Category: Mystery

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 discrete 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 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 footfall 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 where he went.

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 2019-2021

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

InspirationMaybe1v1

My disdain for some reporters, and reporting these days

It is sometimes quite trashy and that’s saying something!

Having been a journalist in a previous lifetime, and one that always believed that the truth mattered, it didn’t take long to realize that journalists should never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

Newspapers, and all other forms of media, will only write what they believe will sell, or what they think the public wants to read. The truth, sadly, is not the first thing on the reader’s mind, only that someone is to blame for something they have no control over, and it doesn’t matter who.

And the more outlandish the situation, the more the public will buy into it.

This, I guess, is why we like reading about celebrities and royalty, not for the good they might do, but the fact they stumble and make mistakes, and that somehow makes us feel better about ourselves.

Similarly, if the media can beat up a subject, like the coronavirus, and make it worse than it is, then people will lap up the continuing saga, as it relates to them, and will take one of two stances, that they believe the horror of it, and do as they’re asked, or disbelieve it because nothing can be that bad, and ignore it and the consequences of disobedience. knowing the government will not press too hard against the non-compliers simply because of democracy issues it will stir up.

That is, then the media will get a hold of this angle and push it, and people will start to think disobedience is a good thing, not a bad one.

So, our problem of trying to get a fair and balanced look at what the coronavirus is all about is nigh on impossible. We are continuously bombarded with both right and wrong information, and the trouble is, both sides are very plausibly supported by facts.

And that’s the next problem we have in reporting. We can get facts to prove anything we want. It’s called the use and abuse of statistics and was an interesting part of the journalism degree I studied for. We were told all about statistics, good and bad, and using them to prove the veracity of our piece.

I remember writing a piece for the tutor extolling the virtues of a particular person who was probably the worst human since Vlad the Impaler, using only the facts that suited my narrative. I also remember the bollocking he gave me for doing so but had to acknowledge that sometimes that would happen.

The integrity of reporting only went as far as the editor, and if the editor hated something, you had to hate it too. This is infamously covered in various texts where newspaper publishers pick sides and can influence elections, and governments. It still happens.

So, the bottom line is, when I’m reading an article in the media, I always take it with a grain of salt, and do my own fact-checking, remembering, of course, not just to fact check to prove the bias one way of the other, but then get a sense of balance.

We have state elections coming up where I live, but it does not sink to the personal sniping level as it does in the US, we haven’t sunk that low yet, but we haven’t got past the sniping about all the wrongs and failed promises of the government of the day, or the endless tirade against the opposition and how bad a job they did when they were previously in government.

You can see, no one is talking about what they’re going to do for us, no one is telling us what their policies are. It’s simply schoolyard tit for tat garbage speak. What happened to the town hall meeting, a long and winding speech encompassing the policies, what the government plans to do for its people in the next three years, and then genuinely answering questions?

Perhaps we should ban campaigning, and just get each party to write a book about what they intend to do, and keep them away from the papers, the TV, and any other form of media, in other words, don’t let them speak!

And don’t get me started about the drivel they speak in the parliament. Five-year-olds could do a better job.

OK, rant over.

The first case of PI Walthenson – “A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers”

This case has everything, red herrings, jealous brothers, femme fatales, and at the heart of it all, greed.

See below for an excerpt from the book…

Coming soon!

PIWalthJones1

An excerpt from the book:

When Harry took the time to consider his position, a rather uncomfortable position at that, he concluded that he was somehow involved in another case that meant very little to him.

Not that it wasn’t important in some way he was yet to determine, it was just that his curiosity had got the better of him, and it had led to this: sitting in a chair, securely bound, waiting for someone one of his captors had called Doug.

It was not the name that worried him so much, it was the evil laugh that had come after the name was spoken.

Doug what? Doug the ‘destroyer’, Doug the ‘dangerous’, Doug the ‘deadly’; there was any number of sinister connotations, and perhaps that was the point of the laugh, to make it more frightening than it was.

But there was no doubt about one thing in his mind right then: he’d made a mistake. A very big. and costly, mistake. Just how big the cost, no doubt he would soon find out.

His mother, and his grandmother, the wisest person he had ever known, had once told him never to eavesdrop.

At the time he couldn’t help himself and instead of minding his own business, listening to a one-sided conversation which ended with a time and a place. The very nature of the person receiving the call was, at the very least, sinister, and, because of the cryptic conversation, there appeared to be, or at least to Harry, criminal activity involved.

