Category: Thriller

“Trouble in Store” – Short Stories My Way:  The re-write – Part 3

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

…

Annalisa had known the moment she had agreed, or rather having been coerced to agree, to go on this foolhardy mission, it would not be the ‘piece of cake’ he said it would be.

It was the culmination of a series of events that brought her to the revelation that it was not her he loved but her money.

And the fact the ‘recreational’ use of drugs was far more serious and far more costly than she had realized.  Until her parents cut off both her access to her bank account and credit card.

Simmo had gone quite literally ‘ape shit’ when he found out, and the full extent of what was a ‘recreational use’ of drugs became clear.  In the first stages of withdrawal, he was nothing like the boy she used to know.

But, she would go along with him this once and that would be an end to it.  She funded his habit, and their relationship, though she chose not to tell him at the exact moment because he was very threatening, in fact, it was going to be the end of everything to do with him.

As they left the apartment for the last time, an eerie calm came over her, and she revered the Simmo she used to know.  There were flashes of the old Simmo from time to time, but the ever-increasing use of drugs had changed him, changed his personality, and now there was very little left.

She thought about staying, trying to bring him back, getting him to go to a rehabilitation centre, admit he had a problem.

Stepping out of the building into the cold night air brought her back to her senses.  There was no helping him, now or ever.

It was nearly time, a few minutes before the shop closed, the time, Simmo said, when the shopkeepers’ ‘other’ customers arrived.

She hoped there were no other customers.

The plan was simple.  Simmo would show the money, a twenty dollar note wrapped around a wad of blank papers, the shopkeeper would get the bag, he would give the wad, take the drugs and they’d run, hoping he wouldn’t discover the truth before escaping out the front door.

And if he did, she asked.

He had it covered.

She didn’t like the sound of that statement or the savagery with which it was delivered.  More and more this was sounding like a suicide mission.

Simmo patted her on the shoulder.  It was time.

She looked at her watch, at 11:25 pm.

From across the road, she had watched the shopkeeper going through the motions of closing the store, bringing in the sidewalk displays, wiping the counter, and sweeping the floor.  As they crossed the road, she could see him standing behind the counter, waiting, watching the clock tick inexorably towards 11:30.

Closing time.

She preceded Simmo into the shop.  His idea was that seeing her would create a distraction.  He smiled when he saw her and frowned when he saw Simmo.  He knew the moment he saw Simmo exactly what he was there for.

…

© Charles Heath 2016-2024

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.

…

How are we still alive?

…

I heard the voices, long before I realized where I was or what happened.

Well, that was not exactly true, I knew what had happened, I just couldn’t remember what occurred after that.

And how I came to be where I was, now.

My mother, calm and collected in a crisis, sounded just a little flustered.

“Just what happened, without all the medical double talk, in simple words one can understand.”

My sentiment exactly.

“Another day would have been fatal.  As it is, neither of them will be in any fit state for at least a week, perhaps more, it’s hard to say.  People can survive without food, but not water, like I said, they were lucky we found them when we did.”

Yes, I remember the cavern, Vince and Alex, being tied up and left for dead.  I had told Nadia that rescue would be imminent, once Charlene realized we were missing.

But, how long had that been?

And, was he referring to all three of us, or had Boggs got to safety and raised the alarm.  If we were near death, it raised questions I don’t think I wanted answers to.

I felt a warm hand on my arm and opened my eyes.  The room was in semi-darkness, perhaps so my eyes would not be shocked by bright light.  A nurse, looking down.

“Welcome back, Sam.”

I wanted to speak, but something told me that wasn’t going to be possible, not right then.

The nurse’s soothing voice continued, “You are safe now, in hospital, and you don’t need to speak or anything else.  You have been through a rather traumatic week or so, but the worst is over and the doctor says you will make a full recovery.”

I wanted to ask about Nadia, but the words didn’t come.  I was beginning to think I was not there, and this was only my imagination, creating a virtual world rather than accepting reality.

