Tag: words

The Cinema of My Dreams – It ended in Sorrento – Episode 65

No way to run an operation

…

Cecelia called me when she was in place, waiting.

“Who’s there?”

“A woman, two small children, and a maid.”

“No man of the house?”

“No.  She spoke on the phone about an hour ago and didn’t look happy.  Who is she?”

“Someone you might have to shoot, so don’t get attached.  Wait till I call you first, then invite yourselves in.  Does it look expensive?”

“She does, and yes.  It’s very posh.  Why?”

“Curiosity.”

We were back in the hotel room.  Francesca was working her way through a bottle of red wine.

“I can go now if you like.  Cecelia told me the countess was dead.  My work is done,” she said morosely.

“Not yet.  Can’t have you telling people information I don’t want them to know yet.  We still have people to catch.”

“OK.  Does your current squeeze realise this one has feelings for you?”  She nodded in Juliet’s direction, stopping her in her tracks.

“It’d be misplaced affection.  Right now, she’s at the top of my shoot first and asks questions later list.”

“You know, if you don’t want to end up grumpy and lonely, you are going to have to work on your small talk.  I don’t think women go for this shoot first thing.  Whatever; just thought you ought to know.”

I glared at Juliet.  “Is that what this is about, you being here?”

“Why on earth would you think that.  You’re probably the snarkiest person I’ve ever met.  She’s right, you need to work on your small talk.”

Then proceeded to turn around and go into one of the rooms, slamming the door.

“Exactly,” Francesca said.

13 minutes after that the call came.

Male voice, distorted.

“You are looking for an Englishwoman, Martha Rodby, yes.”

“Yes.”

“We know where she is, and once the money is transferred, we will tell you.”

“Nice try.  You get the money, in a duffle bag, when I see her with my own eyes.  No mirrors, no magic, no obstacle courses, and multiple phone booths and time limits.  You tell me where and when and I’ll be there.”

“Alone?”

“If you’re not stupid, and I don’t think you are, there will be plenty of people around.  Dark alleys and dank tunnels are not my thing.”

“I’ll call you back soon with the details.”

It was a quick call, so he was worried about me tracing it.  I was not, or at least I wasn’t, but Alfie might.

A message popped up, after making a dinging sound.  “Call came from Rome, can pin it down to a half kilometre square.”

I typed in, “Don’t bother.  I know who it is.”

He couldn’t help himself.  “Who?”

I ignored it.

“Your kidnapper?”

“A concerned citizen.”

“Your kidnapper.  Do you ever say anything that means anything?”

“I try not to.  You do know my shadowy world consists of nothing by lies and deception, and smoke and mirrors?”

“Do you actually get anything done?”

“Mostly not, but at least this time I haven’t got to kill anyone.  Yet.”

“You should tell your girlfriend that?”

“Which one, according to you?”

“Juliet.  You want to tell her you don’t have feelings for her.”

“Are you trying to annoy me?”

She gave me one of those looks, yes, I’d known her long enough to be able to classify them.

“How did your wife actually put up with you all those years?”

“I’m sure it made interesting reading?”

“What?”

“My file.”

She smiled.  “It did.  My boss thought if I stuck close enough, I might learn something.  I did.  Stick to Art History.  By the way, I like you too, but I’m not going to compete with those other two.  Oh, and I assume you have a plan or will have a plan by tomorrow, on how to take this guy down?”

“You assume correctly.”

“Good.  Do I get a gun?”

“No.”

“Just when relations were improving.  Do you want anything from room service?  I’m getting some pasta.”

I sighed.  This was no way to run an operation.

© Charles Heath 2023

NANOWRIMO November 2023 – Day 22

“Opposites Attract”

…

Another request

…

This requests that people ask of you, and in the same breath tell you they will not think less of you if you don’t want to do it … if you say no, you might as well jump out of the frying pan and into the fire and get it over with.

The grandmother is not a woman to say no to, even if it’s an order to jump off a cliff.  Before she was dying, our boy would have been terrified of her, as would anyone between the ages of 1 and 100.

Now she is, there had to be a limit on the number of deathbed wishes she could ask.

But, irrespective of what the readers may think, our boy knows he’s doing this for the greater good, that it’s Emily’s grandmother, and she would ask him to do anything impossible.

Would she?

Of course, she would.

What’s the one thing he would not want to do?

Find Tim and bring him back so that she can see him one more time before she dies.

Of course, it doesn’t help that Tim despises her as much as everyone else in his family, and most of all, our boy.