For several days he had wrestled with the thought of whether he should go. Stay on the fringe, keep out of sight, observe and report to the police if it was a crime. Instead, he had willingly gone down the rabbit hole.

Now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, several heat lamps hanging over his head, he was perspiring, and if perspiration could be used as a measure of fear, then Harry’s fear was at the highest level.

Another runnel of sweat rolled into his left eye, and, having his hands tied, literally, it made it impossible to clear it. The burning sensation momentarily took his mind off his predicament. He cursed and then shook his head trying to prevent a re-occurrence. It was to no avail.

Let the stinging sensation be a reminder of what was right and what was wrong.

It was obvious that it was the right place and the right time, but in considering his current perilous situation, it definitely was the wrong place to be, at the worst possible time.

It was meant to be his escape, an escape from the generations of lawyers, what were to Harry, dry, dusty men who had been in business since George Washington said to the first Walthenson to step foot on American soil, ‘Why don’t you become a lawyer?” when asked what he could do for the great man.

Or so it was handed down as lore, though Harry didn’t think Washington meant it literally, the Walthenson’s, then as now, were not shy of taking advice.

Except, of course, when it came to Harry.

He was, Harry’s father was prone to saying, the exception to every rule. Harry guessed his father was referring to the fact his son wanted to be a Private Detective rather than a dry, dusty lawyer. Just the clothes were enough to turn Harry off the profession.

So, with a little of the money Harry inherited from one of his aunts, he leased an office in Gramercy Park and had it renovated to look like the Sam Spade detective agency, you know the one, Spade and Archer, and The Maltese Falcon.

There’s a movie and a book by Dashiell Hammett if you’re interested.

So, there it was, painted on the opaque glass inset of the front door, ‘Harold Walthenson, Private Detective’.

There was enough money to hire an assistant, and it took a week before the right person came along, or, more to the point, didn’t just see his business plan as something sinister. Ellen, a tall cool woman in a long black dress, or so the words of a song in his head told him, fitted in perfectly.

She’d seen the movie, but she said with a grin, Harry was no Humphrey Bogart.

Of course not, he said, he didn’t smoke.

Three months on the job, and it had been a few calls, no ‘real’ cases, nothing but missing animals, and other miscellaneous items. What he really wanted was a missing person. Or perhaps a beguiling, sophisticated woman who was as deadly as she was charming, looking for an errant husband, perhaps one that she had already ‘dispatched’.

Or for a tall, dark and handsome foreigner who spoke in riddles and in heavily accented English, a spy, or perhaps an assassin, in town to take out the mayor. The man was such an imbecile Harry had considered doing it himself.

Now, in a back room of a disused warehouse, that wishful thinking might be just about to come to a very abrupt end, with none of the romanticized trappings of the business befalling him. No beguiling women, no sinister criminals, no stupid policemen.

Just a nasty little man whose only concern was how quickly or how slowly Harry’s end was going to be.

© Charles Heath 2019

“Remember that time…” – A short story

I don’t remember 40th birthday parties being all that interesting.

It was going to be a momentous year as each of our friends celebrated theirs.  We were of a group that had formed strong friendships at school, and they had lasted over the next 25 years, even when some had ventured further afield, and others had stayed at home.

I was one of those who had remained in place, as had my wife, and several of the neighbors.  I never had dreams of venturing any further than the next state, and except for a couple of years on transfer for the company I worked for, I had lived all my life in the city I was born.

The same could not be said for Janine, my wife, who once had a vision for herself, a career in law in either New York or Washington, and had ventured there after graduating law school, stayed a year, and then returned in circumstances that she had never talked about.  She had accepted my proposal, we had married, and that was that.

Twenty-five years on, there had always been that gap, that part of the story I’d never asked about and one I felt she would never talk about, and it was a small chink in what I wanted to believe was an almost perfect marriage.

But there was one small caveat she had requested, and that she had no desire to have children, or to be a mother, something she said she would be terrible at.  It didn’t bother me, one way or another, though as each of the others had children, there was a small part of me that was, for a while, envious.

Michael Urston was one of my close friends, lived across town, was also a lawyer, and a man of ambition.  He’s taken his law degree to Washington and converted it into a path to public office, and had attained the lofty position of Mayor for a number of years of our fair city, and then paradoxically didn’t run for re-election for reasons I never thought stood up.  But it had been his decision, part of the plan to retire at forty, and he’d achieved it.  Ursula, his wife, was prickly at the best of times and had always considered herself above all of us.  I guess being a prom queen had that effect on some people.  She liked to be the center of attention, and for some reason, she and Janine always managed to rub up against their respective wrong sides.

