Tag: #AtoZ

How could that possibly happen… – A short story

I had hoped by the time I was promoted to assistant manager it might mean something other than long hours and an increase in pay.

It didn’t.

But unlike others who had taken the job, and eventually become jaded and left, I stayed. Something I realized that others seemed to either ignore or just didn’t understand, this was a company that rewarded loyalty.

It was why there were quite a few who had served 30 years or more. They might not reach the top job, but they certainly well looked after.

I had a long way to go, having been there only 8 years, and according to some, on a fast track. I was not sure how I would describe this so-called ‘fast track’ other than being in the right place at the right time and making a judicial selection.

When it was my turn to be promoted, I had a choice of a plum department, or one most of my contemporaries had passed over. At the time, the words of my previous manager sprang to mind, that being a manager for the most sought after department or the least sought after, came with exactly the same privileges.

And, he was right. I took the least sought after, much to their disdain and disapproval. One year on, that disapproval had turned almost to envy; that was when the Assistant Managers were granted a new privilege, tea, and lunch in the executive dining room.

“So, what’s it like?” John asked, when our group met on a Friday night, this the first after the privilege was granted.

He had been one of the three, including me, who had the opportunity to take the role. Both he and Alistair had both declined, prepared to wait for a more prestigious department. It hadn’t happened to them yet.

“The same as the staff dining room, only smaller. Except, I guess, the waitstaff and butler. They come and serve you when you have to go to them in the staff room. They’re the same staff, by the way, except for the butler.”

I could see the awe, or was it envy, in their eyes. “but it’s not that great. The Assistant Managers all sit at one end of the table, and we’re not part of the main group, so no sharing of information I’m afraid. And the meals are the same, just served on fancier crockery.”

“Then nothing to write home about?” Will was one of those who they also thought to be on a ‘fast track’. I was still trying to see how my ‘fast track’ was actually that fast.

“Put it this way, the extra pay doesn’t offset the long hours because you get overtime, I don’t, so on a good week, you’d all be earning more than me. Without responsibility, if anything goes wrong. I think that’s why Assistant Managers were created, to take the blame when anything goes wrong.”

That had been the hardest pill to swallow. Until I got the role, I hadn’t realized what it really involved. Nor had the others, and it was not something we could whinge about. My first-day introductory speech from Tomkins, my Manager, was all about taking responsibility, and how I was there to make his life easier. It was a speech he made a few times because he’d been Manager for the last 16 years, much the same as the others, and promotion if ever, would come when they died.

And Manager’s rarely died, because of their Assistant Managers.

“How old is Tomkins now?” Bert, a relative newcomer to our group, asked. He was still in the ‘in awe’ phase.

“About the same as Father Time,” I said. “But the reality is, no one knows, except perhaps for the personnel manager.” O looked over at Wally, the Personnel Department’s Assistant Manager. “Any chance of you telling us?”

“No. You know I can’t.”

“But you know?” I asked.

“Of course, but you know the rules. That’s confidential information. Not like what you are the custodian of, information everyone needs.”

Which, of course, was true. Communication and Secretarial Services had no secrets, except for twice a year when the company Bord of Directors met, and we were responsible for all the documents used at their meetings. Then, and only then, was I privy to all the secrets, including promotions. And be asked ‘What’s happening?’.

“Just be content to know that he’s as old as the hills, as most of them. It seems to me that one of the pre-requisites for managership is that you have been employed here for 30 years.”

Not all, though, I’d noticed, but there wasn’t one under the age of fifty.

And so it would go, the Friday night lament, those ‘in’ the executive, and those who were not quite there yet.
It seemed prophetic, in a sense, that we had been talking about Mangers and their ages. By a quirk of fate, some weeks before, that I learned of Tomkins’s currents state of health via a call on his office phone. At the time he was out, where, he had not told me, but by his the I believed it was something serious, so serious he didn’t want me, or anyone else, to know about it.

That phone call was from his wife, Eleanor, whom I’d met on a number of occasions when she came to take him home from work. I liked her, and couldn’t help but notice she was his exact opposite, Tomkins, silent and at times morose, and Eleanor, the life of the party. I could imagine her being a handful in her younger days, and it was a stark reminder of that old saying ‘opposites attract’.

She was concerned and asked me if he had returned from the specialist. I simply said he had but was elsewhere, and promised to get him to call her when he returned. Then I made a quick call around to see where he was and found that he was in Personnel. I left an innocuous message on his desk, and then let my imagination run wild.

At least for a day or so, the time it took for me to realize that it was probably nothing, the lethargy he’d been showing, gone.

I’d put it out of my mind until my cell phone rang, and it was from the Personnel Manager. On a Sunday, no less. In the few seconds before I answered it, I’d made the assumption that Tomkins’s secretive visits to the specialist meant he needed time off for a routine operation.

Greetings over, O’Reilly, the Personnel Manager, cut straight to the chase, “For your personal information, and not to be repeated, Tomkins will be out of action for about two months, and as that is longer than the standard period, you will become Acting Manager. We’ll talk more about this Tuesday morning.” Monday was a holiday.

All Assistant Managers knew the rules. Any absence of a manager for longer than a month, promotion to Acting Manager. Anything less, you sat in the office, but no change in title. There was one more rule, that in the event of the death of a manager, the assistant manager was immediately promoted to Manager. This had only happened once before. 70 years ago. If a manager retired, then the position of Manager was thrown open to anyone in the organization.

It was an intriguing moment in time.

Tuesday came, and as usual, I went into the office, with only one thought in mind, let the staff in the department know what was happening, of course, the moment I was given the approval to do so by Personnel.

Not a minute after I sat down, the phone rang. I picked it up, gave my name and greeting. It was met with a rather excitable voice of the Assistant Manager, Personnel, “I just got word from on high, you’ve been promoted to manager. How could that possibly happen…”

Then a moment later, as realization set in, “Unless…”

—-

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

How could that possibly happen… – A short story

I had hoped by the time I was promoted to assistant manager it might mean something other than long hours and an increase in pay.

It didn’t.

But unlike others who had taken the job, and eventually become jaded and left, I stayed. Something I realized that others seemed to either ignore or just didn’t understand, this was a company that rewarded loyalty.

It was why there were quite a few who had served 30 years or more. They might not reach the top job, but they certainly well looked after.

I had a long way to go, having been there only 8 years, and according to some, on a fast track. I was not sure how I would describe this so-called ‘fast track’ other than being in the right place at the right time and making a judicial selection.

When it was my turn to be promoted, I had a choice of a plum department, or one most of my contemporaries had passed over. At the time, the words of my previous manager sprang to mind, that being a manager for the most sought after department or the least sought after, came with exactly the same privileges.

And, he was right. I took the least sought after, much to their disdain and disapproval. One year on, that disapproval had turned almost to envy; that was when the Assistant Managers were granted a new privilege, tea, and lunch in the executive dining room.

“So, what’s it like?” John asked, when our group met on a Friday night, this the first after the privilege was granted.

He had been one of the three, including me, who had the opportunity to take the role. Both he and Alistair had both declined, prepared to wait for a more prestigious department. It hadn’t happened to them yet.

“The same as the staff dining room, only smaller. Except, I guess, the waitstaff and butler. They come and serve you when you have to go to them in the staff room. They’re the same staff, by the way, except for the butler.”

