Category: Mystery

The cinema of my dreams – It all started in Venice – Episode 11

Verbal sparring with Juliet

…

I had expected Juliet would try and maneuver the conversation in the direction Larry wanted, and I thought about whether I would be obtuse in simply ignoring her and talking about anything else, or just have fun with Larry who, no doubt, would be listening in.

Her first question was hardly surprising, an effort to see if I would tell her what my work was.  I couldn’t even if I wanted to, but I could intimate certain things.  But not straight away, Juliet was going to give to ask the right questions.

“Since retirement, I spent most of my time looking after Violetta.”

“Was she unwell?”

A natural assumption that everyone made, but nothing could be further from the truth.   She had given me purpose after so long in a trade that traded in endless lies and deception.

And it had been on one of those missions she had been caught in the crossfire, as I pretended to be, and got her out.  We found each other again, by accident, literally, and it developed from there.

I was done with that job and wandering aimlessly around Europe at the time.  She knew something was wrong with me, but never pushed, just accepted that everything would be better in time.

And it was.

It was a while before I answered, several vivid memories of her rising to the surface as they did, unexpectedly at times.

“No.  I often think she was exactly what she thought I needed to be for her.  She had come from a family that had servants all their lives, and there were certain expectations.”

I could see it in her expression, that Violetta treated me like a servant.   Good, let her.

“I had always wondered what it was you did, that you could end up I’m my hospital in such bad shape.  I never bought that car accident excuse we were given, because the injuries were inconsistent.”

“You were an expert on car injuries?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I had made it a hobby if you like, to treat as many as possible, cataloging the injuries so that other doctors might treat patients with such injuries more efficiently.”

“So, having said that, what in your humble opinion was the cause of my injuries?”

“Being tossed out of a moving car, but more likely the result of a bar fight, the sort they had in the old wild west.”

And she’d be right.  It was six against two, and at a disadvantage, and, yes, I had been thrown a short distance, but not by the enemy.  It was a gesture to save me from a worse beating.  I had been lucky that night, my partner had not.

“Well, always an interesting topic for doctors sitting around a campfire talking shop.  But I will say this, I was a policeman once, with a blue uniform too.  I did spend time on the streets, but mostly doing paperwork, as I keep telling everyone.”

“And what caused your injuries?”

She was persistent, I’ll give her that.

“Getting involved in a domestic argument.  It’s not the sort of work anyone wants to get in the middle of, and my partner at the time was killed.  You saw what happened to me.  We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She gave me a measured look, one that seemed to say she didn’t believe a word of it, and I was fine with that.  In any other circumstance, we would not be talking about it, and I had tried to put the real events of that day behind me.

It wasn’t easy.  Not when you lose someone.  It becomes that situation where at first you blame yourself for the death, and then after enough people tell you it wasn’t your fault, you begin to wonder what you could have done better to prevent it.

A lot, perhaps, but I’d been younger then, and not as wise.  That came layer with experience.

“Tell me about you,” I said, changing the focus.

“Nothing to tell.”

“I read newspapers Juliet, and I know what happened.  It might have been on page 16, but it leaped off the page.  I wanted to believe it wasn’t true.”

If she thought she was going to escape the inquisition, she was wrong.

I had been surprised to see her name, more surprised at the circumstances, a dalliance with drugs, a bad call, an avoidable death, and the downward spiral from there.

The photo of her in the paper after her arrest was not pretty.  She went to jail for a short period, lost her license to practice medicine, and lost a whole lot more.

“If you read the news, then there’s nothing left to tell.  I’m clean now, have been for a few years.”

The admission came almost reluctantly, for someone in her situation, it was like an evening ender when the truth was out.

“You were a good doctor.  What happened?”

“Too many hours, not enough sleep.  A husband who was too consumed in his own career, I took the easy way out.  Life is a series of choices, and I made a few bad ones.  Shit happens.”

“So, what do you do now?”

“Forensic medicine, assisting coroners.  I work with the dead.  I figure I can’t hurt them anymore.  I try to see the people who don’t survive car crashes, and continue my work in the hope some of the death and mayhem can be prevented.”

As well as doing Larry’s dirty work.  Had she done this before?

Sparring suspended, the main courses arrived.

…

© Charles Heath 2022

A to Z – April – 2026 – U

U is for – Undercover

…

I think I had reached the point where I had so fully immersed myself in the role that I no longer knew who or what I had been before.

I had said it wouldn’t happen, and they said it would, and as time passed, they could see it, and I could not.

The gig was over.

The message came over the phone in their cryptic code, devised so that if anyone else saw it, it would look just like the title of a book, which it was.

“Where Eagles Dare”.

I had dared to fly higher than the mythical Icarus, but they said it was too close to the sun.

They were right.

Ballinger, the boss, was seated opposite me, gun in lap, giving me his most menacing look.  He didn’t have to try too hard; the result of many beatings when he was a boy had given his face the look of a world-weary boxer who had to retire early.

Ever since I first met him, he had always been a man of short patience.

“I really am disappointed, Spence.  Really disappointed.”

He glanced sideways at one of his henchmen, an equally scary gorilla called Lefty.  He had another name, but I couldn’t pronounce it.  Neither could anyone else.

Lefty said, as was expected of him, “Really disappointed.”

I was not sure if it was to emphasise Ballinger’s disappointment, or that he could parrot words on command like a dutiful henchman.

I would ask why, but I knew.  There had been a ten-minute diatribe about how another of his henchmen, Wally, had discovered I was an undercover cop.  He didn’t say how he came upon this interesting discovery.

“I was disappointed you didn’t promote me a month back, but I didn’t tie you up and express disappointment.”

