Category: Books

Another excerpt from ‘Betrayal’; a work in progress

…

My next destination in the quest was the hotel we believed Anne Merriweather had stayed at.

I was, in a sense, flying blind because we had no concrete evidence she had been there, and the message she had left behind didn’t quite name the hotel or where Vladimir was going to take her.

Mindful of the fact that someone might have been following me, I checked to see if the person I’d assumed had followed me to Elizabeth’s apartment was still in place, but I couldn’t see him. Next, I made a mental note of seven different candidates and committed them to memory.

Then I set off to the hotel, hailing a taxi. There was the possibility the cab driver was one of them, but perhaps I was slightly more paranoid than I should be. I’d been watching the queue, and there were two others before me.

The journey took about an hour, during which time I kept an eye out the back to see if anyone had been following us. If anyone was, I couldn’t see them.

I had the cab drop me off a block from the hotel and then spent the next hour doing a complete circuit of the block the hotel was on, checking the front and rear entrances, the cameras in place, and the siting of the driveway into the underground carpark. There was a camera over the entrance, and one we hadn’t checked for footage. I sent a text message to Fritz to look into it.

The hotel lobby was large and busy, which was exactly what you’d want if you wanted to come and go without standing out. It would be different later at night, but I could see her arriving about mid-afternoon, and anonymous among the type of clientele the hotel attracted.

I spent an hour sitting in various positions in the lobby simply observing. I had already ascertained where the elevator lobby for the rooms was, and the elevator down to the car park. Fortunately, it was not ‘guarded’ but there was a steady stream of concierge staff coming and going to the lower levels, and, just from time to time, guests.

Then, when there was a commotion at the front door, what seemed to be a collision of guests and free-wheeling bags, I saw one of the seven potential taggers sitting by the front door. Waiting for me to leave? Or were they wondering why I was spending so much time there?

Taking advantage of that confusion, I picked my moment to head for the elevators that went down to the car park, pressed the down button, and waited.

The was no car on the ground level, so I had to wait, watching, like several others, the guests untangling themselves at the entrance, and an eye on my potential surveillance, still absorbed in the confusion.

The doors to the left car opened, and a concierge stepped out, gave me a quick look, then headed back to his desk. I stepped into the car, pressed the first level down, the level I expected cars to arrive on, and waited what seemed like a long time for the doors to close.

As they did, I was expecting to see a hand poke through the gap, a latecomer. Nothing happened, and I put it down to a television moment.

There were three basement levels, and for a moment, I let my imagination run wild and considered the possibility that there were more levels. Of course, there was no indication on the control panel that there were any other floors, and I’d yet to see anything like it in reality.

With a shake of my head to return to reality, the car arrived, the doors opened, and I stepped out.

A car pulled up, and the driver stepped out, went around to the rear of his car, and pulled out a case. I half expected him to throw me the keys, but the instant glance he gave me told him was not the concierge, and instead brushed past me like I wasn’t there.

He bashed the up button several times impatiently and cursed when the doors didn’t open immediately. Not a happy man.

Another car drove past on its way down to a lower level.

I looked up and saw the CCTV camera, pointing towards the entrance, visible in the distance. A gate that lifted up was just about back in position and then made a clunk when it finally closed. The footage from the camera would not prove much, even if it had been working, because it didn’t cover the life lobby, only in the direction of the car entrance.

The doors to the other elevator car opened, and a man in a suit stepped out.

“Can I help you, sir? You seem lost.”

Security, or something else. “It seems that way. I went to the elevator lobby, got in, and it went down rather than up. I must have been in the wrong place.”

“Lost it is, then, sir.” I could hear the contempt for Americans in his tone. “If you will accompany me, please.”

He put out a hand ready to guide me back into the elevator. I was only too happy to oblige him. There had been a sign near the button panel that said the basement levels were only to be accessed by the guests.

Once inside, he turned a key and pressed the lobby button. The doors closed, and we went up. He stood, facing the door, not speaking. A few seconds later, he was ushering me out to the lobby.