And unfortunately, this cannot be put into the too-hard basket.

…

Today’s words:  1,704, for a total of 42,574

The cinema of my dreams – It ended in Sorrento – Episode 64

What is Juliet’s game?

…

Juliet was waiting for me by the car where we left it.

By that time, I was almost ready to strangle her with my bare hands.

“Where did you go?”

“Away from trouble.  I waited until I was sure you were not going to be killed, then I left.”  She held out the gun by the barrel.  “I figured you would have been able to take that guy with the gun, and there was no point being captured with it.”

She was right, but that didn’t make me any less angry.

I took it and unlocked the car.

“Where are the women?”

“He doesn’t know.  Worse still, he had no idea that another woman was taken at the same time.”

“You believe him?”

“Given the circumstances of seeing the woman that was going to solve all your problems dead on the floor had a way of making you believable.  No one is that good an actor.”

She looked at me with a strange expression.  “You have one working with you.”

“Her mother wasn’t killed in front of her.  Not the same.”

“Square one then?”

“It might be.  If he didn’t know where they were or wanted to, it’s like as not they are not on any of his properties.  If he didn’t care what happened to the countess, that doesn’t mean the same for those who are holding her, or Mrs Rodby.  They’ll know, eventually a reward will be offered., and we’re giving them one.”

I called Cecilia.  “How’s the search going.  I assume the fact you haven’t called me means you’ve found nothing?”

“Zip.  This Dicostini has a lot of dud property.  Maybe someone should tell him to build a resort rather than try to grow grapes.  There’d be a lot more money in it.”

“I think he has more problems than that to worry about right now.”

“How did you go?”

“Kept the place under surveillance waiting to see if the fake countess was hiding at his place.  She was.  She came out, and they had an argument. And he killed her.”

“What?  Shot her?”

“He hit her in a moment of temper, she fell awkwardly hitting her head on the table, dead before she hit the floor.”

“That makes things a little difficult.  I assume you didn’t get the location of the two women?”

“You assume correctly.”

“Then they could be anywhere?”

“Maybe, maybe not.  I’m going to give you a name and address.  Get onto Anthony and find out where he lives, then park yourself outside until you hear from me.  I have a hunch but be prepared to waste some time if it doesn’t pan out.  Take Alfie with you.  Leave Francesca, there’s nothing she can do now.”

“What are you planning?”

“Offering a huge reward for Mrs Rodby.  I think we can safely say the countess is either dead or will be when Dicostini calls the kidnappers.”

“Wouldn’t they just kill her too.  Faces?

“They might, but if they’re good, that won’t be a problem.  Getting a bigger payday is.  Everybody has a price.”

“Even you?”

“When I figure out how to disappear, maybe.  Go.  Times wasting.”

I thought about starting the car, then didn’t.

It was not enough that so many different scenarios were running through my head when the call finally came.  I was sure now the main game was over, they side players would be looking for a slice of the action.

There were only two candidates.  One seemed improbably, which made it the more likely, the other the logical choice, but unlikely.  It all depended on how fast Anthony could get the wanted poster out there.

In the meantime, I had another more perplexing problem.

“What are you doing here?” I asked Juliet.

She looked at me strangely.  “You asked me.”

“I mean what are you doing here in Italy?”

She kept looking at me as if I was mad.

“I was setting up for a conference.”

She looked earnest, but there was something in her manner.

“Are you really that pathologist.  I mean for a down and out doctor how could such a disgraced person get a foot back in the door?”

Her look of bemusement turned to annoyance.  “Tell me what you really think?  It took a lot of banging on doors and grovelling.”

I shook my head.  That wasn’t the whole story.

“Why so I keep running into you?”

“Fate.  Serendipity.  The universe telling us we didn’t end things properly the last time.”

Words.  Words that had a certain ring to them.  I shook my head. 

“Fate is a load of bollocks, Juliet.”

“You can call me Julie if you like.  It sounds better.”

“This is not done with, not by a long chalk.”

© Charles Heath 2023

Searching for locations: From X’ian to Zhengzhou dong by bullet train, China

Lunch and then off on another high-speed train

We walked another umpteen miles from the exhibition to a Chinese restaurant that is going to serve us Chinese food again with a beer and a rather potent pomegranate wine that has a real kick.  It was definitely value for money at 60 yuan per person.

But perhaps the biggest thrill, if it could be called that, was discovering downstairs, the man who discovered the original pieces of a terracotta soldier when digging a well.  He was signing books bought in the souvenir store, but not those that had been bought elsewhere.