Lefty slapped me so hard it knocked me sideways to the floor.

It hurt.

“Don’t be insolent to the boss,” Lefty said.

Another sideways glance from Ballinger at Lefty, and he picked me back up.

After shaking my head, I said, “You’re wrong, by the way.  Do I look smart enough to be an undercover cop?”

“There aren’t any smart cops, Spence, so you fit the bill perfectly.  What did you hope to gain?”

“Let’s cut the charade.  How the hell could anybody ever assume I’m anything but just another dumb schmuck on your payroll?  Seriously?  A cop?  I’ve seen what cops make, and I couldn’t survive on a cop’s salary.  It’s why there are corrupt cops.  You know that as well as I do, you’ve got about half a dozen on the payroll.”

“How do you know that?”

“You don’t exactly make it a secret.   I’m sure their bosses know who they’re consorting with.  Besides, when I got dragged into the station after Wally botched the simple job you gave him, and the cops were called, they told me I’d be smart if I walked away.  I’m hoping it wasn’t Wally who’s suggesting I’m a cop simply because they hauled me away for questioning.”

His look confirmed what I already knew.  Wally was working for the cops, and there were rumours that there was an undercover cop in Ballinger’s crew.  Wally was spreading the blame to me to cover his backside after he nearly blew his cover.  Wally was a rank amateur.

“You need to look closer to home.”

That interview with the police, about a week ago, was the first time I’d been back in over six months, the time it had taken to worm my way into the gang, albeit inside, but outside the part that mattered.

At first, they didn’t know who I was and treated me like a hard case, which was what I was portraying.  Then the head of the task force discovered I was in the cells and came to see me.  It hadn’t been like anything I’d expected.

He’d completely lost it.

Ballinger, by comparison, was a nice guy.

I told the head of the task force that keeping up regular contact with him was how they discovered the undercover cop who had preceded me, through a combination of surveillance and crooked cops on the payroll.

I said I wouldn’t get caught, and yet here I was.

There was a commotion outside, a woman loudly arguing with someone outside the door, and then a loud crashing sound.

Tina.

Ballinger’s daughter; very loud, very brassy, very spoilt.

She came into the room and stopped a short distance from her father.

“What are you doing?”

“Dealing with Spence.  He’s an undercover cop.”

She looked at me, then her father, and then she laughed so hard she nearly fell over.  “Spence a cop?  Are you serious, or have you completely lost your mind?”

Lefty said, “Wally reckons he is.”

“Wally is dumb as dog shit, Lefty.  He bungled the job so simple that he’s the one you should shoot.  Spence got caught up in his mess.”

Ballinger looked at her, then Lefty, then me.

“Where’s Wally?”

“You’re asking me where your henchmen are?  He’s probably down at the cop shop spilling his guts and asking for witness protection.  You’re doing just what he wants, wasting your time on the wrong people while he gets away.”

Ballinger glared at Lefty.  “Cut Spence free, then find Wally and kill him.  Now.”

To the rest of the men in the room, “Don’t come back till Wally’s dead.”  He looked at Tina.  “You coming?”

“A word with Spence, then I’m right behind you.”

We both watched him and the men leave.  I flexed my arms and legs to get the circulation flowing, then stood, slightly unsteadily.

“Thanks.”

She shrugged.  “It’s either you or Wally, or both of you.  I like you, Spence, so it better not be you.  OK.”

“I’m too stupid to be playing both sides of the fence, Tina.”

She looked at me with a bemused expression.  “One thing you ain’t, Spence, and that’s stupid.  I don’t miss much, Spence, so don’t let me down.”

I shrugged.  “Count on it.”

…

©  Charles Heath 2026

“For heaven’s sake…” – a short story

It was a combination of circumstances, not all related, but coming at me out of left field, circumstances that would prevent me from going home when I said I would.

I had every intention of getting there and as a testament to that, I had got to the airport with baggage two hours before departure time and had reached the departure gate with 20 minutes to spare, ready to board the plane.

I’d even got a business class ticket so I could travel in style.

What precipitated the set of circumstances?

A simple phone call. I should have turned the cell phone off five minutes before boarding, but I didn’t because I’d forgotten to, simply because I’d been distracted.

The call was from Penelope, my hard-working and self-sacrificing personal assistant. I had offered to take her with me so we could work on the business plan that had to be presented the day after I was scheduled to return, but she had declined, which, when I thought about it, if she hadn’t, it might have created problems for both of us.

With a huge restructuring going on, I was running behind in getting it completed and had promised to finish it while at home.

The call: to tell me I had left a folder with vital research back on my desk, and she’d come to the airport to deliver it, and she was, in fact, in the terminal building when the boarding call came.

When I met her at the gate, only a few passengers had to be loaded. Being in business class had afforded me a few extra minutes. File delivered, I left her looking exasperated and headed down the boarding ramp.

I was last aboard, and seconds after being seated, the door was closed.

I quickly typed and sent a message to tell everyone I was on the plane, eliciting two responses. My mother was glad that I was finally coming, the other from my elder brother, who said he would believe it when he saw me.

It was not without reason; I’d been in this situation before, on the plane, ready to go.

Last time the plane didn’t leave the gate, a small problem that caused a big delay, so much so, I couldn’t get home.

Not this time. There was a slight lurch as the push tractor started pushing the plane back from the gate. A minute or so later, the pilot fired up the engines, a sure sign of a definite departure. Nothing could stop us now.

It was a reassuring vibration that ran through the plane before the engines settled into a steady whine, a sign of an older plane that had flown many miles in the past and would into the future.

We stopped while the push tractor was disengaged, and then the engines picked up speed and we lurched forward, heading towards the runway for take-off. In some airports, this could take a long time, and tonight it seemed to take forever.