“Now, sir, if you are a guest…”

“Actually, I’m looking for one. She called me and said she would be staying in this hotel and to come down and visit her. I was trying to get to the sixth floor.”

“Good. Let’s go over the the desk and see what we can do for you.”

I followed him over to the reception desk, where he signalled one of the clerks, a young woman who looked and acted very efficiently, and told her of my request, but then remained to oversee the proceeding.

“Name of guest, sir?”

“Merriweather, Anne. I’m her brother, Alexander.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my passport to prove that I was who I said I was. She glanced cursorily at it.

She typed the name into the computer, and then we waited a few seconds while it considered what to output. Then, she said, “That lady is not in the hotel, sir.”

Time to put on my best-confused look. “But she said she would be staying here for the week. I made a special trip to come here to see her.”

Another puzzled look from the clerk, then, “When did she call you?”

An interesting question to ask, and it set off a warning bell in my head. I couldn’t say today, it would have to be the day she was supposedly taken.

“Last Saturday, about four in the afternoon.”

Another look at the screen, then, “It appears she checked out Sunday morning. I’m afraid you have made a trip in vain.”

Indeed, I had. “Was she staying with anyone?”

I just managed to see the warning pass from the suited man to the clerk. I thought he had shown an interest when I mentioned the name, and now I had confirmation. He knew something about her disappearance. The trouble was, he wasn’t going to volunteer any information because he was more than just hotel security.

“No.”

“Odd,” I muttered. “I thought she told me she was staying with a man named Vladimir something or other. I’m not too good at pronouncing those Russian names. Are you sure?”

She didn’t look back at the screen. “Yes.”

“OK, now one thing I do know about staying in hotels is that you are required to ask guests with foreign passports their next destination, just in case they need to be found. Did she say where she was going next?” It was a long shot, but I thought I’d ask.

“Moscow. As I understand it, she lives in Moscow. That was the only address she gave us.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I know where that is. I probably should have gone there first.”

She didn’t answer; she didn’t have to, her expression did that perfectly.

The suited man spoke again, looking at the clerk. “Thank you.” He swivelled back to me. “I’m sorry we can’t help you.”

“No. You have more than you can know.”

“What was your name again, sir, just in case you still cannot find her?”

“Alexander Merriweather. Her brother. And if she is still missing, I will be posting a very large reward. At the moment, you can best contact me via the American Embassy.”

Money is always a great motivator, and that thoughtful expression on his face suggested he gave a moment’s thought to it.

I left him with that offer and left. If anything, the people who were holding her would know she had a brother, that her brother was looking for her, and equally that brother had money.

…

© Charles Heath – 2018-2025

Writing a book in 365 days – 190

Day 190

Writing exercise – go back to an old story and rework it

…

When You Least Expect It

Life on the edge, in the corporate world I had immersed myself in, could be exciting, enthralling, or exhausting.  People say accountants were boring creatures of habit, with all the charisma of a monotone bingo caller with no sense of alliteration.  Pretty much an apt description of me.

My definition of life on the edge?  Thinking that I would ever work up the courage to ask Anne Menzies out on a date.  Hell would freeze over first.

Besides, who had the time to think about such trivialities when there was a pending merger, and the numbers had to be perfect.  Which is why my morning started badly and just got gradually worse.

Why?

The numbers didn’t add up.

I tossed the pile of printouts and colourful charts that were supposed to say business was booming, now and into the future, but the flat line said otherwise.  It was different to the result I ran the day before, and I had the afternoon to find out why before the big meeting the next morning.

We were going to dazzle the prospective merger partner.

Or not.

I sighed and threw myself into the chair and rubbed my eyes and then temples, as if that would ease the headache that was starting to get worse.

Somehow, Gallagher, the senior partne,r would see this as my fault.

“Anyone for lunch?” I yelled.  Asking in a normal voice would certainly be ignored.  So much I remembered from the day before.