Something else I knew; he had a thing for Janine, as had several others in our group, and I could see, sometimes the looks that passed between them, and I was not sure how I felt about it.  There was never any indication of either talking it further, but there was a bond between them that sometimes I envied, especially lately when it seemed, to me, that we were drifting apart.

But tonight, it was going to be Janine’s fortieth birthday party, and there was going to be a dozen friends coming.  At the last minute, Janine had changed the venue to a restaurant rather than at our home, and that I suspected was because we lived in a magnificent house that all the others envied, and I was sure it was out of deference to them.  Buying the house had been her idea, and down through the years, as we moved into larger residences, she had been trying to shed the memories of where she had come from.

Neither of us had been from wealthy families, and I had no wealthy family connections.  I was from generations of motor mechanics, which was my first occupation in the family business, and Janine’s family were farmers, something she had no intention of becoming, hence the desire to become a lawyer.  And I didn’t think either of us had airs and graces despite what we owned or how we fitted into the local society.

Fred DeVilliers and Susan, his girlfriend of many years, they didn’t believe they needed a piece of paper to sanctify their relationship, were best friends also, though I knew Janine and Susan were not quite as friendly as it appeared.  That I noticed some years ago when both were having a heated discussion, one they thought no one was around to hear.  Their bone of contention had something to do with Michael, and I didn’t get to discover what it was.

As for the others, they joined in the conversation, ate the food, drank the wine, and then went home again.  Like me, they were not interested in politics, religion, or miscreant children’s stories.  Our get together was children free, and often about reminiscences of older and more carefree times.

Oh, and just to stir the pot a little, this day, I had tendered my resignation as CEO of the company.  It was a matter of principle, the board having decided to downsize, and shift a proportion of manufacturing offshore, a decision I knew I would have to implement if I stayed there.  When I vehemently disagreed, I was given the option to leave on mutually agreeable terms.  It was not something I could spring on Janine, but, equally, it was not something I was going to be able to hide from her.  Not for very long anyway.

She was running late at her office, and I agreed to meet her at the restaurant a half-hour before the other guests were due to arrive.  It was nothing unusual for one or other of us to be running late.

As it happened, I left the office, and the building, an hour after tendering my resignation.  The company didn’t want me hanging around and granted me the two weeks I’d normally have to work off before leaving, for security reasons.  I quit, therefore I had to leave, in case I had some desire to sabotage the company in some way.  I wouldn’t but it was standard practice, and it didn’t go unnoticed that I was escorted by security to my office to clear the desk, and then to my car.  They also gave me the car as a parting gesture.

After leaving the office I went home.

I took what amounted to over twenty year’s service in a cardboard box to my home office and dropped it in the corner.  Not much to show for it, other than a decent salary, annual bonuses when we made a profit, and quite a few shares, not that they were worth much now because of the board’s hesitation to embrace new technologies.

About two hours later I heard a car pull up out the front on the driveway, and two doors close.  A look out the window that overlooked the driveway showed it was Janine and Michael, who as the approached the door were in animated conversation.

I thought about letting them know I was home, but then a voice inside my head said how many men have come home during the day to surprise his wife and found her in bed with another man, or, in these rather liberated days, in bed with another woman?

And that think between them, would it be now I would discover what it was?

It made me feel rather horrible to think I could suspect her of cheating, but it momentarily took away the sting of the resignation.

The door opened and they came inside.  I could just see them from where I was standing, a spot that they would not see me, not unless they were looking.  And my heart missed a beat, they were embraced very passionately, leave me with no other conclusion than this was a middle of the day tryst.

“Come,” she said, taking him by the hand.  “I only have a couple of hours before I have to get back for a deposition.”

With that, they went up the stairs and disappeared into the bedroom, our room.

I sat down before I fell down, then having regained some composure, went over to the bar and poured myself a drink.

Two losses in one day.  A job, and a wife.  I guess it wasn’t exactly a revelation.  I knew something was amiss, and I conveniently ignored all the signs.  I thought about going up and walking in on them, but that, to me, seemed like a childish act.  After a few more drinks, I decided to wait, see if they both left, and then decide what to do.

The front door closing, and the car departing, woke me out of a reverie.  I got up and looked out, expecting to see an empty foyer, but instead saw Janine, in a dressing gown, still holding the front door handle, as if transfixed.  A beautiful memory of what had just happened, or a tinge of regret, and another secret to be kept in a head, I knew now, held so many others.

