A photograph from the Inspirational bin – 33

This is countryside somewhere inside the Lamington National Park in Queensland. It was one of those days where the rain come and went…

We were spending a week there, in the middle of nowhere on a working macadamia farm in a cottage, one of four, recuperating from a long exhausting lockdown.

It was not cold, and we were able to sit out of the verandah for most of the day, watching the rain come and pass over on its way up the valley, listing to the gentle pitter-patter of the rain on the roof and nearby leaves.

But as for inspiration:

This would be the ideal setting for a story about life, failed romance, or a couple looking to find what it was they lost.

It could be a story about recovering from a breakdown, or a tragic loss, to be anywhere else but in the middle of dealing with the constant reminders of what they had.

It could be a safe house, and as we all know, safe houses in stories are rarely safe houses, where it is given away by someone inside the program, or the person who it’s assigned to give it away because they can’t do as they’re supposed to; lay low.

Then there’s camping, the great outdoors, for someone who absolutely hates being outdoors, or those who go hunting, and sometimes become the hunted.

Oh, and watch out for the bears!

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 83

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.

…

Alex is a problem

…

My mother didn’t return after the sheriff and Charlene left, and it didn’t bother me as much as it should.

What did bother me was the extent Alex, and no doubt his new best friend Vince, had muddied the water, but they did have a week to get their stories straight.

A point taken out of the interview with Charlene: any evidence of Boggs father or Ormiston had been removed, along with the pirate skeletons and anything also that could be identified.

No one would believe us if we said we saw them, we would be classed as delusional, and probably not without reason.

Another point, we had not been tied up when we were recovered, and there were no noticeable marks, or at least couldn’t be explained away. It was obvious they had come back, not only to cleanse the site but to make our deaths look more natural.

The last, for that moment, was the fact no one went looking for us after Alex said we had run away together.

The question that had to be asked, was what eventually prompted the police to start looking for us, and why was it in the cave system? I had not exactly alluded to where it was.

I heard the door to my room open and shut and rolled over, expecting a nurse.

It was Charlene, alone this time, leaning against the door.

“What are you not telling me?”

“What else is there to say? Apparently, Alex knows more about my situation than I do, so you have to ask yourself, how that’s possible.”

“You tell me.”

“So you can take anything I say to the Benderby’s so they can use it against me? I’m not surprised the Benderby’s have got you doing their dirty work for then. After all, your father is up for re-election, and needs their support to stay in office.”

A furrowed brow and dark look told me I was on dangerous ground. Implying the sheriff was in Benderby’s pocket wasn’t the best idea, even if it was rumored to be true.

“What exactly are you implying?”

Brittle tone, time to back down. “Nothing. You managed to get a good result from a bad situation, except for poor Boggs. What happened to him?”

“Slipped and fell, the medical examiner believes. No signs of foul play if that’s what you’re asking?”

“Where?”

“On the rocks at the foot of the cliff leading up to the ledge and cave entrance, in full climbing gear. Had we not found him there, we would not have found you. We assumed since he didn’t find the treasure, he left, leaving you two behind.”

It fitted the story, no doubt seeded by Alex. And reasonably true, to a certain extent. He had left us, but not out of pique.

“You could say he was disappointed.”

“What happened, because I don’t understand why you didn’t leave at the same time.”

“Boggs was there for the treasure. We wanted to do more exploring, ended up getting lost.”

It was a logical explanation and would fit her narrative. I didn’t see the point of throwing any curve balls.

I could see her processing.

“You mustn’t think very much of me Sam.”

“Whatever gives you that idea?”

“I don’t think I’ve heard one word of truth from you so far. I know something happened in that cave, and you were not the only people involved. Alex can’t lie to save himself, and Vince Cossatino, well, stark staring bonkers doesn’t begin to describe him. They’re mixed up in this somehow, and I can’t do anything about it unless you tell me the truth.”

“An old newspaper adage I once heard sums up what I think appropriately describes this situation you find yourself in. Don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story. You can draw any picture you want, but we both know the person with the best lawyers will win the day, irrespective of what you think happened or what actually happened. It might be a different story if you found us dead, but you didn’t.”