I looked out the window and saw a backdrop of lights against the darkness, but no indication of where we were. It didn’t look like the end of the runway because I could not see any other planes waiting to take off.

Then the engines revved louder for a prolonged period. We didn’t move but remained where we were until the engines returned to what might be called idling speed

It was followed by an announcement from the pilot, “This is the captain speaking. We have encountered an anomaly with one of the engines, so to be on the safe side, we are returning to the gate and will have the engineers have a look at it. I do not anticipate this should take longer than 30 minutes.”

A collective groan went through the aeroplane. Those savvy with these problems would know that the odds were we would not be leaving tonight. The airport curfew would see to that.

But a miracle could still occur.

The plane then started back to the terminal. Another message from the pilot told us we would not be going back to the gate but to a holding area. Time to have a glass of champagne, the steward was offering, before going back to the terminal for an interminable wait.

It seemed the gods did not want me to go back home.

…

When we got back to the parking spot, three buses and four delays later, I headed for one of the several bars to get a drink and perhaps something decent to eat.

Then I saw Penelope, sitting by herself, a glass of champagne sitting half drunk in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” I said as I slid onto the stool beside her.

She started, as if she had been somewhere else, and turned to see who it was. The faraway look turned into a smile when she recognised me. “Getting drunk.”

“I thought you were going home.” A nod in the direction of the bartender, followed by pointing to her glass and indicating I wanted two, got instant service.

“I saw an ex heading to a plane with his latest squeeze. Made me feel depressed. I heard your plane was returning, so I decided to wait. Better to get drunk with someone you know than drink by yourself or someone you don’t. I’ve had three offers already.”

I wasn’t surprised. She was very attractive, the sort of woman who was the most popular at any of the work functions, but what was equally surprising was that she was not with any of those potential suitors. In fact, as far as I knew, she was not in a relationship.

“No one at home to amuse you?” It was not the sort of question I should be asking, because it was really none of my business.

It elicited a sideways glance as if I stepped over an invisible line.

“Sorry, none of my business.”

She finished off the glass in front of her, just as the new round arrived in front of her. I gave the bartender my credit card and asked him to start a tab. I’d just heard that the plane was going to be another two hours before we’d be leaving.

“I live with two other girls, but they are more interested in finding stray men and getting wasted, not necessarily in that order, and that’s not what I want to do.”

“Get wasted or find stray men?”

I was not sure how anyone had the time and inclination to do that, but a few weeks back, I spent two evenings with a friend of mine whose marriage had fallen apart. The people there seemed either desperate or looking for a one-night stand. It had amused me to discover most of them were married, and not divorced, and that the girls knew what to expect.

“Both apparently.”

“How do you expect to find the man of your dreams if you don’t go looking?”

“I am, this place seems as good as any, but the man of my dreams doesn’t exist.”

The bemused expression and the tone of her voice told me she had had more than one drink before I got there. Even then, judging from several previous parties for work we had attended, she had a much greater capacity for alcohol than I had.

She finished off the glass just brought, and seconds later, her eyes seemed glassy. Perhaps it was time for me to put her in a cab and send her home.

“Another,” she said, “and then you can be responsible for me.”

I had no idea what that meant, and I think, judging by the facial expressions, she didn’t really care.

“Perhaps…”

She didn’t let me finish. “Perhaps you should buy me another drink and lighten up.” And the look that came with it told me not to argue the point.

I got the bartender’s attention, and he responded by bringing two fresh glasses and a bottle. I told him to leave it. It gave me a minute or so to contemplate what she meant by ‘lighten up’. I was so used to seeing her work ethic and diligence; this was a different side to her.

I took a sip and could feel her looking at me. A glance took in the near-permanent bemused expression.

“Are you going to be alright getting home?” It was probably not the question I should have asked, but in the back of my mind, there was a recent briefing given to all of the management on the subject of sexual harassment and intra-office romances.

“I’m fine. It’s not as if I do this a lot, but the last week has been difficult. Not only for me but for you, too. But you have to admit you put yourself under a lot of pressure.”

She was starting to sound like my conscience. It was something I’d been thinking about on the way to the airport, but I decided it was part of the job, and I knew when I accepted the position what it would involve. My predecessor, much older than I was, had fallen on his sword, the pressure destroying his marriage and almost his life.

So I said, lamely, “It goes with the job, unfortunately.”

She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t. They might think it does, but they don’t care. They sit in their ivory tower and watch their minions crash and burn. There’s always someone else waiting in the wings to take your place, believe me.”

It was an interesting perspective, but where did it come from? I knew she had been at the corporation for several years, and I had been lucky enough to draw the long straw when having her assigned to me as my PA when I took the position. One of the other executives had lamented my good fortune, but he had also said she was one of the few who were there to guide what higher management considered management prospects.

I just thought I was lucky.

“I might end up in that ivory tower one day.”

“Why?”

She turned to look directly at me. It made me uncomfortable now, as it had on other occasions, and I had begun to think it might have something to do with unspoken feelings. I liked her, but I doubted that it was reciprocated. And, after the lecture on office romances, I promptly put those feelings in the bottom drawer and locked it.

“Doesn’t everyone aspire to be the best and climb to the top of the corporate ladder?”

“For that, you have to be devious and ruthless, and from what I’ve seen, you’re neither. You’ve heard the expression ‘good guys come last’. It’s true.”

I was guessing that from the people she had worked for, she had firsthand experience. My predecessor was a ‘good guy’, and some said he was eaten alive by the office predators. I knew who they were and avoided them. Perhaps she knew something I didn’t, but when would she have told me? Not tonight, no one could have predicted the plane would break down.

