Tag: Thoughts

Writing about writing a book – Day 7 Continues – Jennifer

Jennifer again.

From Bill Chandler’s perspective,

She was a good worker, but extremely private.  Her path had been clear; work, no play, and avoid everyone.  I’d seen her deal with executives and office boys alike, and put up barriers that no one could penetrate.  She made herself deliberately unattractive and unapproachable for reasons unknown.

Over time I tried to penetrate that steely exterior with moderate success, trying to get to know her better.  And, in doing so I discovered she apparently had a bad experience early on in life with someone, and it had affected her deeply.

Of course, it didn’t progress much more than that one admission, not until the divorce.  It was long and problematical because Ellen had chosen to go the hard route rather than just call it off, perhaps to make me realize just what I had put her through.  The sad fact was, there was nothing I could do to make it right, now or in the future.

But because of that, and because it seemed to Jennifer that I needed someone to ‘lean’ on in my time of trouble, she became the only person I could talk to.  It wasn’t difficult.  We were both working long hours in each others company, and neither of us had a desire to go home.

Then three months ago, something happened and everything changed. 

Well, it changed between us, but to the outside world, no one would ever know.  That didn’t mean we hadn’t been friends of a sort before that, it was just we were, well, I don’t think I could describe it.  All I know is I knew my feelings for her had changed, or perhaps they were the same, and she had changed.  Whatever it was, I was glad.  Ellen had been dragging me down for so long; just being with Jennifer was like a breath of fresh air.

I found I could pour out the details of my sad and undistinguished life to her.  She was the one and only person to whom I could talk freely.  And, all of a sudden, apparently I was the only one she could talk freely to too.  From that point, we had become a different sort of friends, and, in the last week or so, a little more than that.

Our last encounter had been interesting to say the least.  I was still not sure of what I said, or how it ended, other than I had apologized to her the Friday night before we parted.  I hadn’t exactly wanted any vacation days, they were thrust upon me, but perhaps it was fortuitous in that it would give us both time to consider our relationship.

After Ellen, I hadn’t thought about getting involved in a relationship, or anything else for that matter, but it seemed that was where Jennifer and I could finish up, despite the fact neither of us were realistically looking for anything other than a friendship.

That very subtly changed on that Friday night.

Now I’d been thrust back into the fire, and I wondered just how I would feel seeing her. 

 

Jennifer is an important character in several ways, as a friend to Bill, and in a way, connected to him in a way he doesn’t yet know.  She will also have some impact when his past finally catches up with him.

I’m still working on her character background, but more will follow soon.

She is about to change, especially in the eyes of Bill.

 

© Charles Heath 2016-2019

That helicopter story that kept me awake – Part 17

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Now it looks like he’s been renditioned by his own people.

 

Seeing Colonel Bamfield made my blood run cold.

This wasn’t an old commanding officer coming to see one of his protégés after being almost killed in a bad accident.

This was a man checking up on me, and whether or not I had relayed any of the details of my incarceration at the mystery camp in the desert.

The thing is, he didn’t have to come calling if I had said anything Breeman would have reported it directly to her superiors.

No, he was here for another reason, and one I had no doubt I was not going to like.

Firstly, it was apparent the feelings of dislike and mistrust ran deep between the two, and I could see, on first sight, there had been something between them once, and it had exploded on someone, and I suspect it was Breeman.

Male officers of Bamfield rank rarely got into trouble for fraternising with lower ranked female officers.  It was, I was told once, a man’s army, not for women.

And I expect Bamfield was old school.

He looked at me then at her.  “How is our patient?”

Our patient?  How did he have anything to do with me, unless he was reclaiming me for his command.

“Sergeant Digwater has a name, and he is not your patient.”  The accompanying look on her face told me that Bamfield better be ready for war.

“Perhaps that might be the case for now, but I have given orders to temporarily detach Sergeant Digwater from this command and assign him temporally to mine so that he can be sent to our medical facility in Germany before being sent home.  The sergeant has done enough for his country.”

