The castle is located in the southern Chianti Classico countryside and has been there for over ten centuries, and owned by the Ricasoli family since 1141.
The newer part of the castle dates from the 1800s. The larger brick palace was built in the Gothic revival-style.
The new castle was built on top of the old castle’s ramparts
The walkway leads to the guard’s tower, and views over the countryside, and in particular, the styled gardens of English origin
And beyond these gardens, the vineyards
Here’s the thing…
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
Rather tired and bleary eyes, I made it to the fishing store five minutes late. I had a lot on my mind, woken late, and then had to battle traffic. I longed for the day I could afford a car, though riding the bike kept me fit.
It also took my mind of the encounter last night, the one that had kept me away, my imagination almost getting the better of me.
Boggs was there, and he didn’t look happy.
“Where were you last night? I tried to get you, but you weren’t answering.”
I had the phone on silent. Ringing phones had a way of bringing unwanted attention.
“I had something I had to do.”
“You went to the Lantern without me.”
What? Does he have a network of spies I knew nothing about? “So, I heard it went respectable and had to check it out.” And hoping Boggs didn’t know who was in attendance, other than me.
“We said we would go there together.”
“You apparently had something else on last night.”
“It’s not what you think. I had to go with my mother to the hospital for her 6 monthly checks.”
It was easy to forget. She’d had a cancer scare a few years back, and had undergone chemo for a few months, sending it into remission. But it came with 6 monthly checks, and both Boggs and his mother were constantly worried it might come back. It seemed it always did when you least expected it.
“And what was the verdict.”
He relented a little. “Good.”
“Then, I assure you that was more important.” No point in telling Boggs what I was doing, just in case it backfired, or he disagreed. “And I can assure you the place is not worth it anymore. Boring as shit.”
He shook his head. Not pleased, but at least not angry.
“Has Rico shown his face?” I asked.
“Yes, about an hour back, some of those people he associates with came and they went off together.”
Perhaps he was annoyed that I hadn’t been there because I’m sure Boggs would follow him.
“You’ve been here all this time?”
“He came to our place last night. I’m sure it was him who searched in my room. Not much of a professional thief, he left a mess behind. Went through the outhouse as well.”
“Looking for the map?”
“Seems so. He didn’t find it.”
No, he wouldn’t, because Boggs had it with him. At least that was what I thought he intimated a day or two ago.
“Copies?”
He reached for his back pocket and pulled out some folded paper. “Thought you might like to keep a copy for yourself.”
I tried hard to keep the excitement out of my manner. It saved me having to make up an excuse as to why I wanted a copy of the map, and I didn’t want to tell him about the plan involving Nadia, not unless I had to.
“Thanks,” I said, and slipped it into my pocket.
“Now, let’s go check out his boat.”
© Charles Heath 2019
Here’s the thing…
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
Before the waterfront cleanup, the Shingle Inn was another of those places respectable people didn’t go to. And those from out of town only stayed there if everything else was taken, or they were looking for a reason to visit a hospital.
I knew this not because it was advertised on the radio or television, or it was in the newspapers, or it probably was but I never read any of them, but because several of my senior year classmates went there on a dare to sample ‘the fare’.
They learned the lesson the hard way so all the rest of us wouldn’t make the same mistake.
So, the question I had to ask myself when I reached the safety of a bus shelter about 100 yards from the bar, was the reason Nadia was staying there, or if she was not, how did she have a room key.
I was hoping she had not fallen into the ways some of the girls did, going down the path of drugs, loans they couldn’t pay, and ending being owned by some seedy man. That had happened too, and to girls, I had believed knew better.
I guess I was no judge of character, then or now.
Should I go there now and wait for her, perhaps check the place out, and the room, and see if she was staying there.
Or should I read between the lines, and consider this might be a trap of some sort, and that her brother, Vince, would turn up and ‘teach me a lesson not to meddle in their affairs’. The latter seemed more likely.
And yet it was the dumb ass stupid streak I had that was telling me to go, just to see what happened. I wasn’t looking for nor did I expect that she was offering me anything, so, giving her the benefit of the doubt, it might mean she was entertaining my suggestion of getting the map to get her off Alex’s hook.
That would then leave only one question, what did I want from her in return.
Fifteen minuted before the hour was up, I was standing in the shadows watching the Inn. In the hour since the bar, the sun had gone down, and now the Inn, shrouded in gaudy colours from broken neon lights, and a sign that made it look like a hotel in paradise, looked like it was, a den of iniquity.
The girls for hire were still there. The rooms had different lights above the door of each room that I could see, one red one green which I guessed let others know the room was free or occupied.