I decided to make myself known, now rather than later.

“Do you come home often during the day,” I said, standing in the doorway where she could see me.

She jumped, perhaps in fright, or in guilt, it didn’t really matter.

She turned.  “Daniel.  What are you doing here?”

“I resigned this morning.  A difference in opinion on how the company should proceed.  I was escorted out, and decided to come home.  I should have gone to a bar.”

She knew that I knew, so it would be interesting to see what she had to say.  I could see her forming the words in her head, much the same as she did in a court of law.

“It was the first time, Daniel, an impulse.  I’m not going to make an excuse.  It’s on me.  I wanted to find out what it would be like.”

And that made me feel so much better.

“Well, it’s a hell of a fortieth birthday gift, Jan, and one I guess I couldn’t give you.  I trust you didn’t grant that wish to any of the other men who may desire you?”  OK, that wasn’t exactly what I meant to say, but the words didn’t exactly match what I was thinking.

“You mean do I sleep with every man I have a desire to?”  A rather harsh tone, bordering on angry.  She was angry with me.

“You tell me what I’m supposed to think.”

“I had sex with one other man, no one else, since the day we were married.  It was a mistake, and I’m sorry.  If you hadn’t been here, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Washington,” I said, almost to myself, a light bulb lighting up in my head.

The memory of a distant conversation, on a holiday, when we visited Washington, Philadelphia and New York.

“What about Washington?”  A change in her expression, slight, but I could see it.  She remembered it too.

“Remember that time, at one of those monuments, probably Jefferson’s, when you said something rather odd, and when I asked, you brushed it off as nothing important.  You were looking out over the water and said it was one of your fondest memories after, and then stopped yourself.  Michael had just married when he moved to Washington, and you were there too, for a year.  I suspect now you and he had an affair, and it ended badly as affairs do and the woman has to leave.  There’s always been that bond between you.  Not the first time Jan.  The affair never ended.”

“It did, Daniel.  Like I said, this was a mistake.  It won’t happen again.”

I stepped out of the office and walked down the passage and come out into the foyer.  Two stories high, it had been a debate whether to have a fountain in the space adjacent to the stairs or a statue.  The statue won, I lost.

Close up, I looked at the woman I’d loved from the moment I first saw her, and of the surprise when she agreed to marry me.  I had no idea then I was her second choice.

“I’d say I’m on a roll.  Lost my job, then lost my wife.  Bad luck comes in threes, so I’m going to lose something else.”  I looked around.  “This house?  I don’t think I could stay here, not now.  It would just be a reminder of everything bad that’s happened to me today.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.  I told you it was a mistake.  I made my choice twenty odd years ago and it hasn’t changed.”

She took a step towards me, and I took one back.  The thought of being close to her now, after what she had just done, didn’t feel right.

“Look, before you do something silly, let’s sit down and talk about it.”

“No.  There’s nothing really to talk about.  I’m sure you can come up with a very convincing argument that will justify everything you’ve done, and why I’m being a fool, but the truth is, there are no words that can justify what you just did.  Yes, I could forgive you, and believe me, I want to, but there’d always be some resentment and the fact I could never trust you again, even if you promise not to.  What’s done is done.   Have a great birthday, and party, and make up some excuse for me not being there, but I’m going away for a while.  You have got everything you ever wanted Jan.  Be grateful for that.”

With that, I turned and headed for the door that led to the garage.  I wasn’t going to leave by the front door.  I expected her to say something, but she didn’t.  I expected a reaction, but there was none.  What choice did I have?

In the car, I found myself heading for the airport.  I couldn’t go to my parents, they were dead.  My sister lived on the other side of the country, and all I would get from her if I told her what happened would be an I told you so, so it was down to my brother, who had moved to the UK to get away from everyone.  I called him, and when he answered, I simply said, “I’m coming to see you for a while.”

And he replied, “It was Washington, wasn’t it?”

He’d know who she was, and who Michael was when he saw them together all those years ago.  And tried to warn me before I married her.

What was it with politicians and women?

—–

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.

A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?

A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.

A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.

After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.

From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.

It is available on Amazon here:  http://amzn.to/2CqUBcz

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 80

Here’s the thing…

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

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

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

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

…

Show down with the Cossatino’s

…

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“You told her, too.”

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

“Just in case.  Go.”

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

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

“Where’s your mate Boggs?”