Some of is even got photographed with him.  Fifteen minutes of fame moment?  Maybe.

After lunch, it was off to the station for another high-speed train ride, this time for about two and a half hours, from X’ian to Zhangzhou dong.

It’s the standard high-speed train ride and the usual seat switching because of weird allocation issues, so a little confusion reigns until the train departs at 5:59.

Once we were underway it didn’t take long before we hit the maximum speed

Twenty minutes before arrival, and knowing we only have three minutes to get off everyone is heading for the exit clogging up the passageway.  It wasn’t panic but with the three-minute limit, perhaps organized panic would be a better description.

As it turned out, with all the cases near the door, the moment to door opened one of our group got off, and the other just started putting cases on the platform, and in doing so we were all off in 42 seconds with time to spare.

And this was despite the fact there were about twenty passengers just about up against the door trying to get in.  I don’t think they expected to have cases flying off the train in their direction.

We find our way to the exit and our tour guide Dannie.  It was another long walk to the bus, somewhat shabbier from the previous day, no leg room, no pocket, no USB charging point like the day before.  Disappointing.

On the way from the station to the hotel, the tour guide usually gives us a short spiel on the next day’s activities, but instead, I think we got her life history and a song, delivered in high pitched and rapid Chinglish that was hard to understand.

Not at this hour of the night to an almost exhausted busload of people who’d had enough from the train.  Oh, did I forgot the singing, no, it was an interesting rendition of ‘you are my sunshine’.

The drive was interesting in that it mostly in the dark.  There was no street lighting and in comparison to X’ian which was very bright and cheerful, this was dark and gloomy.

Then close to the hotel our guide said that if we had any problems with the room, she would be in the lobby for half an hour.

That spoke volumes about the hotel they put us in.

“Knowledge can be dangerous…” – A short story

It was, perhaps, the saddest week of my life.

It started with a phone call, and then a visit by two police officers.  It was about my parents, but the news could not be imparted over the phone, only in person.  That statement alone told me it was very bad news, so I assumed the worst.

The two police officers, standing at the front door, with grim expressions on their faces, completed the picture.  The news, my parents were dead, killed in a freak car accident.

At first, it didn’t sink in.  They were on their way back from another of their extensive holidays, one of many since my father had retired.  I’d seen them probably six months out of the last five years, and the only reason they were returning this time was that my mother needed an operation.

They hadn’t told me why, not that they ever told me very much any time since the day I’d been born, but that was who they were.  I thought them eccentric, being older when I’d come along, and others thought them, well, eccentric.

And being an only child, they packed me off to boarding school, then university, and then found me a job in London, and set me up so that I would only see them weekends if they were home.

I had once wondered if they ever cared about me, keeping me at arm’s length, but my mother some time ago had taken me aside and explained why.  It was my father’s family tradition.  The only part I’d missed was a nanny.

It most likely explained why I didn’t feel their passing as much as I should.

A week later, after a strange funeral where a great many people I’d never met before, and oddly who knew about me, I found myself sitting in the sunroom, a glass of scotch in one hand, and an envelope with my name on it, in the other.

The solicitor, a man I’d never met before, had given it to me at the funeral.   We had, as far as I knew an elderly fellow, one of my father’s old school friends, as the family solicitor, but he hadn’t shown at the funeral and wasn’t at home when I called in on my way home.

It was all very odd.

I refilled the glass and took another look at the envelope.  It was not new, in fact, it had the yellow tinge of age, with discolouration where the flap was.  The writing was almost a scrawl, but identifiable as my father’s handwriting, perhaps an early version as it was now definitely an illegible scrawl.

I’d compared it with the note he’d left me before they had embarked on their last adventure, everything I had to do while caretaking their house.  The last paragraph was the most interesting, instructing me to be present when the cleaning lady came, he’d all but accused her of stealing the candlesticks.

To be honest, I hadn’t realized there were candlesticks to steal, but there they were, on the mantlepiece over the fire in the dining room.  The whole house was almost like being in an adventure park, with stairs going up to an array of rooms, mostly no longer used, and a staircase to the attic, and then another going down to the cellar.  The attic was locked and had been for as long as I could remember, and the cellar was dank and draughty.

Much like the whole house, but not surprisingly, it was over 200 years old.

And perhaps it was now mine.  The solicitor, a man by the name of Sir Percival Algernon Bridgewater, had intimated that it might be the last will and testament and had asked me to tell him if it was.  I was surprised that Sir Percival didn’t have the document in question.