I could see the awe, or was it envy, in their eyes. “but it’s not that great. The Assistant Managers all sit at one end of the table, and we’re not part of the main group, so no sharing of information I’m afraid. And the meals are the same, just served on fancier crockery.”

“Then nothing to write home about?” Will was one of those who they also thought to be on a ‘fast track’. I was still trying to see how my ‘fast track’ was actually that fast.

“Put it this way, the extra pay doesn’t offset the long hours because you get overtime, I don’t, so on a good week, you’d all be earning more than me. Without responsibility, if anything goes wrong. I think that’s why Assistant Managers were created, to take the blame when anything goes wrong.”

That had been the hardest pill to swallow. Until I got the role, I hadn’t realized what it really involved. Nor had the others, and it was not something we could whinge about. My first-day introductory speech from Tomkins, my Manager, was all about taking responsibility, and how I was there to make his life easier. It was a speech he made a few times because he’d been Manager for the last 16 years, much the same as the others, and promotion if ever, would come when they died.

And Manager’s rarely died, because of their Assistant Managers.

“How old is Tomkins now?” Bert, a relative newcomer to our group, asked. He was still in the ‘in awe’ phase.

“About the same as Father Time,” I said. “But the reality is, no one knows, except perhaps for the personnel manager.” O looked over at Wally, the Personnel Department’s Assistant Manager. “Any chance of you telling us?”

“No. You know I can’t.”

“But you know?” I asked.

“Of course, but you know the rules. That’s confidential information. Not like what you are the custodian of, information everyone needs.”

Which, of course, was true. Communication and Secretarial Services had no secrets, except for twice a year when the company Bord of Directors met, and we were responsible for all the documents used at their meetings. Then, and only then, was I privy to all the secrets, including promotions. And be asked ‘What’s happening?’.

“Just be content to know that he’s as old as the hills, as most of them. It seems to me that one of the pre-requisites for managership is that you have been employed here for 30 years.”

Not all, though, I’d noticed, but there wasn’t one under the age of fifty.

And so it would go, the Friday night lament, those ‘in’ the executive, and those who were not quite there yet.
It seemed prophetic, in a sense, that we had been talking about Mangers and their ages. By a quirk of fate, some weeks before, that I learned of Tomkins’s currents state of health via a call on his office phone. At the time he was out, where, he had not told me, but by his the I believed it was something serious, so serious he didn’t want me, or anyone else, to know about it.

That phone call was from his wife, Eleanor, whom I’d met on a number of occasions when she came to take him home from work. I liked her, and couldn’t help but notice she was his exact opposite, Tomkins, silent and at times morose, and Eleanor, the life of the party. I could imagine her being a handful in her younger days, and it was a stark reminder of that old saying ‘opposites attract’.

She was concerned and asked me if he had returned from the specialist. I simply said he had but was elsewhere, and promised to get him to call her when he returned. Then I made a quick call around to see where he was and found that he was in Personnel. I left an innocuous message on his desk, and then let my imagination run wild.

At least for a day or so, the time it took for me to realize that it was probably nothing, the lethargy he’d been showing, gone.

I’d put it out of my mind until my cell phone rang, and it was from the Personnel Manager. On a Sunday, no less. In the few seconds before I answered it, I’d made the assumption that Tomkins’s secretive visits to the specialist meant he needed time off for a routine operation.

Greetings over, O’Reilly, the Personnel Manager, cut straight to the chase, “For your personal information, and not to be repeated, Tomkins will be out of action for about two months, and as that is longer than the standard period, you will become Acting Manager. We’ll talk more about this Tuesday morning.” Monday was a holiday.

All Assistant Managers knew the rules. Any absence of a manager for longer than a month, promotion to Acting Manager. Anything less, you sat in the office, but no change in title. There was one more rule, that in the event of the death of a manager, the assistant manager was immediately promoted to Manager. This had only happened once before. 70 years ago. If a manager retired, then the position of Manager was thrown open to anyone in the organization.

It was an intriguing moment in time.

Tuesday came, and as usual, I went into the office, with only one thought in mind, let the staff in the department know what was happening, of course, the moment I was given the approval to do so by Personnel.

Not a minute after I sat down, the phone rang. I picked it up, gave my name and greeting. It was met with a rather excitable voice of the Assistant Manager, Personnel, “I just got word from on high, you’ve been promoted to manager. How could that possibly happen…”

Then a moment later, as realization set in, “Unless…”

—-

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

The A to Z Challenge – D is for – “Did you hear that?”

It started with a phone call, a phone call that I never expected to get.

I was one of those people who went through life, almost invisible.  It was not what I wanted, it just happened.

I was not the sociable sort, at school I tended to spend my time studying and then being labeled a nerd, I didn’t make friends, except for those who wanted help with their homework.

Few friends in elementary school, fewer in middle school, and none in college, that is no one that you could call a true friend.  They were more acquaintances that were there for the help I could give them, but no one that would invite me to parties, or to just hang out.

That continues on into university. Except there were several new acquainted that were a little more than that, though not quite BFFs.

There was one, in particular, Anna, who was one of the study group, the one who needed the most help, someone who had been wavering on returning after the first year.

My trouble was that I liked her more than she liked me, my opinion of course, based on what I called the indifference factor, but perhaps I had more expectations than she did

She was doing uni because it was expected of her, not because she wanted to be there.  She could take it or leave it, and the last time I spoke to her, she was going to leave.

And when she left to go back home, it was the last time I expected to see or hear from her.

Until that phone call.

“What are you doing this weekend?”

A dumb question, nothing of course, but I wouldn’t tell her that.  I was still in shock that Anna would call me, for anything other than school, if at all.

“Not a lot.”

“Good.  How would you like to housesit with me?”

House sit?  Surely she had a dozen others who would do anything for her.  She was that popular and well-liked.  And would probably be far more amusing than I ever could be.

“If you like.  I had no idea you did house minding.”

“I don’t, but an aunt is going away for the weekend, and she wants someone to look after the cat.  I hope you like cats.  And gardens.  It has a nice garden.”

Cats I could take or leave.  Gardens, it was probably a birdbath, two beds of roses, a large tree with a seat under it, and neighbors peering over the fence.

But it was a weekend somewhere else other than my little room, and Anna would be there.  Maybe I could try to get past my shyness and actually talk to her.

“OK.  I’m in.  Do I need to bring anything?”

“No.  I’ll send you the address and see you there at 5 pm. Friday.”

Why did I get the feeling I was being set up?

That feeling of impending doing followed me down the path from the front gate to the front door.

Far from the house being a small thatch cottage, based on the address she gave me, it turned out to be a three-story manor house with a large outhouse that looked to be once a stable and coach house

It seemed far too large to be a house for one person.

When I rang the doorbell, I expected a butler to answer the door, but it was Anna herself.

“Nice place,” I said.

“Too large and too hard to maintain.  Were trying to convince her that she would be better off in something smaller.  But you should see the back.”

Based on the front garden which could happily grace the front cover of any country living magazine, I couldn’t wait.

She let me pass and closed the door behind us.  It sounded like the vault was closing and there would be no damage until the timer released the locks.