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

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

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

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

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

“So much for being a friend.”

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

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

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

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

“The professor?”

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

“And now you’re going to kill me?”

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

“I’ll know,” Nadia said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

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

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 7

This is a story inspired by a visit to an old castle in Italy. It was, of course, written while travelling on a plane, though I’m not sure if it was from Calgary to Toronto, or New York to Vancouver.

But, there’s more to come. Those were long flights…

And sadly when I read what I’d written, off the plane and in the cold hard light of dawn, there were problems, which now in the second draft, should provide the proper start.

 

If it had been Jackerby in charge and not Johansson, I had no doubt I’d be at the end of a firing squad now.

Jackerby was not Army, nor a man of honour.  His gait, his manner gave him away, despite the fact he was out of his usual uniform.  I suspect now I had been taken care of, that would change, and we’d get to see his true colours.

After leaving the hall, I was escorted downstairs to the cellar, and where I knew there were a number of rooms with iron gated fronts, places I suspected, in olden days, enemies of the castle were held, enslaved or executed in these cells.

There were several male prisoners is the first two cells, awaiting their fate, one which would not include escaping to the other side, but perhaps something a lot worse than death.

At the end, there was another corridor, and several smaller cells, where second from the end, I was roughly shoved by one of the guards.  He was going to add the butt of his rifle to the back of my head for good measure, but Jackerby stopped him.

I was sure it wasn’t out of respect for Johansson.  It appeared that Johansson needed me for something else.

After the door closed I yelled out, “All the rooms upstairs filled?”

“Yes.  It’s high season.”  So Jackerby had a semblance of a sense of humour.

 

The room, if it could be called that, had a camp stretcher, a seat, and a bucket.  The light came from a burning torch out in the corridor, an interesting touch that electricity had not made it down this far.

The floor was cobbled, and, like the walls, damp.  There was an overbearing odour of mustiness in the room.

It was also cold, so these cells must be located not only under the old castle but underground.  That meant centuries of history, and probably a ghost or two.  I was sure terrible things had happened, down in these cells, not just back then but also recently.

Outside the wall, I could hear the sound of running water, so the back wall must border onto the stream.  And there must be a gap, or hole somewhere for the sound to reach me, but it was too dark to see.

When night fell, it was going to be a lot worse; the light wouldn’t be affected, but it was going to get a lot colder.  As it was the torchlight from the passage barely made an impact, and it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust.  And I was sure there were rats, just waiting for the dark to come out to play.

I moved the seat to beside the door and sat down, trying to make myself comfortable, in a position where I might hear them coming if they came back.

Then a voice quite near, said, “What are you here for?”

 

© Charles Heath 2019

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 22

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritising.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

An unlikely ally?

 

When we were far enough away, not far from the bridge that crossed the Thames towards the Houses of Parliament, and with the London Eye in the foreground, I slackened my pace.  There were enough people around to afford us cover if Maury and his team realised quickly enough what we had done to escape.

“What now?” she asked.

“Go back to your people, tell them you’ve been compromised, but only on the basis that your flat was tossed, don’t mention Nobbin or Severin unless you feel compelled you have to, and make sure you don’t go back to the flat.  Both of them will have it staked out by now.”

“And what are you doing to do?”

“Try and play them off against each other, which probably won’t work.  I’m not nearly good enough at this caper yet.  Unfortunately, I’m going to have to talk to both of them and tell them I’m onto McConnell, though that will hardly be a surprise to either of them.  After that, find somewhere safe to figure out what to do next.”

“Who was that back at the station?”

“A chap called Maury, and I think he’s one of Severin’s hatchet men.  He was one of those who trained me and several others.”

“You do realise what you’re saying?”

“That my situation is so screwed up, yes, I know.”

It was when I stopped to think about it.  Trained by a rogue group no one knew about, or so they said, and transferred to another group, but not told about it, well, not officially, anyway.

“Maybe we should keep each other’s back.  I mean, if what you say is true, if I go back to my people and tell them about this, it’s likely I’ll be putting a target on my back too.”

True.  I had considered that, but not that we might team up.  It would introduce a third group to the game, and it might be one too many, or act as a catalyst leading to catastrophic consequences.

“What are you saying?”  I asked her, just in case I was misinterpreting what she was saying.

“I’m not safe, you’re not safe, together we might be.  I might have something useful about O’Connell, but I wouldn’t know if it was useful of not.  You at least know what to look for, and basically who to avoid.  Who knows, we might make a great team.”

