Writing a book in 365 days – 347/348

Days 347 and 348

Use alternative words for Good, Afraid, Trouble, Look and Quiet…

…

The question was: sum your life up in five words.

I’d heard about the show, one with a funny title that when people asked, they couldn’t quite get it exactly right, but close enough to “This was your life”.

I thought it was about dead people, odd, because I knew it was impossible to interview dead people, though those days, someone told me, anything was possible on television.

Then I thought it was about people almost at the end of their life, as a celebration of a celebrity, or someone famous.

It was a surprise to learn it was about ordinary people.

Like me. You couldn’t find anyone more ordinary, or as several people told me, utterly forgettable.

That hurt, but in a sense, they were right.

Which made me wonder just how it was that I received a letter in the mail telling me I had been selected for an episode.

Of course, I thought someone was playing a hoax, and rang them, expecting to be laughed at, but no. I was being asked to go on the show.

I have no idea why I agreed.

…

When I arrived at the studio, I was taken to an office where the executive producer told me what was going to happen: sign some papers to say I was not going to divulge details of the show before it was broadcast, and what my five words were.

They were different for each participant.

Today, they were recording five episodes. I was going to be the last.

…

My words were Good, Afraid, Trouble, Look and Quiet. I had plenty of time to think about them in relation to my story.

And that was the odd thing … I actually had a story.

“So,” the host said, in that mesmerising voice of hers that had both the audience and the objects entranced, “Tell us what the word Good means to you.”

Of course, it wasn’t just the word good, it was a better word that meant the same thing.

“It wasn’t just a good day, it was a fantastic, unbelievable day.”

I remembered it well, that last day of high school, when it was, in a lot of cases, the last time I would see my fellow classmates.

Most of them I never wanted to see again, because that final year had been marked by more lows than highs, culminating in my date for the Prom falling ill, and so I didn’t go. Then I discovered she lied, went with my so-called best friend, and made those last weeks unbearable.

So much so, I headed straight for the railway station and intended to hide at my grandmother’s house on the other side of the country.

The day started badly, arguing with my parents, arguing with my siblings, getting into three separate scuffles at school, then coming home and throwing a few things into a backpack and leaving before I saw anyone at home.

Every step from the house to the railway depot was a reminder of each betrayal, so by the time I sat in the waiting room, an hour before the train was due, I was mentally and physically exhausted.

I expected someone from home would come and try to persuade me to stay.

They didn’t.

Perhaps that was the final betrayal. The fact that not one of my own family cared whether I stayed or left.

Very few people took the train. Most people leaving town went to the airport and got a plane. There was a bus, but it took forever to get anywhere, and the train was an acceptable alternative.

I was the only one leaving town by train.

Until I wasn’t.

There were five students in that final year that I had to say shared my disposition, in that we preferred to study, get good grades and then go to college. The other three left a week before, have all gained admission to an Ivy League university.

I hadn’t applied.

The other person was Alison Breton.

She was one of those people who no one gave a second look at, or so much as a first. She was clever, and all the boys didn’t like girls who were smarter than they.

She was also plain, or so it appeared, which caused most of the boys to point out her faults, such as how she presented herself. Unlike the other girls who dressed to impress, wore make-up and looked stunning, even if it was an objectifying description, she preferred to be different.

I thought she was brave.

We barely spoke, though we were in the same study group with the three Ivy Leaguers. Two of them were keen on her, but she was not the dating sort. Or so they said.

Ten minutes before the train arrived, another person came and sat in the waiting room.

Alison Breton.

I ignored her for five whole minutes. I mean, what could I say to her?

It was where the host mentioned the second word, afraid.

It was part of the truth, and summed up how I felt about her. I was afraid of her. Afraid, or, more to the point, literally terrified.

I had imagined in my mind many times what I would say to her, fabricating long and, I thought, interesting conversations.

And if I let my imagination stretch a little further, I might have to admit I liked her, perhaps more than I should, but could and would never admit it. One humiliation by a girl in a lifetime was enough, and my completely shattered ego couldn’t take another rejection.