Jack, my best friend and the complete antithesis of me, had been right.  Anyone with an office was in the firing line.  Anyone who preferred to be a general dogsbody, well, no one looked at them twice.

I heard the gong that signified noon, and for some time to take a break.  Company-provided lunchtime activities included working off those extra pounds in the games room, or putting them back on in the dining room, where, for a modest cost, one could overindulge to one’s hearts content.

Said Jack, as he did every Tuesday and Thursday, put his head in the door and shook his head.  My desk was a mess, unlike his, which was always clear.  Jack was a good friend, well-meaning, but not promotional material.  He was good at taking orders, not giving them, but he was the all-around nice guy who could hit it off with all the girls, and I discovered, a useful acquaintance.

He waited until I looked up, then said, “Ship sinking?” he asked, then came in and sat in the office’s most comfortable chair.

“Will all hands, when it should just be the Captain.”

“The numbers don’t add up?”

Sometimes he said stuff that was spot on accurate, but he would have no idea that it was actually the case.  Or he was cleverer than I gave him credit.

I gave him one of my ‘I don’t believe you said that’ looks.  “You know accountancy.  You either fudge the numbers, or you fudge the numbers.”

“Like that is it?”

“Exactly.”

“Fancy a few tranquillising drinks to help straighten out your perspective on life?  Helps numbers to add up the way they always should have.”

“Not today.  Food only, and I haven’t got a lot of time.”

He sighed.  “Be careful, Rick, or you might turn into a real accountant.”

“Har bloody har.”

He stood and frowned.  “Coming?”

Why not?  I needed a break from, and maybe a change of scenery might change the perspective.  Food, then a stroll downtown.  I need time to think.”

He shrugged.  “I’ll catch up with you downstairs.”

Whenever I decided to go out for lunch, someone always found a way to mess with the plan.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be grumpy this time because it was Anne.  Anne was one of the more important personal assistants in the building and dropped by my office on her way to the staff dining room.

She had only done that once before, to deliver a message from her manager, who just happened to be Gallagher.  I knew she wasn’t here to see me for any other reason.

“Ah, Rick.  Caught you just in time.”  The tone said everything I needed to know.  Another impossible deadline.

“Mr Gallagher is after the forward sales and revenue charts?”

“They’re coming.”

“When?”

“Christmas.”  It was wrong to be flippant, but that was the sort of day it was.

Her expression clouded over, the smile turning to a frown.

“The numbers don’t add up.”

“He provided you with access to the system, and I know he’s spent the last two days putting the numbers together.”

“He needs the charts by the close of business tonight.”

“Then you can tell him it will be sorted by then.”

“You don’t sound confident?  He told me you were the best man for the job, that you haven’t let him down yet.”

No pressure then.  Sent the one girl I liked down to put me on the spot.  If I failed him, I failed her; chances gone.

“I’m sure he won’t deny me sustenance.  I work better after I’ve had something to eat.”

“Going up to lunch?”

“Not today.” I ushered her to the door, grabbing my coat as we went out.

“And miss your favourite dish?”

How did she know it was my favourite dish?  Curious.

“It certainly looks that way.”

“Going out with the boys?”

“Only one.”

“Jack?”

I nodded.

She sighed.  “You could do so much better.”

I left her at the lift foyer; she was going up, I was going down.  In my lift, I had only one thought: what was it about Jack she didn’t like?

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

In a word: Stick

Everyone knows what a stick is, it’s a lump of wood that you throw out in front of you, and if your dog is inclined to, he will run out and fetch it back.

Of course, there’s the obstinate ones who just lie down on the ground and look at you like you’re foolishly throwing away something useful.

For instance, that stick, and a few others that would be very useful to light a campfire, or just a woodfire in the house, during winter.

Or it can be a stick of wood needed for something else, like a building project, of those highly secret affairs that go on in the locked shed at the bottom of the garden.

I’m sure the dog who refuses to fetch sticks knows exactly what is going on there but is disinclined to say.

