A photograph from the inspirational bin – 39

This is what we saw driving along the Coquihalla Highway in Canada, a rather infamous stretch of road featured on the Discovery Channel, and yes, we saw a number of cars and trucks off the side of the road, and not in a good way

The road was iced over in place, and driving was difficult, but on the plus side the scenery was spectacular, and it was hard not to be distracted when driving.

But, inspiration for a story? It might go something like this:

…

Arty was adamant that he knew the best where man in the business.

That might gave been true if he was in the middle of the city where there were endless tests and turns that could be used to lost chasing police vehicles.

But that didn’t apply to the open road, and one that was think with ice and snow, even if it had recently been cleared.

But that wasn’t as bad as the fact that we had got free of the city, lost the pursuing cars, changed vehicles, and got away free.

All he had to fo was follow the road.

Except Arty had a temper, and getting stuck behind an old van going ever so slowly on the road, caused him to first blast them with horn, then start doing dangerous accelations up behind them, and then attempt to overtake on a bend in the road.

That might not have been so bad if there had not been an oncoming car, but there was.

Even that might not have been so bad if the car had not been a police vehicle.

But the real kicker: Arty lost control of the car and we went sailing off the edge of the road into a ravine, landing on soft ice which after a minute started cracking and then gave way.

The last place I wanted to be was to be sinking into a freezing cold river, but there we were, all frantically trying to get out.

Fortunately, I did, but not before I was soaking wet, and almost frozen. The rest didn’t make it.

“Opposites Attract” – The Editor’s second draft – Day 12

This book has been sitting in the ‘to-be-done’ tray, so this month it is going to get the second revision and release to beta readers.

…

The inimitable Mrs Bakersfield

…

It’s not every day of the week you get to meet a genuine god-zillionaire.  Or so it seems to our boy.

She is Mrs Bakersfield, CEO of a conglomerate, rivalling the once fortunes of the Rockefellers, Vanderbilts, and others.  To her granddaughter, Emily, she is simply Grandma.

It doesn’t take long to see that her grandmother and Emile have a special bond, one that might have included Emily’s mother, Grandma’s daughter.

And for the record, Emily and Tim are her last two direct descendants.

Of course, Grandma has noticed the change in her granddaughter because of our boy and she has a private talk.

It is an interesting conversation.  She can see that he has the same affection for Emily as Emily does for him, enough to believe that something might come of the relationship.

She is no doubt aware of the differences in background, but sometimes those are just details.

She offers him a job, well, not so much a job, but an introduction to the HR manager, the equivalent one might say to an interview.

Oh, and one final detail, the grandmother has stage four cancer and has only a matter of weeks to live.

…

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at:  https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’.  It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over.  It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning.  It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary.  On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to.  She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room.  Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me.  Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight.  She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together.  It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement.  Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it.  Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it.  And took the moment to look deeply into my soul.  It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me.  A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace.  Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand.  I guessed she was talking about the new job.  “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely.  “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al.  I tried it once and was admonished.  But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not.  It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil.  As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them.  I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand.  And yet, apparently, Alison did.  I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us.  It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me.  We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?”  Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face.  It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind.  Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene.  I knew what I wanted to say.  I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison.  This was not the time or the place.  Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing.  If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control.  “It’s the little things.  They all add up until one day …”  I shrugged.  “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real?  Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me.  I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points.  It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted.  “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead.  Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose.  Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend.  “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation.  I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show.  I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him.  “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up.  You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken.  He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed.  Or perhaps it was deliberate.  She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me.  “Yes.  Elaine said something or other about it.  But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week.  Perhaps I got it wrong.  I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”  I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again.  “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart.  It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies.  If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect.  Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows.  Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details.  “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason.  “Me?  No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him.  Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him.  “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another.  To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker.  I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment.  “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time.  Too busy with work I expect.  I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together.  I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down.  I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown.  Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth.  It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction.  It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.  She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points.  Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine.  She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly.  I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me.  It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me.  I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse.  When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three.  But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree.  It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side.  But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer.  She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong.  It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it.  Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York

“Opposites Attract” – The Editor’s second draft – Day 12

This book has been sitting in the ‘to-be-done’ tray, so this month it is going to get the second revision and release to beta readers.

…

The inimitable Mrs Bakersfield

…

It’s not every day of the week you get to meet a genuine god-zillionaire.  Or so it seems to our boy.

She is Mrs Bakersfield, CEO of a conglomerate, rivalling the once fortunes of the Rockefellers, Vanderbilts, and others.  To her granddaughter, Emily, she is simply Grandma.

It doesn’t take long to see that her grandmother and Emile have a special bond, one that might have included Emily’s mother, Grandma’s daughter.

And for the record, Emily and Tim are her last two direct descendants.