And equally. so that the man I knew as his solicitor, Lawerence Wellingham, didn’t have a copy of my father’s last will and testament either.

I finished the drink, picked up the envelope, and opened it.

It contained two sheets of paper, the will, and a letter.  A very short letter.

“If you are reading this I have died before my time.  You will need to find Albert Stritching, and ask him to help you find the murderer.”

Even the tenor of that letter didn’t faze me as it should have, because at this point nothing would surprise me.  In fact, as I  unfolded the document that proclaimed it was the will, I was ready for it to say that the whole of his estate and belongings were to be left to some charity, and I would get an annual stipend of a thousand pounds.

In fact, it didn’t.  The whole of his estate was left to my mother should she outlive him, or in the event of her prior decease, to me.

I had to put all of those surprises on hold to answer a knock on the door.

Lawerence Wellingham.

I stood to one side, let him pass, closed the door, and followed him into the front room, the one my mother called the ‘drawing room’ though I never knew why.

He sat in one of the large, comfortable lounge chairs.  I sat in the other.

I showed him the will.  I kept the other back, not knowing what to make of it.

“No surprise there,” Wellingham said.

“Did you have any idea what my father used to do, beyond being, as he put it, a freelance diplomat?”

I thought it a rather odd description but it was better than one he once proffered, ‘I do odd jobs for the government’.

“I didn’t ask.  Knowledge can be dangerous, particularly when associated with your father.  Most of us prefer not to know, but one thing I can tell you.  If anyone tries to tell you what happened to your parents was not an accident, ignore them.  Go live your life, and keep those memories you have of them in the past, and don’t look back.  They were good people, Ken, remember them as such.”

We reminisced for the next hour, making a dent in the scotch, one of my father’s favourite, and he left.

Alone again, the thoughts went back to the second note from my father.  That’s when the house phone rang.

Before I could answer it, a voice said, “My name is Stritching.  Your father might have mentioned me?  We need to talk.”

—-

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Searching for locations: From X’ian to Zhengzhou dong by bullet train, China

Lunch and then off on another high-speed train

We walked another umpteen miles from the exhibition to a Chinese restaurant that is going to serve us Chinese food again with a beer and a rather potent pomegranate wine that has a real kick.  It was definitely value for money at 60 yuan per person.

But perhaps the biggest thrill, if it could be called that, was discovering downstairs, the man who discovered the original pieces of a terracotta soldier when digging a well.  He was signing books bought in the souvenir store, but not those that had been bought elsewhere.

Some of is even got photographed with him.  Fifteen minutes of fame moment?  Maybe.

After lunch, it was off to the station for another high-speed train ride, this time for about two and a half hours, from X’ian to Zhangzhou dong.

It’s the standard high-speed train ride and the usual seat switching because of weird allocation issues, so a little confusion reigns until the train departs at 5:59.

Once we were underway it didn’t take long before we hit the maximum speed

Twenty minutes before arrival, and knowing we only have three minutes to get off everyone is heading for the exit clogging up the passageway.  It wasn’t panic but with the three-minute limit, perhaps organized panic would be a better description.

As it turned out, with all the cases near the door, the moment to door opened one of our group got off, and the other just started putting cases on the platform, and in doing so we were all off in 42 seconds with time to spare.

And this was despite the fact there were about twenty passengers just about up against the door trying to get in.  I don’t think they expected to have cases flying off the train in their direction.

We find our way to the exit and our tour guide Dannie.  It was another long walk to the bus, somewhat shabbier from the previous day, no leg room, no pocket, no USB charging point like the day before.  Disappointing.

On the way from the station to the hotel, the tour guide usually gives us a short spiel on the next day’s activities, but instead, I think we got her life history and a song, delivered in high pitched and rapid Chinglish that was hard to understand.

Not at this hour of the night to an almost exhausted busload of people who’d had enough from the train.  Oh, did I forgot the singing, no, it was an interesting rendition of ‘you are my sunshine’.

The drive was interesting in that it mostly in the dark.  There was no street lighting and in comparison to X’ian which was very bright and cheerful, this was dark and gloomy.

Then close to the hotel our guide said that if we had any problems with the room, she would be in the lobby for half an hour.

That spoke volumes about the hotel they put us in.

NANOWRIMO November 2023 – Day 21

“Opposites Attract”

…

It’s one thing to propose …

…

It was another thing entirely to try to apply the brakes on a runaway train.