Five whole minutes before she said, “So you’re leaving this dump too?”

It was obvious I was, though the dump was harsh.

And then words came out that were not my own. “What’s your excuse?”

I knew the moment I tried to speak to her, it would be over. Maryanne, the betrayer, was different. I could speak to her, and because of that, I thought she was the one.

She smiled. “Probably the same as yours. James told me he loved me, but he didn’t. Apparently, I’m the subject of a bet.”

I’d heard a rumour and couldn’t believe it. Or perhaps I could. Small town, small-minded boys, one ambition, to have what they couldn’t.

“Best get out of town then.” My solution to the problem wasn’t a one-size-fits-all all.

But it was a response to the host dropping the word trouble. And then looked, and was quiet. It seemed they were all intertwining in the narrative that was unfolding.

“That doesn’t explain your desire to leave, other than the Maryanne humiliation. I guess a month away from here might make it go away.”

“It won’t. I have brothers who will never let me forget. You grow up in this place, no one forgets the trouble, or more appropriately, your legacy.”

“It’s always us quiet kids, eh, the ones who don’t make a fuss, who are studious and respectful, who don’t want to be noticed. No matter how we look or feel. I tried to be invisible.”

“It made you stand out more than the Maryannes. I was just fodder for girls like her, pandering to the mores of the football team, and you know what they were like.”

Being smart didn’t make us immune from being hurt or hoping against hope we had a chance.

We both heard the sound of the horn in the distance, a warning that the train was approaching the railway crossing, about two or three miles outside of town.

The train, like always, was running late.

She stood. “Where are you going?”

“San Francisco. My grandmother. She has a large house and many unusual friends. She was an actress once, when Hollywood was going through its black and white phase.”

“I’m going there too. My mother’s sister, though I suspect she isn’t. Maybe we can pretend we’re brother and sister, to be safe.”

I shrugged. Why not? Once we got there, I’d probably never see her again.

…

“Except,” Alison said, holding my hand, and talking to the host with that whimsical expression she had when telling others the story of how we met, “we talked and talked and fell in love, got married, have five amazing children, twelve equally amazing grandchildren, and just lived our lives. Nothing special, and yet to us, very, very special.”

And then, surprisingly, our time was up. I had expected it would take half the time allotted. Instead, it was two hours later, and no one, not any of us, had noticed.

…

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Sarajevo

The Un‑Seen Sarajevo: 5 Off‑The‑Beaten‑Path Experiences Worth the Detour

When you picture Sarajevo, you probably picture the iconic Baščaršija market, the Latin Bridge, or the panoramic tram ride up to the Sarajevo Bascarsija‑Tunnel Museum. Those sites are undeniably worth a visit, but the city’s real soul lives in the nooks and crannies that tourists rarely discover.
If you’re the type of traveller who prefers a side‑street over a main avenue, a hidden café over a crowded restaurant, or a quiet trail over a bustling viewpoint, keep reading. Below are five truly “road‑less‑travelled” activities that will give you a deeper, more intimate connection with Bosnia’s capital.

Wander the Secret Gardens of Vrelo Bosna – Beyond the Main Walkway

Why it feels off‑the‑map
Most visitors stroll the short, well‑signposted path that leads straight to the river’s mouth and snap a quick photo of the iconic meadow. Few venture farther up the valley where a network of stone‑lined footpaths winds through secluded glades, ancient oak groves, and a series of tiny, crystal‑clear pools that look like something out of a fairy‑tale.

What to do

Follow the “Old Trapper’s Trail.” Starting at the main parking lot, veer left after the first wooden bridge and look for a faded wooden sign reading “Staza lovca” (hunter’s trail).
Spot the “Stone‑Heart” (Kameni Srž). A natural limestone formation shaped like a heart, half‑submerged in a shallow pool—perfect for a quiet moment or a Instagram story that will genuinely surprise your followers.
Pack a light snack. The area is a perfect spot for a picnic under the shade of centuries‑old beech trees. Bring a small blanket, some local cheese (bjelica), and a bottle of Bosnian fruit‑wine.