“The girl you were with is here too, and she will also recover, Nadia I think her name is.”

An inward sigh of relief.  Now, Boggs?

She didn’t say anything more, except to say, “Rest now.”

I closed my eyes and it didn’t take long to slide back into the inky darkness.

In the dark, time lost any meaning. I couldn’t tell what time it was, or how much time had passed.  I tried counting the seconds in my head, but it was a futile exercise.

Nadia wasn’t panicking, but she was scared, particularly after we had tried every and all means we could think of to get free, only the knots that Alex had tied us with were too tight.

I suspected, in the end, they were sailors’ knots designed not to slip or come undone, not easily anyway.

That was when I said I had told Charlene what we intended to do and roughly where we would be, and if we went missing that would be the cue.

It seemed to brighten her outlook, but as time passed, slowly but inevitably, that cheer turned to dismay. 

We were hungry but worse still, thirsty, and the fact there was no water anywhere nearby made that thirst all the more important.

That time passed ever so slowly, and it took an almost inhuman effort to not think about that next drink if there was ever to be one.

I managed to convince her that talking would only make it worse and that we should concentrate on anything else, perhaps what we were going to do once we got out of the cave, other than killing Vince and Alex.  Perhaps, in the end, I thought that might be the one thing that would keep her alive.

As for me, given my situation, and that really of the whole town, there wasn’t much to hope for.  Yes, Nadia might still want to be friends, but who was it that got her into this mess?

Then, too weak to think, count, or move, that was where I knew the end was near.  It felt like we’d been in the cave forever, and I had to finally accept the fact no in was coming for us.

And my last thought, what had happened to Boggs?

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.

My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.

Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.

So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.

So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.

I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.

And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.

There was motivation.  I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample.  I was going to give them the re-worked short story.  Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’

Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.

But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself.  We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.

One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.

It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected.  I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.

I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.

Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.

The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party.  I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble.  No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.

Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?

But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

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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 2019-2024

“Echoes From The Past”, the past doesn’t necessarily stay there


What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

…

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

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“Trouble in Store” – Short Stories My Way:  The re-write – Part 2

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

…

It took a second, perhaps three, to sum up the situation.

A young girl, about 16 or 17, scared, looking sideways at a man on the ground, then Alphonse, and then Jack.  He recognized the gun, a Luger, a German relic of WW2, perhaps her father’s souvenir, or more likely a stolen weapon, now pointing at him then Alphonse, then back to him.

Jack took another second or two to consider if he could disarm her.  No, the distance was too great.  He put his hands out where she could see them.  No sudden movements trying to remain calm, and his heart rate was up to the point of cardiac arrest.  No point in making a bad situation worse.

Pointing with the gun, she said, “Move closer to the counter where I can see you better.”

Everything but her hand was steady as a rock.  The only telltale sign of stress was the bead of perspiration on her brow.  It was 40 degrees Fahrenheit in the shop.

Jack shivered and then did as he was told.

A few seconds more for him to decide she was in the unpredictable category.

“What’s wrong with your friend?”  Jack tried the friendly approach after he’d taken the three steps sideways necessary to reach the counter.

The shopkeeper, Alphonse, who, Jack noted seemed to have aged another ten years in the last few months, spoke instead; “I suspect he’s an addict, looking for a score.  At the end of his tether, my guess, and her to get some money.”

A simple hold-up that had gone wrong.  Wrong time, wrong place, in more ways than one Jack thought, now realizing he had walked into a very dangerous situation.  She didn’t look like a user.  The boy on the ground did, and he looked like he was going through the beginnings of withdrawal.

Oddly, though, Jack had noticed a look pass between the shopkeeper and the girl.

“All you had to do was give us the money, and we wouldn’t be here, now.”  She was glaring back at Alphonse.  “You can still make this right.”

A flicker of memory jumped out of the depths of Jack’s mind, something discussed at the dinner table with their neighbours, something about the shop being a pickup point for drugs.

