I mentioned before that I’ve been blogging over at Medium for a while. I’d love it if you went over and checked it out.

My latest Medium posts include articles entitled:

“I Can Neither Confirm Nor Deny – how to survive in a post-truth age”

“I know I’m Right! – the illusory value of moral convictions”

and over at the 

Colonel Thorn blog, I reflect on my two years of research.

What will 2021 bring us all, I wonder!

 

 

 

 

I am continuing my series of eclectic story related blog posts. Come on over to Medium and see what you think.

Hamblin’s House of Blood and Thunder is a delve into a strange story from the past that is full of intrigue, tragedy, and great art. 

Thrumming the Web of Influence discusses how we can affect social change just like Charlotte did.

Are you who I think you are? is a delve into people who live double lives and hold long term secrets. What does that say about being human?

 

Welcome to a sample from the new Tara Sharp novel, Razor Sharp. It begins in Cass’s POV and then switches to Tara. Any (constructive :))  feedback is welcome!

 

Chapter One

Cass ran a wet cloth over the kitchen bench and then hung it on the dishrack to dry. It was that kind of day. A day when swiping a sponge over an already gleaming bench top seemed like the most important thing… the only thing… she had to do.

When she lived at home, Saturdays had been the best day of the week. Debs and Ricci usually came over early, before lunch, and they swapped outfits and did their makeup and argued over where they’d go that night: the train-tracks bonfire, the movie-plex in the mall, or the under-agers party in the carpark behind Gibbo’s Bar. Sometimes they’d sneak into the back of Vivio’s nightclub, but most of the bouncer’s knew their age and if they got caught they were booted out. It only ever worked out for them if the bouncer was new, or Ricci’s cousin was working. Cass didn’t really mind if they got busted. The music at Vivio’s sucked. She’d grown up listening to David Zowie and DJ Black Coffee but sometimes she just ached for something from the vault like The Damned and Killing Joke. 80’s goth rocked, in her opinion.

On those carefree Saturdays, if her mum was sleeping off a hangover, they’d smoke weed in the lane behind her flats. Then they’d give Rajeesh-behind-the-counter total shit when they went in to steal gum to hide the stink. Not that her mum cared if she was smoking or not.

Cass sighed. Being fourteen seemed another life ago. And in a week’s time she’d be able to legally vote. Eighteen. Not that any of the fucktards in Australian politics deserved her support. But it felt good to know it was her right to NOT vote for them if she wanted to.

And the truth was, that even though Saturday nights had been fun when she was fourteen, she wouldn’t want to be that person. The last few years living with Tara Sharp and her family hadn’t always been easy, but it had still been better than her life with her mum in almost every way. With mum it was always a drama. She was either drunk, or stoned, or angry. Sometimes all three at once.

Cass formed a mental list of how much better things were now. (Lists were good when you were bored.)

#1 Getting much better at believing I can do shit.

That’s sounded stupid. She’s always been able to do shit. At twelve she’d learned to fill out her mum’s dole forms. At thirteen she’d menu-planned to make their allowance stretch two weeks, and then did the shopping at Coles. But that was stuff everyone did. What she was better at now was other crap. Like spreadsheets, and forensics.

Her boss, Tara Sharp, knew everything about people. Like Tara really got people. When they were lying and stuff. Cass knew she wasn’t so good at that. But she didn’t forget anything. And she could organise shit quickly. Into lists.

 #2 Tara Sharp.

Cass would never forget the day they’d met – twenty-six months ago – out the back of the train station in the Bunkas. She’s never seen such a tall, wild-looking woman before. Seriously. All hair, and bounce. And that was just the outside. On the inside, Tara was like a ticking bomb. And just as you get used to her being, all like, a regular tick, tick, tick… she’d go BOOM! Blow up and do something crazy. In the time Cass had known Tara, some had tried to run her over, she’d been kidnapped by a dead-set, professional hit man, and she’d been inducted into a bikie gang.

Cass grinned. It sounded bad when you put that stuff on her list. But really it wasn’t. Tara was good people. Like… really good people. Tara had saved her life. Friend, sister, mum, and annoying older person who partied to Aussie (vomit) hip hop – all rolled into one.

Oh, and her Boss.

Which bought her to number 3…

#3 The Sharp Agency

Specialising in weird shit. Not exactly a PI business, not exactly anything. Just doing the strange stuff that got recommended to them. The leftover problems, often for the leftover people.