Practical tips

Getting there: Take bus line 16 from the city centre to the “Vrelo Bosna” stop (≈15 min). The trailhead is a few minutes’ walk from the stop.
Best time: Early morning (7–9 am) in spring or early autumn. The lighting is soft, the crowds are non‑existent, and the air smells of wild mint.
What to bring: Sturdy walking shoes (the path includes a few rocky sections), a reusable water bottle, and a small rain jacket—weather can change quickly in the valleys.

Sip Coffee at Kovačevići’s “Mali Hram” – A Hidden Bosnian‑Austro‑Hungarian Café

Why it feels off‑the‑map
Tucked inside a modest residential block of the Kovačevići neighbourhood, “Mali Hram” (The Little Temple) is a tiny, family‑run coffee house that has been serving Bosnian coffee the same way since the 1900s. Its interior is a living museum: brass coffee pots, hand‑stitched tablecloths, and a faded photograph of a young Emperor Franz Julius I strolling through Sarajevo’s streets.

What to do

Order the “Bosanska Cevapi” espresso. It’s a double‑shot, dark roasted brew served with a slice of “hurmašice” (traditional sweet dumpling) on the side.
Chat with the owners. The elderly couple love sharing stories about how the café survived the siege, the Austro‑Hungarian era, and the city’s post‑war revival.
Listen to the old radio. A vintage 1930s German radio plays folk songs in the background, giving you a tangible sense of Sarajevo’s multicultural past.

Practical tips

Getting there: From the central train station, hop on tram line 1 toward “Ilidža” and get off at “Kovačevići” (≈12 min). Walk two blocks east; the café is marked only by a tiny hand‑painted sign.
Best time: Mid‑afternoon, when locals gather for “kafa i razgovor.” Expect a relaxed, unhurried pace.
What to bring: Cash (most small cafés don’t accept cards) and a notebook—many visitors leave a short message on the community board.

Trek to Hajdučke Kule – The Forgotten Ottoman Watchtowers

Why it feels off‑the‑map
While most tourists flock to the historic Clock Tower, few know that a row of three smaller stone towers – the “Hajdučke Kule” (Bandit Towers) – sit on the steep hillside overlooking the old town. Built in the 16th century to spot incoming raiders, they now offer an unobstructed panorama of Sarajevo’s red‑tile roofs, the Miljacka River snaking below, and the distant peaks of the Dinaric Alps.

What to do

Climb the middle tower. A narrow spiral staircase (≈30 steps) leads to a small viewing platform with a rusted iron railing. Bring a compact camera; the view is unfiltered – no tourist crowds, just the city’s raw silhouette.
Explore the “Stone Labyrinth.” At the base of the towers lies a network of ancient stone walls that locals used for rope‑making. Walk the labyrinth and feel the cool stone under your feet.
Capture sunset light. The western orientation floods the towers with golden light just before sunset, creating dramatic shadows ideal for photography.

Practical tips

Getting there: Take bus line 21 to “Koševo” and follow the signs to “Hajdučke Kule.” The trailhead is a short, steep stairwell leading up the hill.
Best time: Late afternoon in late spring or early summer, when the hillside is lush but the path isn’t slick.
What to bring: A flashlight (the interior of the towers is dim), a small first‑aid kit (the stairs are uneven), and a lightweight rain poncho.

Discover the Underground Art Gallery of the Sarajevo Tunnel – A Post‑War Secret

Why it feels off‑the‑map
The Sarajevo Tunnel Museum is a well‑known symbol of resilience, but beneath its concrete entrance lies a concealed, community‑run art space called “Podzemni Studio.” Created in 1997 by a group of former tunnel workers, it showcases raw, politically charged artworks made from salvaged war materials—metal, bullet casings, and glass shards.

What to do

Take the “Hidden Passage” tour. A volunteer guide leads a small group (max 8 people) down a dimly lit corridor to the studio. You’ll hear personal anecdotes about how the space helped heal trauma after the siege.
Interact with the installations. Some pieces are tactile; you can run your fingers over a sculpture made of welded railway tracks, symbolising the city’s connection between past and future.
Purchase a “Tunnel‑Made” souvenir. Small items—keychains, magnets, or hand‑crafted ceramic mugs—are sold to support the artists.