“You’re telling me this now, why?”

“You’re smarter than all of those above you put together. You don’t need them, but they need you. But you won’t get any concessions, not until you get near the top. By then, you will have had to sell your soul to the devil.”

Good to know, on one hand, I was about to sell my soul to the devil, and on the other, that I was smart, just not smart enough to see the wolves in sheep’s clothing.

I noticed she hadn’t touched the latest glass of champagne. Nor was she the languid barfly she’d pretended to be earlier.

“You’re advice, if I’m listening correctly, is that I should be looking for another job.”

“Actually, you shouldn’t be listening to me at all. Too many drinks and I pontificate. Some people become happy, I become,” she shrugged, “unhappy. Take no notice.” She swung around to the front and picked up the glass.

“OK.” I turned around to look at the departures board to see that my flight had been cancelled, and that I should go to the check-in counter. “My plane is completely broken, so it looks like I’m staying here.”

“Or you could take me to dinner.” She looked sideways again, the bemused expression back.

“Wouldn’t that be inappropriate?”

“Only if you were in upper management, married, and asking me to have an affair. Last I looked, you’re not in upper management, not married, so there’s no hint of an affair. For heaven’s sake, it’s only dinner.”

She was right on all counts, and it was only dinner.

“Why not?” I said, more to myself than to her.

“Good. And you’d better get me on the plane too. We need to get that report done, and it’ll be an excuse to stay at a hotel. I know you wouldn’t want to stay in your old room at your parents’ house.”

She was right about that, too. I had long outgrown them, and staying at home would only lead to arguments. “How could you possibly know that?”

She smiled. “You talk in your sleep.”

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2025

‘Sunday in New York’ – A beta reader’s view

I’m not a fan of romance novels but …

There was something about this one that resonated with me.

This is a novel about a world generally ruled by perception, and how people perceive what they see, what they are told, and what they want to believe.

I’ve been guilty of it myself, as I’m sure we all have at one time or another.

For the main characters, Harry and Alison, other issues are driving their relationship.

For Alison, it is a loss of self-worth through losing her job and from losing her mother and, in a sense, her sister.

For Harry, it is the fact that he has a beautiful and desirable wife, his belief that she is the object of other men’s desires, and, in particular, his immediate superior’s.

Between observation, the less-than-honest motives of his friends, a lot of jumping to conclusions based on very little fact, and you have the basis of one very interesting story.

When it all comes to a head, Alison finds herself in a desperate situation, and she realises only the truth will save their marriage.

But is it all the truth?

What would we do in similar circumstances?

Rarely does a book have me so enthralled that I could not put it down until I knew the result. They might be considered two people who should have known better, but as is often the case, they had to get past what they both thought was the truth.

And the moral of this story, if it could be said there is one, is that nothing is ever what it seems.

…

Available on Amazon here: amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

A to Z – April – 2026 – U

U is for – Undercover

…

I think I had reached the point where I had so fully immersed myself in the role that I no longer knew who or what I had been before.

I had said it wouldn’t happen, and they said it would, and as time passed, they could see it, and I could not.

The gig was over.

The message came over the phone in their cryptic code, devised so that if anyone else saw it, it would look just like the title of a book, which it was.

“Where Eagles Dare”.

I had dared to fly higher than the mythical Icarus, but they said it was too close to the sun.

They were right.

Ballinger, the boss, was seated opposite me, gun in lap, giving me his most menacing look.  He didn’t have to try too hard; the result of many beatings when he was a boy had given his face the look of a world-weary boxer who had to retire early.

Ever since I first met him, he had always been a man of short patience.

“I really am disappointed, Spence.  Really disappointed.”

He glanced sideways at one of his henchmen, an equally scary gorilla called Lefty.  He had another name, but I couldn’t pronounce it.  Neither could anyone else.

Lefty said, as was expected of him, “Really disappointed.”

I was not sure if it was to emphasise Ballinger’s disappointment, or that he could parrot words on command like a dutiful henchman.

I would ask why, but I knew.  There had been a ten-minute diatribe about how another of his henchmen, Wally, had discovered I was an undercover cop.  He didn’t say how he came upon this interesting discovery.

“I was disappointed you didn’t promote me a month back, but I didn’t tie you up and express disappointment.”

Lefty slapped me so hard it knocked me sideways to the floor.

It hurt.

“Don’t be insolent to the boss,” Lefty said.

Another sideways glance from Ballinger at Lefty, and he picked me back up.

After shaking my head, I said, “You’re wrong, by the way.  Do I look smart enough to be an undercover cop?”

“There aren’t any smart cops, Spence, so you fit the bill perfectly.  What did you hope to gain?”

“Let’s cut the charade.  How the hell could anybody ever assume I’m anything but just another dumb schmuck on your payroll?  Seriously?  A cop?  I’ve seen what cops make, and I couldn’t survive on a cop’s salary.  It’s why there are corrupt cops.  You know that as well as I do, you’ve got about half a dozen on the payroll.”

“How do you know that?”

“You don’t exactly make it a secret.   I’m sure their bosses know who they’re consorting with.  Besides, when I got dragged into the station after Wally botched the simple job you gave him, and the cops were called, they told me I’d be smart if I walked away.  I’m hoping it wasn’t Wally who’s suggesting I’m a cop simply because they hauled me away for questioning.”

His look confirmed what I already knew.  Wally was working for the cops, and there were rumours that there was an undercover cop in Ballinger’s crew.  Wally was spreading the blame to me to cover his backside after he nearly blew his cover.  Wally was a rank amateur.

“You need to look closer to home.”