Cass pressed pause on her mental listing and glanced around. The office was a pool of shadows and quiet, the venetian blinds snapped tightly shut against the afternoon sun.

Closing her eyes, she drew a mind map of the space. A row of potted Ficus and a slightly-tarnished gold-painted statue of Shiva led clients from the front door straight to her desk. If she turned to her right, she’d see silvery dust motes lit by cracks of sun, dancing in slashes across the rich, red carpet. Rich, red, soy-sauce-drenched carpet.  The office had been a Chinese restaurant. Some scents never leave. Even after steam cleaning.

From there, it was just a big open room given shape by a couple of large and ornate lacquered-wood partitions. One was decorated with dragon heads and the other bore the faces of Chinese Gods. The dragon’s head concealed Tara’s corner office space with its two armchairs, big screen and a second-hand bureau.

Wal Grominsky’s smaller desk, and couch that folded out into a bed were tucked behind the angry, open-mouthed Gods. That seemed poetic and right. Security guy, Wal, wasn’t someone you messed with. Cass liked him, but she was kinda scared of him too. Not in a bad way. He was cool with her, and he worshipped the ground Tara walked on. It was just his manner that was unsettling. Quiet. A bit – a lot – paranoid. Reckless, unexpectedly hot-headed until shit got real. Then ice cold. Hard to figure.

That left the open area with the second-hand white leather lounge and faux marble-topped coffee table. That was for their clients. And Friday drinks. Not that Cass ever drank alcohol in front of Tara. For a crazy lady, Tara Sharp could be downright… parental.

Cass opened her eyes and breathed deeply and glanced about. Yes, the detail of her mind map was perfect. The dust-dancing quiet, the taint of soy sauce, the rattle of her desk fan were the sights and scents and sounds of home. And she loved it with every tiny cell of her body. Really, she did.

But right now, she was so fucking bored.

The work number buzzed so loudly into the silence she jumped.

‘Sharp Agency, Cass speaking. How can I help you?’

‘Not bad at all,’ drawled a familiar voice.

‘Tara!’ Cass couldn’t help but smile, though she tried to sound annoyed. ‘Why are you calling? You’re on holiday.’

‘Holiday schmoliday.’

‘Bali was supposed to be a work free zone.’

‘It’s nice to hear from you too, Cass.’ Tara’s sarcasm was always delivered with an edge of humour.

Cass sighed. ‘You know what I mean.’

For a moment Tara didn’t reply and Cass waited. Her boss wasn’t calling from Bali without a reason.

‘Everything ok?’ Tara said finally.

‘’Course. You’ve got appointments to see a couple of people when you get back. Other than that, I’m just logging the surveillance feed from that delicatessen job and trying not die from boredom.’

‘Ri-i-i-ight.’

Cass thought she sounded disappointed. ‘How’s Ed?’ she asked.

‘Sends his love. He’s on a shoot in Ubud today,’ said Tara.

‘Cool.’ Cass didn’t know anything much about Bali, but she had looked up the map.

‘Cass.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Been any other calls?’

There it is. She wanted to know about Nick Tozzi. ‘Why would he call here? He’s got your number.’

‘I didn’t mean…’

‘Yeah, you did,’ said Cass.

Another pause. ‘Yeah, I did.’

‘Nada. Sorry, boss.’

Tara sighed into the phone.

Cass wanted to… not hug her exactly – Cass wasn’t a hugger – but make her a cup of tea and tell her to get over it. Men simply weren’t worth the hassle.

‘O.K., I’ll see you in a couple of days, and let me know-’

‘I will. Promise,’ said Cass, cutting her off.

Tara laughed again, which made Cass feel better.

‘Talk soon, hon.’ And she was gone.

Cass sighed too then and leaned back in her chair. Maybe she should just shut the office early and walk to the beach. She didn’t like the sand. But sitting at the top of the dunes watching the water… that was cool.

She got up and walked to the door to snap the lock shut. As her hand touched the handle, another hand grabbed it from the outside. She was locked in a strange, momentary battle for control, before she properly realised what was going on and let go.

The door opened and a dishevelled redhead about her own age in a short skirt and combat boots stumbled inside.

‘Tara Sharp?’ the girl with the red curls gasped. She yanked her denim jacket tight around herself and leaned back against the door as if blocking anyone from entering.

‘No, I’m Cass, her… associate. Can I–’

‘I need Tara Sharp,’ she demanded. ‘Thing is… I think… no, I know… someone’s trying to kill me.’