But..

If you are looking at the gooey sense of the word, there is an old saying, if you throw enough mud, some of it sticks’.

Yes, you can stick stuff to stuff, such as words cut out of various newspapers to make up a ransom or warning note.

Too many mystery movies, I know.

Paint will stick to timber or any surface, really.

Mud sticks to the bottom of shoes or boots and becomes analysable evidence.

I can stick to you like glue, which means that where you go, I go. This is quite handy if you are trying to stop an opposition player from scoring in a game.

I can use a walking stick, beat someone with a stick, use a stick to fly a plane, or use a gear stick to move a car.

I’m sure, if you think about it, you can come up with a dozen more ways to use it.

“Sunday in New York”, a romantic adventure that’s not a walk in the park!

“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.

When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.

From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.

There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.

Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.

Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?

Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?

Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?

As they say in the classics, read on!

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-SundayInNewYork

I’ve got words on paper, but

They’re not exactly Nobel prize-winning prose.

Well, not yet.

I guess the point is that I have at least crystallised my thoughts on paper so that I can do something with them.  After all, anything is better than nothing, isn’t it?

Sometimes I wonder.  I look back on a lot of the stuff I wrote forty or fifty years ago and it looks bad.  The thing is, then, I thought it was great, and that I was destined to do great things with the written word.

Pity, all this time later, I’ve turned into a self-critical monster, where it seems nothing I write is any good.

So, does that mean we need to be less critical of our work?  After all, through the years, when I’ve shared novels and short stories with others, they have all universally said they’re quite good.

So…

It’s time to go back to the previous day’s work and rework it.  Yes, the idea that I wanted to write about is where I wanted the story to go, it’s just the execution.

The problem is, since then a few other ideas have been running around in the back of my head, and these could be added or used to further the current plotline.

The other problem is, it is one of the six stories that I’m writing by the seat of my pants, you know, the way some pilots like to fly a plane, without all that computer backup.  Similarly, this is the way I sometimes like to write.

It’s as much a surprise to me is it is to the reader.

There’s good arguments for having planned the story from start to finish, but with these, I like to write it and see where it takes me.  They’re episodic, so sometimes I get to write three of four episodes at a time, and these would most likely in a book become a chapter.

Last night I wrote two episodes, but it seems that it might need pointers back in previous episodes, because we all like to leave a trail of crumbs for the reader so when they get to the denouement, they remember, ah yes, back in chapter two such and such happened, but why am I only remembering it now?

Ok, enough convincing myself I’m a good writer, it’s time to get back to work…

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 26

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some years ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits, I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

20160902_093736

This is Chester. He’s being somewhat difficult.

I’m trying to discuss the nuances of a Mexican standoff, a concept I’m sure he is fully aware of.

Except…

He keeps telling me that he’s part Siamese, so how the hell could he be in the middle of a Mexican standoff.

He then says, in a tone that drips sarcasm, I’m not Mexican either, but part British, so would it not be more appropriate to call it a British-Sino standoff?

Wow!

I’m doubting he knows what a standoff is anyway.

And since this encounter started he’s avoided looking me in the eye, except for one condescending as, when I first arrived, as if to say I was interrupting his morning siesta.

I’m wondering if it’s not time to get another cat and update our mouse catching equipment.

Oh, yes, now I’ve got his attention.

New cat, what’s this about a new car?

Have I found his Achilles heel?

We’ll find out next time when I pull the new cat routine on him

“Trouble in Store” – Short Stories My Way:  The re-write – Part 9

Now that I’ve gone through the story and made quite a few changes, it’s time to look at the story

…

Officer Margaret O’Donnell crossed the street from the corner instead of remaining on the same side of the street as she did every other night.  When she reached the other sidewalk, she was about 20 yards from the nearest window of the store.

As she crossed, she got a better view of the three people in the store, and noticed the woman, or girl, was acting oddly, as if she had something in her hand, and, from time to time looked down beside her.