That interview with the police, about a week ago, was the first time I’d been back in over six months, the time it had taken to worm my way into the gang, albeit inside, but outside the part that mattered.

At first, they didn’t know who I was and treated me like a hard case, which was what I was portraying.  Then the head of the task force discovered I was in the cells and came to see me.  It hadn’t been like anything I’d expected.

He’d completely lost it.

Ballinger, by comparison, was a nice guy.

I told the head of the task force that keeping up regular contact with him was how they discovered the undercover cop who had preceded me, through a combination of surveillance and crooked cops on the payroll.

I said I wouldn’t get caught, and yet here I was.

There was a commotion outside, a woman loudly arguing with someone outside the door, and then a loud crashing sound.

Tina.

Ballinger’s daughter; very loud, very brassy, very spoilt.

She came into the room and stopped a short distance from her father.

“What are you doing?”

“Dealing with Spence.  He’s an undercover cop.”

She looked at me, then her father, and then she laughed so hard she nearly fell over.  “Spence a cop?  Are you serious, or have you completely lost your mind?”

Lefty said, “Wally reckons he is.”

“Wally is dumb as dog shit, Lefty.  He bungled the job so simple that he’s the one you should shoot.  Spence got caught up in his mess.”

Ballinger looked at her, then Lefty, then me.

“Where’s Wally?”

“You’re asking me where your henchmen are?  He’s probably down at the cop shop spilling his guts and asking for witness protection.  You’re doing just what he wants, wasting your time on the wrong people while he gets away.”

Ballinger glared at Lefty.  “Cut Spence free, then find Wally and kill him.  Now.”

To the rest of the men in the room, “Don’t come back till Wally’s dead.”  He looked at Tina.  “You coming?”

“A word with Spence, then I’m right behind you.”

We both watched him and the men leave.  I flexed my arms and legs to get the circulation flowing, then stood, slightly unsteadily.

“Thanks.”

She shrugged.  “It’s either you or Wally, or both of you.  I like you, Spence, so it better not be you.  OK.”

“I’m too stupid to be playing both sides of the fence, Tina.”

She looked at me with a bemused expression.  “One thing you ain’t, Spence, and that’s stupid.  I don’t miss much, Spence, so don’t let me down.”

I shrugged.  “Count on it.”

…

©  Charles Heath 2026

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 6th 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.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

newechocover5rs

Inspiration, maybe – Volume 1

50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.

They all start with –

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like.  For instance:

lookingdownfromcoronetpeak

And the story:

…

It was once said that a desperate man has everything to lose.

The man I was chasing was desperate, but I, on the other hand, was more desperate to catch him.

He’d left a trail of dead people from one end of the island to the other.

The team had put in a lot of effort to locate him, and now his capture was imminent.  We were following the car he was in, from a discreet distance, and, at the appropriate time, we would catch up, pull him over, and make the arrest.

There was nowhere for him to go.

The road led to a dead-end, and the only way off the mountain was back down the road we were now on.  Which was why I was somewhat surprised when we discovered where he was.

Where was he going?

“Damn,” I heard Alan mutter.  He was driving, being careful not to get too close, but not far enough away to lose sight of him.

“What?”

“I think he’s made us.”

“How?”

“Dumb bad luck, I’m guessing.  Or he expected we’d follow him up the mountain.  He’s just sped up.”

“How far away?”

“A half-mile.  We should see him higher up when we turn the next corner.”

It took an eternity to get there, and when we did, Alan was right, only he was further on than we thought.”

“Step on it.  Let’s catch him up before he gets to the top.”

Easy to say, not so easy to do.  The road was treacherous, and in places, just gravel, and there were no guard rails to stop a three-thousand-foot fall down the mountainside.

Good thing then, I had the foresight to have three agents on the hill for just such a scenario.

Ten minutes later, we were in sight of the car, still moving quickly, but we were going slightly faster.  We’d catch up just short of the summit car park.

Or so we thought.

Coming quickly around another corner, we almost slammed into the car we’d been chasing.

“What the hell…” Aland muttered.

I was out of the car and over to see if he was in it, but I knew that it was only a slender possibility.  The car was empty, and no indication of where he had gone.

Certainly not up the road.  It was relatively straightforward for the next mile, at which we would have reached the summit.  Up the mountainside from here, or down.

I looked up.  Nothing.

Alan yelled out, “He’s not going down, not that I can see, but if he did, there’s hardly a foothold and that’s a long fall.”

Then where did he go?

Then a man looking very much like our quarry came out from behind a rock embedded just a short distance up the hill.

“Sorry,” he said quite calmly.  “Had to go if you know what I mean.”

I’d lost him.

It was as simple as that.

I had been led a merry chase up the hill, and all the time he was getting away in a different direction.

I’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book, letting my desperation blind me to the disguise that anyone else would see through in an instant.

It was a lonely sight, looking down that road, knowing that I had to go all that way down again, only this time, without having to throw caution to the wind.

“Maybe next time,” Alan said.

“We’ll get him.  It’s just a matter of time.”

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2026

…

Find this and other stories in “Inspiration, maybe”, available soon.

InspirationMaybe1v1

First Dig Two Graves

A sequel to “The Devil You Don’t”

…

Revenge is a dish best served cold – or preferably so when everything goes right

Of course, it rarely does, as Alistair, Zoe’s handler, discovers to his peril. Enter a wildcard, John, and whatever Alistair’s plan for dealing with Zoe was dies with him.

It leaves Zoe in completely unfamiliar territory.

…

John’s idyllic romance with a woman who is utterly out of his comfort zone is on borrowed time. She is still trying to reconcile her ambivalence after being so indifferent for so long.