Practical tips

Getting there: Walk from the main tunnel museum (just a 5‑minute stroll). Look for the narrow door on the left side of the parking lot marked “Studio.”
Best time: Weekdays, early in the morning (9–11 am). The studio limits visitors to preserve the intimate atmosphere.
What to bring: A modest donation (the gallery is non‑profit), a respectful demeanour (some works deal with heavy themes), and curiosity.

Attend a Traditional “Sevdalinka” Evening in the Village of Bojan

Why it feels off‑the‑map
Sevdalinka, the soulful Bosnian folk song, is often performed in touristy restaurants in the Old Town. In Bojan—a small farming village 12 km south of Sarajevo—elder musicians gather every Saturday night in the courtyard of a centuries‑old stone house, singing unaccompanied a cappella renditions passed down through generations.

What to do

Join the circle. Bring a small portable seat or blanket, and sit on the low stone steps while locals welcome you with a warm “Dobrodošli.”
Learn a line. The host will hand you a lyric sheet and teach you the chorus—an unforgettable way to become part of the tradition.
Taste homemade “pita.” Freshly baked burek and honey‑drizzled pita (pie) are served on rustic wooden plates.

Practical tips

Getting there: Rent a car or take a local “taxi‑bush” (mini‑bus) from the “Ilidža” bus station to Bojan. The trip takes about 30 minutes on winding country roads.
Best time: Late summer (July–August) when the evenings are warm and the village’s olive trees are in full bloom.
What to bring: A respectful attitude, a small contribution (a bottle of local rakija or a few euros) for the host, and a camera with a discreet flash setting—photos are welcomed, but flash isn’t.

How to Fit All Five Into a 3‑Day Itinerary

Day	Morning	Afternoon	Evening
1	Vrelo Bosna hidden trails – hike & picnic	Hajdučke Kule – climb towers & sunset	Mali Hram café – coffee & conversation
2	Underground art gallery – Tunnel Studio tour	Bojan Sevdalinka evening – travel to village	Return to Sarajevo for a nightcap in the Old Town
3	Free day – revisit favorite spot or explore other museums	Optional: River rafting on the Miljacka or a museum of contemporary Bosnian art	Wrap‑up dinner at a local konoba (tavern) featuring live folk music

Feel free to shuffle the order—each activity stands on its own, but the rhythm above balances active exploration with relaxed cultural immersion.

Final Thoughts: Why the “Road‑Less‑Travelled” Matters

Travel isn’t just a checklist of monuments; it’s a conversation with the people, the landscapes, and the hidden histories that shape a place. In Sarajevo, the well‑trodden path tells you what the city is, while the side streets, secret gardens, and tucked‑away cafés whisper how Sarajevo has survived, adapted, and continued to sing its unique song.

So next time you book a trip to Bosnia’s capital, consider swapping one of those popular sights for a hidden trail, a modest coffee shop, or an underground gallery. You’ll return home with stories that are truly yours, and you’ll leave a lighter footprint—one that respects the intimacy of the places you discover.

Ready to venture off the map? Pack your walking shoes, bring an open heart, and let Sarajevo’s quieter corners reveal themselves. Happy exploring!

What I learned about writing – Sometimes it’s hard to concentrate

It sounds like the title of a book and maybe I should write it. Along with the twenty other story ideas that are currently running around in my head.

Is it any wonder I can’t sleep at night.

I’m working on the latest book and it is not going well. I don’t have writer’s block, I think it is more a case of self-doubt.

This leads me to be over critical of what I have written and much pressing of the delete key. Only to realize that an action taken in haste can be regrettable, and makes me feel even more depressed.

I think I’d be happier in a garret somewhere channeling van Gogh’s rage.

Lesson learned – don’t delete, save it to a text file so it can be retrieved when sanity returns.

I was not happy with the previous start. Funny about that, because until a few weeks ago I thought the start was perfect.

What a difference a week makes or is that politics?

Perhaps I should consider adding some political satire.