Had I?  It was customary to patch soldiers like me up if the injuries were not life-threatening, and then send them back to the front line.  I had, as far as I was aware, a few broken bones, and nothing that a month or two of physical therapy wouldn’t put straight.

Besides, as a loner, I had made the Army my home, and where most of the people I knew were.  As a civilian, I would be like a fish out of water.

“Do I get to choose what happens to me?”  I spoke for the first time, directly at both of them.

Bamfield answered.  “No.”  Then gave me a genial look.  “How are you, Sam.  I’ve spoken to the doctors, and they say all you need is rest and recuperation and you’ll be as good as new.  But I want to know how you feel?”

I gave him a measured look.  “I would have to say a lot worse than a few days ago.”

His expression changed as a result of those words.  Breeman’s expression was a lot more interesting, processing what that statement might mean.

She was about to ask when he interrupted her.  “Understandable, since you were found unconscious in the cabin of the crashed aircraft.  A case perhaps of a delayed reaction.  You should tell the medics you need more pain killers.”  He then turned to Breeman.  “The sergeant will be evacuated at 0800 hours tomorrow morning.  Until then, no one is to visit him until he is debriefed.  Am I clear?”

Breeman stood.  She was a good six inches shorter than Bamfield in stature, and at least 100 pound in weight.  Still, she projected a formidable opponent.

“I take it that does not include me?”

“What part of everyone did you not understand?”

Fighting words and she was ready to take up the battle.  Except, I think she knew she was outranked, and if push came to shove, it was not worth losing her command over the visiting of a lowly Sergeant.  This was pulling rank at its worst.

“Something’s not right here,” she said.  “And you can be assured I will get to the bottom of it.”  A final glare in his direction and she left, almost slamming the ward door behind her.

Bamfield waited a moment to make sure she had left, then addressed me.

“What have you said about your time missing?”

“Nothing.  If anything I was almost sure you’d turn up.  I had no intention of telling her what happened to me because I’m not sure myself.  I don’t remember having any broken bones.”

“You had to look like you were in a crash, not sitting in a cell for the time you were missing.  I suggest you keep our discussion to yourself, and remember, we could have sent you back in a body bag.  The debriefing crew will be here in an hour or so.”

“What am I supposed to tell them?”

“Whatever you want.  It won’t go any further than them because they are assigned to me.  Now, I have to work to get back to.  I might see you again in Germany, but if I don’t, enjoy the rest of your life.”

The way he said it, I didn’t think this visit would be the last time I saw him.  Like Breeman said, something was not right.

He had a brief word to the guard, another soldier he had brought with him, and left him on guard outside the ward door.  It looked to me like he didn’t take Breeman at her word she wouldn’t return.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

“Trouble in Store” – Short stories my way: Actions have consequences

It’s time for the policewoman to arrive.

There is such a thing as pure dumb luck.

If she did not walk through the door when she did then Jack would have walked away.

From the policewoman’s perspective:

 

She crossed the street from the corner instead of remaining on the same side of the street as she did every other night.  When she reached the other sidewalk, she was about 20 yards from the nearest window of the store.

As she crossed, she got a better view of the three people in the store and noticed the woman, or girl, was acting oddly as if she had something in her hand, and, from time to time looked down beside her.

A yard or two from the window she stopped, took a deep breath, and then moved slowly, getting a better view of the scene with each step.

Then she saw the gun in the girl’s hand, and the two men, the shopkeeper and a customer facing her, hands up.

It was a convenience store robbery in progress.

She reached for her radio, but it wasn’t there.  She was off duty.  Instead, she withdrew, and called the station on her mobile phone, and reported the robbery.  The officer at the end of the phone said a car would be there in five minutes.

In five minutes there could be dead bodies.

She had to do something, and reached into her bag and pulled out a gun.  Not her service weapon, but one she carried in case of personal danger.

 

Guns are dangerous weapons in the hands of professional and amateur alike.  You would expect a professional who has trained to use a gun to not have a problem but consider what might happen in exceptional circumstances.

People freeze under pressure.  Alternately, some shoot first and ask questions later.