They agree to take a break, during which she disappears. John, thinking she has left without saying goodbye, refuses to accept the inevitable and calls on an old friend for help in finding her.

After the mayhem and being briefly reunited, she recognises an inevitable truth: there is a price to pay for taking out Alistair; she must leave and find them first, and he would be wise to keep a low profile.

But keeping a low profile just isn’t possible, and enlisting another friend, a private detective and his sister, a deft computer hacker, they track her to the border between Austria and Hungary.

What John doesn’t realise is that another enemy is tracking him to find her too. It could have been a grand tour of Europe. Instead, it becomes a race against time before enemies old and new converge for what will be an inevitable showdown.

The cinema of my dreams – It all started in Venice – Episode 10

Could Juliet be slightly jealous?

…

I got back to the hotel just before Cecilia was leaving.  She was wearing what I would call her party clothes, something that left little to the imagination, but not different from the many others trying to be noticed.

I had thought of using the analogy that she was going to be a single tree in a forest of similar trees, but it was probably something she already knew.

And a pity she felt she needed to make such an entrance just to be noticed, and probably to some, for all the wrong reasons.  At least she was gaining experience for what I called her day job.

“I’ll be back to make an impression on your friend,” she said.

She didn’t need to say anymore.  Impression would be an understatement.  But it might, quite literally, shake the trees to see what falls out.

A half-hour later there was a light rapping on my door.  I was not expecting any visitors, so it could be one of three options, Cecilia was back early or changed her mind though I seriously doubted it, or Juliet was being pre emotive, or perhaps it was just one of the hotel staff.

Whomever it was, I made the necessary preparations, just like in the old days, and opened the door.  There was always that moment of unpreparedness, that someone would come crashing through the door and take you by surprise.

Happened once, not again.

“Juliet.”  More a statement than a question, it should not be a surprise but it was.

She had dressed for dinner, not as Cecilia would, but she had made an effort.  Had Cecilia made that happen?

And yet the first question to come to mind is, “How did you know I was here?”

“Simple, I saw you go into this room.  It had to be either you, or the girl, so I made a choice.  I was not sure what I was going to do or say if I was wrong.”

“It wouldn’t bother Cecilia.  She and I, were just old friends.”

“Like us?”

“Are we old friends.  It seems to me that we had something else back then, for a brief time, until I had to go back.”

“You never did explain what happened to you.”

“No, and the less said about it the better.  I was young and stupid, like all men of that age, and I cheated death.  I was lucky, very lucky, and, I might add, very lucky too that you were my doctor.”

“May I come in?”

Standing in the passage discussing personal matters might have been more embarrassing for her than for me.  I stood to one side and let her pass.  There was no fount in my mind she had a device that was sending our conversation back to Larry.

There would be questions, probing for the truth.  Who I was, what I did, where I’d been.  Now, or over dinner, it was her task

I closed the door and leaned against it.

I had to ask, “What are you doing here?”

A puzzled look came over her face, surprised perhaps I’d be that direct in asking.

“I thought you asked me to dinner.”

“I did.”

“We’re you just asking for the sake of asking?”  There was a tinge of disappointment in her tone.

“No.  I thought dinner would be good since Cecilia is out there promoting herself. She asked me to come along and see what it is like, but it’s too near the limelight for me.”

“Do you and her have a thing?”

I’m not sure what ‘a thing’ meant.  “If you mean, a romantic attachment, no.  It’s too soon after Angelina’s death.  I may never get over it, but Cecilia popped up and said she was coming and she’s good fun.  And being seen with her makes me look good for an over-the-hill retiree.”

That might make it reasonably clear if she wanted to push this to another level it wasn’t going ti work.  Larry would be disappointed.  It would be interesting to see what she had as a plan B.

“You’re not that old, just out of practice, but I get it.  That doesn’t mean we can’t have dinner.”

“No, it does not.”

I thought about taking her to the hotel restaurant, but in the end opted for a long walk to St Mark’s square, one where a band was playing Rogers and Hammerstein musical songs.

The distance between us wasn’t physical, she was right beside me, so close I could have reached out and taken her hand in mine, it was the thought of her duplicity.

If she told me what was happening, I would have tried very hard to get her out of the predicament and take away Larry’s perceived advantage.

I hadn’t activated the scrambler, so Larry was no doubt listening in, but the conversation wouldn’t be all that informative.  I spoke about Venice, deliberately, and of Angelina.  Larry could make of that whatever he wanted.

At the restaurant we sat near to the orchestra, to help obfuscate the sound, and opposite each other.  She was drinking champagne; I was having a beer.

“So, what have you been doing with yourself since I last met you?”

It begins.

…

© Charles Heath 2022

A to Z – April – 2026 – T

T is for – The truth, no matter how unpalatable…

…

A wise man once told me that, one day in the not-too-distant future, I would have to make a decision that I wouldn’t like. 

At that particular point in time, I thought I had everything under control, and the pieces of my life were coming together one by one, the end result of a lot of hard work.

And so it came to be, the promotion, the jewel in the crown, the catalyst to take my life to the next level, arrived.  I got the job I felt I had earned, I got the salary that made it possible to consider a better apartment, and to ask my current girlfriend to come and live with me, and, quite possibly, even get married.

All before I turned that magic age of 30.

Then there was the work event, celebrating another employee’s good fortune to move up into management, and I kind of tacked my own celebration to his wagon.  Not that I would tell him, it would be just an in-joke between us in the lower echelons of the corporate structure.

Jack Bosworth, one of the three candidates for the position I finally got, was happy for me.

“Just glad Ansen didn’t get it,” he said.

We both were. Ansen was an ass who was only in it for himself and what he could get out of it.  There were too many like that already.  The company needed new blood if it was going to move forward.