We might.  But it would have to be predicated on trust, and, right now, I was not sure if I could trust her.  That pen thing, she might have precipitated it, and was working with Severin.  It seemed logical in the circumstances.

But what was that saying, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?  I’d soon find out.

“Ok.  What do you think we should do first?”

“Find a hotel, an obscure one, nearby, and you call your so-called friends, and see what happens, as you said.”

I nodded.  “Sounds like a plan.”

And, I thought to myself, ideal for her if she was insinuating herself into my world, much the same as she had in O’Connell’s case.  In was now in my nature to suspect everyone and everything, because a few words of one lesson came back to haunt me.  We trust people because we instinctively want to believe them, and in this line of work, the people we come across are good and sincere storytellers.

It was a question of how much truth they weaved into their story, that made it believable.  I wanted to believe her, but the facts, circumstantial or otherwise, pointed me in the other direction.

I would have to wait and see and make sure I was prepared for the worst.

It was Jan’s idea t stay near the Charing Cross station in a hotel that I would not normally stay in because of the cost.  I let Jan do the check-in and when we arrived at the room, I discovered she hadn’t booked two rooms, but a Studio Suite with two single beds and a sofa bed.

Apparently, we were brother and sister, which made sense after I had overheard some of the conversation with the check-in clerk.  I didn’t hear what her excuse was for lack of luggage.  Perhaps the airline had lost it, but I had to admit the girl could think on her feet.

Once inside the room, it felt cramped, but the beds looked comfortable, and it had a minibar.

“Before you make any calls, you need to disable the GPS in your phone.”

“They’ll still be able to track it.”

“Not if you are on it for a short period, and we are outside the hotel.”

Well, before that I need a drink.”

“So, do I.  Give me a minute to freshen up and we’ll go down to the bar.  It’ll be a lot cheaper than the minibar.  Then I think we both need to get some supplies.”

I wondered if this is what it was like to be married.

© Charles Heath 2019

It must be the seasonal change

Earlier today, or yesterday now since the clock has ticked over to a new day, I was writing a post about the weather.

Boring as hell, except it gradually turned into a rant about greed, both corporate and government,

There has to be better stuff to talk about than that.

Like father’s day.

It’s possibly the most interesting aspect of my life, having never expected as a teenager that I would ever become a father.  No, back in those dark and gloomy days I had neither the confidence nor the wherewithal to be or do anything.

I guess meeting someone, falling in love, and getting married, pulls you out of the lethargy of youth and forces you to take stock, and become someone, someone who has to have a good job that pays good money so you can get the necessities like a house and a car.  You might have these before you get married, we had the cars, but not the house.

Then you realise you need more money because you never seem to earn enough until a baby comes along, and your whole life as you knew it turned upside down and inside out.  Bad enough trying to sustain two, it’s now three.

More money, a larger house, a larger car, a damn good washing machine, and lots of nappies.  Wow, I had thought having a baby meant more than a clothesline perpetually filled with nappies.

Until another baby comes along, the cycle repeats, then one has to go to school, and a whole new money pit opens and this costs more than the annual house payments.

Then there are sports, and extracurricular activities like dancing (though we didn’t have girls, thankfully), and then kids get to be very good at sports, so, you guessed it, another money pit.  And a steadily growing grocery bill as they get larger and start eating you out of house and home.

There’s never a let-up, from the moment they’re born till the moment they leave home, and that, sometimes, can take a few more years than you expected.

Along the way you hope that your kids will respect you are their father and their mother.  Sometimes that’s a forlorn hope.  Other times children become a blessing and are always there.  At least we don’t have to travel to either the other side of the country, or the other side of the world, to see ours, and with any luck, I will see them both later today.

I don’t expect much.  My relationship with my father is strained, now, but for many years I was there for him, much more than I should according to my wife.  I don’t want for them what happened to me, so I do what I can to make sure it doesn’t happen.

But the unexpected surprise, that one thing that you never expect when this lifelong journey starts, is the eventuality of grandchildren.  Yes, it’s a natural progression in the circle of life, but often it doesn’t quite happen.

We have three granddaughters, and though I know as we get older we will not see them as much or if at all as they make their way out into a very large and far more accessible world than we had at the same time, but I will cherish those moments I have with them now.

I guess today, being the first day of spring, is not such a bad day after all, and it’s amazing that twelve hours later after feeling the gloom and doom of the world, that mood has changed, and that it took so little to change it.

Perhaps that’s what life is really all about.

Family.