“There’s Boggs. He didn’t make it, and I’m not convinced he fell to his death. I found a climbing expert to review the gear, the site, and the body. Boggs was left-handed wasn’t he?”

Perhaps I might have misjudged her, and her tenacity for investigating. But, there was a problem. “Ambidextrous when climbing, right-handed when playing most sports. The guy was an enigma at times, and a bit of a daredevil.”

“Still…”

“You’re going to need more than that before casting aspersions that will destroy his mother if she’s not already there.”

“I don’t get it, Sam. Why won’t you help me?”

“No point. We both know who runs this town, always has. You were at school the same as I was, and Alex was always untouchable. You don’t want to make an enemy of him. I did and look where it got me.”

“I have a job…”

“The wrong job, or maybe the wrong place. There’s a reason why your father is not pushing this. Alex will get what he deserves, perhaps sooner rather than later.”

“You think the Cossatino’s will exact their own justice? That’s not going to happen. At the moment the Cossatino’s and the Benderby’s are like peas in a pod.”

That was disconcerting news, and I wondered how Nadia had taken that.

“How is Nadia, by the way?”

“She’s apparently taken a vow of silence. I suspect the first visit from her father was to warn her against making any accusations. She hasn’t told us anything, except how you convinced her that she would be rescued. It must have been terrible.”

Worse. Not knowing if anyone would come, and as time passed, that feeling this was your time to die. I had gotten to the point where I regretted wasting all those years after leaving school and doing nothing. The fact my mother needed me had made that decision all too easy, but now I realized, she hadn’t needed me, that she was contented with her two suitors and remaining just out of reach, playing them against each other.

A commotion outside the door took my mind away from those thoughts, and seconds later Alex came into the room.

“You shouldn’t be here, Alex,” Charlene said, standing between him and me.

“You don’t know your place, Charlene, and that’s not here. Go play detective somewhere else.”

“You want to be careful Alex.”

“Or what? You’ll get your father to sort me out?” He laughed. “So naive and stupid. We own him, and he’ll do what he’s told. As will you. Now, get out before I throw you out.”

I watched her consider how she was going to respond, even to the point of telling him off, but there was that hesitation, confirmation of what I’d just told her, which was far worse than I suspected. Then, a shake of the head, and, “I’ll be just outside, you do anything, I’ll be a witness “

Brave, but pointless. He shoved her out, and closed the blind, and the door.

“So Smidge, you’ve been spreading lies.”

“Have I ? What lies, specifically?”

“Your mother came around and told my father Vince and I tied you up and left you for dead “

“Rather accurate, don’t you think?”

“Lies, Smidge. The result of our differences perhaps, but whatever the reason, don’t repeat them again. Not if you want a ton of bricks to rain down on you, literally.”

So my mother had gone straight to Benderby. No surprise there, but was it because she cared, or was she reporting my comments?

“I wouldn’t be worried about me, Alex. You have bigger problems to deal with.”

“Oh? I don’t think so, if you’re referring to Nadia. We have a deal with the Cossatinos. If she says anything, they’ll deal with her.”

“In all the time you dated her, Alex, did she show you her true colors?”

“She’s just a stupid girl like all the rest. What are you talking about?”

There was no hint of concern, and that might just be his Achilles heel. If I could just sow a few seeds of doubt in his mind…

“I’d run Alex. As far and as fast as you can.”

The door crashed open and the Sheriff came in, red-faced and very angry.

“Get out Alex.”

“Do you need to be reminded who you are talking to?”

The sheriff apparently didn’t, and with one punch propelled Alex across the room and into the wall, before he crashed to the ground. He wisely stayed on the floor, as the sheriff was standing over him, ready for round two.

“My father will hear about this,” he said, pulling out his phone.

“He will. I have two witnesses who will testify you threw the first punch and were resisting a direct order to leave. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay put and shut your mouth.”

Alex did.

