X is for – X Doesn’t mark the spot

…

The day he sold the house on Mulberry Lane where he had lain his head to sleep every night of his life was, he thought, the happiest he had ever been.

It was not as if it started out as a house of horrors; in fact, from the moment he could remember, about six or seven, it had been an idyllic refuge.  That was what his mother had told him, before he went to boarding school, before she remarried, before that man who told him the first day they met he was going to send him away, as far away as possible.

Those days before his world was turned upside down…

…

He stood in front of the cottage, now almost surrounded by the forest it had been nestled in.  He could just barely see the window on the second floor, a special room his first father had built into the roof, a room with a view of the valley and the small stream that ran through it, of the fields with the cattle and sheep, or crops, and then grass as far as they could see.

It was his playground to play hide and seek, to go down to the stream and swim on hot days in the summer or pretend that he was a pirate on the high seas.

And then after dinner, a story from his mother, he lay his head on the pillow and dreamed of the adventures he would have when he grew up.

Then, on a cold, stormy night, that world changed a little.  His father had been in an accident, and he was not coming home. It was just going to be them, and that life would not change.

For what seemed a long time, it didn’t.  Then another man came, a man who seemed to make his mother happy, but there was something about him.  He didn’t like him, and he soon discovered the man didn’t like him.

There was a wedding, and they went away, leaving him with his aunt, a rather severe woman who lived in Scotland, a long way away from his house in the forest.  He was there for what seemed a long time, then his mother returned alone and told him that his new father wanted to travel, and that she was going to travel with him, and he would be going to a special school for children with parents who travelled.

He asked why he couldn’t go with them, but she said that he was better off in the special school.  He would live there and get a special education, one that, if he stayed with them, he wouldn’t.  Then, as suddenly as she appeared, she was gone.

…

He did not know that it would be the last time he would see her.  He did not know that his mother had left responsibility for him with his aunt.  He was upset when she didn’t visit him at the school or come to get him during the holidays.  Those times he went to Scotland to stay with his aunt.

He did not know until he left the school that his mother had died that first year in boarding school, or that his new father had murdered her and stolen her fortune and his inheritance.

And now, standing in front of that house where he had been happiest, he tried very hard to remember his father and his mother, but not remember either of them.  Only that horrid man who had stolen everything from them.

That man he had buried at the back of the house, down the bottom of a well that no one would even find.

He spent six years tracking him down, and when he made an appointment to see him, the man had not recognised him.  It took a week to assume his identity and take everything back.  What was left of the fortune, the inheritance which hadn’t been touched, and the house which he discovered the man had not visited or maintained.  The man had perpetrated the same evil on a dozen other women, and he took all of that, too.

Then he told the man what he’d done and told him if he wanted it back to come to the cottage in the forest.  He was surprised the man agreed.

He had advertised the property and had a single buyer contact him.  The original owner of the property.  The offer was acceptable, they shook hands on the deal, and after a final look, and a lot of memories returning briefly, he left.

Those memories were of his childhood, and now that chapter had closed, he could finally get on with his life.

…

©  Charles Heath 2025-2026

X is for – X Doesn’t mark the spot

…

The day he sold the house on Mulberry Lane where he had lain his head to sleep every night of his life was, he thought, the happiest he had ever been.

It was not as if it started out as a house of horrors; in fact, from the moment he could remember, about six or seven, it had been an idyllic refuge.  That was what his mother had told him, before he went to boarding school, before she remarried, before that man who told him the first day they met he was going to send him away, as far away as possible.

Those days before his world was turned upside down…

…

He stood in front of the cottage, now almost surrounded by the forest it had been nestled in.  He could just barely see the window on the second floor, a special room his first father had built into the roof, a room with a view of the valley and the small stream that ran through it, of the fields with the cattle and sheep, or crops, and then grass as far as they could see.

It was his playground to play hide and seek, to go down to the stream and swim on hot days in the summer or pretend that he was a pirate on the high seas.

And then after dinner, a story from his mother, he lay his head on the pillow and dreamed of the adventures he would have when he grew up.

Then, on a cold, stormy night, that world changed a little.  His father had been in an accident, and he was not coming home. It was just going to be them, and that life would not change.

