All posts by Vivika Widow

Author, blogger and founder of the Ragdolls UK foundation who support children and young adults suffering from genetic disorders. Visit www.vivikawidow.com for more info

Motto In Life

Can you be over prepared?

On a Sunday evening I have a whole host of rituals I go through to make my week ahead more positive and more creative. I write out my to do lists, I tidy, set alarms and check out my clothes for the day ahead. All these little things help give me a restful sleep and by extension a good start to Monday morning filled with coffee, brilliant ideas and a strength that is ready to take on anything.

I have a motto in life. Knowing the little things are taken care of makes you ready for all the big things that might strike. It’s not the prettiest or hard hitting of mottos but it’s one that usually steers me well.

Life gets in the way.

it seems no matter how much you prepare there are natural anxieties that are always get in the way. As the quiet of night set in there were those doubting voices.

“What good are you?”

“Who cares anyway?

“You are nowhere near where you hope to be.”

When you are alone in the dark these voices ring really loudly. You can’t sleep for them because they have caused your adrenaline to rush and your heart won’t slow. You can deny all these doubts but they don’t go away because they are your own doubts and you have to believe them, right?

With the result you finally drift off in the small hours resulting in very little sleep and waking the next morning not only feeling miserable, having battled yourself all night but feeling tired.

It’s okay to doubt.

Everyone faces those self doubts. It is true that we can be our own worst critic. What is most important is how we handle them. Personally, I have had some real self destructive episodes over the years as a result of this. I have also seen loved ones fall foul to it as well. So, now when those niggling voices start to get louder I note to myself three things I am looking forward to doing that day. These don’t have have to be any major events. They can be something simple like taking a walk in the park, or reading a few chapters of a good book or having a chat with a partcular someone.

Knowing the little things are taken care of makes you ready for all the big things that might strike. That is my motto and knowing there are little things to enjoy throughout the day goes a long way to easing the stress.

So I urge you to enjoy the little things. I urge you to ignore those doubts and I hope you all have the best week ahead.


If you have been suffering from anxiety or depression visit mind.org.uk for more information on the support available.


Enjoy this?

Check out the latest thrillers from Vivika Widow.

Available now.

Coming soon!

As a cult deprogrammer, John Reynolds has brought many a lost soul home. When someone close to him joins the Church of St Wigan, every skill he has ever garnered will be called upon to face its zealous leader.  

Processing…
Welcome. You're now a member. Shhhh!

Knock Knock: Episode 38: Thrill Ride

An invitation was granted for Owen Inc. and Beckingridge Firm to meet at Harvester Farm for a day of bonding and reuniting. Perhaps the nice farm girl, Julia, felt it was time to let bygones be bygones or, what was more likely was, she had some kind of divide and conquer strategy in mind. Either way no one would know for certain until that particular hour glass ran out of sand and needed to be turned again. The nice girl would just smile and say, “I just thought it would be good to have everyone together.” 

Circumstances prevented Chick and Elizabeth attending personally but they both agreed in good faith to send along representatives. So, when I arrived on the farm myself I could see Beckingridge employees in their pin striped, well-tailored suits. Making their way through the fields were

the Owen Inc bodies who could be heard before they were spotted, booted and just itching to fire off some guns. I could also see Buddy, accompanied as always by Dale Cooper and Chad Perry. I was keen to observe him in something of a natural habitat. I was also hoping that chance would give me an opportunity to speak to one of the Kappa So frat boys on their own. 

The Beckingridge crew did look somewhat out of place, sipping fresh fruit drinks and discussing their portfolios. There were children running around too. Their laughter rose into the air and it made quite a charming atmosphere. It was quite a breath fresh air and not just because of the crisp Bourton sunshine.

I kept my distance from Buddy. He looked a little subdued that day. His voice could still be heard cheering and trying so desperately to impress Julia but with a stern warning from The Cappy I could assume this was generally his best behaviour. Cooper had shown an interest in one of the banker girls. He was stood with arms folded. The girl was laughing at a joke he was telling her. 

Buddy had wandered towards the shooting ranges set up courtesy of Stoker Circus on the east acre. Chad spotted where Buddy was heading so he danced after him, probably also under orders from The Cappy to prevent his son from doing something stupid. 