A yard or two from the window she stopped, took a deep breath, and then moved slowly forward, getting a better view of the scene with each step.

Then she saw the gun in the girl’s hand, and the two men, the shopkeeper and a customer facing her, hands out where they could be seen.

It was a convenience store robbery in progress.

She reached for her radio, but it wasn’t there.  She was off duty.  Instead, she withdrew, and called the station on her mobile phone, and reported the robbery.  The officer on the end of the phone said a car would be there in five minutes.

In five minutes there could be dead bodies.

She had to do something and reached into her bag and pulled out a gun.  Not her service weapon, but one she carried in case of personal danger.

…

The policewoman crouched below the window shelf line so the girl wouldn’t see her, and made it to the door before standing up.  She was in dark clothes so the chances were the girl would not see her against the dark street backdrop.

Her hand was on the door handle about to push it inwards when she could feel it being yanked hard from the other side, and the momentum and surprise of it caused her to fall forward, losing balance, and crash into the man who was trying to get out.

What the hell…

A second or two later both were on the floor in a tangled mess, her gun hand caught underneath her, and a glance in the direction of the girl with the gun told her the situation had gone from bad to worse.

The girl had swung the gun around, aimed it at her, and squeezed the trigger.  It was the second of two successive shots, the mini explosions in the small room almost deafening, and definitely disorientating.

Behind her, the glass door disintegrated when the bullet hit it.

Neither she nor the man beside her had been hit.

Yet.

She felt a kick in the back and the tinkling of glass then broke free as the man she’d run into rolled out of the way.

Quickly on her feet, she saw the girl had gone, those precious few seconds taken to get up off the floor and get out the door were long enough for the girl to disappear, as if into thin air.

She could hear a siren in the distance.

…

© Charles Heath 2016-2024

Writing a book in 365 days – 189

Day 189

Writing exercise – Everybody called him Einstein, but long before he had made his last big mistake, people had forgotten why.

…

Some legends are spoken at gatherings around night fires, times when folks liked to talk about olden times, times when life was different.

There were signs of a different civilisation, almost lost in the vegetation, of people who had lived very different lives from what we have now.

Our settlements were near these ruins, taking advantage of facilities that had been created or repurposed, and our progress was based on what we found.

But there was one legend of a person known as Buck, or perhaps his name could have been longer. The relic we found was only a small part of something larger.

One of the elders of our clan said he had heard, when he was young, of a relic called a book, where there was writing in a language that was once spoken by those who lived long ago.

It was still our language, taught down through the generations, as a mark of respect to the people we believed were our ancestors.

This Buck, he said, was also compared to another, a man called Einstein, a great man who lived many centuries before, one of many who contributed to creating the means of destroying the world, and nearly everyone on the planet.

That legend had faded because no one wanted to remember the people who had made our world the way it was, scarred, with often warring clans, fighting over the little resources we had. 

It seemed silly that we had to spend more time and effort defending what we had rather than living our lives in peace, but that was something else we learned: not to be greedy and to covet other people’s property.  It was a pity that other clans did not.

My question had been, if this man Buck was so clever, why were we not more advanced?  The thing was, no one really knew why this Buck was so clever, why he was compared to that man called Einstein specifically, and no one really cared.

The day dawned, a fine day without winds or storms, and warm.  It had been progressively getting warmer, and now, in my twentieth year, the cold only lasted for four months of the year. 

It was my turn to go to the well and get the water.  It was a morning chore that had its advantages.  I got to meet up with the other younger people in the clan, and one in particular, a girl of my age, Anna.

If I did everything right, our families would eventually meet, and the bargaining for the marriage between us would commence.  Everything had a value in trade. There was no money, a strange concept from long ago, only what we had to trade.  Furs, food, timber, mud bricks, tools, weapons.

We did not fight each other, only the other clans, if we were attacked.  Such a thing as crime and an ancient concept was not tolerated, and if committed, the perpetrator was expelled into the wastelands.