For what seemed a long time, it didn’t.  Then another man came, a man who seemed to make his mother happy, but there was something about him.  He didn’t like him, and he soon discovered the man didn’t like him.

There was a wedding, and they went away, leaving him with his aunt, a rather severe woman who lived in Scotland, a long way away from his house in the forest.  He was there for what seemed a long time, then his mother returned alone and told him that his new father wanted to travel, and that she was going to travel with him, and he would be going to a special school for children with parents who travelled.

He asked why he couldn’t go with them, but she said that he was better off in the special school.  He would live there and get a special education, one that, if he stayed with them, he wouldn’t.  Then, as suddenly as she appeared, she was gone.

…

He did not know that it would be the last time he would see her.  He did not know that his mother had left responsibility for him with his aunt.  He was upset when she didn’t visit him at the school or come to get him during the holidays.  Those times he went to Scotland to stay with his aunt.

He did not know until he left the school that his mother had died that first year in boarding school, or that his new father had murdered her and stolen her fortune and his inheritance.

And now, standing in front of that house where he had been happiest, he tried very hard to remember his father and his mother, but not remember either of them.  Only that horrid man who had stolen everything from them.

That man he had buried at the back of the house, down the bottom of a well that no one would even find.

He spent six years tracking him down, and when he made an appointment to see him, the man had not recognised him.  It took a week to assume his identity and take everything back.  What was left of the fortune, the inheritance which hadn’t been touched, and the house which he discovered the man had not visited or maintained.  The man had perpetrated the same evil on a dozen other women, and he took all of that, too.

Then he told the man what he’d done and told him if he wanted it back to come to the cottage in the forest.  He was surprised the man agreed.

He had advertised the property and had a single buyer contact him.  The original owner of the property.  The offer was acceptable, they shook hands on the deal, and after a final look, and a lot of memories returning briefly, he left.

Those memories were of his childhood, and now that chapter had closed, he could finally get on with his life.

…

©  Charles Heath 2025-2026

W is for – Who is that girl?

…

Have you ever just decided on the spur of the moment to get away?

Anywhere but home, or whatever you think home is, but really it’s just four walls slowly closing in on you because it turns out it had become nothing like what you were hoping for.

A bit like life, really.

I ran away from home, not literally, but practically, because everything back home reminded me of the miserable life I had, no respect, no friends to speak of, and parents who couldn’t see past the aspirations they had for me, my father’s to take over the hardware store, and my mother’s, to marry that nice girl Cindy, just up the road.

Cindy had no aspirations.  The hardware store was a dinosaur from the past and would soon be superseded by the online suppliers who were cheaper and always in stock.

No one was listening, so I left.

Now, the same was happening.  No one was listening, and I was getting stuck in a rut.

Time, I told myself, for a change.

New York Penn Station, the place to go anywhere other than New York.

I fired up my iPad and found the first trip it showed me, from Penn Station on West 34th Street to Kansas City the next morning at 10:45, Via Chicago.  I’d never been to Chicago, but I’d just watched a rather bad musical movie called Calamity Jane, and it was a place in it. 

I think they called that serendipity.

…

I packed my trusty backpack for a two-day travelling experience after booking a business class seat.  I would, at the very least, travel in a little comfort, and was no stranger to sleeping in seats, given the number of red-eye specials I took travelling for the company.

I found the train and my seat, shown to me by a conductor, which was a surprise.

Then it was simply a matter of picking up my book and reading until it was time to sleep.

Except…

Just before the train departed, a girl, about my age, if I were to guess, came up the aisle, looking at seat numbers and then sitting next to me.

First reaction, she smelled of mothballs.  An odd thought, had she been living in a clothes closet?  Nothing would surprise me in New York.

Second revelation, surprise, she travelled with so little.  Perhaps that was why she had so many clothes on: jeans, flannel shirt, jumper, jacket, scarf, gloves, sturdy boots.

She looked me up and down but said nothing.  I tried not to look at her, but there was something about her.  Had I seen her before? Was she ill?  She looked very pale, and her eyes were watery.  Did she have a cold or, worse, a variant of COVID?  I really didn’t want to get sick before I got started on this odyssey.