Inside, the whole place reeked of heritage and antiques, and the personality of its owner.  The walls had paintings, table tops had old magazines, the seats worn leather, and worn carpet squares covered floorboards that creaked when you walked on them.

At the end of a long corridor was the kitchen at the end if the house, after passing several sitting and dining rooms.  It was a very large house and raised a very important question.

She had not mentioned any family or relatives with anything like the wealth this house exuded.  In fact, she had often implied that she was just an ordinary person.

This was anything but ordinary.

I caught up with her on the back patio, just off a large sunroom, to view what had to be an acre or more of manicured laws, garden beds, and trees.  All it was missing was a maze.

“Do you actually have a secret life?”

“I was always told not to advertise our wealth.”

“Isn’t showing me this, a form of advertising?  After all, I’m apparently from the wrong side of the tracks.”

“I trust you.”

“But you don’t know me, or anything about me.”

“Why do you think you’re here?”

If I wanted to make an educated guess, my first thought was to set me up for something, for the very reason she was aloof, and people like her, and those she kept company with, were not people like me associated with.

I was surprised not to see the two girls I’d once nicknamed ‘the dynamic duo’, Melissa and Winona, with her.  Maybe they would turn up later.

My second thought, the most improbable reason, was that she wanted to get to know me, but, why choose a place like this?  To make me feel small, grateful, impressed? Ten minutes in a Cafe was all she needed to find out what she needed to know about me.

An alarm bell went off when I asked her where I could get a drink of water, and she said, the kitchen, but didn’t really know where it was. I got an instant bad feeling.

That was followed by a bang that I thought came from the rear of the house.

“Did you hear that?” I asked.

“You hear all sorts of noises in places like these.”

If she wasn’t worried, neither was I.

Then the door chime rang.

“You expecting more visitors?”  My internal fear factor was rising exponentially.

“No, but I’d better find out who it is, just in case.”

I shrugged and headed towards where she indicated the kitchen was, the rear of the house, what I would call an educated guess

After I found the kitchen, not technically at the rear, I returned to find my worst fears had come true.  Not only the dynamic duo but also their boyfriends, Chad and Lester, two of the worst bullies from school days.

“Well, look who it is.”  Chad was particularly menacing.

A glance to the side, it was hard to tell if Anna was looking pleased or neutral, but she wasn’t surprised. I glanced in Anna’s direction and all I got was a tilt of her head.

“Shouldn’t you be down the country club trying to prove you’re a new version of your drunken bully of a father?”

His smile turned into a very angry look.  “Don’t go there, Scanlon.”

“Why are you here then?”

I expected to hear Anna had invited them.  Instead, “we’re here to make sure Anna doesn’t make a mistake.”

“I don’t need your help or advice Chad.  In fact, you should leave.”

None of the four looked like they had any intention of leaving.  “Not until we’ve impressed upon both of you, the error of your ways.  We thought you were smarter than this or did Scanlon force himself on you?”

She shook her head, not necessarily in anger, but more in despair.  “I don’t know where you get your ideas from Chad, but you are very much mistaken.  So, I will only say this once more, Chad,” she added quietly, “otherwise you will find yourself in a world of pain.  Leave now while you still can.”

Chad, being Chad, was the master of ceremonies, puffed up as he had been in the schoolyard when he was about the unleash his gang on some poor misguided fool, usually me, or one of three others.  But it was Melissa who spoke instead, “You go teach Scanlon a lesson outside by the pool while we have a talk to Anna.”

Lester took the cue, came over, and grabbed me by the shoulder.  I thought about trying to shrug him off, but Chad was across the room before I could initiate anything.  Best to leave calmly and sort it out outside.

I gave Anna a last look, but she was wearing her poker face.  Had she set this up?  It seemed as though she hadn’t, but then, it didn’t look like she was worried about the dynamic duo.

I shrugged.

Intentional or not, Chad and Lester were about to learn a very valuable lesson, and revenge, at least on them, was going to be sweet.

…

©  Charles Heath 2022

The A to Z Challenge – E is for – “Everyone has a secret”

How many people do you know have their front door smashed in at the crack of dawn, followed by a swat team, armed to the teeth, swarming through the house ready to put down any resistance?

Just the suddenness of the cacophony of noise, the shouting, and the sheer threat of death, left me firstly shattered, and secondly, in fear of being accidentally killed, especially when there were six guns trained on me.

When the all-clear came, when no one else was discovered in the house, one of the suited men came back and motioned the six to take a step back and raise their weapons.

“Get up.” 

If I was expected a ‘please’, or an apology, both would be a long time coming.

“Where is she?”

I barely had time to catch my breath and try to stop shaking.  Six guns were still pointing in my direction, and those holding them no less wanted to shoot me for any reason whatsoever.

“Who?”  There were two girls in this house.

“Don’t be obtuse, Mr. Jacobs.  Obstruction will get you nothing but a stretch in prison with some very unsavoury characters.  Where is she?”

The notion that they could be looking for Liz was as preposterous as the day was long.  I had known her for five years, since we both left the same company, unhappy with the pay and conditions, and moved to a new company, deciding to stay together, first as a team, and then I was hoping would be something more intimate.

It had to be someone else, like the odd woman who had ingratiated herself with the group I was with, and ostensibly left the bar with me, but only as far as the car park.  Perhaps, if we were being observed, it might have been construed as something else.

“Can you give me a name, at least?”

“Elizabeth Morgan.”

Liz?  She designed computer games, and I helped with the programming.  Other than that, she went to church every Sunday and visited her folks in the next county every second Saturday.  I’d met them on numerous occasions, and they were just ordinary people.

“Why on earth would you be looking for her?”

“That’s classified, Mr. Jacobs.  All you need to do is tell me where she is.”

“I don’t know.  The last time we spoke, she was heading off to the market to get groceries.”

“Which was?”

“About an hour ago.”

A woman put her head in the door, and said, “she’s nowhere on the property, sir.”

I recognized her immediately as the woman in the bar, and suddenly realized she had been subtly interrogating me about Liz, trying to find out where she was, and why she wasn’t there with me. 

She glared at me, then disappeared.

“Who are you?” I asked.  “FBI, CIA, NSA?” 

“Why would you assume that I’m from any of those agencies?”

“Your friend who put her head in the door.  I might not have realized who she was last night, but I do now.  You think Liz has committed some sort of cybercrime, don’t you?”

“So, you do know what she’s been up to?”

“No.  But you just told me.  And I suspect a man by the name of Champion has been feeding you scurrilous lies, but you don’t need to say anything more.  You’re right, I do know what this is about, but I know whatever he said to you to get here isn’t true, but, then, he has more money or more low friends in even lower places than we have, so do your worst.”

Liz wasn’t a criminal, nor was she guilty of anything except claiming the rights to her property.  Champion, though, always maintained that anything she created while working for him was his.  True enough, we all signed the contract.  But what she created was after she resigned and we were working on a new project together.  Now, to get around that, he was claiming her work would be a violation of national security.  It would, if it was in his hands, and that was never going to happen.

“It would be good for everyone if she just surrendered and pleaded her case if what you say is true.”

An interesting change in tactics.

I looked him up and down.  Just the sort of man who would sell out to the highest bidder.  Champion was good only at one thing, knowing how much a person would sell out his principles for, even his mother if it came down to it.  Everyone had a price.  Unfortunately for us, it would seem, he didn’t know ours.