That whole proposal, saying yes, and finally breathing again thing was probably the second most momentous event in his life, when taken in order.

The first, graduating with the best possible scores was the first, the reward for a lot of hard work, even if he still didn’t know what he wanted to do.

The second, sharing that life with Emily had come to fruition, against all hopes.

He didn’t think he would be able to top it.  Yet.

there’s the wedding, and everything that goes with it, except in this instance, there was not going to be enough time to plan the Hollywood-style wedding that befitted the billionaires that would be attending.

Certainly, it would be the social event of the calendar back home.

So, there was going to be a small event at the hospital for the grandmother to attend, then a later big bash for everyone else.

It was just a matter of keeping it a secret until then.

And we all know about secrets, don’t we?

…

Today’s words:  2.045, for a total of 39,795

The Cinema of My Dreams – It ended in Sorrento – Episode 63

Time to find a missing person

…

I turned slowly, wondering just what the hell her game was, when I realised it was not her, but another man holding a shotgun and looking very aggravated.

“What do you think you’re doing?”  At least that’s what I translated his Italian version into.

And I put my hands out where he could see them, noting at the same time that not only was Juliet missing, so was my gun.

“No Italian, I’m sorry.  Should you be brandishing that gun?”

As I turned, he moved back.  He correctly interpreted that I was going to disarm him, if /I could distract him with my not understanding Italian.  He was smarter than that.

“Move.”

He had a word of English.  The motioning of the gun in the direction of the back door was all he needed.  It was not the first time he’d approached an intruder.

I moved slowly towards the door, opened it, and went in.

The grisly scene of the woman on the floor with blood everywhere was confronting.  The man with the gun swore.

“What the hell have you done?”  Not an exact translation but near enough.  He was shocked.

And distracted.

But I think there was no threat from either of them.  Dicostini was almost in shock, kneeling beside the woman, trying to shake her awake.

The other man put down the gun and went over to check for any sign of life.  First a finger at her neck, then her writ, then hear if she was still breathing.

The gunman looked at Dicostini, “How did this happen?”

Dicostini shrugged.

“He hit her,” I said.  “I saw it happen through the window.  They were arguing.”

That’s when Dicostini saw me.  “Who are you?”

“A private investigator hired to find the real countess.  The thing is, I’m not overly worried about her, it’s the woman you took with her that’s your biggest problem?”

“What woman?”

“The countess’s sister.  You snatched the two of them if you didn’t, the clowns you employed to do the job did.  Her sister is the wife of the Chief of British Intelligence, and he’s about to unleash the wrath of the Gods on you.  I came here to do you a favour.  Tell me where they are, and I’ll walk away.  No questions asked, no interest in what happened here.  This is a one-time offer, and it’s about to expire.”

“What are you talking about?  This is the countess’s sister.”

It was certainly not Mrs Robdy, but now in the pale light shining on that lifeless face, I could see the resemblance to the countess.  It was definitely the woman I’d gone to the opera with, and later taken back to the hotel.

I could see how easily it would be to mistake the fake for the real countess … they must be twins.  The thing was, no one had picked up on it, and I thought our researchers were supposed to be the best.

“How is that possible?” I had to ask. 

“They were twins, separated at birth, and the mother was never told.  Angelina was sent north to stay with a distant aunt who treated her as her own child, and she was never told of her true mother.  I would not have known either unless my own mother told me of the deception on her deathbed.”

“So, what was this charade supposed to prove?”

“That she gets some recognition, and some of the Von Burkehardt spoils.  That cow that is the countess, she has no interest in anyone but herself.  Not for the traditions of this country, the people, the area, the vineyards, the wine, anything.”

“Where is she?”

“Dead, I hope. I told them I didn’t want to see her again.  They did not tell me they had taken anyone else with her.  It is done, over.  I have no idea where they were being held.  Now go.  I have enough to deal with.”

I had to agree with him.  How was he going to explain any of this?

I waited until I was some distance from the house, then pulled out my phone and dialled Anthony’s number.

He answered after the seventh ring.  I was worried he might not.

“Two urgent matters.  Tell Rodby to take the woman who’s with him into custody.  Don’t ask why, just do it, now.  Second, how quickly can you flood the Italian media with a missing person poster?”

“Quickly.  Why?”

