Cesmo Tales

By Cecil Hartzenberg

A collection of 17 short stories in various styles, Romance, Crime, Drama, Humour. Something for everyone. Only suitable for adults 18+. Ideal for a short read on the way to work or in a lunch break.

A Matter of Honour- Crime, Revenge 4
All in a day’s work. - Crime, Drama 9
Arthur and Martha - Relationships 19
Dear Diary - Humour 22
Dying Wish - Revenge 24
Ida and Minnie - Romance 29
Lindy - Romance, Drama 39
Mercy Flight - Crime, Romance 49
Take me home country road. - Romance 68
The Bag Lady - Humour 82
The Bracelet - Romance 85
The Knight and the Ogre. - Fantasy 94
The Dark. -Fantasy 105
The Spirit of Christmas - Relationships 110
The Time Traveller - Sci-Fi 120
Verisimilitude - Humour 127
Visitor from Downunder- Romance 130

• Language: English
• Publisher: John N Mason
• Release date: Jan 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9780463148556

Book preview

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Cesmo Tales

A Collection of Seventeen Short Stories

by Cesmo

Copyright 2022 Cecil Hartzenberg & John N Mason

Contents

A Matter of Honour - Crime, Revenge

All in a day’s work. - Crime, Drama

Arthur and Martha - Relationships

Dear Diary - Humour

Dying Wish - Revenge

Ida and Minnie - Romance

Lindy - Romance, Drama

Mercy Flight - Crime, Romance

Take me home country road. - Romance

The Bracelet - Romance

The Knight and the Ogre. - Fantasy

The Dark. - Fantasy

The Spirit of Christmas - Relationships

The Time Traveller - Sci-Fi

Verisimilitude - Humour

Visitor from Downunder - Romance

A Matter of Honour

The old man stopped on the pavement and stared in wonder at the ornate fountain he could see in the foyer of the opulently expensive five-star hotel. He had only just arrived in town a short few days earlier, on a visit to his son, who had dropped him off in the centre of the city to take in the sights. He did not notice the sleek black limousine that stopped directly behind him. A burly man jumped out of the passenger door and rushed to the back door. He brushed up against the old man who lost his balance and stumbled to his knees. He was ignored as the man pulled open the door and waited expectantly as an expensively dressed young man alighted.

He glanced briefly at the old man on his knees, inclined his head at the burly man, a bodyguard by the look of him, who walked over and hauled the old man to his feet.

Bewildered, he stood there as the young man looked him up and down, then sneered, Do you know who I am, old man?

He mutely shook his head.

I am the future, old man. I am going to be the most powerful man in this city, and you and everyone else will know that soon and fear me.

The old man found his voice.

And you are starting by intimidating old people like me? My generation fought wars against people like you. It might not be as easy as you think.

Taken aback by the strength in the old man’s voice, the young man looked at the bodyguard, who, without a word, took the old man’s left hand in his huge fist and crushed it. The young man leaned forward and hissed, That’s just a little taste of what happens to those who cross me, old man. They will be crushed. Remember that!

Leaving him nursing his mutilated hand, he swept past him, followed by the bodyguard, and the car driver, who gave him a fleeting look of sympathy as he passed, and they trooped into the hotel.

In agony, the old man stumbled to a nearby bench. He sat down. His knees hurt from when he had stumbled earlier but was nothing compared to the pain of his crushed hand. He tried to move his fingers but couldn’t. Some were in all likelihood broken. The mindlessness of it stunned him.

Are you alright?

A voice intruded on his pain.

He looked up. An attractive young woman, her face full of concern, stood in front of him. He grimaced, then said quietly, Not really.

She sat next to him.

What happened?

He looked around. Nobody else was near, so no one had seen the incident. In a voice filled with pain, he explained. She was horrified.

But why? It was so unnecessary.

He shrugged.

Shall we call the police?

Oh no, it will just be my word against theirs. It’s not worth the hassle. Could you reach into my pocket for my phone, please? My son dropped me off earlier and I need to let him know so he can pick me up and get this hand looked at.

I can ring him, she said, taking out her phone.