He shrugged.  “Perhaps so time in a dark hole might loosen your tongue.”

Dark hold indeed.

To be honest, I thought he was joking, but he was not.

I was put in a small room with no furniture or anything to sit or lie on.  There was just a cold, damp and hard concrete floor, designed to make you so uncomfortable, you’d sell your soul just to get away from it.

There would be some hard choices to be made here.  Would I sell out Liz, would I do everything I could to stop Champion who was intent, now that he had what he wanted, in getting rid of anyone who might have a claim.

She had said this was what would happen, and I didn’t believe her.  No surprise then she was gone and didn’t tell me.

But if they were to ask me, and I was in that frame of mind to tell them everything I knew, there wasn’t much I could tell them.  I think that’s what she had once told me was plausible deniability.

She had been trying to keep me safe, but didn’t realize that my captors didn’t really care whether I knew anything or nothing, they wouldn’t believe me and were going to extract the information they wanted by any and all means available.

Something I definitely wasn’t looking forward to.

It was impossible to stay awake.  I was trying to, just in case they came and took me away while I was unconscious.

Despite the hard, uncomfortable floor, I fell into a fitful sleep, and it was appropriate that I would dream of Elizabeth.

I remembered the first time I met her, being introduced as an assistant programmer, the look of contempt she gave me, and the messenger.  I’d never seen anyone that focussed on their work.

It took a month before she would let me look at the code, and then only small sections at a time.  It was complex, and way beyond anything I had been involved with, which surprised me how it was I got the job.

She said, one morning, and I agreed, that a more experienced programmer was required.

Until I told her five lines of code needed a slight change otherwise there would be a rather interesting result.  I was not only a programmer, I had once worked with a scientist whose field was space and time, not exactly time travel, but he theorized that we could move from one place to another through what were essentially wormholes.

I thought he was working on a script for a television show.

My job was to create a data warehouse, and while doing so, did some reading on the side.

I had also seen the coding behind a prototype machine that was supposed to create the wormhole, but it was too complex for me to understand.

But the code Elizabeth had was almost identical but mixed up.  When I told her, she said I was an idiot who wouldn’t know what day it was, and demanded I leave.

Two days later she came to my apartment, apologized, asked me to return, and on the way asked a thousand questions.

At that time, I learned the scientist I worked for was her mentor, and that he was dead, ostensibly from a heart attack.  She didn’t believe it, and that’s where I got my introduction to the arch-villain Champion.

From there it evolved into something more special, but the constraints of work and her idea of romance seemed to make it more like a rollercoaster ride and I didn’t press.

So, I was, for the time being, content with my dreams, one of which was playing in my head now.

She had appeared, coming through a sort of haze or distortion, and was standing above me, smiling.

It couldn’t be true, and yet it seemed so lifelike.

She knelt down and took my hand in hers, and whispered.  “Wake up, sleepyhead, it’s time to go.”

I could smell the aroma of her perfume enveloping me.

When I went to open my eyes I found they were already open.  I gently squeezed her hand, and it was real.

“Elizabeth?”

“Yes.  Now. We really have to go.”

“Where?”

“Stand up, and I’ll show you.”

I let her pull me to my feet and she gave me a hug, and whispered in my ear, “I love you,”

Now I knew it was a dream.  She had never intimated such feelings before.

I’d play along.  “It’s impossible to escape this cell.”

“Is it?”  She took a step towards the distortion, “Come.”

I followed.  Then, the next moment, I was in the dining room of her apartment”

“What just happened?”

Before she could answer, I lost consciousness.  Last thought, it was too good to be true.

…

©  Charles Heath 2022

The A to Z Challenge – D is for – “Did you hear that?”

It started with a phone call, a phone call that I never expected to get.

I was one of those people who went through life, almost invisible.  It was not what I wanted, it just happened.

I was not the sociable sort, at school I tended to spend my time studying and then being labeled a nerd, I didn’t make friends, except for those who wanted help with their homework.

Few friends in elementary school, fewer in middle school, and none in college, that is no one that you could call a true friend.  They were more acquaintances that were there for the help I could give them, but no one that would invite me to parties, or to just hang out.

That continues on into university. Except there were several new acquainted that were a little more than that, though not quite BFFs.

There was one, in particular, Anna, who was one of the study group, the one who needed the most help, someone who had been wavering on returning after the first year.

My trouble was that I liked her more than she liked me, my opinion of course, based on what I called the indifference factor, but perhaps I had more expectations than she did

She was doing uni because it was expected of her, not because she wanted to be there.  She could take it or leave it, and the last time I spoke to her, she was going to leave.

And when she left to go back home, it was the last time I expected to see or hear from her.

Until that phone call.

“What are you doing this weekend?”

A dumb question, nothing of course, but I wouldn’t tell her that.  I was still in shock that Anna would call me, for anything other than school, if at all.

“Not a lot.”

“Good.  How would you like to housesit with me?”

House sit?  Surely she had a dozen others who would do anything for her.  She was that popular and well-liked.  And would probably be far more amusing than I ever could be.

“If you like.  I had no idea you did house minding.”

“I don’t, but an aunt is going away for the weekend, and she wants someone to look after the cat.  I hope you like cats.  And gardens.  It has a nice garden.”

Cats I could take or leave.  Gardens, it was probably a birdbath, two beds of roses, a large tree with a seat under it, and neighbors peering over the fence.

But it was a weekend somewhere else other than my little room, and Anna would be there.  Maybe I could try to get past my shyness and actually talk to her.

“OK.  I’m in.  Do I need to bring anything?”

“No.  I’ll send you the address and see you there at 5 pm. Friday.”

Why did I get the feeling I was being set up?

That feeling of impending doing followed me down the path from the front gate to the front door.

Far from the house being a small thatch cottage, based on the address she gave me, it turned out to be a three-story manor house with a large outhouse that looked to be once a stable and coach house

It seemed far too large to be a house for one person.

When I rang the doorbell, I expected a butler to answer the door, but it was Anna herself.

“Nice place,” I said.

“Too large and too hard to maintain.  Were trying to convince her that she would be better off in something smaller.  But you should see the back.”

Based on the front garden which could happily grace the front cover of any country living magazine, I couldn’t wait.

She let me pass and closed the door behind us.  It sounded like the vault was closing and there would be no damage until the timer released the locks.

Inside, the whole place reeked of heritage and antiques, and the personality of its owner.  The walls had paintings, table tops had old magazines, the seats worn leather, and worn carpet squares covered floorboards that creaked when you walked on them.

At the end of a long corridor was the kitchen at the end if the house, after passing several sitting and dining rooms.  It was a very large house and raised a very important question.

She had not mentioned any family or relatives with anything like the wealth this house exuded.  In fact, she had often implied that she was just an ordinary person.

This was anything but ordinary.

I caught up with her on the back patio, just off a large sunroom, to view what had to be an acre or more of manicured laws, garden beds, and trees.  All it was missing was a maze.

“Do you actually have a secret life?”

“I was always told not to advertise our wealth.”

“Isn’t showing me this, a form of advertising?  After all, I’m apparently from the wrong side of the tracks.”

“I trust you.”

“But you don’t know me, or anything about me.”

“Why do you think you’re here?”