We have an edgy and frightened girl with a loaded gun, one bullet or thirteen in a magazine, it doesn’t matter.  It only takes one bullet to kill someone.

Then there’s the trigger pressure, light or heavy, the recoil after the shot and whether it causes the bullet to go into or above the intended target, especially if the person has never used a gun.

The policewoman, with training, will need two hands to take the shot, but in getting into the shop she will need one to open the door, and then be briefly distracted before using that hand to steady the other.

It will take a lifetime, even if it is only a few seconds.

Actions have consequences:

 

The policewoman crouched below the window shelf line so the girl wouldn’t see her, and made it to the door before straightening.  She was in dark clothes so the chances were the girl would not see her against the dark street backdrop.

Her hand was on the door handle about to push it inwards when she could feel in being yanked hard from the other side, and the momentum and surprise of it caused her to lose balance and crash into the man who was trying to get out.

What the hell…

A second or two later both were on the floor in a tangled mess, her gun hand caught underneath her, and a glance in the direction of the girl with the gun told her the situation had gone from bad to worse.

The girl had swung the gun around and aimed it at her and squeezed the trigger twice.

The two bangs in the small room were almost deafening and definitely disorientating.

Behind her, the glass door disintegrated when the bullet hit it.

Neither she nor the man beside her had been hit.

Yet.

She felt a kick in the back and the tickling of glass then broke free as the man she’d run into rolled out of the way.

Quickly on her feet, she saw the girl had gone, and wasted precious seconds getting up off the floor, then out the door to find she had disappeared.

She could hear a siren in the distance.  They’d find her.

 

If the policewoman had not picked that precise moment to enter the shop, maybe the man would have got away.

Maybe.

If he’d been aware of the fact he was allowed to leave.

He was lucky not to be shot.

Yet there were two shots, and we know at least one of them broke the door’s glass panel.

 

Next – the epilog

© Charles Heath 2016-2020

What happens after the action-packed start – Part 15

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

But, it seems our hero has ‘escaped’ and had found his way back home.

Except not quite how he expected it would be.

 

Rest was impossible while so many thoughts about my recent experiences were swirling around in the back of my head.  Now, when thinking it through, it made sense that they make sure I was found alive, but in very bad shape.

Two reasons, one, to remind me that they could do whatever they liked to me, and the second, to appease Breeman, who, no doubt realizing a helicopter was missing, would send out search teams, a no-fly zone or not.

But it was a calculated risk assuming I would not tell Breeman, or someone else, about what had happened to me, whether they believed it or not.

That led to the next thought, why was I still alive.  It would be just as easy to kill me and be discovered after dying from injuries received in the crash.  Supposition, they still needed me, or, and this was a hail Mary at best, they needed access to the base, and Breeman.

Did that mean either of the two men I’d seen at the other camp would suddenly turn up?  My money was on Colonel Bamfield.  He was my first Commanding Officer, he had a keen interest in me from the get-go, and he was the one who facilitated my transfer to my current base before I knew he was working for ‘other interests’. 

I still didn’t want to think it was the enemy.

Another question popped into my head, what was his, or their, interest in Breeman because the line of questioning centered on her.

My best guess was that it was no accident I was on that helicopter, that she had directed the pilot to make a flyover, and wasn’t expected that we would be shot down and that she had assumed there would be no repercussions on either myself or the pilot.

It was also clear that if she had to explain how I came to be where they found me, and the fact no one had launched a similar attack of the rescue team, that what happened was simply a breach of orders, and a court-martial offense.

It would solve Bamfield and his new friend’s problem.  Whatever the outcome of the court-martial she would be sent home, relieved of her command.

It seemed the military, as always, had a mind of its own, and not always have the best interests of its personnel at heart.

I’d soon find out.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

 

“Trouble in Store” – Short stories my way: Adding a catalyst

Just when there’s enough complication in the story, we could leave it there with the current three protagonists and see what happens.

But I like mayhem.

So rather than another customer, it’s time to add a complication; an off duty policeman, or more to the point, policewoman.  A beat cop, if they still exist.