Sorry, he said apologetically.

I don’t know his number off the top of my head.

Alright.

She reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his phone.

Can you ring him for me, please? It’s Paul, the first name in the contact list.

She obliged and soon, she was explaining to Paul what had happened to his father.

He’s on his way. I’ll wait with you if that’s ok.

That’s very kind of you.

My name’s Lynda. Are you sure we can’t do something about your hand while we wait?

Don’t worry, I served in Vietnam, I’ve had a lot worse, he said.

You’re a lot older now, she pointed out.

He merely smiled, then told her his name was Sam. He had come to town to visit Paul whom he didn’t see as often as he liked. His wife had died a few years ago, and he was making more of an effort to connect with his son. She in turn told him that she was a primary school teacher, and had taken a leave of absence to teach in Cambodia. She had only just returned and was in the city to do some shopping. Her parents lived interstate, and her only brother in Canada, which was next on her list to visit before she went back to school. A car screeched to a halt. A tall, strongly built man with short dark hair jumped out and came hurrying over. Giving Lynda a cursory glance, he addressed his father.

How’s the hand, Dad?

He wordlessly held it up.

Paul took it gently and examined it.

Can you move any fingers?

Dunno. Hurts too much to try.

Paul’s face darkened with fury. Lynda involuntarily moved back. The man radiated a wave of furious anger she had never encountered before. He visibly brought himself under control, looked at the hotel, then at his father.

They’re staying in there?

Guess so.

Right. We’ll get this taken care of first.

He looked directly at Lynda for the first time and said sincerely, Thank you for looking after Dad. I’ll take him to get his hand examined.

And his knees, she said.

He looked at her enquiringly. She relayed what Sam had told her.

He said nothing for a long time. She sensed he was struggling for control.

Thank you once again.

He gently helped Sam to his feet, took him to the car, placed him in the passenger seat, and closed the door.

Will you let me know if he’s okay? she asked.

He nodded, got into the car and drove off. She sat on the bench for a while. She realised she had not given him her number. How was he going to contact her? A car horn roused her out of her reverie. It was Paul. She walked over to the car. The passenger window went down. Paul leant over.

Dad reminded me, we don’t have your number. Here’s my card. Give me a ring in a day or so.

She took it. Sam gave her a grin and a wink. They drove off. She put the card in her purse and with a light step, walked down to the train station and home.

Paul took Sam to a medical centre run by a friend. The knees were only grazed. The fingers, while badly bruised by the crushing grip were not broken. Paul worked for a private enquiry agency. Most of the personnel were ex-servicemen and women, as he was. Part of their work also included providing security for high profile individuals. It was relatively easy to track down the identity of the arrogant young man. He was the only son of Roberto Massimo, a powerful underworld figure, deemed to be untouchable, with vast wealth and an army of lawyers at his disposal.

None of that meant anything to Paul. The disrespect shown to his father and the assault could not be countenanced. He decided to try and speak to Massimo. He contacted Massimo’s personal assistant and requested an appointment to discuss a matter of importance. It was denied. Mr Massimo was far too busy. Paul persisted. After the fifth request, Paul’s boss called him in to inform him that he had been told that if he did not desist from making these persistent requests, there would be serious consequences for the company. Paul’s boss Mike, had been his CO during a tour of duty in Iraq. He did not take kindly to being threatened. They discussed the best way to proceed. A change of tack was required.

Meanwhile, Lynda had rung to check on Sam. Paul had passed the call onto him. He was too busy working on his plan of attack on the Massimo Family. A more direct approach was required. Thus it was as Massimo was having dinner at an exclusive restaurant one night, Paul appeared and seated himself across from him. All around, the other diners were a discreet distance away. Massimo, a bullfrog of a man with thick eyebrows, and beady eyes looked at him without expression. For some reason, his bodyguard was nowhere to be seen.

Who the fuck are you and where’s Aldo? Massimo rasped.

Aldo, the same bodyguard who had escorted Massimo’s son, had been unavoidably detained by one of Paul’s colleagues, disguised as a waiter. He had lured him out to the kitchen, where he had marched him into the alley at the back of the restaurant, where he now waited, unwillingly, for Paul to finally have a conversation with his employer.