If I wanted to make an educated guess, my first thought was to set me up for something, for the very reason she was aloof, and people like her, and those she kept company with, were not people like me associated with.

I was surprised not to see the two girls I’d once nicknamed ‘the dynamic duo’, Melissa and Winona, with her.  Maybe they would turn up later.

My second thought, the most improbable reason, was that she wanted to get to know me, but, why choose a place like this?  To make me feel small, grateful, impressed? Ten minutes in a Cafe was all she needed to find out what she needed to know about me.

An alarm bell went off when I asked her where I could get a drink of water, and she said, the kitchen, but didn’t really know where it was. I got an instant bad feeling.

That was followed by a bang that I thought came from the rear of the house.

“Did you hear that?” I asked.

“You hear all sorts of noises in places like these.”

If she wasn’t worried, neither was I.

Then the door chime rang.

“You expecting more visitors?”  My internal fear factor was rising exponentially.

“No, but I’d better find out who it is, just in case.”

I shrugged and headed towards where she indicated the kitchen was, the rear of the house, what I would call an educated guess

After I found the kitchen, not technically at the rear, I returned to find my worst fears had come true.  Not only the dynamic duo but also their boyfriends, Chad and Lester, two of the worst bullies from school days.

“Well, look who it is.”  Chad was particularly menacing.

A glance to the side, it was hard to tell if Anna was looking pleased or neutral, but she wasn’t surprised. I glanced in Anna’s direction and all I got was a tilt of her head.

“Shouldn’t you be down the country club trying to prove you’re a new version of your drunken bully of a father?”

His smile turned into a very angry look.  “Don’t go there, Scanlon.”

“Why are you here then?”

I expected to hear Anna had invited them.  Instead, “we’re here to make sure Anna doesn’t make a mistake.”

“I don’t need your help or advice Chad.  In fact, you should leave.”

None of the four looked like they had any intention of leaving.  “Not until we’ve impressed upon both of you, the error of your ways.  We thought you were smarter than this or did Scanlon force himself on you?”

She shook her head, not necessarily in anger, but more in despair.  “I don’t know where you get your ideas from Chad, but you are very much mistaken.  So, I will only say this once more, Chad,” she added quietly, “otherwise you will find yourself in a world of pain.  Leave now while you still can.”

Chad, being Chad, was the master of ceremonies, puffed up as he had been in the schoolyard when he was about the unleash his gang on some poor misguided fool, usually me, or one of three others.  But it was Melissa who spoke instead, “You go teach Scanlon a lesson outside by the pool while we have a talk to Anna.”

Lester took the cue, came over, and grabbed me by the shoulder.  I thought about trying to shrug him off, but Chad was across the room before I could initiate anything.  Best to leave calmly and sort it out outside.

I gave Anna a last look, but she was wearing her poker face.  Had she set this up?  It seemed as though she hadn’t, but then, it didn’t look like she was worried about the dynamic duo.

I shrugged.

Intentional or not, Chad and Lester were about to learn a very valuable lesson, and revenge, at least on them, was going to be sweet.

…

©  Charles Heath 2022

The A to Z Challenge – C is for – “Can you do me a favor?”

I’d been planning the grand tour of Europe for years, and during that time, I’d worked my butt off working 7 days a week, just so that I could take a year off to do it.

And, now the time had come. 

I’d resigned from my job, cleaned out the office, handed it over to my successor, and all that was left was a few drinks at the local hotel with those whom I’d worked with over the years.

All expressed the same sentiment, they wished they were coming with me.  I said the usual platitudes, that if they came over we’d have to meet up, and if I was staying for an extended period, they could stay with me.

I doubted anyone would take up the offer because we had neither expressed interest in travelling or keeping in touch because although we all had each other’s phone numbers, we rarely called each other.

One call I wasn’t expecting, on the way home after the last of the goodbyes, was from Barry.

Perhaps he was the one I would miss the most, after all, we had worked closely together for the last year or so, I’d been the best man at his wedding, and I was like the brother he never had.

Even his wife, Evie, French by birth, and still getting used to living in another country, considered me as a brother in law.  She may also have thought more of me because I spoke French.  Barry didn’t and didn’t try, even though he had promised he would.

“Barry!”  I was surprised he would call.

“I hear you are going to Paris first, David.”

Evie.  How did she get Barry’s phone?  It was not possible he could get home that quickly.

“Evie.  I had expected to see you at the bar.”

“A wife’s work is never done, as you know.”

She had confided in me one that Barry was a bit of a pain sometimes in his expectations, and it had worried me that his off-hand, sometimes condescending manner, might cause trouble.

“What can I do to help?”

“Can you do me a favour?  Drop by on your way home, and I’ll explain.”

It sounded ominous. 

“OK.” It wasn’t far out of the way, and wouldn’t be the first I’d dropped in.

I pondered the manner in which she had called on Barry’s phone and still hadn’t worked it out by the time I arrived at their front door.

Evie answered the door.

“Barry not home?”

“Not yet.  You know him, always the last to leave.”  Was that exasperation in her tone, or something else.  “Come in.”

There was the faint aroma of cooking in the air.  Evie was a chef back in Paris, and after she arrived, worked off and on in various restaurants, but her temperament meant she often didn’t last long in one establishment.

But one thing I’d discovered, she was a very good cook.  Could I hope for an invitation to try out what she was cooking?

“What’s the problem?”

“No problem.  Just need a favour.”  She picked up a letter, or perhaps it was a card. And gave it to me.  “While you’re in Paris, could you hand-deliver it for me?  It would mean a lot.”

“Special?”

“Very.”

“You couldn’t post it?”

She shook her head.  “I need to know it got there.”

“That special?”

“For me, yes.  You cannot imagine.  Now, would you like to try my latest creation?  Chicken is no longer boring, trust me.”

I never gave the letter another thought until I arrived in Paris and was unpacking my bag for an elongated stay.

The plan had been that Paris was my first stop because there were several people I wanted to visit, but one had been in Hong Kong, texting me just before I got on the plan, and because my travel arrangements were flexible, I stopped at Hong Kong and then went on a two-week tour of China at his suggestion.

It had been worth the effort.

That stopover had flow-on benefits because the apartment in Paris I had wanted to stay in was not available had I stuck to the original plan, but now it was.

I put the letter on the table and went back to that night when Evie gave it to me.

If I thought about it, and I had, several times since then, I had to say I had seen a different Evie, and I hoped that my impression of her now, was based on an aberration.

And had I not been the friend I was, I might have easily slipped into doing something I would regret.  I remember walking away thinking Barry had to put on more effort or he was going to lose her.

I went out into the balcony and took in the still-warm night, and the display of lights.  Somewhere I had read Paris was the city of lights, and there was a tour, one I would take sooner rather than later.

After several glasses of wine, I took out the map and worked out how I would get to the address on the envelope.  Seven underground stations and a half km walk, not far from the Sacre Coeur Church in Montmartre.

A little sightseeing on the side, and lunch at a crepe Cafe nearby.

I had planned to see the Eiffel tower, but it could wait.  It’s not as if I could see it from afar from just about everywhere in Paris.

If it could be said something could burn a hole in your pocket, I would have said it was that letter.