For a few minutes, before the train started rolling out of the station, I seriously considered getting off the train.

I didn’t and hoped I wouldn’t regret it.

…

Six hours out, she looked like death warmed up.  There was definitely something wrong with her, and I was considering going to the conductor to see if there was a doctor on board.

Then she woke up.

I had to ask, “Are you alright?”

“Why?”

“You look very ill.”

“I just feel out of sorts.  Time of the year, between seasons.  Hot one minute, cold the next.”

I’m surprised she told me, after the instant dagger look she gave me before I asked.

“Why take the train when you can fly?”

“Going to see my parents in Kansas City.”

“You live there?”

“No.”

Didn’t answer the question.  Like everyone else I spoke to, it was impossible to get a straight answer to a clear question.

“But your parents live there?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t?”

“No.”

“They moved to Kansas City?”

“No.  Lived there all their lives.”

“But you don’t?”

“No.”

“Wouldn’t it be quicker to fly?”

“Not enough time.”

OK.  Another strange answer that begged a hundred questions.

“For what?”

She gave me a seriously dangerous look, and I think if she had either a gun or a knife, I’d be dead now.  “Do you always ask daft questions?”

“Mostly, it seems, but I’ll bite.  Not enough time for what?”

“To think about what I will say to them?”

“About what?”

OK.  That was not a question to ask, but she piqued my interest.

“A guy I knew in Kansas City.”

“But you don’t live there?”

“He followed me to New York.  Thought I was the one.  Seems he thought that about three of us, so he had three ‘the one’s’.  If you know what I mean.”

I seriously considered going back to sleep.  Or reading the Gideon version of the Bible, the one I stole from a hotel room.

“But you didn’t live in Kansas City?”

“Not now.  No.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it.”

“To what?”

“Thinking.”

“About?”

“The not being the ‘one’.”

She looked at me strangely.  “Are you sure you’re not an axe murderer?  I mean, it would be just my luck…”

…

…

©  Charles Heath 2025-2026

W is for – Who is that girl?

…

Have you ever just decided on the spur of the moment to get away?

Anywhere but home, or whatever you think home is, but really it’s just four walls slowly closing in on you because it turns out it had become nothing like what you were hoping for.

A bit like life, really.

I ran away from home, not literally, but practically, because everything back home reminded me of the miserable life I had, no respect, no friends to speak of, and parents who couldn’t see past the aspirations they had for me, my father’s to take over the hardware store, and my mother’s, to marry that nice girl Cindy, just up the road.

Cindy had no aspirations.  The hardware store was a dinosaur from the past and would soon be superseded by the online suppliers who were cheaper and always in stock.

No one was listening, so I left.

Now, the same was happening.  No one was listening, and I was getting stuck in a rut.

Time, I told myself, for a change.

New York Penn Station, the place to go anywhere other than New York.

I fired up my iPad and found the first trip it showed me, from Penn Station on West 34th Street to Kansas City the next morning at 10:45, Via Chicago.  I’d never been to Chicago, but I’d just watched a rather bad musical movie called Calamity Jane, and it was a place in it. 

I think they called that serendipity.

…

I packed my trusty backpack for a two-day travelling experience after booking a business class seat.  I would, at the very least, travel in a little comfort, and was no stranger to sleeping in seats, given the number of red-eye specials I took travelling for the company.

I found the train and my seat, shown to me by a conductor, which was a surprise.

Then it was simply a matter of picking up my book and reading until it was time to sleep.

Except…

Just before the train departed, a girl, about my age, if I were to guess, came up the aisle, looking at seat numbers and then sitting next to me.

First reaction, she smelled of mothballs.  An odd thought, had she been living in a clothes closet?  Nothing would surprise me in New York.

Second revelation, surprise, she travelled with so little.  Perhaps that was why she had so many clothes on: jeans, flannel shirt, jumper, jacket, scarf, gloves, sturdy boots.

She looked me up and down but said nothing.  I tried not to look at her, but there was something about her.  Had I seen her before? Was she ill?  She looked very pale, and her eyes were watery.  Did she have a cold or, worse, a variant of COVID?  I really didn’t want to get sick before I got started on this odyssey.