Her back story in a sentence or so:

It had been another long day at the office for Officer Margaret O’Donnell, or, out in the streets, coping with people who either didn’t know or didn’t care about the law.

People who couldn’t cross the road where there were crossings and lights to protect them, silly girls shoplifting on a dare, and boys who thought they were men and could walk on water.

The one they scraped of the road would never get to grow up, and his mother, well, she was not doing another call on a family to give them the bad news.

That was her day.  So far.

What is she doing near the shop?  She lives around the corner.  Perhaps she knows the reputation of the shopkeeper or perhaps not.  It’s not relevant, then, as it is a place she avoids.

Now, she may not have the option.  She sees the shop is still open, past the usual closing time.

Let’s continue:

She came around the corner into the street where she lived and saw the lights were on in the corner store.

She looked at her watch and saw it was ten minutes to midnight.  Long past closing time.  She looked through the window but from the other side of the road and could only see three heads and little else.

Damn, she thought, I’m going to have to check it out.  There were rumors, and she hoped they were not true.

Meanwhile, back in the shop how are the others faring?

The shopkeeper is in an invidious position, he can’t supply the kids with the drugs and get them out, not in front of the customer.

The fact the girl has a gun makes the situation almost impossible.  What would happen if he suggests the customer leave?  Without him, the situation would be simpler.

Alphonse had only a few moments to sum up the situation, and the sum of those deliberations was the remove the only problem, the customer.

He could still salvage this:

The shopkeeper changed his expression to one more placatory, and said quietly to the girl, ‘Look, this is not this chap’s problem.’  He nodded in the direction of the customer.  ‘I’m sure he’d rather not be here, and you would glad of one less distraction.’

He could see she was wavering, she was not holding the gun so steadily, and the longer this dragged on, the more nervous and unpredictable she would become.

And in the longer game, the customer would sing his praises no matter what happened after he left.

The girl looked at Jack.  The shopkeeper was right.  If he wasn’t here this could be over.  But there was another problem.  It didn’t look like Simmo was in any shape to get away.  In fact, this was looking more like a suicide mission.

She waved the gun in his direction.  ‘Get out now, before I change my mind.’

As the gun turned to the shopkeeper, Jack wasn’t going to wait to be asked twice and started sidling towards the door.

What happens next?

 

And the story for this section, with a few minor changes:

 

It had been another long day at the office for Officer Margaret O’Donnell, or, out in the streets, coping with people who either didn’t know or didn’t care about the law.

People who couldn’t cross the road where there were crossings and lights to protect them, silly girls shoplifting on a dare, and boys who thought they were men and could walk on water.

The one they scraped of the road would never get to grow up, and his mother, well, she was not doing another call on a family to give them the bad news.

That was her day.  So far.  For now, she was glad to be getting home, putting her feet up, and forgetting about everything until the next morning when it would start all over again.

Coming around that last corner, the home stretch she called it, she was directly opposite the corner shop, usually closed at this hour of the night.  It was not.  The lights were still on.

She looked at her watch and saw it was ten minutes to midnight, and long past closing time.  She looked through the window but from the other side of the road and could only see three heads and little else.

Damn, she thought, I’m going to have to check it out.  There were rumors, and she hoped they were not true.

 

The shopkeeper changed his expression to one more placatory, and said quietly to the girl, ‘Look, this is not this chap’s problem.’  He nodded in the direction of the customer.  ‘I’m sure he’d rather not be here, and you would glad of one less distraction.’

He could see she was wavering, she was not holding the gun so steadily, and the longer this dragged on, the more nervous and unpredictable she would become.

And in the longer game, the customer would sing his praises no matter what happened after he left.

The girl looked at Jack.  The shopkeeper was right.  If he wasn’t here this could be over.  But there was another problem.  It didn’t look like Simmo was in any shape to get away.  In fact, this was looking more like a suicide mission.

She waved the gun in his direction.  ‘Get out now, before I change my mind.’

As the gun turned to the shopkeeper, Jack wasn’t going to wait to be asked twice and started sidling towards the door.