From the moment I picked it up and put it in my pocket, I had a strange sense of foreboding.  There was absolutely no reason I should, I’d known Evie a long time, and she wasn’t a bad person, nor had she ever indicated there was a dark side.

But, people were complex characters, and often we only see what we want to see, or what they want us to see.

And, of course, I was one of those people prone to overthinking everything.

As I turned the corner into the street of the address on the envelope, I stopped and looked around, very carefully at everyone.

Parisians going about their daily business, not terrorists, not criminals, not people solely out to get me.  And yet that feeling of paranoia was getting worse.

After twenty minutes of debating whether or not to turn tail and run, I carried on.  I was on the street of the envelopes address, and reaching the building, pressed the button to the apartment number.

A buzzing sound told me the door had been opened, and I went in.  Three flights of stairs, the apartment was at the end of the corridor.

I pushed the doorbell and waited a minute before the door opened.  A man, not the sort of person I expected Evie would associate with.  And certainly not French.

“I have a letter…”

He reached out, snatched it out of my hand, and then slammed the door shut in my face.

“A thank you would have been nice.”  I shrugged.

Very, very strange.

A few seconds later the door opened again, the man peering out at me.  “Thank you for delivering this.  Much appreciated.”  Then he closed the door more quietly this time.

I shrugged.  Had he heard me muttering through the door?

I went back down again, passing a woman in work clothes, not someone you’d normally pay any attention to.

I did, looking up at her on the stairs as she looked back down at me.

It hastened my departure from that building.

Outside the front door, I could see a police car pull up beside the kerb.

Damn.

Were they here for me?

I hesitated, just as one of the officers got out of the car and was looking directly at me.  It was like he instantly recognised me.

I froze.

Then I felt my arm being yanked and a female voice behind me.  “We have to go.  Now.”

The urgency and insistence in her tone spurred me into action and I followed her up the passage to a rear door which she opened and thrust me out into the courtyard.

“Go.  Don’t look back.  You will be safe if you go back to your hotel.”

The door slammed shut behind me.

What the hell just happened?

…

©  Charles Heath 2022

The A to Z Challenge – B is for – “Be careful what you wish for”

Everyone always wants to change their circumstances, particularly if you are among those who are not so well off.

My father always said, whenever we complained about not having enough money to go on holiday, or buy something we needed, that there was always someone worse off than we were.

As a child, I could hardly believe that was true when it looked like everyone else had everything they wanted.

As an adult, I promised myself that I would never be in those circumstances, that I would always have enough money.

And, of course, what you want, what you would like, and what really happens are very different outcomes, and no matter how much planning, or how many contingencies plans you have in place, a single event can wreck everything.

When you open the front door and see policemen, two thoughts cross your mind.  The first, they’re at the wrong place, the second, that something awful has just happened.

“George Williamson?”

It was the second.

“May we come inside?”

As I stood to one side, a thousand thoughts went through my mind until it settled on one, something had happened to Jane.

As she did on every Wednesday morning, she got up early, I made her breakfast, she kissed the tones and told them she would be back the next day, then headed for the airport for her weekly visit to hear office. 

When we had to move, her company agreed to let her work from home, and it was an arrangement that worked well, she was only missing for two days a week, and a week when the annual accounting was done.

She was due back this morning.

Instead, I had to police officers in my lounge room, looking very somber.

“Something has happened to Jane, hasn’t it.”  I almost couldn’t bring myself to say it.

The policewoman spoke.  It was like they had drawn straws and she got the short one.

“I’m very sorry to say your wife was involved in an accident this morning, on her way to the Atlanta airport.  We have just been informed she passed away.”

It was one of those moments when there were no words.  In fact, I was not sure what I felt in that moment other than a great sadness.

“How?” 

“We understand a car ran a red light, hit the limousine.  Had she been on the other side…”

Not much consolation in speculation.

“Do you have someone you can call; do you need us to arrange for support…”

“I have a sister, I’ll call her.  Thank you for coming and telling me, I guess this is not what you want to be doing at this time of the morning.”

“Part of the job, sir.”

I ushered them to the door and after reassuring them I would be OK, and getting out the phone to call my sister, they left.

The shock of it hadn’t set in.  As I closed the door, my thoughts turned to the twins, now at school.  They adored their mother and would be expecting her to pick them up from school.

I would have to get them before news of her death reached them.  These days, with the internet, someone would find out and it would be better to hear it from me.

“George?”

My sister, Eileen.  She had been amazed that I would find a girl like Jane let alone marry her.  She had always expected me to be the philandering bachelor.

“Something very bad has happened?”

“Jane?”

“Killed in a car crash this morning in Atlanta.  The police were just here.”

“Oh my God, George.  The girls.”

“I know.  I have to get to them.  Can you be here when I get home?  They’ll need you.”

“Sure.  On my way.”

Next call, the girl’s school.  I called the head Master and explained the situation, and he immediately had them brought to his office.

When I arrived, I put on my best ‘this is a happy day’ face and went in, mustering all of the courage I had to not look like something bad had happened.

The girls, of course, thought that their mother had arrived home early and come to get them.  She had done it before.

They were only mildly disappointed to see me.

“Mommy not here?”

“Sorry, you have to tolerate me for a while.  We have to go home and you’ve been given a day pass.”

Knowing how much they preferred not to be at school, the diversion worked.

The headmaster gave me a wan look as we left.

I fielded a hundred questions on the way home, all of which centered around what surprise Mom had in store for them, and the fact it had to be monumental since they had to go home early.

All the tome I was trying to think of a way to let them down gently, but there wasn’t one.  Being blunt wasn’t the way either, they deserved the truth.

As soon as they saw Eileen, I could see the hesitation and a note of trepidation.  Usually, Eileen came over when Jane was going to have an extended stay away.

“I need you two to go into the lounge and sit down.  I’ll be then in a minute.”

“Is mommy’s not coming home today?”

They knew something was wrong.

“I’ll be in in a minute and will explain everything.”

At least Eileen had to foresight not to show any sign of the distress I knew she must be feeling.

When the girls had gone into the room she gave me the teary-eyed look, and a hug.

“You must be devastated.”

“It hasn’t sunk in.  I’m still expecting her to walk in the door, and this is all a bad mistake.”

“The girls…”

“This is one time I hate the idea of being a father.”

“Then I’m glad you called me.  You could not break this alone.  They are going to be devastated.”

Everyone who knew her would be.

Once again I had to find the courage to keep it together, but at least I had support.

It went better than I expected.  At first, they thought it was an elaborate prank, though I was not sure how they could think that.

Then, when they realized it was true, they, like I was when I first heard the news, were in shock, and barely able to comprehend the reality of it.

I did remember saying at one point, “I wish she was still alive, and that she would walk back through that door…” but not able to finish.

So, we just sat there, in silence, the rest of the world passing by, going about its business.

Until there was another knock on the door.

I was going to ignore it, but a nod from Eileen got me off the seat.

Perhaps the police were back to tell me it was all a big mistake, and it was someone else who’d died.

I opened the door…

…and neatly had a heart attack.

“Jane?”

A wish come true?  Standing before me was a woman who looked exactly like Jane, down to the last detail, including the unmanageable whisp of hair.

“You must be George.  No, not Jane, Jill, the banished evil twin.  Now, where is she?”