Of course, Grandma has noticed the change in her granddaughter because of our boy and she has a private talk.

It is an interesting conversation.  She can see that he has the same affection for Emily as Emily does for him, enough to believe that something might come of the relationship.

She is no doubt aware of the differences in background, but sometimes those are just details.

She offers him a job, well, not so much a job, but an introduction to the HR manager, the equivalent one might say to an interview.

Oh, and one final detail, the grandmother has stage four cancer and has only a matter of weeks to live.

…

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 51

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.

—-

We took her car.  It wasn’t a limousine of the sort I’d seen the other Cossatino’s driving around in, but a shabby old compact that had seen better days.  Perhaps it was selected for its camouflage qualities, it fitted in with a lot of other old cars that the general population drove.

No one in this town could afford any better.  Not unless you were a Cossatino or a Benderby.  Alex, for instance, had been given a Porsche on his 18th birthday.  By comparison, I was given a new, but second hand, bicycle.

She had parked in a back street some distance from the hotel, and the several times I checked, we were not being followed.  She had noticed me looking over my shoulder a few times but hadn’t commented.  Not until we had driven several miles.

“Alex has one of his mates following me,” I said by way of an explanation.  “Alex seems to think I might lead them to the treasure, which is about as daft as it can get.”

“He’s clutching at straws.  His old man had found out what he’s doing, not that he has told him he knows, and he’s going out of his way to distract Alex.  Old man Benderby doesn’t think there is any treasure.”

“How do you know what the old man is doing?”

“Talks to my father.  They might be sworn enemies, but that doesn’t mean they don’t talk.  It amuses them to see Alex and Vince go head to head.  It’s a waste of time trying to impress their respective fathers.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone.  At the right time, I’m packing my bags and going back to Italy to live with the other branch of the family, the ones who are not interested in being master criminals.  I just want to soak up the Tuscan sun and drink wine.”

“I’m sure your father would have something to say about that.”

“He has, but I’m not interested in using my ‘wiles’ as he calls them to get men to spill their secrets.  I’ve seen what it’s done to my mother and my sisters.  I’m not a criminal.”

Not now perhaps.  But back in school, she used every asset to get what she wanted.  It won over Alex, and a few others, particularly those who did her schoolwork for her.  She had nearly every boy at school dangling on a puppet string.

I was lucky she never gave me a second look.

“Well, I’m sure you made a lot of boys happy.”

A sidelong glance told me that wasn’t the wisest of statements to make.  Despite the fact it was true, I guess it was a time she’d rather forget.

I changed the subject.  “So when you went away, I’m thinking you went over to Italy?”

“For a while.  My father thought I was getting a little too close to Alex and sent me to what he thought would be purgatory.  I loved it.  Pity I had to come back.”

We’d reached a small area behind a row of shrubs that shielded us from being seen from the mall.  Something else I’d noticed, it was a cloudy night, and off and on the moon would disappear behind a bank of scudding clouds, and then just before we arrived, the moon had completely disappeared.

When we got out of the car, the darkness closed in around us, and it took a minute or so for my eyes to adjust.  The black clothes almost made us invisible.

I watched her as she wrapped her hair up into a bun and secure it with a band.  Dragged back off her forehead, it made her look older.  It also accentuated the fact she had carefully applied makeup, an odd thing to do when about to go running around in a very dirty place.

The parking spot was a long way from where Boggs and I had last gained entry, so did she have a different entry point.

“Ready?” she asked.

“As ever.”

She took off at a quick pace and I found myself almost jogging to keep up.  She was very fit.  I was not.  We cut across another carpark, one of several surrounding the mall, this one giving some cover because originally there had been landscaping.  It was now overgrown and out of control, and we could move through it and no one could see us.

Not that there was anyone else there.

We came out of the garden, crossed a road, and into an inset where there was a door.

The rusting sign on the door said that the outside should be kept clear as it was a fire exit.

The lock, from what I could see, looked reasonably clean, unlike patches of rust on the door itself, and around the edges of the lock.

“I presume you have a key?”

She pulled a keyring out of her pocket with several keys on it, selected one, and inserted it in the lock.

Nothing.

She tried the next key.  Same result.  She tried the last key.

It turned, and the door swung open.  For a door that showed the rust it did, it moved easily and silently.

She stood to one side as I passed through, then she followed me in, closing the door behind us.  A sign on the back said the door was not to be used, except for fire emergencies, and was alarmed.  No power, no alarm.

“Don’t suppose I should ask where you got the key?”

“Best not.”  She handed me a small torch and turned hers on.  I followed suit.  There was not a lot of light in front of us.  It was, however, quite dark.

“Follow me,” she said, and we set off down a long narrow passage.