He turned to me. “Where’s Nadia?”

“Last I heard she was in a hospital bed.”

“She left “

“You talk to her parents?” Alex joined the conversation. Perhaps he was hoping that was the case. I didn’t think it was.

“They’re surprised. We have CCTV footage of her leaving, alone. I ask again, Sam, where is she?”

“What makes you think I would know where she is.”

“You were alone with her in that cave, in a near-death situation. People tend to confide their deepest innermost secrets at such a time.”

“Not with me. The girl is as much an enigma to me as she is to everyone else. But one thing she did say, she’s nothing like her parents, so much so, she reckoned they adopted her.”

“Not helping Sam.”

I looked over at Alex. “You should ask the sheriff to put you in protective custody, Alex.”

He snorted in disbelief, obviously remembering what I’d said earlier.

The sheriff picked up on it. “Why would you say that?”

“Sometimes it’s what is not said that is most telling.”

“Then you’re saying that Alex and Vince had something to do with you being left in that cave because for the life of me, I can’t understand why you didn’t just walk out of there. I don’t believe for one minute you got lost, Sam. Not you. I know you.”

He might, but Alex was still in the room and it was still unfounded allegations. But there was a slight look of panic on his face.

“Well, believe it or not, that’s what happened. I would appreciate it if you took Alex away, and stopped him from harassing me. As for Nadia, if she has any sense, she should go back to Italy. For what it’s worth, she won’t go back to the Grove, that isn’t home to her, but she might go back to her hotel room.”

I told him which hotel and the room number, and told him to leave and take Alex with him. I suggested protective custody, just in case, but neither seemed to think he would need it, which left me with a curious notion, did the sheriff want Nadia to take care of a problem he couldn’t.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As they say in the classics, read on!

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-SundayInNewYork

Ideas come from everywhere

I have an electronic note book on my smart phone and writing pads at the ready at home in my office/writing room/library.

As soon as one hits, I get it down, either on paper, or on the phone app. I use SomNote as it’s easy to export the text to an email, or have a version of the app running on my computer and just copy and paste. SomNote is great because I can used it anywhere.

Of course, it doesn’t work so well in the shower, so I’m still waiting for a waterproof phone. Or perhaps it can wait for a few minutes until I’m finished.

But, the trouble with that it, these ideas come so quickly and are sometimes so vivid that they need to be put down as quickly as possible. I have come up with the perfect dialogue for a tricky scene, and played it all out in my head, and by the time I got to the paper, it was almost gone.

Perhaps a whiteboard and a permanent marker on the wall.

Or is that going to far?

A long time ago, I received a portable tape recorder for a present, you know, the one you can hold in your hand, and the tapes so small you wonder how much will fit on it. The gifter said that when ideas came to me, all I had to do was speak. It was also voice activated.

Needless to say that conjured up a few ideas right there.

But, I used it, but I found it quite weird to be talking, ostensibly to myself, in the car whilst driving home, or go to, work, and the curious looks I’d get from others. One thing it did teach me was that when a conversation was repkayed, it would sound ok or like most of the time, hardly what one expected a conversation would really be like.

So, because of that device, I learned to read out all conversations, and if they sounded stupid, they were.

So, ideas come in the shower, ideas come while driving, ideas come when reading the newspaper, ideas even come when reading books.

Which leads me to another point that I learned early on. Writers must read. Not only novels of their chosen genre, but any reference books that go with it. Research was, a friend and more successful author than I told me, was mandatory.

So too was the reading to the classics, old English, and sometimes American, literature, to gain an appreciation for the written word. We might not follow those styles, but we can learn the majesty of the English language.

That author taught me a lot, though at the time I didn;t realise it. Perhaps I thpought I was already smart enough to write, but I’m guessing that it took a long time before I felt my writing was worth reading before publishing it.

I don’t profess to have a fully understanding of the language. I might have loved that school subject called English, and later in University, creative writing and literature, but not all of it soaked in. But writing is one of those odd things, that it can take many forms and styles, but at the end of the day, if the reader understands where the story is going, and when at the end, is satisfied that it was ‘a good read’, then the author’s work is done.

