was like because I suspected there would be a few doors that led out from the hall to the garden.

When she disappeared along the upstairs passageway, I headed towards the next room. It was large, larger than that next door, and had another grand staircase leading down to the dance floor. I guess the people used to stay in rooms upstairs, get dressed, then make a grand entrance down those stairs.

I hadn’t expected this house to be anything like the old country estates, and it was a little like icing on the cake. I would have to explore, and transport myself back to the old days, and imagine what it was like.

…

She was true to her word, and I didn’t see her the next morning. I was staying a world away from her. I was in the refurbished old section and she was staying in the newly renovated and modernized part of the house.

I did discover, on the first day of getting my bearings and checking all of the entrances and windows ready for my rounds, that above the bedrooms on the second floor of the old section, there was a third floor with several smaller rooms which I assumed were where the servants lived.

I stayed in one of those rooms. The other main bedrooms, with ornate fireplaces and large shuttered windows, smelled a little too musty for me, and I wasn’t about to present someone with an open window. The views from the balconies were remarkable too or would have been in the garden had been kept in its original state.

In the distance, I could see what might have once been a summerhouse and promised myself a look at it later. A long day had come to a tiring end, and I was only destined for a few hours’ sleep before embarking on the midnight run. I was going to do one at eight, after eating, another at midnight, and another at six in the morning. I’d make adjustments to the schedule after running the first full night’s program.

…

I brought my special alarm with me, the one that didn’t make a sound but was very effective in waking me. It was fortuitous, because I had not expected someone else to come along for the ride, and didn’t want them to know where and when I would be doing the rounds.

It had taken longer than I expected to get to sleep, the sounds of the house keeping me awake. Usually a sound sleeper, perhaps it was the first night in different, and unusual surroundings.

I shuddered as I got out of bed, a cold air surrounding me, a feeling like that when I walked through the gate. I had the sensation that someone was in the room with me, but in the harsh light after putting the bedside light on, it was clearly my imagination playing tricks.

I dressed quickly and headed out.

The inside of the house was very dark, and the light from my torch stabbed a beam of light through what might have been an inky void. The circle of light on the walls was never still, and I realized that my hand had acquired a touch of the shakes.

Creaking sounds as I walked across the flooring had not been discernible the previous night, and it was odd they only happened at night. The thought that the house may be haunted went through my mind, but I didn’t believe in ghosts or anything like that.

The creaking sounds followed me as I started my inspection. I headed downstairs, and once I reached the back end of what I was going to call the ballroom. Before I went to bed the previous evening, I drew up a rough map of the places I would be going, ticking them off as I went.

The first inspection was of the doors that led out onto the lawns. The floor-to-ceiling windows were not curtained, and outside the undergrowth was partially illuminated by moonlight. The day had been warm, that period in autumn leading into winter where the days were clear but getting colder. Outside I could see a clear starry night.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw the flash of a torchlight in the gardens. I stopped and looked more carefully, but there was nothing. I waited for about ten minutes, but there was still no movement.

I was going to have to park my imagination before starting rounds or I’d never get the job done.

I went out of the room and into the living area. There seemed to be lights all around me, those small pilot lights that told you appliances were on standby.

I was heading towards the stairs when suddenly there was a blood-curdling scream, followed by what sounded like a gunshot, a sharp loud bang that, on top of the scream, made me jump.

The woman.

I raced as fast as I could up the stairs. The sounds had come from there, but when I reached the top of the stairs, I realized I had no idea in which direction it came from. Pointing the torch in both directions, there was nothing to see.

I could see a passage that might lead to the bedrooms on this level, and headed towards it, moving slowly, keeping as quiet as I could, listening for anything, or if someone else was lurking.

I heard a door slam, the echo coming down the passage. I flashed the light up the passage, but it didn’t seem to penetrate the darkness. I moved quickly towards the end, half expecting to see someone.

Then I tripped over, and as I tried to get to my feet, realized it was a body. I flashed the torch on it, and it was the woman.

Dead, a gunshot wound in the chest, and blood everywhere.

I scrambled to my feet and ran towards the end of the passage, stopping at what appeared to be a dead end. With nowhere to go, I turned.

I wasn’t alone, just hearing before seeing the presence of another person, but it was too late to react. I felt an object hitting me on the back of the head, and after that, nothing.