The room the key Nadia had given me had no lights on, so I was not sure what that meant.
Ten minutes to go, a car pulled up outside the office, and I saw Vince get out.
Illusion shattered. It was a setup, she was upset by my appearance at the bar and had called in the punishment crew. Two minutes later he came back out of the office with a briefcase, got in the car, and drove off.
Was the Inn one of the Cossatino’s establishments, or was that for protection, or picking up drugs? Or all three?
I shrugged. Time to find out what Nadia’s intentions were.
I kept to the shadows, crossed the road where it was darkest, and came upon the room from the rear fire stairs. The room was the second from the end, so I would not have to walk along the balcony very far, and risk being seen.
At the door, a look in either direction, I unlocked the door, opened it, and waited to see if there were any surprises inside waiting, nothing stirred, so I went in and closed the door behind me.
There were no surprises inside; it was just a room with two beds and a bathroom. A suitcase was beside one of the beds, and its contents spread over the bed.
The aroma of some recognisable perfume came from the bathroom, looking a mess with worn clothes on the floor in one corner, and used towels in the other.
She was staying here. One of the questions I was going to ask was why?
© Charles Heath 2019
Here’s the thing…
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
Five minutes past the appointed time, I sat on the end of the clean bed and waited. The single chair didn’t look very comfortable.
It didn’t worry me she was late, she had not specifically stated how long she would be, but to be there in an hour. If she had business with dark glasses, then she might be a while. Giving me the key to her room suggested she was not bringing him back with her.
There was a light rapping on the door, hinting at a sense of urgency. Without looking,. I opened the door, and she slid through and I closed it quickly and quietly.
“I thought you might not be coming?”
I went to switch on the light, but heard her say, “No lights.”
My eyes were already adjusted to the light, or lack of light, and I could see her standing by the door to the bathroom. Everything about her manner suggested she was ill at ease, or perhaps frightened of something or someone.
Or waiting for Vince, and had to string me along until he arrived.
“Why?”
“No one knows I’m here.”
“Not even Vince?”
“No. Especially him.”
“He was here about twenty minutes ago, went into the office and came out with a briefcase.”
“I suggest you forget you ever saw that.”
Drugs then, or protection money, or… OK forgotten. “Duly forgotten as requested.”
“Is this pace one of the Cossatino’s places?”
“If you saw Vince, then it is. It never used to be. The Benderby’s used to bring their clients here, back in the day. Vince had some of the rooms wired, you know, blackmail, that kind of stuff.”
I could imagine. I’m sure the ‘clients’ never brought their wives here to have a good time.
“Why are you staying here?”
“Can’t stay at home. Things have changed. I’m not interested in working with the family business. It’s why I left in the first place.”
Imagination running wild, I think I began feeling sorry for her. Beautiful girl, stupid men, caught in a seedy hotel. My respect for old man Cossatino just took a dive.
“Why come back then?”
“Alex. He’s a bastard, just like his father. All those Benderby’s are the same. You say you’ve got a plan that might help get him off my back?”
She took off her coat and threw it on the bed with the other clothes. It wasn’t that dark I couldn’t see her outline and had to look away.
“A possible plan. One that might kill two birds with one stone. I have to look out for Boggs because he had got himself into a mess that he doesn’t realise the full potential of yet.”
“The treasure map?”
“I wish people would stop calling it that. It’s just a piece of paper with a drawing on it. I’m sure the whole myth was concocted by Boggs’ father as another one of his schemes.”
Everyone knew Boggs father was a touch crazy and had come up with a number of schemes, some even calling the ‘get rich quick’ schemes, and one had landed him in jail. He never quite understood the nature of the schemes he’d bought off other people in the hope of getting rich himself. The treasure map, that was a new one for him, but one of his previous customers had caught up with him, and he’d not lived long enough to play this one out.
Boggs unfortunately, was doing it for him.
“You don’t think it’s real?”
“What I think is irrelevant.”
She moved closer and sat on the side of the bed, not far from me.
“So what is this plan?”
“I get you a copy of the map, you give it to Alex, see what he says. You know you can’t trust him, or anything he says.”
She was too close, so I moved, trying to look like I was not moving. But at the same moment, I had no idea what it was about her that scared me. It was apparent she hadn’t told Vince about this meeting.
“It’s a chance I have to take, and you are right, I don’t want to cosy up to Rico. I have had previous dealings with him, and he is not nice. But, if you are willing to do this for me, what do you want in return?”
The inevitable question and I think I could guess what she thought I might want. And that thought did cross my mind.
“Nothing.”
“That is not possible. All men want something.”