—-

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 26

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

 

Mayer realized something was terribly wrong when they reached the outskirts of Weimar and passed through the checkpoint on the outskirts of the city.

It was the sixth such checkpoint and each time the Standartenfuhrer told the sentries that they were escorting a valuable prisoner, and being mere German Army soldiers, most of the Obergefreiter rank, and not willing to argue with an SS Colonel.

Then he remembered there was a large Government building in the city and assumed that was where they were talking to him.

Except they were either lost or taking the long way to get there because they were taking back streets.  When he asked why, he was told to be quiet, or they would silence him.

When they reached the outskirts of the city on the other side, still heading south, he knew something else was going on.  It was then he started to think that these men might not necessarily be Nazi’s.  After all, there had to be other people who were sickened by the atrocities that were going on, particularly to the labor from the camps.

He understood the need for labor, just not the way his superiors went about getting it.

They passed through the next checkpoint without any questions and soon caught up to a convoy of trucks with what looked like prisoners in the back.

It was the first time he had seen either of the two officers look worried.

Then a soldier on a motorcycle turned around and came back to check on the vehicle and its occupants.  He flagged them to the side of the road, got off his bike and there was no mistaking the itchy trigger finger on the gun he was loosely holding.

In front of their car, the last truck in the convoy turned a corner and disappeared.

“Where are you going?” the motorcyclist asked.

Mayer noticed he was not army but SS of a lower rank Scharfuhrer, and though of a lower rank, there was still the superiority of just being SS.

The Standartenfuhrer looked the soldier up and down and then opened the door to the car and got out.  He took two steps towards the cyclist.

“Do you know who you are addressing Scharfuhrer, what is your name?  I will take this insubordination to your superior officer.”

Mayer had seen similar men in his unit back at Nordhausen, including one, when in a hotel having lunch heard one of a group of army soldiers being rowdy.  He singled the loudest of them, told him to be less noisy and the soldier laughed at him.

The next thing he remembered was the other solders carrying their dead leader out of the hotel.  The Standartenfuhrer had shot him, on the same charge, insubordination.  Would this Standartenfuhrer do the same?

He had learned that day the SS, especially the higher-ranked officers, didn’t tolerate anything, and as one, he was expected to do the same.

“Sir.  It is my job to ask questions, as you are fully aware.  I was given orders, and I obey those orders.”  Suddenly the man was less confident.

“I understand that.  It is of no concern to you where we are going, only that it is on urgent and classified Reich business.  It is of no concern to anyone but the Oberfuhrer I report to, and I will have to report to him on why I was delayed.  You name Scharfuhrer?”

“I have no wish to delay you, sir.”  He saluted, got back on his motorcycle and left, speeding up to catch up to the rest of the convoy.

The Standartenfuhrer got back in the car.

“That was close,” the driver said.  In English.

Mayer was proficient in English as his father had told him that it would stand him in good stead one day.  He just omitted to tell anyone he worked with, or when he was recruited.  They had asked, and he thought it wisest to say no.

Now, these two men were speaking English.  It was not unknown for SS officers to speak English, as well as several other languages like Dutch, French and Italian. He had a little French, and less Italian.

“Who are you?” Mayer asked again but sticking to German.

The Standartenfuhrer glared at his driver.

“This is the point where it depends on how you answer the next question whether we execute you here, or we continue.  Bear in mind that if you tell us a lie, you will be shot.”  The Standartenfuhrer also spoke in German.

The English Mayer decided was to correct to be from an Englishman, only a German who had learned it as a second language, and definitely as an SS officer.  Perhaps these two were charged with interrogating English prisoners, though that didn’t explain why they had taken him.

All of a sudden, he had a very bad feeling about this kidnapping.  It was a kidnapping, and these men were taking him to a different location, perhaps to torture him.  He had heard rumors, but since it came from a fellow SS officer, he considered it to be true.

“The question?” he stammered, nerves getting the better of him.

“Do you want to get out of Germany?”

What?  IT wasn’t [possible that anyone could know that.  He’d only admitted that sentiment to one person, and he knew he could trust them not to tell anyone.  OR could he?

And, was this a trick question.  If he answered no, it meant they could charge him with crimes against the Reich for having the blueprints of the V2 rocket?  And if he said yes, would they execute him here on the side of the road?

There was no answer that wouldn’t see him shot.

So better to say he was fed up with the conditions he’d been working under, get shot, and never return.

“Yes.”  Of course, there was a pertinent question to add to that reply, “How did you know?”

“You had the plans and specifications outside the bunker.  An executable offense.  I believe you do not like the idea of the German High Command using these rockets as weapons.”

“Most of us on the project do not, but we have to do as we are told.  For obvious reasons.”

“So far so good,” the Standartenfuhrer switched back to English.  “We know you speak English, in fact we know quite a lot about you.  As you’ve obviously guessed, we are not going to and interrogation site, but further south to Italy where there is an escape route set up by the resistance.”