Then Ansen wandered over.  Five-thousand-dollar suits, one-thousand-dollar shoes, and I didn’t hear what the pure gold tie clip cost, but he made sure everyone knew what he was worth.

“Brick.”

He knew my name was John Brock, but pretended he could never remember.  He knew it well enough when he was trying to convince the promotion committee ‘confidentially’ about my shortcomings.

“Brock, Ansen, which you know is my name.”

“Brick, Brock, Brack, it’s just a name.  Well played, this time.  Just don’t get too comfortable.  The corporate jungle is like a chessboard, Brock.  Pawn takes king, bishop takes castle, everything takes a pawn, and, sadly, you’re still just a pawn.  Enjoy it while you can.”

Always flanked by his wingmen, he simply smiled, and they moved on to the next junior executive whose aspirations they could quash.  Being related to the boss, I guess, had its privileges; he might not get the position, but he would never get fired.

With that, he slithered off with his regular hangers-on, ready to make someone else feel smaller than himself.

“Scumbag.”  Bosworth didn’t like him; none of us did.

“Be that as it may, he’ll probably be my boss next week.  I have to play nice.”

“We shouldn’t have to do anything like that to get ahead.”

“As he says, it’s a game.  It’s the same everywhere; there’s always one adversary who seems to have a charmed life.  But let us not dwell, the bar closes soon, and there are a few drinks I’ve yet to try.”

…

A few days later, as a result of a stuff-up perpetrated by the very same Bosworth that would have reflected badly on me, I had to work late, leaving me with a dash to the restaurant where I was meeting Bernice, for that all-important discussion on moving our relationship to the next level.  Being a half hour late wasn’t the best of starts.  She didn’t like late people and was looking very annoyed.

“Sorry,” I said, sliding into the chair after hanging my coat on the back of it.

“You wouldn’t have to apologise if you were on time.  This is the second occasion Tim; there will not be a third.”

I gave her one of my ‘I’m looking at you, but not looking at you’ appraisals, and did an internal double-take at the girl I thought liked me enough to work around a little tardiness.  She knew my job wasn’t strictly nine to five, as was hers. 

A very slight shrug, then the thought, maybe tonight wasn’t the night to tell her my good news.  The promotion was about responsibility, not a bucketful of money, and besides, money shouldn’t be a criterion in a relationship.  Move on, see how it goes…

“Are you ready to order?”  It was her ‘take no prisoners’ tone.

Her expression brooked no small talk.  She was an eat-and-run girl, forever telling me her time was precious.  The waiter was hovering.  She asked for the salad, and I said ditto.  No point in having more food than she, I would not get to finish it.

The waiter was gone, drinks poured, and she looked around the room.  This was my moment.  Her eyes came back to me.

“Not a good day at the office?”  I was going to dance with the devil.

“It’s never a good day at the office.”  I still didn’t know exactly what it was she did, and each time I asked, she went off on a tangent.

All of a sudden, I was thinking of everything that was wrong with this relationship, to the point of questioning whether it was one at all.

I saw her eyes wander over to the entrance to the restaurant.  She did this several times over the next half hour, at one point going to the restroom for at least five minutes and looking black as thunder when she returned.

Then, several more minutes passed before she looked over at the door, and I thought I detected recognition as three men came in.  Her eyes lingered on them for a moment longer than they should have before one pulled out a shotgun under his coat and fired into the roof, making a loud bang and a lot of mess.

“Now I have your attention.  James Brock.  Stand up now, or I will start shooting diners till you do.”

I looked at Bernice, who was shaking her head.  Did that mean she didn’t want me to stand up, or something else entirely?  As for my own opinion, the situation looked exactly like he called it.  I had no doubt he would do what he said he would.  And, with a gun pointing at a woman’s head next to where he was standing…

I stood.

“Excellent.  We’re leaving.  Bring your friend.”

Before I could say wasn’t involved, his two men had come over and dragged her out of her chair.  Gun pointed at me, he yelled, “Let’s go.”

Thirty seconds, a police siren in the distance, we were bundled into a white van, and it left the curb before the door was shut.  Then, a needle to the neck, and I had only enough time to wonder what it was they wanted from me.

…

I woke to the sound of dripping water, a leaking tap not unlike the one I had at my current apartment, just one of the reasons why I wanted to move.  Eyes still closed, I did a quick assessment.

Sitting, hands and feet bound, mouth taped.  It was not hot or cold, and the only sound was that drip, every ten seconds.  I could not tell where I was, or whether Bernice was there with me.  From behind the closed eyelids, I could tell the place was well-lit.

I tried remaining unmoving for as long as I could, then reflex action forced my eyes open.  The bright light hurt, and for a few moments, everything was blurred.  Then I saw Bernice.

In exactly the same situation I was.  Bound and gagged.  She was looking at me.  I had expected she would be hysterical, God knows, I was nearly there myself.  Not sitting there calmly, making no effort to get free.

A quick glance showed no signs of exertion to free herself.

Why had they brought her?  That was easy.  If they believed she meant something to me, she could be used as leverage.  And that, to my mind, right then, after the first thirty minutes of our dining engagement, was their first mistake.  During the next five minutes, I created a mental list of pros and cons for the relationship, and there were no pros.

That being the case, I could move on to the next issue.  Who were they?  Not top-line criminals.  They had been lucky; I’d been too stunned to fight back and moved quick enough to negate resistance.

The bindings were tight, but they had been tied by someone who didn’t know their knots.  The chair was bolted to the floor, so no trying to fall over or break it.  We were not blindfolded, and we had seen the faces of our captors.  Equally amateur, or didn’t it matter, there was going to be only one conclusion to this exercise.