The only trouble is, getting the next idea, and then the were withal to write a second book, or third. It is said everyone as one book in them. For those who can write more, well, that might be what might be called, a gift.

My trouble is, I have too many ideas, too many starts and brief outlines to work with, I don’t know which story to start on next. I guess being spoinlt for choice is a good thing, yes?

It all started in Venice – Episode 18

Observing the enemy

…

“She’s not talking,” the detective who had been trying to get answers to various questions, said, after coming out of the room, looking somewhat exasperated.

I’d been watching him spar with her, and her legal representative telling her that unless the police had concrete evidence, she need not answer any questions, except with a ‘No comment’. Not once though did she ask to leave, which she could do at any time.

That was interesting.

“I’m not surprised. Technically she’s done nothing wrong, yet. Perhaps we need to ask some different questions.”

He sighed. “Then, by all means, do so. I’ve been told you know more about her connection to Larry Fortescue, a person we are very familiar with, but this is a connection we’re not fully across yet. You are aware we found several crates in one of her warehouses with his name on them, one of which had several blocks of C4 in it. She claims it’s not hers and has no idea who it got there, but not the fact she knows him in passing.”

Denying as one would expect that there was more to the relationship other the acquaintances, and appropriate for so-called rival crime bosses.

“You have to admit, though, it’s not the sort of stuff your average beauty products sales person would have lying around.”

Nominally, she called herself a beautician who runs a chain of so-called health clinics which made the perfect front for other more nefarious activities, allegedly. No one had yet proved without a doubt anything else happened there.

“These days nothing would surprise me. Some of the chemicals we also found could very easily be ingredients for bombs, but she had the permits, and it’s all accounted for. This is the first time we’ve been able to pull her in.”

“A routine check, or a tip?”

“Actually, someone called the hotline to say that men who looked like terrorists in a white van were unloading crates in a suspicious manner. I kid you not, that was what we were told.”

Men who looked like terrorists.

“Now that Larry is implicated, well be happy to share what we have. He would be a far likelier owner of the explosive, and this is a rare mistake on his part to leave his name on the crate. This is the first lead we have on how he keeps one step ahead of us, using others to hold his stuff and why we can never find it in his possession. He’ll deny it’s his and that it’s one of his enemies setting him up.”

“We’ve been trying to find him.”

“He’s in Sorrento Italy visiting his mother, and no doubt combining business with pleasure. It’s no coincidence she is there, he’s looking for me.”

“Then he’ll be out of luck then. Thanks for the info, I’ll get our people onto tracking him down. He also has a few questions to answer.”

I looked at the screen on which I had been viewing the interview, noted the smug expression, and the body language that said she thought she was untouchable.

In a sense, she had every right to believe that. She hadn’t been on Rodby’s radar until she took up with Larry. Larry was Rodby’s obsession, why I never found out, and knew better than to ask. Both she and Larry were well known to the police, and both had managed to keep out of jail because they were careful, though Larry had been far more careless in his younger days.

And for a person who was firmly entrenched, but more or less invisible in the criminal landscape, joining with Larry was her biggest mistake.

Rodby had brought a file with him and I read it in the car on the way here and it was another very thorough deep dive into a woman who for all intents and purposes was nothing like who she portrayed in real life.

A woman with secrets she believed were still intact.

Secrets I could use to gain some leverage, not that I ever liked doing so because often it involved innocents caught up in a world, not of their choice.

But she chose to be a criminal, and there were always consequences, unintended or otherwise.

Enough thinking, it was time.

“The Devil You Don’t” – A beta readers view

It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.

John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.

So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?

That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.

What should have been a high turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point every thing goes to hell in a handbasket.

He suddenly realises his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.

The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.

All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.

…

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 27

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 prioritizing.

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

Chasing leads, maybe

“Who’s coming?” snapped Maury.

“Some nice men in white coats, to take you away to a dark and dank hole somewhere in this city where you may tell us what you know, or you might not survive the experience. You got one shot at the easy way, now it looks like it’s going to be the hard way.”

