Charles Heath's writing blog

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.    For instance: And, then, the words: The doors to the warehouse opened and we drove in.  The look on Latanzio’s face was one of surprise but also knowing.  He didn't say anything yet. The van stopped. His chains were unlocked but not the cuffs and I dragged him out of the van, closing the door after us.  The whole operation took 35 seconds.  It was only the two of us, the others remained with the van, ready to tackle the intercept crew. By the time I reached the side entrance, the van was gone and the street side doors were closed. That was when he spoke for the first time.  "You can remove the cuffs now."  I had deliberately left the hand and foot chains on, and although it limited his movements, I didn't want to give him an opportunity to escape. I didn't speak, just dragged him up the passage towards the room where Amy was waiting. He stopped and tried to shrug me off.  "What

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 appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission. “Are there?  How many should I have?” The only way he could know there was not a full complement as if he had been told by someone how many people were in our group from the outset.  I looked at Jacobi, and he shrugged. “This is not a good time to be playing games, Sergeant James.” The guards gripped their weapons a little tighter and looked ready to use them. “The only one playing games here would be you.  It would be irrelevant if I had more or I had fewer people here because you have more than enough to cover us, and then some.  But you woul

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.    For instance: And, then, the words: It would come as a surprise to anyone who knew me that I would be able to track Madeleine on my phone, or, for that matter, do anything other than making a call or send and read messages. Madeleine was one of those women who knew everything and anything about the technology and had stated more than once that I had to change my Luddite ways, and had been making it her mission to bring me out of the dark ages. That included making the necessary changes and updates on my phone to make it more useful for me, and over the course of a few months when our paths crossed, she would give me a short lesson on certain aspects she thought would be useful for me. Like the calendar and keeping appointments, particularly with her.  I had no excuse to forget. The last lesson of sorts had been on the way back down on the peak tram, and that was in relation to looking for and using apps.  An

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way. Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war. And, so, it continues... They reached a point a few kilometers from what was known as Brenner Pass at four in the morning, having navigated their way through patchy snow, icy roads, and bitter cold.  Progress at times was slow and the roads were difficult, the driver, at times, nearly losing control of the car. The checkpoint appeared almost when they were on top of it, one that hadn’t been marked on the map, so they had not been prepared for it.  Too late to turn back, they had to stop. Once again the soldie

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 installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt. I took a moment longer to study the differences in the maps, trying to see what our edge was. “So, according to this map, Alex would be looking for a stretch of shore with two rivers going inland, which you say are no longer there.” “I do because they’re not.  Well, they’re not visible these days from the seaward side, and not really visible from shore either because I think one of the two might have started where the mini marina is.” The mini marina wasn’t as marina as such, rather an area of seawater surrounded by a promenade with a bridge over the entrance from the ocean, and a lot of expensive Italian tiles.  It was part of the redev

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.    For instance: And, then, the words: It was not going to be a good morning The hot water system packed it in, a fuse blew taking out all the kitchen appliances, and then the front door key went missing. It was as if the Gods were trying to tell Detective James J Jones that this was not a day to go into work. As it was, it had been a last-minute decision by the department doctor to clear Jones for active duty, mainly because Jones had told her that he would go crazy if he had to stay home any longer. But it was not t the mental aspect of Jones' injury that concerned the doctor, it was whether the physical wounds had mended.  Certainly, there would be no chasing suspects down dark alleys, or getting into a shootout, all past activities of the cop that was first to put himself in the line of fire. That last time, three months earlier, had nearly killed him.  He had the near-death experience to vouch for i

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.    For instance: And, then, the words: I opened the door and was about to welcome them in when I saw a man, about six foot ten tall, 250 plus pounds, and tattoos leaking out of his overly tight collar and ill-fitting shirt. Not the police. "I think you have the wrong flat," I said. I went to close the door, but a size 20 shoe was blocking it. "Where is Jake Mistrale?" Heavily accented English, this man was a thug of the worst order.  There was nothing polite about his manner.  I needed to think quickly some way of getting rid of this man.  He was more than likely the one who tossed the flat before we arrived. "I'll tell you what.  We can keep talking, you could do something really stupid and break-in, and we can wait for the police to arrive.  I'm sure I'm not the only one who would like to know who you are, and who you work for." "You are bluffing.  There

I'm back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written. The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I'm not very good at prioritizing. But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn't take long to get back into the groove. Chasing leads, maybe It was rather an anti-climax to see the cat, Herman, come slinking out of the bedroom, down the passage, and then stop just at the edge of the room to look at the visitors. He must have been hiding in her room all this time, and when he'd heard the door close, he thought it was safe to come out. Jan saw him and held out her hand, “Come on, Herman, you’re safe now.” He didn’t seem to agree and sat down just back of that invisible line in the sand that he wasn’t, yet going to step over. But he did meow a few times, just to let us know he wasn’t pleased. “Now that you’ve seen the cat, what were you thinking might be of significance?