The boy on the floor, he was not here for money.

Jack thought he’d try another approach.  “Look, I don’t want trouble, and you don’t want trouble.  I’ll go, forget this ever happened.  You might want to do the same.”

The girl looked like she was thinking.  The gun, though, still moved between him and the shopkeeper.

Another assessment of the girl; this was not her real home.  She was from a better class of people, a different part of town.  Caught up in a downward spiral because of her friend on the floor.

Caught in a situation she was not equipped to deal with.

…

© Charles Heath 2016-2024

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 79

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.

…

Finding the treasure, or something else

…

It was time to go.

She had stayed with me the whole time, and made sure I’d seen her phone the whole time.  I was sure it was deliberate, and there would be repercussions at the end of this exercise, success or not.

She made no mention of it the whole time too, but it was stewing behind her eyes, and I could feel it.  It was a trait of my mother’s when dealing with my father, whom she never really trusted, and not without reason.  He had let her down, us down, more times than I could remember.

We had just enough light to find our way to the base of the cliff.  The weather forecast was for a cloudy night and the prospect of rain around midnight, when I was hoping we’d either found what we were looking for, or it was a bust.

The wind had picked up after we left the cave and was gusting intermittently by the time we were in position, so between the darkness and the wind, the climb was going to be ‘tricky’.

Boggs said he was up for the challenge.  I was not so sure. 

It was not far upwards to the ledge, but by the time he started, the moon had gone behind the cloud cover, the wind had picked up, and the temperature had dropped dramatically.  A minute later, he had disappeared into the darkness, leaving only a trailing rope behind that I was loosely holding.

The wind overtook the noise of him ascending, and the hammering of pitons into the rock crevices, so it felt like we were alone on the beach.  Nadia was standing about 10 feet away looking upwards.

Was she tracking Boggs progress, or waiting for something else?

The moon shed little light on our position, in between passing clouds, not enough to work solely by it. We had torches, and intermittently I could see approximately where Boggs was, and it seemed to me he had been at the same spot for at least ten minutes.

Had he reached an impasse?

We had no means of communication, I wasn’t going to call out to him, nor, I was sure, would he call out to me.  At least, only if it was necessary.

Then, I felt a slight tug on the rope, the sign her had made it to the ledge.  If he had not found it, the plan was we would leave, and go back to square one.

I went over to Nadia.  “We’re up, you’re next.”

“I’d rather stay on the ground.  I don’t need to be scaling rocks.”

“We agreed, we’d all go up.”

“Are you sure this is not about you having trust issues.”

“No.  It’s time, unless you know something I don’t.”

“Like?”

“You tell me if there are any surprises waiting for us up there?”  It was as close as I was going to get saying that she had betrayed us, and, knowing what was waiting, didn’t want to be there to face our disappointment.

“When have I had time to arrange anything.  You’ve been with me the whole time.”

I had, though it was not for that purpose, but not an unreasonable assumption on her part given the circumstances.

I shook my head.  I think deep down I was expecting some sort of development, even though I had hoped that she would be as good as her word.  It also annoyed me that she was making it so I was put in a position where the only assumption she could make was that I didn’t trust her.

It was like being painted into a corner.

And it was clever on her part because she left the onus on me, absolving herself of any blame, whether on not she was telling the truth or not.

I was the bad person.

“As you wish,” I said.  “Go home, there’s no need for you to stay.  It’s probably the last place you should be when everything goes pear shaped.”

“I’m happy to be the last line of defence.”

“When the shit hits the fan, Vince isn’t going to care whether you share the same surname or not.  Best you’re not here at all.”

“Are you expecting him?”

“We’re trespassing on Cossatino land.  If he finds out…  Best if you were not here, seriously.”

“You do realise what he’ll do if he does find you.”

It was a statement, not a question, and yes, I did.  And I’d kept Boggs waiting long enough.  “I’ll let you know what we find.”

Enough sparring, I turned and headed back to the base of the cliff. 