“Who do you work for?”

“OSS.  We are probably worse off than you in that if we get caught, we will be shot as spies.  But, so far we’ve had good luck, except for that nosy motorcyclist.  I expect he will not keep his mouth shut and report us.”

“You won’t get that far.  With petrol rationing, this car is going to run out long before we get to the border.”

“Don’t you worry about the details.  That’s our job.  You just sit back, do as we ask, and everything should be alright.  Very few people question an SS officer of my rank.” 

He looked at his driver. 

“Now, let’s get the hell out of here before that nosy fool comes back with reinforcements.”

 

© Charles Heath 2020

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 38

This is one of those images that could be anywhere.

So, here’s the problem:

Ethan was reluctant to agree to go to the stag night, knowing firstly, that the others going were a bit too unruly when they had too many drinks and, secondly, that they had to agree to not know where they were being taken by the bus, and thirdly, anything they saw or did had to remain completely confidential.

That was particularly the case when it came to the ‘stag’.

In that case, Ethan knew exactly what this night was going to be, hours of unrelenting debauchery.

And, since Ethan was the stag’s brother, and he was the best man, there was no way he could wriggle his way out of this one.

On top of that, Ethan had to promise the bride-to-be that he would not let her husband-to-be go too far. That statement, of course, was like a box full of hand grenades. He didn’t ask for a definition of too far.

So, seven sober, respectable, hard-working junior executives in suits that were worth more than Ethan’s annual salary boarded the bus.

What happened from that moment the bus drove off until Ethan’s brother’s body was found floating face down in the river behind the resort, handcuffed to a naked girl in a rubber dinghy, barely alive from an overdose, was anyone’s guess, and Ethan’s worst nightmare.

Especially when he was the last one to see his brother, and the girl, alive.

And, no, this is not based on a real-life experience, though in recurring nightmares I’m the one floating face down in the river.

“Opposites Attract” – The Editor’s second draft – Day 11

This book has been sitting in the ‘to-be-done’ tray, so this month it is going to get the second revision and release to beta readers.

…

A visit to New York

…

I remember my first trip to New York.  We came via Los Angeles, and we were late arriving and therefore missed our outgoing flight.

It was winter, but in LA it was not cold.  That first trip we didn’t really know what cold was about.

Then, New York had been suffering from snowstorms and the weather was so bad it had stopped arrivals.  We were delayed, then got on the plane, and waited, and waited, until the pilot decided we were going, come hell or high water.

What happened?

We arrived at two in the morning, at a terminal that hadn’t been used for years, along with four or five other planes and thousands of bags sans carousels.

It was the stuff of memories, no matter how much hardship was thrown at us.

Of course, none of this is relevant to the story.  Our boy is summoned to New York, gets a ride in the corporate jet, and is staying at a swanky hotel.

There will, he knows, be a price to be paid.

But, reunited with the love of his life, all is good.

For now.

…

What the hell time is it anyway, and why should I care?

And why is a coyote baying?

Oh, that’s right, at the time we were in Canada, and the ice hockey channel was running in the background while I was trying to work.

It brought to mind, then, the interesting concept of movement through time zones, and how it was possible to live the same day for nearly two days, which is as close as I was going to get the ‘Groundhog Day’.

It’s not something that I’ve considered when writing stories because usually we are grounded in one particular time zone, or if we’re travelling, we just go from one chapter to the next, each a different location, and the reader is no wiser.

Except the editor is and pulls me up when it appears I think it’s during the day, when in reality it’s really 3am.

But, just to illustrate my point, the following is what I wrote two Christmases ago, and boy was it confusing at times.

Alright, we’ve arrived in Lake Louise from Kamloops, and there’s been a time change.  Being from Australia, we lost or gained so many hours I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.

Yes, I left on the 26th of December, travelled around half the planet, and it’s still the 26th, after a stopover in Shanghai where it was the 27th.

Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?

On another day in Canada, it was the 30th.  The day before, back home, it was my wife’s birthday in Australia and we got a number of calls on the 29th, which was amusing, to say the least.

Now, we’ve gone from Kamloops to Lake Louise, and apparently now that we are in Alberta, it’s an hour later.

The rental car we’re driving didn’t get it, and we’re still an hour behind.

My phone didn’t get it, but it is understandable because I didn’t connect it to the Canadian network to give us an internet connection because it was going to cost money.

It did on my wife’s phone which is connected to the network and it’s the only device we have that tells the correct time.

And why do we really need to know what time it is?

So we make the plane the day after tomorrow, from Calgary to Toronto.

I never realized that time was so important, and I wonder how people who travel the world remain sane with all the changes to the time zones.

Just how do road warriors get on?