…

©  Charles Heath 2022

The A to Z Challenge – A is for – “Are you sure you want to do this?”

It was a routine call, that a man was behaving strangely in a shopping mall.  It was passed from mall security to the local police, and then, when the man became agitated and produced a weapon, they called in the next line of police, and they called us.

At the scene, I counted 12 police cars, marked and unmarked, a van, SWAT, several fire and rescue trucks, and a host of bystanders, all crowding at the barrier that was set far too close to the exit.

“You don’t mind if I take the lead on this one?”  Josephine had been my partner for the last six months, at first training on the job, then started taking cases.  This would be her second.

“Not at all.  You’re ready.”

It was a relief, the last event was difficult, long, and both mentally and physically exhausting, but we saved the wife and two children.  There was never going to be an option to save the husband.  I realized too late that it had always been his aim to be killed by the police, and sadly, two trigger-happy deputies were only too happy to oblige.  A bad day all around, in the end.

Logistically, the mall had been emptied in a brief window when the man was engaged in talking to the local police, except for two shop assistants.  When the man realized what was happening, he had taken them both as hostages.  Had he not, we would have had a quiet afternoon.  Now, deputies were stationed inside the ball, cutting off an easy retreat, outside the front entrance, and one inside, but pinned down.

While we were en route, the local negotiator had been establishing communications with the perpetrator, and this had been completed when we got there.

The perpetrator had fired off seven shots, and it was estimated that he may have up to 12 remaining shots.  Based on the seven shots fired, it was assumed he was a very good shot, even though he had not hit anyone.

Nor had he made any demands, other than to suggest they find a proper negotiator, which was odd because the one in situ was one of the best in the country.

Josephine had been waiting for me to finish my observations, and, when I joined her, she dialed the perpetrator’s number.

“At last.”  Male, agitated, angry perhaps, but definitely on the edge.  The fact that he hadn’t threatened or harmed the hostages yet told me there was a chance this might be resolved.

“My name is Josephine McTrantor, can you start by telling me your name?”

“Is Oliver Strand there?”

That was me.  Surprise number one.

She looked at me, and I shrugged.  It was her negotiation.  “I will be handling the negotiations today, sir, but it would be helpful if I had a name?”

“He is there.  I want to talk to him.  I don’t want to talk to anyone else.  Tell him to call me when he’s ready.”

The line went dead.

“Well, that’s a little unusual,” the local police commander muttered.  He had been observing events from a distance, although he still had overall control of the situation.  “Your fame precedes you, Mr. Strand.”

“What would you like to do, sir?”  Josephine looked as though she would be more than happy to pass this on.

I held out my hand, and she put the phone in it.  “I suppose we should find out what he wants.  The trouble is, he hasn’t been making wild demands or threats, just getting our attention.  It makes me think there’s something else in play.”

I dialed the number.

When he answered, he said, “This better be Oliver Strand.”

“It is,” I said, “but you have me at a disadvantage.  What is your name, sir?”

“Gerald Rawlings.  We have matters to discuss, and I would prefer to do that in person.”

Railings.  That name had some significance, but for the moment I couldn’t think where or why.

“I will arrange safe passage to a neutral place, but it can’t be in the mall.”

“I’m not leaving here.  You will come to me, not the other way around.  I will exchange all if the hostages and allow you to remove everyone else, but only once you are here, with me.  You have an hour to comply otherwise the hostages die.”

Once again the phone went dead.

I looked at the phone, though I’m not sure why then put it on the makeshift table.  I looked at the police commander, “Well, now we know what he wants.  Me.”

“You’re not going to agree to those terms, because it seems to me he has an ax to grind.”

Then it hit me.  He did.  I knew the name was familiar.  He had what I presumed to be a brother, Axel Rawlings.  Two years before, another hostage situation, one that could have been avoided, only by the time we were called I’m, two hostages were dead, and there was nowhere for Axel to go, even if he surrendered, which he didn’t.

I had made progress, but some overzealous marksman took the shot, without my permission, and a tragedy followed, compounded by the fact the officer in question got off without any charges.

Now the past had caught up to the present.  I could have avoided that tragedy with a little more effort.  I wasn’t going to let history repeat itself.

“He does, and I know what this is about.” 

Josephine looked concerned.  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No, but if I don’t, then this is going to go down exactly the same as it did with his brother.”  I took the phone and dialed the number.  “Ten minutes, Gerald.  Be sure you honor your part of the deal.”

To the others, “I expect you all to remain on standby, but under no circumstances is anyone to take any shots unless I say so.  Is that clear?”

A nod from both.

Time enough to steel myself before going in.  I gave Josephine my gun, and they fitted a mike.  At least someone would be listening this time.

Ten minutes went by quickly.

“Wish me luck.”

I was going to need it.

© Charles Heath 2022

The A to Z Challenge – A is for – “Are you sure you want to do this?”

It was a routine call, that a man was behaving strangely in a shopping mall.  It was passed from mall security to the local police, and then, when the man became agitated and produced a weapon, they called in the next line of police, and they called us.

At the scene, I counted 12 police cars, marked and unmarked, a van, SWAT, several fire and rescue trucks, and a host of bystanders, all crowding at the barrier that was set far too close to the exit.

“You don’t mind if I take the lead on this one?”  Josephine had been my partner for the last six months, at first training on the job, then started taking cases.  This would be her second.

“Not at all.  You’re ready.”

It was a relief, the last event was difficult, long, and both mentally and physically exhausting, but we saved the wife and two children.  There was never going to be an option to save the husband.  I realized too late that it had always been his aim to be killed by the police, and sadly, two trigger-happy deputies were only too happy to oblige.  A bad day all around, in the end.

Logistically, the mall had been emptied in a brief window when the man was engaged in talking to the local police, except for two shop assistants.  When the man realized what was happening, he had taken them both as hostages.  Had he not, we would have had a quiet afternoon.  Now, deputies were stationed inside the ball, cutting off an easy retreat, outside the front entrance, and one inside, but pinned down.

While we were en route, the local negotiator had been establishing communications with the perpetrator, and this had been completed when we got there.

The perpetrator had fired off seven shots, and it was estimated that he may have up to 12 remaining shots.  Based on the seven shots fired, it was assumed he was a very good shot, even though he had not hit anyone.

Nor had he made any demands, other than to suggest they find a proper negotiator, which was odd because the one in situ was one of the best in the country.

Josephine had been waiting for me to finish my observations, and, when I joined her, she dialed the perpetrator’s number.

“At last.”  Male, agitated, angry perhaps, but definitely on the edge.  The fact that he hadn’t threatened or harmed the hostages yet told me there was a chance this might be resolved.

“My name is Josephine McTrantor, can you start by telling me your name?”

“Is Oliver Strand there?”

That was me.  Surprise number one.

She looked at me, and I shrugged.  It was her negotiation.  “I will be handling the negotiations today, sir, but it would be helpful if I had a name?”

“He is there.  I want to talk to him.  I don’t want to talk to anyone else.  Tell him to call me when he’s ready.”

The line went dead.

“Well, that’s a little unusual,” the local police commander muttered.  He had been observing events from a distance, although he still had overall control of the situation.  “Your fame precedes you, Mr. Strand.”

“What would you like to do, sir?”  Josephine looked as though she would be more than happy to pass this on.