I joined the line and waited for my turn.  There was a water monitor whose job was to make sure everyone got their fair share.  I collected our water and then waited to see if Anna came.

She did, collected her water, and then came over time where I was waiting.

“Guy, how are you?”

“Anna.  I am well.  How are you?”

“I am also well.  I trust your family is well.”

“They are.  Yours?”

“They are also well.  It looks like we will have more warm days this year.  My father says it will extend the crops so we will have more food to store for the cold times.”

“That is good.  We are hoping to have more cattle and sheep for meat and milk.”

“There are more people.  My father says we will have to start exploring again.”

“We he be leading the expedition?  I would like to go with him this time, if i can get permission.”

“I will ask.  Now I must go.  It was nice talking to you, Guy.”

“It was nice talking to you, Anna.”

My trips to the well were not only to meet Anna, but also the thrill of getting another clue to how we came to be.

Her father was one of the few elders trusted with the history of our clan, who organised expeditions beyond the boundary of our village, sometimes put into the expanse.
.
No one ever ventured there. It was uninhabitable with no water, no vegetation, and only ruins of a much older and advanced civilisation.  The people, he said, had destroyed themselves through greed and paranoia.

It was said he had seen things no man should ever want to see or should.

He did not share these revelations with his family, but sometimes Anna acquired an artefact and would tell me, in hushed tones, or other times slip me a piece of paper she had written on, with the note to burn it when read.

It was all very secretive.

I checked my pocket, and there was a piece of much-folded paper.  When I was alone and not to be interrupted, I carefully unfolded it.  It was not handwriting.  It was very neat letters, what she had called printing, where all the writing was elegant and easily readable.

We didn’t have books, and I don’t think any of us had ever seen one.  We knew about paper, though our paper wasn’t the same as the relics we were told existed.  This page I had could get me into trouble because it was a relic.

It was about a man named Albert Einstein, who lived many centuries ago, a man who developed the theory of relativity and contributed to the photoelectric effect, which is a phenomenon related to the interaction between light and matter. 

It was obvious to me that to be classed as brilliant, you had to use words no one else could understand.  I folded the page up and his it.  I would give it back next time I saw her.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Searching for locations: West Lake, Hangzhou, China

West Lake is a freshwater lake in Hangzhou, China. It is divided into five sections by three causeways. There are numerous temples, pagodas, gardens, and artificial islands within the lake.

Measuring 3.2 kilometers (2 miles) in length, 2.8 kilometers (1.7 miles) in width, and 2.3 meters (7.5 feet) in average depth, the lake spreads itself in an area totaling 6.5 square kilometers (2.5 square miles).

The earliest recorded name for West Lake was the “Wu Forest River”, but over time it changed to two distinct names.  One is “Qiantang Lake”, due to the fact that Hangzhou was called “Qiantang” in ancient times.  The other, “West Lake”, due to the lake being west of the city

It’s about to get busy, with a number of activities planned, and the warmth of the day is starting to make an impact.

The tour starts in the car park about a kilometer away, but the moment we left the car park we were getting a taste of the park walking along a tree-lined avenue.

When we cross the road, once again dicing with death with the silent assassins on motor scooters.

We are in the park proper, and it is magnificent, with flowers, mostly at the start hydrangeas and then any number of other trees and shrubs, some carved into other flower shapes like a lotus.

Then there was the lake and the backdrop of bridges and walkways.

.

And if you can tune out the background white noise the place would be great for serenity and relaxation.

That, in fact, was how the boat ride panned out, about half an hour or more gliding across the lake in an almost silent boat, by an open window, with the air and the majestic scenery.

No, not that boat, which would be great to have lunch on while cruising, but the boat below:

Not quite in the same class, but all the same, very easy to tune out and soak it in.

It was peaceful, amazingly quiet, on a summery day

A pagoda in the hazy distance, an island we were about to circumnavigate.