For a few minutes, before the train started rolling out of the station, I seriously considered getting off the train.

I didn’t and hoped I wouldn’t regret it.

…

Six hours out, she looked like death warmed up.  There was definitely something wrong with her, and I was considering going to the conductor to see if there was a doctor on board.

Then she woke up.

I had to ask, “Are you alright?”

“Why?”

“You look very ill.”

“I just feel out of sorts.  Time of the year, between seasons.  Hot one minute, cold the next.”

I’m surprised she told me, after the instant dagger look she gave me before I asked.

“Why take the train when you can fly?”

“Going to see my parents in Kansas City.”

“You live there?”

“No.”

Didn’t answer the question.  Like everyone else I spoke to, it was impossible to get a straight answer to a clear question.

“But your parents live there?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t?”

“No.”

“They moved to Kansas City?”

“No.  Lived there all their lives.”

“But you don’t?”

“No.”

“Wouldn’t it be quicker to fly?”

“Not enough time.”

OK.  Another strange answer that begged a hundred questions.

“For what?”

She gave me a seriously dangerous look, and I think if she had either a gun or a knife, I’d be dead now.  “Do you always ask daft questions?”

“Mostly, it seems, but I’ll bite.  Not enough time for what?”

“To think about what I will say to them?”

“About what?”

OK.  That was not a question to ask, but she piqued my interest.

“A guy I knew in Kansas City.”

“But you don’t live there?”

“He followed me to New York.  Thought I was the one.  Seems he thought that about three of us, so he had three ‘the one’s’.  If you know what I mean.”

I seriously considered going back to sleep.  Or reading the Gideon version of the Bible, the one I stole from a hotel room.

“But you didn’t live in Kansas City?”

“Not now.  No.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it.”

“To what?”

“Thinking.”

“About?”

“The not being the ‘one’.”

She looked at me strangely.  “Are you sure you’re not an axe murderer?  I mean, it would be just my luck…”

…

…

©  Charles Heath 2025-2026

V is for – A Viper’s Misguided Revenge

…

“I dare you to tell me the truth.”

Evelyn glared at me with such intensity that it made me feel hot under the collar. 

Perhaps that was a tinge of guilt, not that I had done anything wrong, but her meddling sister had been in her ear again, and I was never going to live down the fact that I chose Evelyn over her.

It had taken me a week to realise Darcy, her older sister, was a manipulative and evil woman like their mother had been.   And years before, I had rediscovered Evelyn, and another after that, before we started dating.

Now it was the week of the wedding, and Darcy was up to her old tricks.  Her sister was happy and settled, Darcy was not, and she didn’t like it.

“The truth about Elizabeth.”

Oh, Elizabeth.  The other girl I’d liked at school, and was out of my league, then and now.  Darcy trotted her out every time she wanted to make Evelyn unsettled, hinting that we had had a long-standing relationship the whole time, and secretly, I was more in love with her.

The truth?  I was not.  She had told me a long time ago that anything with me was impossible because of her parents’ expectations.

“Well, the obvious truth is she’s a lovely lady, single, simply because she doesn’t trust any man, and probably will remain so now that she has taken over the running of her family business.  You and I both know for a fact she has spent three weeks at best this side of the Atlantic this year, so I’m not sure when we’re supposed to have found time to be together.”

It was the same answer I gave her the last time and the time before that.  And it would be the next time if there was a next time.  I always took it as a sign that if Evelyn was looking for excuses, she started prevaricating.

“You’ve made four two-week trips to England in the last six months.”

This was true, and I told her the details of each trip, where I went, who I saw, and called her twice a day, first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

I sighed.  I just caught a glimpse of Darcy outside the door to the room, listening to the fruits of her labours, to break us up.  Perhaps it was time to do so.  Darcy was never going to give up, and Evelyn was always going to not fully trust me.

“The truth is always going to be what you believe, Evelyn, not what I say.  And if you want the truth, right now, it is that whatever it is we think we have, it’s not going to work.  Not if you’re going to let Darcy undermine our relationship.  So, here’s the truth, Evelyn.  We should not get married and spend the rest of our lives regretting it.  There has been and always will be only one girl for me, and that’s you.  It’s a pity Darcy can’t see that.  So, another truth, Evelyn, let Darcy pick your husband, get her seal of approval, and perhaps then she’ll stop making everybody else’s life as miserable as hers is.  I’m sorry, Evelyn, but enough is enough.”