 

Next:  Actions have consequences

 

© Charles Heath 2016-2020

NaNoWriMo 2021 – Day 10

A score to settle

…

Yesterday I was immersing myself in the scenery, and formulating a plan of the city, and the various places where events will gradually unfold.

A place that will have significance will be what is locally known as the caves, a large system of passageways and caverns carved out of the hills that back onto the city’s botanical gardens, and beyond, a rabbit warren of back alleys that was once the market.

The current government moved them into a large open area where it could keep a close eye on all activity, where once, in the back alleys, crime and dissidents flourished.

In fact, the government closed off the whole area and allows only a small part of the cave systems to be visited by tourists, and only under the guidance of special tour guides.

What is the government hiding there?

Rumors abound. People who go missing in the night are thought to be taken into the caves and ‘lost’.

Including the man who was the last president before the military took over. Is he still alive, held somewhere in a deep, dark dungeon?

Or is he a ghost?

…

Today’s word count: 1,755 words, for the running total of 21,519.

Writing about writing a book – Day 6 continues – will it ever end?

Having finished a first draft of the words to fit the last plotline, while this is still bouncing around in my head, I need to keep the plot going.

That means I have to find a way to make Bill more interesting.  I’m not saying getting shot is just another ordinary event on another boring day at the office, but it needs something to lift into the reader’s consciousness, and want to see where he’s going to go with it.

Revenge is not on the cards because he has no idea who was shooting at him, or the fact at this time, it seems they, whoever they are, were out to assassinate Aitchison.

Why you ask.

There will be a reason, so sit back and relax, we’re not there yet.

 

Bill wakes up in the hospital and finds Jennifer there.  He remembers what has happened and realizes how lucky he is to survive.

After a period of recovery, Bill is questioned by Gator, the detective also now in charge of the shooting investigation, as, he tells Bill, there seems to be a connection between the two (obviously because it concerns the company Bill works for).

Bill cannot remember much of the detail of the earlier network outage and situation, but the import of Gator’s investigation is centered on the deaths of Halligan, Aitchison, and the attempts of both him and Jennifer.  I think we can safely say Jennifer was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Gator also reveals there are still problems with the computer systems at Transworld, a question of missing files, and a security breach.  He also advises Bill of Wiesenthal’s arrival and temporary management role.

(OK, a new character, Wiesenthal, he needs to be slightly sinister, and there for reasons that are not explained straight away.)

On the mend, and with time on his hands, Bill will have two new events to think about.

Firstly, and certainly not unwelcome, but a bit of a surprise is the continual presence of Jennifer.  He discovers that Jennifer has the same feelings for him and he has for her.

Secondly, and probably the more important of the two, and cause for concern, is the return of some of his memories in relation to service in the army during various engagements overseas, and one in particular.  Worse, he cannot understand why now, of all times, these particular memories should be returning.

He knew something bad had happened to him back then but was thankful that his mind had managed to keep it at bay for as long as it had.

But the nightmares become real, and the first of many plays out in his mind like a movie, where everything and everyone is in a surreal theatre production.  There he finally remembers what his mind has blocked for so long – that he was in a camp of sorts as a prisoner, and its something to do with his days in the Army.

In light of these memories returning, a Brigadier General pays a visit and explains the missing parts of his service life.  Why he did so Bill couldn’t immediately understand but didn’t question it.  Then Ellen conveniently visits him, laments his misfortune, and goes over the reasons for not telling him about his past (now that he’s remembered it) and wished him well for the future.

Before he leaves the hospital, Gator returns to tie up loose ends, that all that appeared to be sinister was not, and could be explained rationally.  It marked the end of his investigation, albeit a little too convenient Bill thinks but again says nothing.

He finally goes home with Jennifer.

Another dream – of the beginning of a lifelong friendship with ‘Brainless’ a fellow soldier, and someone he has known off and on since Army days, but who also had not alerted him to what he now remembered, also no doubt for a very good reason.

And the remembrance of the word Starburst – but he has no idea of its significance.

Well, that’s a lot to deal with, and will keep me writing long into the night.

And more people.

This story is starting to have a list of credits as long as the end of a movie!