Of all the legends, the most touching one is the love story between Bai Suzhen and Xu Xi’an. Bai Suzhen was a white snake spirit and Xu Xi’an was a mortal man.

They fell in love when they first met on a boat on the West Lake, and got married very soon after.

However, the evil monk Fa Hai attempted to separate the couple by imprisoning Xu Xi’an. Bai Suzhen fought against Fa Hai and tried her best to rescue her husband, but she failed and was imprisoned under the Leifeng Pagoda by the lake.

Years later the couple was rescued by Xiao Qing, the sister of Baisuzhen, and from then on, Bai Suzhen and Xu Xi’an lived together happily.

The retelling of the story varied between tour guides, and on the cruise boat, we had two.  Our guide kept to the legend, the other tour guide had a different ending.

Suffice to say it had relevance to the two pagodas on the far side of the lake.

There was a cafe or restaurant on the island, but that was not our lunch destination.

Nor were the buildings further along from where we disembarked.

All in all the whole cruise took about 45 minutes and was an interesting break from the hectic nature of the tour.

Oh yes, and the boat captain had postcards for sale.  We didn’t buy any.

Lunch

At the disembarkation point there was a mall that sold souvenirs and had a few ‘fast food’ shops, and a KFC, not exactly what we came to China for, but it seemed like the only place in town a food cautious Australian could eat at.

And when tried to get in the door, that’s where at least 3 busloads were, if they were not in the local Starbucks.  Apparently, these were the places of first choice wherever we went.

The chicken supply by the time we got to the head of the line amounted to pieces at 22.5 RMB a piece and nuggets.  Everything else had run out, and for me, there were only 5 pieces left.  Good thing there were chips.

And Starbucks with coffee and cheesecake.

At least the setting for what could have been a picnic lunch was idyllic.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 86

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 instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

A meeting with Nadia’s father

…

I’d met Nadia’s father once, but had seen him often on the streets.

He was a man to be feared, and never went anywhere without two of his foot soldiers beside him.  Perhaps that was the downside of being a crime boss, you could not be out by yourself.

Benderby was the same, but he was better at disguising them as almost normal people.  Cossatino’s henchmen looked exactly what they were, armed gorillas in cheap suits.

Vince was like his father, but with younger versions, the hangers-on from school days.  It crossed my mind more than once how Nadia had separated him from his minders, but I imagine she was more resourceful than he was.

We said little on the way back to the car, there was little to say.  I might have disagreed with her course of action, in fact, they needed to be taught a lesson, but I knew in doing so, it put a target on her back.

And, if anything happened to Vince, she have her father to answer to.  In that, I don’t think that bothered her, because, unlike Vince, she could stand up to him.  It would have taken more courage than I had for her to up and leave the way she had.

Of course, it didn’t take a lot to see why.  As far as her father and Vince were concerned, she was dispensible, if or when a situation warranted it.  Like working with Boggs and I had no doubt prompted Vince’s reaction.

Not far from the car was another, and as we approached, a man got out of the rear.  Two others got out from the front.  In the receding light, it was difficult to see who it was, but since the man had two minders it had to be either Benderby or Cossatino.

I looked at Nadia, and from her expression, she knew who it was.  She stopped just short of the car, and I joined her.

“It’s my father,” she said.

“How did he know where you’d be?”

“A tracker on my car.”

So, she had intended he find her, but was it her intention that he find Vince?  I doubted he would be interested in what happened to Alex.

She held up her hand, and said, “I wouldn’t come too close, Dad, not if your help wants to scrape what’s left of Vince off the side of the container.”

I looked closely at her hand, and it was her mobile phone.  Would that convince him she meant what she said?

“You’re not that clever Nadia.”

He took two steps, his two minders pulled out their guns and were aiming them at us.

I saw her finger move, and a second later there was a sharp bang coming from the direction of the mall.

“The next one will go off next to Vince.  Unlike what he did to Sam and I, he won’t have time to think about his death.  Tell your goons to put away their guns and get back in the car, or else.”