Scaling the cliff was not that hard, Boggs had said to keep a tight hold on the rope and used the pitons he’d places strategically as footsteps on a ladder.

When I reached the ledge, Boggs was waiting and pulled me up the last of the climb onto the narrow alleyway between rocks.

“Took your time,” he muttered.

“Nadia is having reservations about joining us.”

“Sending the lambs to the slaughter, eh.”

I’d expected that reaction, and I could see how he’d reach such a conclusion.

“She is not a climber.”

“Neither are you, but…”

“I don’t think it matters which side she’s on, in the end.  We’re not here by invitation, especially if Vince turns up.  Let’s get on with it before we get cold feet.”

“You don’t have to be here, you know.”

“Actually, I do.  You asked me along for the ride, and I let you down.”

I’d thought about it, and it seemed to me everyone, one way or another, had let him down.  If I put myself in his shoes, I’d be terribly disappointed.

“You’re here now, that says a lot.  But, enough talk, let’s see where this goes.”

I looked up and could just see the overhang, an almost flat slab of rock almost suspended in mid-air.  If it fell, we might be crushed, on it would land on or crumble, over the outer wall, which in itself looked to be part of the original wall split away.

What was once most likely a ledge, was now was tunnel.  The ledge would have been much wider, before the fall, and in this current form, narrower than it used to be.  If there was a chest or two to take away, it wouldn’t be wide enough.

I followed behind, the small torch beam picking out the sharp edges and avoiding jutting pieces of rock, making progress slow.

Ahead I could see Boggs had stopped, and was examining the wall.  When I joined him, he was standing in front of wood panelling.  A closer inspection showed it to be a door.

“That’s a good sign,” he said.  He rapped on the door and it sounded dull, like it was hollow.

To one side there was a rusty handle and a large lock, equally rusty.  I picked up a rock and with one hit, it snapped of and clattered on the ground.

I then pounded on one of the wooden panels and it disintegrated.  It had rotted over time, how much time was moot, and didn’t take much to bash an opening wide enough to fit through.

The air coming out was quite pungent, if not foul.

“Not exactly a welcome.”

“It smells of death.”

Boggs gave me a look that might have translated to ‘keep your opinion to yourself please’.

“Well soon find out.”  After selling the torch light as far in as he could, and not seeing any immediate danger, stepped over the threshold.

“Beware of any possible boobytraps.”  I’d seen too many films with similar situations, and if there was treasure in this cavern, the pirate would not let it be taken without a fight.

“Seriously, Sam.”  He turned a put his light on me. “That’s just a myth perpetuated by Hollywood.”

“Just saying, be careful.”

I saw him shrug, and turn back.  Perhaps as a nod to my warning, he reached out, checking for trip wires, as I ailed my torch at his feet, and saw what looked to be a rope strung six inches above the ground.  It looked as rotting as the door timber.

“On the ground,” I said.

He moved his light to join mine, saw the rope, and traced it from the floor, upwards to the roof.  If he had tripped over it, might it bring the roof down, or part of it?

He stepped back, kicked through it, and it disintegrated into dust.  Nothing happened.  It had to be the rope had rotted and couldn’t be used to spring the trap. 

“So far, so good.”

A flimsy rope wasn’t going to stop him.

“Just be careful.”

We used both torches to light both sides of the cave, and the roof, just in case.  The torch light did not reach the end, so it was slow progress.

Twenty paces later, we came to a larger cavern, and a quick look around showed parts of it had been man made.  A shiver went through me, and I thought that might be a ghost passing through me.

“You feel that?” I asked Boggs, now several steps in front of me.

“It’s just cold Sam.”

“I reckon there’s a body down here, somewhere.”

Suddenly his torch stopped, near the floor, adjacent to what looked like a ledge.  The corner of the cavern.  There were torn rags scattered. 

I joined him and added the light from my torch, widening the display.

The involuntary gasp was mine.  A skull, still attached to the skeleton, partially covered by cloth sitting in the corner, as if that was his final resting place.

