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Sunday, 15 January 2017



As soon as Luigi and Cody were dressed, the killer gestured to them with the gun to go outside onto the walkway.

“Downstairs!” he ordered quietly.  Luigi had half hoped they would use the lift.  Somebody might get in and then the killer might be distracted and Luigi could grab his gun … or maybe in the close confines of the lift, he might get close enough to do it anyway.  He turned round to see what was happening. 

“Just keep walking!” the killer growled.  His quietness and confidence were terrifying.

At ground level, the killer asked, “Where’s your car?”  Luigi thought of lying, and saying he didn’t have one. “I know you have one,” said the killer.  “I’ve watched you.  I’ve seen it.”

Luigi almost lost hope then.  How were they going to escape?  He also felt especially stupid.  He’d automatically put his key ring into his pocket when they’d left the flat.  Habit.  A couple of years before, he’d locked himself out of the flat and had had to go and beg to be let in by the building supervisor, who lived in a flat on the ground floor.  Mr Albanese had made his dislike of Luigi’s effeminacy quite clear, and Luigi had resolved never to let it happen again.  He’d made a habit of putting his keys, his wallet and his phone in his pockets whenever he left his flat.  Stupid! he thought to himself.  The police might know the killer’s car make and registration number and might be able to track them if his car was used.  But obviously the killer thought so too.

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Saturday, 14 January 2017


The policeman nodded to them. Then he turned on his heel and went back along the walkway and into the flat.

“Loik to live dangerously, don’t ya?” murmured Keith when the lift doors had at last closed.

“Homophobic bunch of arseholes and wankers!” stormed Jason.

“Oi think he had a hard-on for ya, Jace,” said Keith.

Jason just tightened his lips and shook his head.

 “They’re so unprofessional. So inept.”

“You were very blunt,” observed Esmé.  “People hate being criticized.”

“Yeah.  But how unprofessional is it to raid his house and let him escape!  And then to argue with us when we point that out!”

They’d reached the ground floor.

“What’re we going to do now?” asked Esmé.

“I don’t know.  I feel we have to do something.”

His phone rang.

It was Luigi.

Tuesday, 29 November 2016


“You can’t just walk off like that!  After accusing me of neglect and incompetence!”

Very quietly, Jason hissed, “There are two men out there whose lives are in danger.  Who might die because the police screwed up.  And while they get further and further away you are wasting time having an argument with us?  You are angry because I have told you some home truths.  I am livid because my friends are about to get murdered. While you do nothing. ‘Uphold the right’ it says on your badge.  What are you going to do, Sergeant Kaminski? Are you going to do your job, or are you going to arrest us, waste time by taking us down to the station and filling out forms?”  He paused to let that sink in.  “Now, if you would be so good as to move your foot, we would like to go home.”

For a long time, the sergeant glared at Jason and then sighed.  “Don’t get involved,” he said.   He was brave enough to meet Jason’s implacable blue gaze.  “Yeah, I know we screwed up.  And I’m really sorry.  But we’re still better at it than you amateurs would be.”

Keith could see that Jason was still angry, but he smiled at the policeman, a trifle tightly, but a smile all the same.  “I’m sorry, sergeant, for losing my temper.  We’re very worried.  I know it’s not because of you personally. I apologise.”

The policeman nodded.  “We’ll do our best.  I promise.”

Jason lifted his lips off his teeth.  No one would call it a smile.  “Just save our friends.” 

Monday, 17 October 2016


“So our friends’ lives are at risk because you guys screwed up?”  Jason was furious.  Keith had never seen him angry.  It was a revelation.  Jason didn’t go red in the face or start sweating.  His voice was ice-cold, but his eyes blazed sapphire with rage.  His wrath was even more telling because it was manifested in a quieter voice than normal.

Kaminski got angry too.  “It had nothing to do with me!”  He showed he was angry by raising his voice, and going scarlet.

Jason tilted his head to one side, inspecting the other man, and was silent for several heartbeats.  “True,” he said at last.  “But our friends are out there with a killer.  He took Cody already, but Cody escaped.  Only after he’d been tortured.  For hours.  He was nearly killed. The killer cut a piece of flesh out of him.” The sergeant looked visibly shocked at this.  “ And he’s with that man now, knowing that this time he might not escape.  And frankly,” raising his voice when Kaminski tried to speak, “the police haven’t given a fuck about the investigation.  Because we’re just a bunch of queers.  Who don’t count.  If my friends die because of this, you—the Police—will be hearing about this and I will be taking steps to see that this bias and incompetence are properly punished.  Good morning to you, Sergeant.”  And he turned on his heels, and taking Keith and Esmé by the arm, marched off to the lift.

“You can’t just …. Dammit!”  Kaminski started following them down the walkway to the lift.

The lift was still on their floor, and its doors were still open.  The three of them got in, with the policeman still several meters behind.  But the lift doors were as slow to close as they had been on the way up to the fourth floor.  Kaminski slid his foot between them before they closed, and obedient to their safety overrides, they opened again.

Sunday, 14 August 2016

Promises, promises!

I said I was going to post 2 or 3 items a week, and promptly caught a cold which turned as it always does into bronchitis and fever and such like fun.  I've been off work and spent most of the last few days in bed.  But I am gradually getting better. I feel almost OK again, and only have coughing fits every couple of hours instead of every 5 minutes.  I'll post another episode later today.

Saturday, 30 July 2016


I'm aiming to post an episode of Majorca Flats every day or every second day.  We're moving towards the conclusion of this volume of the story--maybe another 50 episodes or so, and I haven't decided whether to keep going.  I've grown fond of Jason and Lou and Cody and Keith and Esmé, and of course of the sharp-witted Lucasta and Eleanor.  And of course no story really ends, does it?

On the other hand, I have several novels (6 in fact) which need revision and rewriting.  So the question is whether I should temporarily set aside Majorca Flats when it is finished and go back to work on my other novels.  I'm not sure yet,  Majorca Flats started out as a way to get past writer's block.  Surely, I thought to myself, I can do 100 or 200 words a day.  And it worked.

I write because I love writing, and because I get to know and care for the characters I've made.  But I feel that I have neglected the people in my older novels.

Anyway, I will finish book one of Majorca Flats over the course of the next few weeks, then I'll see how I feel.


Jason rang the number he’d written in biro on his hand.

“Hi, this is Jason Armstrong-Beaufort.” He’d decided to use his name rather than his title when dealing with the police here in Australia.  He thought that using his title would provoke disbelief.  And they didn’t have time to waste.  “I phoned about 20 minutes ago to tell you about a message a friend had left me saying he was in danger.  Yes.  Well, I just want to tell you that you don’t need to come because the police are already here.  Yes.  My friend must’ve called you guys before he called us.  Yeah, you can talk to one of them.  Sergeant Kaminski.”  He handed his phone over to the policeman.

When Kaminski had finished speaking he handed the phone back to Jason.

“What are you going to do now?  Don’t get involved.  Let us do our job.” They were obviously no longer suspects.

Jason shrugged.  “Colin made me promise not to get involved.  What are you going to do now?”

“We’re putting out a KALOF …” he interrupted himself when he saw their puzzlement “… a Keep a Lookout For …. Luigi’s car and the killer’s.”

“How did you know the killer’s name?  And his car number?”  Jason was beginning to get frustrated.

“We—well, the police—raided his house earlier this morning.”  Kaminski looked very uncomfortable.

“And …?” said Jason, his voice hard.

“He got away.”

“Wonderful,” exclaimed Jason.  Keith hadn’t thought anyone could put so much sarcasm into a single word.

The policeman coloured and stiffened.  He didn’t say anything, though.

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