“Get a wanted poster together with Mrs Rodby’s face on it and a finder’s fee of a million Euros, more if you like.  And put my phone number on it.  Mrs Rody still carries Rodby’s VC in her handbag for good luck still?”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m good at my job.  Do both those requests, then call me back in an hour or so.  It’s imperative you get the missing persons poster out as soon as possible but only to two people.  The lawyer fellow in Rome, I’ll send you his details if you don’t already have them, and to the Burkehardt’.  All of them.”

“Only those people?”

“Yes.  If I’m wrong, you’re going to find me a hiding spot somewhere in the middle of the north pole, preferably a mile or more under the ice.”

© Charles Heath 2023

NANOWRIMO November 2023 – Day 20

“Opposites Attract”

…

A proposal

…

Where in New York can you make a proposal that will be memorable.

That’s what I typed into Google, and it told me there’s a lot of different places.

The one that amused me the most.  Surely, I could work that out for myself instead of asking a heatless thoughtless computer program!

Well, no I couldn’t.

So with a little tweaking and a lot of wishful thinking it ended up in Central Park.

A carriage ride, yes, I’ve been of one of those and nothing spells romantic than a horse drawn carriage ride.  In the snow, under the rug.  Well it wasn’t snowing but it was romantic.

Drop of at one three spots in Central Park that can be booked, and desked out in ribbons, flowers and petals.

Down on one knee and the speech.

Even I teared up a little when I was writing the scene.

Good thing she said yes.

Even I was on the edge of my seat waiting…

…

Today’s words:  2.045, for a total of 39,795

The Cinema of My Dreams – It ended in Sorrento – Episode 62

When you least expect it

…

After an hour passed, and no one had come looking for our intruder, darkness had fallen, the mother had taken the three children off in the car, and the people in the house had all left, leaving Dicostini to sit at the table reading a newspaper.

He didn’t seem to be too interested in running or working on his farm.  Maybe if he took more of an interest, it might be turning over a profit.

Behind me, I could hear our would-be assailant stirring and finding himself very tightly bound and gagged.  I turned around.  “If you know what’s good for you, I’d go back to sleep.  Either way, make any noise I will shoot you.”  I held up the silenced gun and waved it for emphasis.

“You do realise he has seen us, don’t you?”

“Do you want me to shoot him?”

“Well, you know what he’s going to do when he gets free.”

I did, but I wasn’t going to tell her.  I’d sent a text message to Alfie and he would be collected the moment we left the clearing.

Another hour passed when I noticed a shadow behind Dicostini who, now, had slumped forward, perhaps asleep.  The shadow materialised into a human form, and then a woman.  When the pale light from a wall lamp shone on her face, I recognised it instantly.

The fake countess.

She shook him by the shoulder, and when he roused, he stood and looked like he was yelling at her.

Juliet came over and lay down next to me.  “What’s happening?”

“The fake countess just came out of the woodwork.  That’s our cue?”

“For what?”

“Storming the battlements.  Taking no prisoners.  Or perhaps just ask a few questions and reasonably expect answers.”

I stood and dismantled the rifle and put the parts back in the case. 

“Grab the bag, we’re on the clock.”

“What about him?”  She nodded in the man’s direction.  His eyes told the story, he didn’t like being tied up like that.

“Hopefully he’s learned a valuable lesson, don’t go blundering around in the undergrowth.”

We stowed the gun and bag in the car and headed back towards the farmhouse by a different route.  It was dark enough that we didn’t have to try too hard to stay in the shadows.

Lucking Juliet had thought to wear black.

“When we stopped behind the wall of one of the outhouses, I could hear her in my ear, “So, do I get a gun?”

“No.”

“What do I do when the shit hits the fan?”

“The same as me.  Duck.”

She punched me, which was not unexpected.

We made it to the back of the house, and to a window that looked in over an open-plan living area.  We had heard voices as we approached the house, now they were clearer we could see them.

“…part of staying out of sight didn’t you get?”  Dicostini was angry.

“In that little hole, you put me in?”

“You’re safe there, for the time being.”

“They know, you know.  It’s just a question of whether they’ve told Von Burkhardt.”

“Do you want me to go over there and ask?”

“You should have killed them all when you had the chance, not just the son and the father.  Like everything else you’ve done, this is going to end up an utter failure.”

He was going to say something but didn’t.  Instead, filled with pent-up rage, he hit her.  I thought it had been with an open hand, but it was a fist, and so hard she spun sideways, hit her head on the solid wooden table with a sickening thud and then just flopped like a rag doll on the ground.

So engrossed in watching those events unfold, I forgot about Juliet and suddenly felt what might be the barrel of a gun in my back.

Juliet!

© Charles Heath 2023