But I digress…

It seems it’s been like that for a few weeks now, not being able to stick to the job in hand, doing anything but what I’m supposed to be doing. I recognize the restlessness, I’m not happy with the story as it is, so rather than getting on with it, I find myself writing words just for the sake of writing words.

Any words are better than none, right?

So I rewrote the start, added about a hundred pages and now I have to do a mass of rewriting of what was basically the whole book.

But here’s the thing.

This morning I woke up and looked at the new start, and it has inspired me.

Perhaps all I needed was several weeks of teeth gnashing, and self-doubt to get myself back on track.

Who would want to be a writer?

Me! First in line, every time!

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.

Get it here: https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Podgorica

Discovering Podgorica’s Hidden Gems: A Road Less Travelled

Nestled on the banks of the Morača River, Podgorica is often overshadowed by its mountainous neighbours and coastal rivals in the Balkans. But for those willing to venture beyond its bustling city centre, this Montenegrin capital holds a trove of quiet enchantments. If you’re craving a deeper, more offbeat experience, here are five extraordinary ways to unlock Podgorica’s soul.

1. Step Back in Time in Donja Lastva

Tucked just a short walk from the city centre, the historic neighbourhood of Donja Lastva is a labyrinth of cobblestone streets, 19th-century stone houses, and vibrant murals. Once a medieval merchant district, its peaceful atmosphere offers a stark contrast to Podgorica’s modern core. Stroll through hidden courtyards, admire the architecture, and sip a coffee at a local kafana (traditional café) to savour life at a slower pace. Don’t miss the Old Jewish Quarter, a poignant reminder of the community that once thrived here.

2. Unwind on Vrmac Hill

For panoramic views of the city and the surrounding mountains, head to Vrmac Hill. A short, family-friendly hike leads to a vantage point dominated by the Ethnographic Museum of Montenegro and a historic fort. The well-maintained trails are perfect for a morning walk or sunset picnic. In spring, the hillside bursts into colour with wildflowers, while autumn offers fiery foliage. It’s a favourite among locals, but rarely crowded with tourists.

3. Get Cultured at the Ethnographic Museum

Perched on Vrmac Hill, this quirky museum is a window into Montenegro’s rural heritage. Wander through recreated village houses filled with traditional costumes, farming tools, and folk art. The museum also hosts rotating contemporary art exhibitions, making it a fascinating blend of old and new. Pro tip: Visit on a weekday to have it mostly to yourself!

4. Shop and Savour at the Podgorica Municipal Market

For a taste of local life, head to the Podgorica Municipal Market (Pazar). Open six days a week, this bustling bazaar is a riot of colour and aroma. Sample krompiruša (Montenegrin potato soup), fresh ražnjići cheese, and fragrant herbs. Haggle for handmade crafts or pick up a jar of truffle honey from the region’s famed forests. It’s a feast for the senses—and your wallet!

5. Visit the Đurđe Krstić House – A Literary Pilgrimage

Poet and writer Đurđe Krstić (1879–1934) is Montenegro’s Shakespearean figure, and his 19th-century stone house in Podgorica is a modest tribute to his legacy. Now a museum, it’s housed in a simple, ivy-clad building where he once lived. Inside, you’ll find his personal library, manuscripts, and memorabilia. Though it’s a niche spot, it offers a poetic insight into Montenegro’s cultural heart.

Tips for Exploring Off the Beaten Path

Best Time to Go: Visit during the shoulder seasons (May–June or September–October) for milder weather and fewer crowds.
Transport: Most of these spots are walkable within the city centre, but consider renting a bike for a leisurely pace.
Taste the Local Flavour: Pair your explorations with a stop at Café Jelena or Risto – Montenegrin Cuisine for authentic, home-style meals.

Podgorica’s charm lies in its contrasts: history meeting modernity, tranquillity nestled next to the city’s pulse. By straying from the well-worn paths, you’ll uncover a city that’s unafraid to show its soul—and it’s waiting for you to discover it. So, pack your curiosity and let Podgorica surprise you, one hidden gem at a time.

Happy exploring!

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.