…

I could feel a hand shaking me, and a voice coming out of the fog. I opened my eyes and found myself in completely different surroundings.

A large ornate bedroom, and a four-poster bed, like I had been transported back to another age. Then I remembered I had been in a large house that had been renovated, and this was probably one of the other bedrooms on the floor where the woman had been staying.

Then I remembered the body, being hit, and sat up.

A voice beside me was saying, “You’re having that nightmare again, aren’t you?”

It was a familiar voice.

I turned to see the woman who I had just moments before had seen dead, the body on the floor of the passage.

“You’re dead,” I said, in a strangely detached tone.

“I know. I’m supposed to be. You helped me set it up so I could escape that lunatic ex-husband of mine.”

I must have looked puzzled.

“Don’t worry. The doctor says your memory will return, one day. But, for now, all you need to do is rest. All you need to know is that we’re safe, thanks to you.”

…

NANOWRIMO – 2024 – Day 14

Behind the Green Door

…

The question is, why would management be interested in what Michael knows but hasn’t been telling anyone?

How does management know, or think it knows that Michael knows more than he reports?

Firstly, the whole city or facility is covered by surveillance cameras. Covered by surveillance cameras but not necessarily at the same time.

Large facilities, and finite power resources, which means that parts of the city are not covered from time to time.

It also means there is a surveillance headquarters where people are watching all the time. Michael knows this from oblique references to his movements by his boss, but it is not hard to spot where the cameras are.

This is evident when he receives a surveillance tape.

Miranda also knows where all the surveillance is in the debriefing area, and whether they are on or offline. It is, as Michael suspected in the bungalows. He also suspects that if Miranda is a robot, she is a surveillance device having conversations with her handlers during their interviews.

He still does not tell her anything, and the dance continues.

…

Word written today 2,249, making a total of 25,794 words

Searching for locations: Smith Street, Fitzroy (Once part of what was known as Marvellous Melbourne)

Of course, it could easily be Collingwood depending on who you barrack for in the local football competition, as it is Fitzroy, but the map and my GPS tells me the street is, for all intents and purposes, in Fitzroy.

Not that there is a football team for Fitzroy any more, that moved north to Queensland a long, long time ago.

But…

Going for a wander up and down the street shows two or three very different sides to inner suburban living, and the effect that comes from a diverse range of cultures, the city has acquired over the past few decades.

Once viewed as almost the slums of Melbourne, these inner suburban areas have moved upscale to become havens for the more wealthy middle classes and a home for many diverse outlets, not the least of which are eateries.

And. In just this small section of Smith Street, there are a lot of eating establishments, from the Old Kingdom Peking duck restaurant to a small place selling Falafel, and then everything in between. It says a lot about how Australian eating habits have changed in a single generation, where back in those infamous old days you would be lucky to have a fish and chips/ hamburger shop and one or two Chinese restaurants.

Now, intermingled with gourmet bakeries and cozy coffee shops, there are a plethora of other eating establishments that cater to any cuisine you can imagine. In fact, it’s possible to dine out on a different cuisine every night for a fortnight and only traverse about half a kilometre up and down the street. It could be ideal if you lived in one of the small fronted houses just off the main carriageway in a leafy narrow side street or laneway.

And, as you would expect in an inner-city suburb, the streets are narrow and made more hazardous for traffic because of the trams, a familiar sight in many of the streets in this area, and a much-used form of transport for workers making the short trip into the city. It’s almost possible to take the extra half hour, and walk.

The street is lined with old buildings, some dating back to about 1868, there’s around the turn of the century, but most are not inhabited except for the street level where there is an eclectic mixture of furniture, haberdashery, and clothing stores catering to a particular group of people, what some call yuppies or upwardly mobile men and women who are between 25-35, with high paying jobs, and preferably no children.

Then there a subgroup walking there streets, homosexual men, some wheeling adopted children in pushers, others walking hand in hand out for a Saturday afternoon stroll where they can feel safe among many others. It’s very different from other places I’ve been, but one can imagine there are places like this in every city all over the world.

But as a backdrop to the appearance of wealth, the shopfronts that cater to those upwardly mobile upper middle classes, there’s that exact opposite in full view, the homeless, and beggars, sitting on the ground outside the more run down shops soliciting alms, asking for a spare dollar, and even one asking for a cigarette.