“I’m not all men. I owe Alex a little payback and this will be a small cog in a big wheel. If it helps you, good, but I know the Benderby’s and nothing is easy with them.”
“This plan…”
“The less you know the better.” I stood, and then moved to the door. “I’m only going to be able to see you in the early hours of the morning. I’m working an afternoon shift till midnight, and I don’t want to come here in the daylight.”
She stood and came over to join me.
“You are going to have to do something about Rico because Alex will ask him.”
It was something that also occurred to me just before she raised it. I knew there was going to be a problem, I just hadn’t realised it at the time. Now, it seemed like another of those insurmountable things.
“I’ll think of something.”
“Then soon.” She put a piece of paper in my hand. “My cell number. Send me a text before you come.”
Our hands touched briefly and it sent a shiver down my spine.
“I will.”
There was a moment, looking into her eyes where I didn’t want to leave, but fortunately, common sense kicked in, I opened the door and slipped out in the cold night air. As it shut behind me I shivered.
It had nothing to do with the cold.
© Charles Heath 2019
I’m lying awake in the dark, my mind is racing with endless thoughts centred on a world wide disaster. There are things happening that could lead to what could only be described as a catastrophic event that leads to a dystopian world, one no one thought could possible happen.
Of course, it hasn’t happened, but could it…
Here’s how my mind is connecting the dots.
There are two superpowers, both nuclear equipped, and both antagonistic towards each other. Tensions have been rising, but not only with one country, but a number of countries.
In the other, an election comes and goes, there’s no decisive result, and it leads to skirmishes that eventually break out into the second civil war. No heed is paid to the virus that had been killing indiscriminately before, and seemingly had disappeared.
A fearsome world is watching what will happen as millions are being killed.
The adversarial country deems, when the civil war is at it’s zenith to attack an uncoordinated and vulnerable country, thinking no one would have their finger on the button. Nuclear weapons are launched on either side, other countries join in, and that plunges the world into a nightmare no one could have predicted.
It takes three months for the dust to settle, and to realise that more than three billion people have died from the nuclear fallout, and whole countries are now just infertile and dangerous wastelands.
And then the virus comes back, because there are no medical facilities, no fresh or running water, and no food. No electricity, no oil, no petrol, no vehicles, or transport of any kind.
In one decisive and utterly stupid move, everyone is back in the stone age, or worse.
…
Every day is a battle to survive, to keep away from the virus infected people, find food, find or build shelter, and above all, find water. All of which are not contaminated.
The land in one country that was more or less suffered two destroyed cities and caused millions of deaths, looks from a certain perspective, as though nothing has happened. There are tracts of land that are still fertile, near water, but have been taken over by the few who thought to have weapons and the forethought to create fiefdoms.
People can go there, but they are subjugated into what could be called slavery, and sacrifice everything, including their freedom, as the price to live. It’s inevitable that some will rule and others will follow, much like feudal England in the early years.
The people thought that their rights and freedom had been trampled on before the great conflagration, but now, they realise that was nothing compared to the new normal. Executions, heinous punishment for simple crimes, starvation and dehydration. The dreaded socialism that was earlier feared has come home to roost.
It’s not the first story of it’s type, it follows a fairly standard formula that I’ve read in a few books, each using a different premise for the reason, and taking a more reasonable line in the aftermath where people help each other rather than the few subjugating the masses.
To be honest, I don’t think there would be much kindness and co-operation in a world like that, simply because we’ve gone too far down the road being greedy and searching for power, particularly over others.
The meek will certainly not inherit the earth.
Of course, there’s always an exception to very rule, and this is the protagonist for this story.
…
Feel free to adapt it any way you like.
And let’s hope it doesn’t happen in reality.
I’m lying awake in the dark, my mind is racing with endless thoughts centred on a world wide disaster. There are things happening that could lead to what could only be described as a catastrophic event that leads to a dystopian world, one no one thought could possible happen.
Of course, it hasn’t happened, but could it…
Here’s how my mind is connecting the dots.
There are two superpowers, both nuclear equipped, and both antagonistic towards each other. Tensions have been rising, but not only with one country, but a number of countries.
In the other, an election comes and goes, there’s no decisive result, and it leads to skirmishes that eventually break out into the second civil war. No heed is paid to the virus that had been killing indiscriminately before, and seemingly had disappeared.
A fearsome world is watching what will happen as millions are being killed.
The adversarial country deems, when the civil war is at it’s zenith to attack an uncoordinated and vulnerable country, thinking no one would have their finger on the button. Nuclear weapons are launched on either side, other countries join in, and that plunges the world into a nightmare no one could have predicted.