Aldo’s fine, Paul replied.

I won’t take up much of your time.

He explained what had happened to his father. Apart from a slight widening of his beady little eyes, Massimo said nothing. Paul sensed he had no knowledge of the event. And why should he, it would have been extremely inconsequential to his son.

What do you expect me to do about it? Massimo growled.

Paul said simply, It’s a matter of honour and respect, Mr Massimo. My father did nothing to deserve such treatment from your son. At the very least, he deserves an apology.

Massimo stared at him for a long time. Then he sighed.

Do you have a son?

No, but I am my father’s son. I honour and respect him. I don’t know whether your son does the same for you.

No. Very well. You may leave and next time, make an appointment.

Believe me, I tried, I really did.

Massimo gave him a fleeting smile and a dismissive wave.

Paul left the table to curious looks from other diners. He exited through the kitchen, earning more curious looks from the kitchen staff. Out in the alley, he walked over to his colleague and friend Jake, who discreetly put away the gun he had used to hold Aldo hostage.

Your boss wants you, Paul said brusquely to a glowering Aldo, who scurried off. He had been strongly tempted to crush his hand as he had Sam’s, but he had an idea that would be nothing compared to the punishment Massimo would mete out to his hapless bodyguard. As for the son, he wondered just how he was going to deal with him, but he felt optimistic he would. Honour and respect had meaning, even for someone like him.

As he and Jake hurried out of the alley to their cars, for the first time, he felt relaxed. He might even try and catch up with Lynda, she seemed like an interesting person, who might be worth getting to know. And his Dad, he definitely needed to spend more time with him. A man whose honour he felt privileged to defend.

The End

All in a day’s work.

Jessica with her booted feet up on her desk stared unseeingly out of the window of her small office. Another week, and she was bored witless by the mind-numbingly mundane jobs she had been doing up to now. Out of the armed forces for a year now, she had set up her own one-person private enquiry agency. A wide range of contacts meant a constant stream of work, but God, it was mindlessly unexciting. Not that she had expected anything else, but following cheating spouses around, for example, particularly in this age of no-fault divorce, was singularly unappealing, but it paid the bills.

She missed the excitement, the adrenaline rush from near-death experiences from covert operations she and her team used to carry out, frequently behind enemy lines, the term ‘enemy’ often fairly loosely applied by those in authority, to nations one notionally would have thought to be allies. But hers was not to question why just to carry out the assignments. Which she did with great success.

Until the last one. Unreliable intelligence had led to unforeseen casualties. Although in no way her fault, she had felt responsible, and decided enough was enough. A year later, guilt still plagued her. Her immediate superior, a grizzled veteran named Marvin, still kept in touch, and occasionally utilised her skills in odd, discreet assignments.

As if in answer to an unspoken prayer, her phone rang. It was Marvin. Without preamble, he said, Got something for you.

Briefly, he ran over the details. A vehicle containing a shipment of semi-automatic rifles meant for military use had been hijacked. They needed to be recovered as soon as possible before they could be sold off to what Marvin termed ‘undesirables’. His investigation had led him to believe that it was an inside job. Not knowing how many were involved, who to trust, and not wanting to tip anyone off, he needed an outsider. He would email her all the information he had accumulated to date, and she had carte blanch to investigate as she saw fit. There’d be a lucrative payment attached.

Cut ‘em off at the knees, Jess, he said gruffly.

Get back the weapons. Can’t have us turning into the Yanks.

She agreed with relish.

I’ll get right on it, she told him.

The email arrived shortly thereafter. She perused it with interest.

The shipment being transported to an armoury at an army base had simply not arrived. The emptied vehicle had been found many kilometres from the base, the four army personnel accompanying it tied up and gagged inside. They had been hijacked by a team of four armed men wearing balaclavas, using the time-honoured method of the broken down car, halfway across the road. The powers that be, not wanting to cause widespread public panic, had slapped a suppression order on the release of any information about the hijacking. Marvin had added a cynical note that opined it had more to do with the army not wanting egg on its face