Everyone walks past them, imagining no doubt there are not there, or that if they ignore them, they will go away. I think not. And, I suspect, more will come out of their daytime hiding places and take up residence in Smith Street itself.

The only surprise is that the local council has not asked the police to move them on. It’s an interesting juxtaposition of inhabitants in an area that no doubt can only attract the upper middle classes, as anything and everything is relatively expensive, particularly real estate, and permit driven parking spaces.

Would I live here? No.

Would I come here to wine and dine?

Maybe, if I could get parking, which there appear to be very few spots or any other form of parking such as under the local supermarket which can be very expensive. And if you are lucky enough to find a spot, who has the time or the memory if continually feeding a parking meter every two hours, particularly if you’re having a good time.

Equally, it’s a place I would not feel comfortable, even if it was once a safe haven, which up to a few years ago, I’d probably think it not. In fact, at times I was not sure what to make of some of the people on the street, but I guess if I lived here, it would no doubt be the norm.

Would I recommend people to come here?

Of course. One of the more interesting places in Melbourne to experience grassroots cuisine that is incredibly diverse in it range and price, and even from a place with tables and chairs that may have seen better days, but you haven’t come to see the furniture.

And to my mind, the dining is definitely better, here than perhaps Carlton, which in itself is Mecca to a plethora of university types, both teachers and students alike, and the coffee culture that pervade that area of Melbourne.

I have no doubt you will come and leave with a very good opinion of the place.

As for me, I came here for an engagement party held at the Hotelito de Jesus, a Mexican restaurant, serving a variety of Mexican dishes. As I’m no expert of that particular cuisine, everything was going to be new.

It was. It’s spicy but not too spicy, the pork belly excellent, the canapés delicious, and both the mushroom-based and shredded beef based mini tacos were equally scrumptious.

All of this was washed down with two particular Mexican beers, two of several available in bottles, cans, or by the glass.

Oh, and you can get sangria by the jug too if you like. I would have, but my passion for trying different beers won out.

Getting the lie of the land

A lot of locations for stories are based on places that I’ve visited. So, any time I’m on holiday, I’m also discreetly observing, and noting, the places with an ulterior motive.

At some point in time, they’ll finish up in a story.

Places like Florence, London, Paris, New York and Venice have all been used in recent stories.

Of course places change, and there are some that I can’t get to, so it’s useful having Google Maps and Street View. These can either make up for lack of memory and a be a refresher.

Especially if you need to visit Africa. Parts of several stories are set in Nigeria, not exactly a place I would go, no matter how much I wanted to get the lie of the land, nor would I go to the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Rwanda, maybe, but in investigating locations, it is interesting to discover that places like Kenya and Rwanda are reasonbly safe. Uganda is more or less the same, but whether I’d visit, as inviting as it might be to see the wildlife (animals that is) I’m thinking Google Maps will do for now.

And, of course, at the moment there is another reason why I can’t get a practical look at overseas locations. Covid-19.

I have always had a fascination for other places, from way back when I was in school and we did a subject called geography. Back then, nearly 60 years ago, we had school atlases that had all of the British colonies, even if they had become independent, coloured red on the maps, and there was a lot of them.

Places like London, of which we also studied in history, always held a fascination for me, and, in particular, the royal family. Oddly enough, I knew all of the kings and queens from 1066 onwards, and yet had no idea who our Prime Ministers in Australia were.

It wasn’t until much later we learned about Australian history.

But seeing places foreign are only part of the story. I have had time during the pandemic when we were not allowed to leave home, to delve into the historical side of Australia, and it has created a fascination for writing a story that has basis in fact.

This was unwittingly pushed along when my grand daughter came home from school with the assignment of writing a story about a character that was affected by a historical event. Thus Eliza at the Eureka Stockade was created.

I remember back in university days when working on the narrative part of my literature stream we were set an assignment based on pictures from a certain period, and a series of written documents to put together a story. Mine was about a passenger on a ship from Melbourne to Geelong in the days before rail around the time of the gold rush.

I’m guessing that’s what is called historical fiction.

Well, it’s time to get back to the mists of time…

An excerpt from “Echoes from the Past”

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 6^th 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.

newechocover5rs