I held out my hand, and she put the phone in it.  “I suppose we should find out what he wants.  The trouble is, he hasn’t been making wild demands or threats, just getting our attention.  It makes me think there’s something else in play.”

I dialed the number.

When he answered, he said, “This better be Oliver Strand.”

“It is,” I said, “but you have me at a disadvantage.  What is your name, sir?”

“Gerald Rawlings.  We have matters to discuss, and I would prefer to do that in person.”

Railings.  That name had some significance, but for the moment I couldn’t think where or why.

“I will arrange safe passage to a neutral place, but it can’t be in the mall.”

“I’m not leaving here.  You will come to me, not the other way around.  I will exchange all if the hostages and allow you to remove everyone else, but only once you are here, with me.  You have an hour to comply otherwise the hostages die.”

Once again the phone went dead.

I looked at the phone, though I’m not sure why then put it on the makeshift table.  I looked at the police commander, “Well, now we know what he wants.  Me.”

“You’re not going to agree to those terms, because it seems to me he has an ax to grind.”

Then it hit me.  He did.  I knew the name was familiar.  He had what I presumed to be a brother, Axel Rawlings.  Two years before, another hostage situation, one that could have been avoided, only by the time we were called I’m, two hostages were dead, and there was nowhere for Axel to go, even if he surrendered, which he didn’t.

I had made progress, but some overzealous marksman took the shot, without my permission, and a tragedy followed, compounded by the fact the officer in question got off without any charges.

Now the past had caught up to the present.  I could have avoided that tragedy with a little more effort.  I wasn’t going to let history repeat itself.

“He does, and I know what this is about.” 

Josephine looked concerned.  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No, but if I don’t, then this is going to go down exactly the same as it did with his brother.”  I took the phone and dialed the number.  “Ten minutes, Gerald.  Be sure you honor your part of the deal.”

To the others, “I expect you all to remain on standby, but under no circumstances is anyone to take any shots unless I say so.  Is that clear?”

A nod from both.

Time enough to steel myself before going in.  I gave Josephine my gun, and they fitted a mike.  At least someone would be listening this time.

Ten minutes went by quickly.

“Wish me luck.”

I was going to need it.

© Charles Heath 2022

“Call me!” – a short story

You know what it’s like on Monday morning, especially if it’s very cold and the double glazing is failing miserably to keep the cold out.

It was warm under three blankets thick sheets and a doona, and I didn’t want to get up.

It doesn’t help if in the last few months, the dream job you once had turned into a drudge, and there was any number of reasons to stay home rather than go into the office. Once, that was trying to find an excuse to stay home because you’d rather go to work.

That was a long time ago or felt like it.

My cell phone vibrated; an incoming message, or more likely a reminder. I reached out into the icy wasteland that was the distance from under the covers to my phone on the bedside table. It was very cold out there, and for a moment I regretted that impulse to check.

It was a reminder; I had a meeting at HR with the manager. I had thought I might be eligible for redundancy since the company was in the throes of a cost-cutting exercise. Once I might have been apprehensive, but now, given my recent change in department and responsibility, I was kind of hoping now that it was.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Time to get up sleepy head. You have a meeting to go to, not one to be late.”

It felt strange to wake up with someone else in the bed. My luck in that department hadn’t been all that hood lately, but something changed, and at the usual Friday night after-work drinks at the pub, I ran into one of the PA’s I’d seen around, one who was curious to meet me as much as I was to meet her.

One thing had led to another and when I asked her if she wanted to drop in on the way home, she did.

“I’d prefer not to. I can think of better things to do.”

“So, could I but that’s not the point. Five more minutes, then I’m pushing you out.”

She snuggled into my back, and I could feel the warmth of her body, and having the exact opposite effect than she intended. But she was right. It was important, and I had to go. But, in the meantime, it was four more minutes and counting.

When you get a call from the head of HR it usually means one of two things, a promotion, or those two dreaded words, ‘you’re fired’, though not usually said with the same dramatic effect.

This year had already been calamitous enough getting sidelined from Mergers and Acquisitions because I’d been usurped. That was the word I was going with, but it was to a certain extent, my fault. I took my eye off the ball and allowed someone else to make their case.

Of course, it helped that the person was connected to all the right people in the company, and, with the change in Chairman, it was also a matter of removing some of the people who were appointed by the previous incumbent.

I and four of my equivalent managers had been usurped and moved to places where they would have less impact. I had finished up in sales and marketing, and to be quite honest, it was such a step-down, I had already decided to leave when the opportunity presented itself.

My assistant manager, who had already put in his resignation, was working out his final two weeks. I told him to take leave until the contract expired, but he was more dedicated than that. He had got in before me and was sitting at his desk a cup of coffee in his hand and another on the desk.

“How many days?”

“Six and counting. What about you? You should be out canvassing. There are at least three other places I know would be waiting to hear from you.”

“It’s still in the consideration phase.”

“You’re likely to get the chop anyway, with this thing you have with Sharkey.”

Sharkey was the HR manager.

You know something I don’t?” I picked up the coffee, removed the lid, and took in the aroma.
“They’re downsizing. Broadham had decided to go on a cost-cutting exercise, and instead of the suggested efficiencies we put up last year, they’re going with people. I don’t think he quite gets it.”

“You mean my replacement doesn’t know anything about efficiency. He makes a good yes man though, telling Broadham exactly what he wants to hear.”

Broadham, the new Chairman, never did understand that people appointed to important positions needed to have the relevant qualifications and experience. My replacement had neither. That was when the employees loyal to the previous Chairman had started leaving.

We had called it death, whilst Broadham had called it natural attrition. He didn’t quite understand that so far, over 300 years of experience had left, and as much again was in the process of leaving.

“Are you going to tell Sharky you’re leaving?”

“I’ll wait and see what he has to say. I think he knows the ship is sinking.”

There wasn’t much I didn’t know about the current state of the company, and with the departures, I knew it was only a matter of time. Sharky was a good man, but he couldn’t stem the tide.

He also knew the vagaries of profits and share prices, and we had been watching the share price, and the market itself. It was teetering, and in the last few months, parcels of shares were being unloaded, not a lot at one time, but a steady trickle.

That told me that Broadham and his cronies were cashing in while the going was good, and quite possibly were about to steer the ship onto the rocks. The question was who was buying, and that, after some hard research I found to be certain board members. Why, I suspected, was to increase their holdings and leverage, but I don’t think they quite realized that there would be nothing left but worthless stock certificates.

It was evidence, when I finally left, that I would pass on to the relevant authorities.

In the meantime, I had a meeting to go to.

“Best of luck,” my assistant muttered as I passed his desk.

“If I don’t return, I will have been escorted from the building. If that happens, call me.”

It had happened before. When people were sacked, they were escorted to their office, allowed to pack their belongings, and were then escorted to the front door. It would be an ignominious end to an illustrious career, or so I’d been told by the girl who was no doubt still asleep in my bed.

She had heard the whispers.

The walk to the lift, the traversing of the four floors to the executive level, and then to the outer office where Sharkey’s PA sat took all of three minutes. I had hoped it would be longer.

“He’s waiting for you,” she said, “go on in.”

I knocked on the door, then went in, closing it behind me. “Now, sir, what on earth could you want to see me about?

© Charles Heath 2021