It takes three months for the dust to settle, and to realise that more than three billion people have died from the nuclear fallout, and whole countries are now just infertile and dangerous wastelands.
And then the virus comes back, because there are no medical facilities, no fresh or running water, and no food. No electricity, no oil, no petrol, no vehicles, or transport of any kind.
In one decisive and utterly stupid move, everyone is back in the stone age, or worse.
…
Every day is a battle to survive, to keep away from the virus infected people, find food, find or build shelter, and above all, find water. All of which are not contaminated.
The land in one country that was more or less suffered two destroyed cities and caused millions of deaths, looks from a certain perspective, as though nothing has happened. There are tracts of land that are still fertile, near water, but have been taken over by the few who thought to have weapons and the forethought to create fiefdoms.
People can go there, but they are subjugated into what could be called slavery, and sacrifice everything, including their freedom, as the price to live. It’s inevitable that some will rule and others will follow, much like feudal England in the early years.
The people thought that their rights and freedom had been trampled on before the great conflagration, but now, they realise that was nothing compared to the new normal. Executions, heinous punishment for simple crimes, starvation and dehydration. The dreaded socialism that was earlier feared has come home to roost.
It’s not the first story of it’s type, it follows a fairly standard formula that I’ve read in a few books, each using a different premise for the reason, and taking a more reasonable line in the aftermath where people help each other rather than the few subjugating the masses.
To be honest, I don’t think there would be much kindness and co-operation in a world like that, simply because we’ve gone too far down the road being greedy and searching for power, particularly over others.
The meek will certainly not inherit the earth.
Of course, there’s always an exception to very rule, and this is the protagonist for this story.
…
Feel free to adapt it any way you like.
And let’s hope it doesn’t happen in reality.
Here’s the thing…
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
Before the waterfront cleanup, the Shingle Inn was another of those places respectable people didn’t go to. And those from out of town only stayed there if everything else was taken, or they were looking for a reason to visit a hospital.
I knew this not because it was advertised on the radio or television, or it was in the newspapers, or it probably was but I never read any of them, but because several of my senior year classmates went there on a dare to sample ‘the fare’.
They learned the lesson the hard way so all the rest of us wouldn’t make the same mistake.
So, the question I had to ask myself when I reached the safety of a bus shelter about 100 yards from the bar, was the reason Nadia was staying there, or if she was not, how did she have a room key.
I was hoping she had not fallen into the ways some of the girls did, going down the path of drugs, loans they couldn’t pay, and ending being owned by some seedy man. That had happened too, and to girls, I had believed knew better.
I guess I was no judge of character, then or now.
Should I go there now and wait for her, perhaps check the place out, and the room, and see if she was staying there.
Or should I read between the lines, and consider this might be a trap of some sort, and that her brother, Vince, would turn up and ‘teach me a lesson not to meddle in their affairs’. The latter seemed more likely.
And yet it was the dumb ass stupid streak I had that was telling me to go, just to see what happened. I wasn’t looking for nor did I expect that she was offering me anything, so, giving her the benefit of the doubt, it might mean she was entertaining my suggestion of getting the map to get her off Alex’s hook.
That would then leave only one question, what did I want from her in return.
Fifteen minuted before the hour was up, I was standing in the shadows watching the Inn. In the hour since the bar, the sun had gone down, and now the Inn, shrouded in gaudy colours from broken neon lights, and a sign that made it look like a hotel in paradise, looked like it was, a den of iniquity.
The girls for hire were still there. The rooms had different lights above the door of each room that I could see, one red one green which I guessed let others know the room was free or occupied.
The room the key Nadia had given me had no lights on, so I was not sure what that meant.
Ten minutes to go, a car pulled up outside the office, and I saw Vince get out.
Illusion shattered. It was a setup, she was upset by my appearance at the bar and had called in the punishment crew. Two minutes later he came back out of the office with a briefcase, got in the car, and drove off.
Was the Inn one of the Cossatino’s establishments, or was that for protection, or picking up drugs? Or all three?
I shrugged. Time to find out what Nadia’s intentions were.
I kept to the shadows, crossed the road where it was darkest, and came upon the room from the rear fire stairs. The room was the second from the end, so I would not have to walk along the balcony very far, and risk being seen.
At the door, a look in either direction, I unlocked the door, opened it, and waited to see if there were any surprises inside waiting, nothing stirred, so I went in and closed the door behind me.
There were no surprises inside; it was just a room with two beds and a bathroom. A suitcase was beside one of the beds, and its contents spread over the bed.
The aroma of some recognisable perfume came from the bathroom, looking a mess with worn clothes on the floor in one corner, and used towels in the other.
She was staying here. One of the questions I was going to ask was why?