“The wedding is off?”  Why did she suddenly sound incredulous?

“It’s what Darcy wants, and you apparently agree with her.  As for me, I’m done with Washington. I actually quit my job yesterday, and in about three hours, I’m getting on a plane to go home.  Since my father died, my mother has not been coping with the business, and Joey is about as useless as Darcy is.  Pity they didn’t get married, they are certainly a pigeon pair.  But there it is, you live and learn.  Goodbye, Evelyn.  I really do hope you find what you’re looking for, but as far as I can see, it’s not me.”

I gave her a final look up and down, realising that I would never find another like her ever again.  Then I shook my head and walked out of the room.  Had she asked me to come back, I would have.  Had she said she was no longer going to listen to her sister, I would have believed her, but she said nothing.

Darcy was waiting at the front door and opened it as I approached.

“How does it feel to be a loser?” she asked.

“You always said you’d get your revenge.”

“Yes,” she smiled, the cat who ate the canary, “I did.”

I smiled back.  “What do you do for a living again?”

“I pick and choose companies I believe are very good investments for our clients, and we make a lot of money.  I make a lot of money.”

“What was your prediction for Billingsgate?”

“Not what happened.  That was an aberration.  Whoever owns it just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“I know; that was my brainchild, Darcy.  And like I said, and I know you were listening in, I sold the company, the same as quitting my job, and now I’m going home.  I did it for Evelyn, but thanks to you, she’ll miss that opportunity.  Not your best work, Darcy.”

The expression on her face, as I walked through the door, was priceless.

…

©  Charles Heath 2025-2026

V is for – A Viper’s Misguided Revenge

…

“I dare you to tell me the truth.”

Evelyn glared at me with such intensity that it made me feel hot under the collar. 

Perhaps that was a tinge of guilt, not that I had done anything wrong, but her meddling sister had been in her ear again, and I was never going to live down the fact that I chose Evelyn over her.

It had taken me a week to realise Darcy, her older sister, was a manipulative and evil woman like their mother had been.   And years before, I had rediscovered Evelyn, and another after that, before we started dating.

Now it was the week of the wedding, and Darcy was up to her old tricks.  Her sister was happy and settled, Darcy was not, and she didn’t like it.

“The truth about Elizabeth.”

Oh, Elizabeth.  The other girl I’d liked at school, and was out of my league, then and now.  Darcy trotted her out every time she wanted to make Evelyn unsettled, hinting that we had had a long-standing relationship the whole time, and secretly, I was more in love with her.

The truth?  I was not.  She had told me a long time ago that anything with me was impossible because of her parents’ expectations.

“Well, the obvious truth is she’s a lovely lady, single, simply because she doesn’t trust any man, and probably will remain so now that she has taken over the running of her family business.  You and I both know for a fact she has spent three weeks at best this side of the Atlantic this year, so I’m not sure when we’re supposed to have found time to be together.”

It was the same answer I gave her the last time and the time before that.  And it would be the next time if there was a next time.  I always took it as a sign that if Evelyn was looking for excuses, she started prevaricating.

“You’ve made four two-week trips to England in the last six months.”

This was true, and I told her the details of each trip, where I went, who I saw, and called her twice a day, first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

I sighed.  I just caught a glimpse of Darcy outside the door to the room, listening to the fruits of her labours, to break us up.  Perhaps it was time to do so.  Darcy was never going to give up, and Evelyn was always going to not fully trust me.

“The truth is always going to be what you believe, Evelyn, not what I say.  And if you want the truth, right now, it is that whatever it is we think we have, it’s not going to work.  Not if you’re going to let Darcy undermine our relationship.  So, here’s the truth, Evelyn.  We should not get married and spend the rest of our lives regretting it.  There has been and always will be only one girl for me, and that’s you.  It’s a pity Darcy can’t see that.  So, another truth, Evelyn, let Darcy pick your husband, get her seal of approval, and perhaps then she’ll stop making everybody else’s life as miserable as hers is.  I’m sorry, Evelyn, but enough is enough.”