“I was not expecting that,” Boggs said, the slightest of cracks in his voice.

I shuddered. 

I moved my torchlight along the wall, and found two more skeletons, both lying down on the ground in front of the ledge, as if they had been dragged there.  It wasn’t hard to deduce how at least one died, a sword appeared to be through the middle of the torso.

“Pirates who didn’t like their share of the treasure,” he said.

“Or raiders, who weren’t expecting guards?”

All three looked as though they were from the 17th and 18th centuries, and had not been disturbed for a long, long time.

A view of the cavern showed nothing else, except for what looked like beds made of straw on the ledges, and several chests that were in better condition than the door to the cave.  There was more clothing and other supplies, like pewter mugs and plates, and pottery bottles, some of which had liquid in them.

We didn’t say much, there wasn’t much to say. 

Except the obvious, we were the first visitors in a long, long time.

There was a passage off to one side, not visible from the entry point to the cavern, and now that we had established there was no treasure, headed towards it.

Boggs shine his torch in the entrance, and it appeared longer than the beam travelled.  The sides of this cavern were damp, and I could hear a slow dripping sound in the distance.

If my orientation was right, we would not be going,  further into the cliff, but running parallel with the shoreline.

“Ready?”  Boggs asked. 

There was no mistaking that hint of fear in his voice but whether he didn’t feel safe, or perhaps because of what we might find, like more dead pirates, I was feeling equally apprehensive.

‘As I’ll ever be.”

He took a few tentative steps, checking the walls as he went.  I followed.

It was damp underfoot, and several times I stepped in a small puddle.  We were surrounded by the aroma of salty water and a mouldy dank smell of dampness.

The next cavern was just beyond the initial torch beam, but slowly came into view as we approached it.  This cave showed signs of being dug out, and the cavern definitely so.  This was not a natural part of the cave system.

This cavern was slightly larger than the last one, had just one ledge which had three chests set out equidistant on it.  It was the first sight our torches displayed.

Was this the treasure?

Boggs headed straight towards them.  I was a little more circumspect, and slowly ran my torch around the rest of the room, until I found another body.

This one was definitely not as old as the other three.  In fact, my guess, it was either Ormiston, or, dare I consider it possible, Boggs senior.

By this time Boggs had opened the first chest and muttered, “nothing”, letting it slam down quite loudly and making me jump.

“Hey,” I said, “There’s another body here, but it’s not a pirate.”

He swung around and pointed his torch on the body, and gasped.  “No.  It can’t be.” 

He went over and knelt beside the body.  The clothes were still intact, and although damp and grimy, were still recognisable.

I saw him check the pockets first of the coat, then the pants, finding what looked like a wallet.  He carefully opened it, then fell backwards, surprise or disbelief.

“Is it.”

He held up the wallet.  “My father.  How did he get here?”

“No treasure in the chest?”

“Empty.  If it was there, it’s long gone.”

So, Boggs senior had known where the treasure was, as he had said, just before he disappeared.  Had he led the others here, and they had incapacitated him, then left him to die?

I checked the other two chests, the second nit holing treasure, but another body, jammed into the space, in slightly better condition than Boggs, but there was no mistaking the cracks in the skull.

It was another man, and if I was to make a guess, it would be Ormiston.  Had Boggs and Ormiston joined forces, or had they turned up at the same time and attacked each other.

“I think that the body in this chest is Ormiston,” I said, closing the lid to the chest.  “It would be interesting to know if they ran into each other, and whether they had found the empty chests too.”

Boggs hadn’t moved.  I could see him struggling with the fact he had found his father, and the location of the treasure, where it had once rested. 

The fact Ormiston had head injuries suggested the treasure was here, and someone had removed it.

Cossatino?

But, the question was, how did they get here if they didn’t come in via the door we’d broken down.  There was another cave leading off this cavern, but it looked as though it led into the hill, rather than head towards the shoreline.