Cossatino stopped and motioned to his men to lower their weapons.  They did not put them away, nor did they look like they were going back to the car.

A test of wills.  Who would crack first?

I wondered if she had wired an explosive in the container.  I didn’t know much about electronics, but the steel walls of the container surely would have interfered with a cell phone signal.  I guess it didn’t have to be in the container.

“I get it,” he said.  “I should not have told Vince to take care of the problem.  I didn’t consider he would take it literally.  I’m sorry.  We don’t have to do this.”

“Just the fact you think I’m a problem is bad enough, but getting Vince to deal with it?”

“That was a mistake.  The solution was never to hurt you, or your friends.”

“He murdered Boggs, and for what?  There never was any treasure, was there?”

“Maybe once, but no.  The real treasure was the maps.  People will pay a small fortune for them if they believe there’s a chance of finding a trove.  We couldn’t have anyone upsetting the apple cart, but killing him wasn’t what I asked for.  Vince and that fool Alex took it too far, and that’s on me.”

“Literal or not, you’ve made it very clear I don’t fit into this family.  I never did, did I?  You only tolerated Alex because it was a way of uniting the Cossatino’s and the Benderby’s, not because you wanted me to be happy.”

“There will always be a place for you, Nadia.”

“Not while Vince is alive.  He won’t let it go, no matter what you tell him.”

“You leave Vince to me.”

“No.  I can’t trust you either.  So, here’s the deal.  Sam and I are going back to Italy.  I want no part of the family.  But if I see you, Vince, or anyone else I don’t like hanging around, then Isobel and the twins will pay it.”

“What are you talking about…”

At that precise moment, his phone rang, a rather odd ring tone, like one specially set for a particular person, and he answered it without hesitation.

A few seconds later, the call ended.

“You have my word nothing will happen to you, or Sam, as long as I’m alive.”  He motioned to his men to go back to the car.  “Have a nice life Nadia.”

He glared at her for a few seconds then followed his men to the car.  The car then drove off, leaving the two of us standing alone in the increasing twilight.

I had a hundred questions, but it didn’t seem to be the right time.  I went with the most obvious, “What just happened?”

“My father thought he could clean up the mess he made using me as the scapegoat.  Instead, he just confessed to, and confirmed Vince and Alex’s role in Boggs’s death.”  She held up her phone.  “Charlene was listening in to the confessions.  The sheriff should have the two boys by now, and…”

In the distance we could hear the sirens of the police cars and see the flashing lights.  Cossatino had driven into a trap.

“Isobel and the twins?”

“My father’s mistress.  He’s been seeing her since before my mother disappeared.  He cares more for them than me, even Vince if truth be told.  It’s his one weakness and guarantees our safety.  We are going to Italy?”

It might not have been the thought at the top of my list at that very moment, but it was almost a definite yes. There was nothing left here for me, and the last thing I wanted was Benderby as a proxy father.

The sirens had stooped, and the flashing lights become static.  Nadia looked tired, perhaps more than a little sad at the way everything had turned put.  I know I was.

As for what just happened, Nadia had surprised me.  I think for a moment back at the mall she really was going to leave them to die, which I might have considered no better than her brother or Alex’s actions, but she really wasn’t like any of them, and I put that down to her mother.

Something else I hadn’t realized was that she had a different mother, but a memory from a long distant past came back when she had mentioned her to her father, something my mother had said, more or less to say she couldn’t understand what a woman like Francesca could see in a man like him.

Perhaps she had simply up and left when she finally realized the monster she married, but it didn’t explain why she left her daughter behind.  Perhaps her father was guilty of that crime too.

“I think we both need a change, and I’ve never been out of the country.”  I took her hand in mine, then gave her a hug. 

She was shaking, whether it was the cold or the enormity of what just happened was debatable, but for the moment it was over. There would be new storms to face tomorrow, not the least of which would be to face my mother.

“Let’s go back to the hotel.  You need to get some rest.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022