“The wedding is off?”  Why did she suddenly sound incredulous?

“It’s what Darcy wants, and you apparently agree with her.  As for me, I’m done with Washington. I actually quit my job yesterday, and in about three hours, I’m getting on a plane to go home.  Since my father died, my mother has not been coping with the business, and Joey is about as useless as Darcy is.  Pity they didn’t get married, they are certainly a pigeon pair.  But there it is, you live and learn.  Goodbye, Evelyn.  I really do hope you find what you’re looking for, but as far as I can see, it’s not me.”

I gave her a final look up and down, realising that I would never find another like her ever again.  Then I shook my head and walked out of the room.  Had she asked me to come back, I would have.  Had she said she was no longer going to listen to her sister, I would have believed her, but she said nothing.

Darcy was waiting at the front door and opened it as I approached.

“How does it feel to be a loser?” she asked.

“You always said you’d get your revenge.”

“Yes,” she smiled, the cat who ate the canary, “I did.”

I smiled back.  “What do you do for a living again?”

“I pick and choose companies I believe are very good investments for our clients, and we make a lot of money.  I make a lot of money.”

“What was your prediction for Billingsgate?”

“Not what happened.  That was an aberration.  Whoever owns it just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“I know; that was my brainchild, Darcy.  And like I said, and I know you were listening in, I sold the company, the same as quitting my job, and now I’m going home.  I did it for Evelyn, but thanks to you, she’ll miss that opportunity.  Not your best work, Darcy.”

The expression on her face, as I walked through the door, was priceless.

…

©  Charles Heath 2025-2026

U is for – Undercover

…

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

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

The gig was over.

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

“Where Eagles Dare”.

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

They were right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know that?”

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

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

“You need to look closer to home.”

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

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

He’d completely lost it.

Ballinger, by comparison, was a nice guy.

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

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

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

Tina.

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

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

“What are you doing?”

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

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

Lefty said, “Wally reckons he is.”

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

Ballinger looked at her, then Lefty, then me.

“Where’s Wally?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

I shrugged.  “Count on it.”

…

©  Charles Heath 2026

U is for – Undercover

…

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

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

The gig was over.

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

“Where Eagles Dare”.

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

They were right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know that?”

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

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

“You need to look closer to home.”

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

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

He’d completely lost it.

Ballinger, by comparison, was a nice guy.

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

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

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

Tina.

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

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

“What are you doing?”

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

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

Lefty said, “Wally reckons he is.”

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

Ballinger looked at her, then Lefty, then me.

“Where’s Wally?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

I shrugged.  “Count on it.”

…

©  Charles Heath 2026

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

…

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

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

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

All before I turned that magic age of 30.

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

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

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

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

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

“Brick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stood.

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shrugged.  No point answering while I was gagged.

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

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

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

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

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

“You do.  Let’s cut to the chase.”

“If I don’t.”

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

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

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

I could see Bernice following the conversation. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shrugged, “Had we not been interrupted…”

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

“Perhaps now, even in trying circumstances…”

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

Her expression changed, just slightly.

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

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

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

“You OK?” 

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

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

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

“Yes, and it was almost convincing.”

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

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

“Neither were you.”

“And if you didn’t get the code?”

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

“Without the code?”

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

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

“What happens to me now?”

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

“You’re kidding?”

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

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

“Shortest promotion ever.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025-2026

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

…

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

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

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

All before I turned that magic age of 30.

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

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

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

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

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

“Brick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stood.

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shrugged.  No point answering while I was gagged.

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

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

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

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

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

“You do.  Let’s cut to the chase.”

“If I don’t.”

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

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

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

I could see Bernice following the conversation. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shrugged, “Had we not been interrupted…”

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

“Perhaps now, even in trying circumstances…”

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

Her expression changed, just slightly.

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

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

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

“You OK?” 

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

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

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

“Yes, and it was almost convincing.”

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

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

“Neither were you.”

“And if you didn’t get the code?”

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

“Without the code?”

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

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

“What happens to me now?”

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

“You’re kidding?”

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

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

“Shortest promotion ever.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025-2026