What happens after the action-packed start – Part 15

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

But, it seems our hero has ‘escaped’ and had found his way back home.

Except not quite how he expected it would be.

 

Rest was impossible while so many thoughts about my recent experiences were swirling around in the back of my head.  Now, when thinking it through, it made sense that they make sure I was found alive, but in very bad shape.

Two reasons, one, to remind me that they could do whatever they liked to me, and the second, to appease Breeman, who, no doubt realizing a helicopter was missing, would send out search teams, a no-fly zone or not.

But it was a calculated risk assuming I would not tell Breeman, or someone else, about what had happened to me, whether they believed it or not.

That led to the next thought, why was I still alive.  It would be just as easy to kill me and be discovered after dying from injuries received in the crash.  Supposition, they still needed me, or, and this was a hail Mary at best, they needed access to the base, and Breeman.

Did that mean either of the two men I’d seen at the other camp would suddenly turn up?  My money was on Colonel Bamfield.  He was my first Commanding Officer, he had a keen interest in me from the get-go, and he was the one who facilitated my transfer to my current base before I knew he was working for ‘other interests’. 

I still didn’t want to think it was the enemy.

Another question popped into my head, what was his, or their, interest in Breeman because the line of questioning centered on her.

My best guess was that it was no accident I was on that helicopter, that she had directed the pilot to make a flyover, and wasn’t expected that we would be shot down and that she had assumed there would be no repercussions on either myself or the pilot.

It was also clear that if she had to explain how I came to be where they found me, and the fact no one had launched a similar attack of the rescue team, that what happened was simply a breach of orders, and a court-martial offense.

It would solve Bamfield and his new friend’s problem.  Whatever the outcome of the court-martial she would be sent home, relieved of her command.

It seemed the military, as always, had a mind of its own, and not always have the best interests of its personnel at heart.

I’d soon find out.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

 

“Trouble in Store” – Short stories my way: Point of view

If this story was being written the first person the only perspective or point of view would be that of the narrator.

Since we need to have a number of perspectives it is better done in the third person so we can change between characters and try to understand their motivation.

We might look at the first-person perspective for each of the characters later.

The second of the protagonists is the girl with the gun.  How did she get it?  How did the situation deteriorate so quickly?   What is she going to do?

This is a short story and we need to know something about her, so we have to get to the heat of the matter quickly, so let’s start with:

Her mother said she would never amount to anything, and here she was, with a broken drug addict coming apart because she had been cut off from her money, dragged into coming to this shop to leverage drugs from his dealer at the end of a gun.  It was her fault, Jerry said and made her feel responsible, much the same as her parents and everyone else in her life.

One of life’s losers or just a victim?  This theme can go in any direction.

Then a moment to reflect on why she was here:

Why had she agreed to go with Jerry?  At that moment when she picked up the gun off the floor, she realized it was not out of responsibility or fault, it was out of fear.

That gives us the why; he had obviously tried to make her feel responsible and when that failed, he threatened her.  But now there’s a bigger issue, the gun and a situation spiraling out of control.  The thing is, she has the gun and the power to walk away or make matters worse.

The problem was, she has outed the shopkeeper as a dealer in front of someone who had not known.  That now made him a victim as much as she was.

She looked at the two men facing her, a shopkeeper who was a dealer and a customer scared shitless.  As much as she was.  Her gun hand was shaking.

The scene is set, something has to give.

Time for the shopkeeper to weigh in.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.  Please, put the gun down before someone gets hurt.”

It’s a typical response from a man who realizes he’s in trouble and is trying to make time while he thinks of how to rescue himself from a potentially dangerous situation.

Time to change the perspective again and explore the shopkeeper.

If only Jack hadn’t come in when he did.  He would have the gun, called the police, and brazened his way out of trouble.  Who would the police believe a pair of addicts or a respectable shopkeeper?

Now he had to deal with the fallout, especially if the girl started talking.

 

Next, actions have consequences, building the tension.

 

This section rewritten, moving from Jack as the narrator to the girl, and then to the shopkeeper:

 

Annalisa looked at the two men facing her, a shopkeeper who, despite his protestations, was a dealer and a customer scared shitless.