I was heading towards that entrance when I heard a scream cut short, coming from the direction we had just entered the cavern.

Nadia?  Had she changed her mind, followed us, and found the pirates?

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

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

Searching for locations: Shaolin Kung Fu, near Zhengzhou City, Henan Province, China

After leaving the hotel in Zhengzhou, which was once one of the eight ancient capitals of China, we are going to Dengfeng city, the home of China’s most famous martial art – Shaolin Kung Fu.

The Shaolin Temple nearby is the origin of Chinese Zen Buddhism, and the Songyang Academy, called “the Centre of Heaven and Earth” is located 87 Km from Zhengzhou, or, as we were advised, a 2-hour drive.  It will be scenic because we are heading towards the mountains.

As one of the four ancient Song Dynasty Academies, Songyang Academy is one of many schools in the province.  It is both on a large scale, is quite spectacular, and is a comprehensive Wushu training base where students are trained to spread the Shaolin Wushu Kung fu style at home and abroad.

There is a 500-seat demonstration hall where you are able to observe 30 minutes of various martial arts in shows starting on the hour.

Outside there is a specific area that generally has about 600 trainees learning kung fu elements during the day but can hold 5,000 people when outdoor performances are required.

The kung fu school

The thing you notice most about the kung fu school is its size and then the number of buses which tells you that it is a popular tourist stop.

And with that size comes long distances between the car park and the venues we need to go to, the first of which is about half a km, and that’s just to get to the ticket plaza.

But, it is pleasantly set out and is quite a large number of shops for both souvenirs and food

We pass by some of the students going through their paces

From there it’s another long, long walk to the show arena, where we’re supposed to see various kung fu elements on display.  We watched this for a few minutes, then headed off towards the hall for a more intense demonstration of kung fu, and because there is limited seating we have to start lining up at the head of the queue to get a seat.

But…

Everyone else has the same idea and we join the throng which then becomes a ride, and true to the Chinese they start finding ways to push in, even using the imaginary friend somewhere ahead in the queue.

The doors open and then it’s open slather, with the hoards pushing from behind and sliding up the side to get in first.  We go with the tide, and manage to get in and find a seat though we were separated from three of our group.

It was an interesting show even though not one word of English was spoken, which from our point of view was a disappointment because we had no idea what was going on.

However…

It wasn’t hard to follow

What the performers were doing was relatively self-explanatory, and quite fascinating, especially the guy who broke a sword over his head, and the guy who stopped two spears penetrating the neck, both examples of very disciplined men.

Boys gave a demonstration of kung fu moves, and intensity and age increased as this progressed to the end.

Next, we were taken in hand by an instructor in Tai chi or an equivalent, I was not quite sure what it was called, and went through the twelve or maybe more moves that constituted a morning or afternoon exercise session or it could be just for relaxation.  I lasted the first session but it was a little difficult to do with my sore limbs and a bad back.

Not that I could remember any of it now other than hands overhead, hands in front, bent knees, and a few gentle kung fu hand moves.

Perhaps when I get home I might seek out someone to show me the moves.

Whilst the others were following their training instructor, I wandered about, finding a large statue

 
And some smaller statues

Lunch in the Zen Restaurant

After all that exercise it was time to have lunch purportedly the same food as the king fu masters.
It’s in the Zen restaurant, aptly named, and the food when it came, came thick and fast, but some of it wasn’t very nice, meat with bones, tofu, a tasteless soup, but some good dishes like the vegetables and noodles with meat, without bones.

The only problem was nothing to drink except a pot of hot water.  No tea, no cold water, and if you wanted a cold drink you had to pay for it.  After paying 550 yuan why should we have to pay more for a drink when we have not had to so far.

But no cold water?  That was just not on, and when we brought this to the attention of the tour guide she just simply ignored us.  We just didn’t get anything.

That basically tainted the whole experience.

After lunch, there was the Shaolin Temple and the Pogoda Forest to visit.

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, 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.