© Charles Heath 2019
It’s the obvious items in the photograph that you see first, or that your eyes go to first.
The ocean, the beach, the buildings. You can see a shopping mall with MacDonald’s sign above it.
Yes, it’s late afternoon, and you can see long shadows of the buildings.
So, if I asked you what did you see in this photo, what would your reply be?
From a thriller writer or murder mystery writer’s point of view, it’s what you don’t necessarily see.
So, for the purposes of the story, the opening line for the world-weary detective, handing the photo to his partner, “What’s is it you can’t see in this photo?”
A partner that hadn’t been on the job very long, in from the suburbs, and had seen little more than break and enters car theft, and school kids hi-jinks.
“What am I supposed to be looking for?”
“You want to be a detective, or be looking for old ladies cats?”
His partner takes the photo in hand and looks at it again. There has to be a reason why the old man had given it to him, or perhaps there wasn’t and he was just playing with him again.
No, he thought, there has to be something…
And then he saw it, quite by accident. A hand, a gun, and following the line of fire, at the end, what looked like someone in the bushes.
In a photo taken from a higher floor of the building over the road, looking down on what was supposed to be a rooftop recreational area.
Only there had been no report of a missing person or a gunshot wound in the last seven days.
“When was it taken?”
“Two days ago?”
“And no reports of a shooting, or a body?”
“No. And yet the person who took this swears he saw a body, but by the time he came back, there was nothing.”
The detective handed his partner a second photo. Time-stamped five minutes later. With no gun and no body.
What will happen next?
Here’s the thing…
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
Feeling a little miffed at Boggs’ dismissal, I decided to go on my own fact-finding mission.
Of course, it depended a lot on whether the Cossatino’s still hung out at the same bar, and whether I’d get a foot in the door.
I was going to talk to Nadia, or at least try to.
The Lantern Inn was about as far from the image the name threw up, it was more a place where respectable people wouldn’t be caught dead in.
And, as I recall, a few had. Seemingly respectable people anyway.
It was the place to go if you were looking for three things, not necessarily all at once, trouble, girls, and drugs. Soggy, a friend of Boggs and I, had always looked older than his age and was able to get into places like the Lantern Inn, mainly to buy us beer, and we would go down to the beach and drink it before going home.
When I found a spot to keep an eye on the place and assess whether it was safe or not to go in, now I was old enough, I saw old man Gattle, Soggy’s foster father stagger out, on his way home. It brought back memories of Joel, Soggy’s real name.
Soggy got his name because he was always falling in the water, whether it was a pool or the ocean, and one day, after too many beers, he fell in and didn’t come back up. Boggs and I almost finished up in jail for that, since we were with him, but there was no way we could rescue him as it was in a spot where there was often a rip, and he had been carried away before we could get to him.
And, the body was never recovered. I thought, at the time, he may have jumped in, because his life with foster parents was no fairy tale, and he had suffered. Of course, those foster parents were friends with the Benderby’s so they were never held to account.
It would be easy to lie in wait in a dark alley and simply hit him over the head with a four by two, but I doubt it would make me feel any better.
I watched him stagger and fall several times before I looked back at the Inn. In days past, the patrons often spilled out onto the sidewalk where there used to be tables and chairs. Now, it was just the Inn, and it didn’t look like many people were there.
Had it changed from a den of iniquity to something more respectable?
A large truck, an F350 by the look of it, stopped outside the front entrance, the passenger door opened and what looked like Nadia, or another Amazonian woman, got out. She spoke to the driver, slammed the door, and the truck left.
The light over the door shone on her face, yes, it was a woman, and yes, it was Nadia. By herself? Was that Vince who dropped her off, or Willy, her younger brother, and why didn’t they join her?
I guess I was not going to get any answers from where I was sitting.
Time to make my first foray into the place my mother always told me never to step foot in.
© Charles Heath 2019-2021
All of us writers know what this is, the sort of combination of words that all come together as a story. A tale about anything whether it is true or just plain fiction.
A story can be long, or it can be short. It could be a magazine or newspaper article, it could be what a child tells his or her mother or father when they get into trouble.
Come to think of it, I think that’s where I got an interest in writing stories because as a child I was always in trouble.
Of course, if you are telling certain types of stories,, then it’s bound to be a lie. And made even worse if it is gossip!
That story might even be my interpretation of events, and as it happens, it’s possible no two stories are the same, especially if I and others had witnessed the same event.
This is not to be confused with the other version, storey, which is a single level in a building, one that might have thirty or more stories.
And, just to add to the confusion, living in Brisbane in Australia we have the Storey Bridge.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 