The poor bastard was not the only one.  This was meant to be simple, arrive at the shop just before closing, force the shopkeeper to hand over the shit, and leave.  Simple.

Except …

The shopkeeper told them to get out.  Simmo started ranting waving the gun around, then collapsed.  A race for the gun which spilled out of his hand, she won.

He was getting the stuff when the customer burst into the shop.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, she thought.

Why had she agreed to go with Jerry?  It was her fault, Jerry had said, and he made her feel responsible for his problems, much the same as her parents and everyone else in her life.

Her mother said she would never amount to anything, and here she was, with a drug addict coming apart because she had been cut off from her money, dragged into coming to this shop to pick up his score from his dealer at the end of a gun.

She heard a strange sound come from beside her and looked down.  Simmo was getting worse, like he had a fever, and was moaning.

The shopkeeper saw an opportunity.  “Listen to me, young lady, I have no idea what you are talking about.  Please, put the gun down before someone gets hurt.  Your friend needs medical help and I can call an ambulance.”

The girl switched her attention back to him.  “Shut up, let me think.  Shit.”

The storekeeper glanced over at the customer.  He’s been in once or twice, probably lived in the neighborhood, but looked the sort who’d prefer to be anywhere but in his shop.  More so now.  If only he hadn’t burst in when he did.  He would have the gun, called the police, and brazened his way out of trouble.  Who would the police believe a pair of addicts or a respectable shopkeeper?

Now he had to deal with the fallout, especially if the girl started talking.

 

© Charles Heath 2016 – 2020

 

Writing about writing a book – Day 6

It’s been a long morning, and I sleep in.  I think the extra time is warranted because I wrote until there was nothing left in the tank.  Then, I let the plot unfold in my mind as I slept.

I had a dream.

I have IT experience.  I know the how hard it was, in the early days of networking, to get it right.  And all of the factors that have to be in place to keep it working.

I become Bill Chandler.

Servers, server software, wiring, Ethernet. Internet, wan, lan, hub, switch, meltdown.   The days when desks had terminals, not personal computers, and then the sudden disappearance of the mainframe, to local area networks.

The bottle of Scotch in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet (in the days when occupational health and safety was not so strictly enforced) for celebrations when it worked, or commiserations when it didn’t.

 

So, today I’m expanding on the plot lines:

 

Chandler, recently divorced, and now on his first holiday on his own, contemplated what he’s going to do.  It doesn’t last long and is recalled to the office to manage a crisis.

Back in the office, Benton unavailable, Chandler goes to see Aitchison, Security chief.  There he learns of Richardson’s murder, of which suicide, the police theory, the least likely cause, and that of Halligan, whose death is also questionable.  There is also a question over the computer network and that of another running within their current system.  This is something Chandler knows nothing about.   There is a way of finding out if such a network existed.  Meanwhile, the implications are frightening, and Aitchison is clearly afraid of something.

OK, another character has popped up, Halligan, but we’ll worry about that later.

Back on familiar territory, Chandler gets down to the job of finding out what information he can.  Before beginning the physical search, he is questioned closely by Gator, the policeman, on external communications involving their computer systems.

OK, that’ll need a bit of background on Gator and what information he has.

After Gator departs, Chandler goes to find Jennifer.  By now, the whole network is down and they discover several servers have been tampered with, in fact, the very ones believed to be the gateway to the ‘hidden’ network.  Alas, the evidence had been removed.

Deciding there was nothing that could be done because the maintenance contractors have been called in, Chandler and Jennifer go to lunch.  Chandler runs into a very frightened Aitchison who cryptically says he fears for his life.  About the same time shots are fired, Aitchison is killed, and Chandler seriously wounded.

 

Wow, I’m getting better at this planning stuff, though it’s early days yet.  There are several ideas about the ramifications of Bill getting shot, but that can wait till later.

Time to flesh this plotline out in words.

Doesn’t look like Sunday is going to be a day off.

 

© Charles Heath 2016 – 2019