I had questions, but being gagged defeated that.  I would have to wait and see what they wanted.

The man who did the talking in the restaurant appeared out of the gloom and stopped not far from Bernice, a silenced pistol in his right hand.

“I’m sorry about the interruption to your dinner, but I’m in a hurry, and you have something I need.”  No beating about the proverbial bush.

I shrugged.  No point answering while I was gagged.

He removed it, and Bernice’s.  Surprisingly, she didn’t speak.

“What do you need?”  I asked, suddenly realising that a secret that only three people knew about was no longer a secret..  A special algorithm, or one third of it at least, one that unlocked Pandora’s box.  No one had access to the whole algorithm.

“Your part of the algorithm.  One of three such code bearers, I have been told.  The other two are being swept up as we speak.”

Who could have told him?  The list of suspects was very, very short.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Bluff first, though the tone I used didn’t exactly sell it.

“You do.  Let’s cut to the chase.”

“If I don’t.”

“Missy here dies from a nasty gunshot wound to the head.”

“You’re going to do that anyway.  There’s no way you’re going to let us live now we’ve seen you.”

He shrugged.  “I can guarantee you will not remember who we really are.  I was going to come as Abraham Lincoln, but I wasn’t allowed to.  Remembering our faces is not a problem.  You tell me, we’re in the wind.”

I could see Bernice following the conversation. 

“Just give him the code,” she said, quietly.  No sign of nerves or fear, like she was telling me what to do as if it was her right.  “Then we get to live our lives.”

“This, unfortunately, is one of those no-win situations, Bernice.  Either way, we’re both going to die.  If I give it to him, thousands, possibly millions will die, if I don’t give it to him, we will die.  The people I work for will know I gave it up, and they will execute me for treason.  There’s no incentive.”

She glared at the man.  “You’re not selling it very well.  If what he says is true, even I wouldn’t give it to you.”

A rather interesting comment.  Was she aiding him or goading him?

The man looked at both of us.  Then he raised the gun and shot at her, not fatally, the bullet grazing her arm, and she screamed more at the noise in a confined space and the tug of the bullet passing her clothing.

“Think very carefully what you say next,” he said to her.  The look between them was unmistakable.

I looked at her and felt disappointed.  “I can’t, no matter how much I want to.”

She glared back at me with an intensity that was a good example of ‘if looks could kill’.  I suspect that if, in the last few seconds, I asked her to marry me, it would be met with an emphatic ‘No!’ 

“I realise that you have an obligation that you take very seriously, trust me, I do,” she said, “but this is a life and death situation. Whatever this code thing is, it can’t be worth dying for.”

An odd thought popped into my head, my father, unravelling another of his pearls of wisdom, this one: silence sometimes is golden.

A few seconds after I didn’t respond, she added, “I was so sure you were going to ask me the question.”  Her tone changed slightly.

It was on my mind this morning when I woke up.  Even when I stepped out the front door of the building on my way to the restaurant.  Then, when I sat down, the look she gave me sent a shiver down my spine.  Not a good one.  An omen, perhaps, that everything wasn’t going to go the way I’d hoped.

I had begun to have second thoughts about a week ago, when I woke up the morning after a dinner with a few of her friends, people I’d only met in passing before.

And accidentally overhearing a conversation between two of the other halves.  One asked the question, ‘What is she doing with him?’  The other replied, ‘It’s something to do with what he does, and it won’t be for much longer.’  I had thought hearing that would have saddened me, but oddly, it didn’t.

I shrugged, “Had we not been interrupted…”

I just realised the man with the gun had stepped back.  Knowing he couldn’t kill me because he would not get the algorithm if he did, he decided to let her sell it.  I was sure he was not going to fatally shoot her.  There was no blood from the last shot, so perhaps it had only been for effect.  Perhaps he realised, too, that killing her removed all the incentive to give him the code.

“Perhaps now, even in trying circumstances…”

“It would certainly make a good story to tell our grandchildren, but when you said that we would get to live our lives, you didn’t add the word together, that we get to live our lives together.  It’s a small oversight, but in times of stress, people tend to say exactly what they believe.”

Her expression changed, just slightly.

Just a fraction before the man with the gun was shot in the head and went down without a murmur.   It was followed by a half a dozen more shots, then silence.

“What just happened?”  Now she did look very frightened, as she should have looked from the moment this started in the restaurant.

The door opened, and the company’s head of security, a man I only knew as Walter, came in.

“You OK?” 

“You took your time,” I said, shakily, because the man with the gun could have got trigger happy, but as Walter had said, they needed the code and killing me would defeat the purpose.

Two of his men came in, freeing us from the bindings.  The man who freed Bernice took a look at her arm.  “Not a scratch, sir,” he said, and stood back.

Her expression changed to suffused anger.  “This was what, you dragged me into a situation where we could both be killed.  I was shot, for God’s sake.

“Yes, and it was almost convincing.”

“What do you mean, almost convincing?  You’re not implying…”

“That you were complicit in whatever this was?  Yes.  You were never in danger.”

“Neither were you.”

“And if you didn’t get the code?”

“We’d be left in the room, wake up, be happy we survived.”

“Without the code?”

“It was a long shot.  I underestimated your resolve.”

There might have been no resolution if she had reacted normally, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“What happens to me now?”

“Words like treason get bandied around behind closed doors.  Depending on whether you cooperate, your choices will be a very dark, dank hole and never see daylight again, or life in a tower where you get to see daylight every morning until you die.”

“You’re kidding?”

Walter nodded to the men, and they took her away.

“Of course, you know what this means, don’t you?” he said.

“Shortest promotion ever.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025-2026