I had to admire her. She had gone all gung-ho on him and, frankly, it was a frightening side to her that you wouldn’t normally see, or even guess that she had.

“This is a big mistake, Jackson. I suggest you call Severin and get this straightened out very quickly.”

“I’m going to call him, eventually. After I find the USB and see what’s on it. What it is that you seem to be so desperate to get to first?”

“That’s a matter of national security.”

“I suspect it’s a matter that involves you and Severin. O’Connell was working for a man called Nobbin. He runs another department, it’s starting to sound like there are wheels within wheels, who’s part in all of this I’m yet to understand.”

“He’s after the USB too?”

“Of course. If it’s evidence against you, and or others conspiring to do God knows what, he probably needs to know so he can put a stop to it. Apparently, since no one has heard of you or your operation, I’ve been transferred to his department.”

“How do you know the information is not about him? It’s not unheard of for an agent to discovered irregularities against his commander.”

“Then let’s hope I find the USB first. And, just out of curiosity, why did you kill O’Connell. Wouldn’t it be a better idea to capture him and make sure he had the USB before you did anything irrational.”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

“That’s what most of the Nazi’s said at Nuremberg.”

There was a knock on her door.

Jan went over and opened it. It was, I thought, the wrong thing to do when we had a man as dangerous as Maury in the room.

Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, I could say it was the wrong thing to do, but at the time, even I didn’t think Severin would know what was happening to his attach dog.

Apparently, he did.

The door crashed open sending Jan into a fall that saw her head hit by the swinging door. Three men with guns came bursting in, followed by a fourth, Severin.

Severin took in the room with a single sweep, then glared at me. “You need to pick a side, and soon, Jackson.”

One of the other men cut the ties and helped Maury to his feet. He also glared at me as he left with the other two. “You’ll keep,” Maury muttered as he went past, then was gone.

Severin looked at Jan, now a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Don’t play with MI5. They never see the big picture. Maury doesn’t forget, Jackson, so there will be a reckoning later. I suggest you find a way of redeeming yourself in his eyes. Perhaps it would be better if you cut ties with Nobbin and disappeared for a while. This matter is too big for a newbie like you.”

I heard a groan by the door, Jan waking.

“Just keep out of the way, Jackson. And her, if she knows what’s good for her.”

He left, closing the door behind him.

I went over to Jan and checked to see what injuries she had other than to her pride. A gash on the side of the head, with a little blood. It would give her a huge headache though.

“I’ll get a wet towel,” I said, helping her into a sitting position.

She still looked groggy.

“What happened?”

“You answered the door before finding out who was on the other side.”

“Maury?”

“Gone. He must have signaled Severin somehow that he was in trouble, or they were tracking him. Either way, they got here rather quickly to rescue him.”

“My people?”

“Not here yet.”

I left her to find a towel and run water over one end.

When I came back, she was on her phone, having got up off the floor. She still looked quite shaken.

“Yes, sir.” was all I heard of the conversation before she disconnected the call.

“Did you call off the collection team?”

“They weren’t coming. They said apparently I had rung back to say it was a false alarm.”

“And they believed that?”

“Whoever called had my special code, so yes, they did.”

Call finished, she sat down in one of the chairs and pressed the wet part of the towel against her head.

“Next time you might consider looking first before opening the door,” I said, realizing that it was not the advice she would be looking for.

“It’s a mistake I won’t make again, I can assure you,” she said. “but, we haven’t lost him yet.”

“How so?”

“I slipped a tracker onto his clothes, not one he’ll easily recognize or find, and as we speak, he’s being tracked through outer London. We’ll soon know where he’s going, and perhaps second time lucky.”

She was more resourceful than I would normally give anyone credit for.

Now it was a matter of waiting. Would he lead us to the heart of Severin’s operation? Only time would tell.

A photograph from the Inspirational bin – 33

This is countryside somewhere inside the Lamington National Park in Queensland. It was one of those days where the rain come and went…