Julia herself, I avoided. The hostess was busy circulating. Farm hand Glenn was stood by Gordon’s paddock introducing his favoured animal to a mix of the Beck employees and the Owen ones. I was enjoying the trip away from the city when I spotted Buddy pick up a rifle. 

“Hit the target and win a prize!” a show runner from the Stoker Circus called. “Hit two targets and win one of our stuffed animals.” 

Buddy lifted the gun. A grin spread across his face. Five targets. He judged them with a trained eye. 

He fired off the rounds. Shot after shot. Five times. 

The Stoker Circus man turned and checked the targets. 

“Better luck next time,” he said. All five targets had been missed. 

Buddy’s lips tightened. His eyebrows raised. 

“What you say, brah?” he asked. 

“No targets. Sorry. You want to try again?” the Stoker Circus man offered. 

“Are you saying I missed them targets? I missed all five of your targets?” 

The man with the attraction carried on, “Sorry, you must just have bad aim.” 

Buddy’s eyes widened. Chad recognising what was happening stepped back.

“Brah!” he warned. “You don’t wanna go messing with my bro.” 

Cooper who must have also caught some wind of the disruption had joined them. 

“I have a bad aim?” Bernard ‘Buddy’ Owen wanted to be sure. 

“Maybe just an off day,” replied the circus man, realising he was making a huge mistake but not quite figuring out how to fix it.

Chad hopped from foot to foot. 

“He ain’t got a bad aim!” Chad insisted. “He’s Buddy fucking Owen. You better recognise!” 

The Stoker Circus should have been familiar with the gun toting skill set the Owen’s possessed. They had after all worked with the Owen’s for years on various nefarious schemes but that is a story for another day. What I was observing at that point was Buddy exhaling breath. Chad was still warning the circus man. Cooper was stood with arms folded ready for whatever situation was about to arise. 

Buddy had had enough. He fished into his belt and drew his own gun. In hindsight this was the most expected situation to arise. The gun he had named ‘Vaj Slapper’. I have no idea and I didn’t care to ask. What was most important was that the shots began to ring out. 

Shoot one. Shoot two. Then three, four and five. All five targets were blasted to pieces. 

“You see that, brah!?” Buddy yelled. “Who’s got bad aim? An Owen never misses a target!” 

Credit in Buddy’s favour he had hit all five targets dead centre. The Beckingridge employees clutched pearls and gave an audible gasp. The Owen ones seemed to have fully expected this scene. 

Julia approached him before anything further could occur. She laid a hand softly on his shoulder. 

“Oh, Buddy,” she said coyly. “You’re such a boy sometimes.” 

He looked at her. He smiled and pushed his chest out. He turned back to the circus man. 

“I’ll take the giraffe,” he said, tucking his own gun away again. 

Who was the Stoker to object? He passed the stuffed animal to Buddy, who placed an arm around Julia and passed it to Chad. 

With Buddy’s ego reset again the afternoon continued on. I had to admire Julia’s ability to bring calm. She was very much in control of the situation. 

I continued to watch Buddy as Glenn’s daughterSusie raced him towards another shooting range. 

“Can I shoot your gun?” Susie asked him. 

Buddy shook his head. “No way, lil mascot. It takes practice.” 

Susie had been ever so impressed by Buddy’s natural skill. To be fair, it really was quite impressive. 

“Will you teach me?” the little girl asked. 

“First rule,” said Buddy. “Always make sure the safety is on.” 

BANG!

The noise made me shudder. Buddy’s eyes widened. 

Susie roared with laughter. 

“Oh? Did I just hit that target?” 

With his back turned he had hit that target dead centre. 

Susie cheered. 

“Do it again!” she urged. 

“No way. I’m all fired out. Wait a minute. I gottatie my laces.” 

Buddy bent over and fired the gun from between his legs. Again, the target was hit dead centre. 

“Ahhhh!” both he and Susie cheered. 

He put his hand to his ear. “Was that target?” he asked.

“Owened!” Susie cried out with glee, pointing to it. 

The little girl jumped onto his back, covering his eyes. Buddy spun around. Even with Susie fully concealing his gaze he managed to hit the target. He had gauged the distance and trajectory by counting steps and sensing wind direction. Ironically it was a skill honed by legendary Stoker Circus knife thrower, Felix Stoker. 

Speaking of Stokers, the circus man’s companions were ushering him away before the gathering realised the games were rigged. The other Stokers were making sure he packed fast. 

Buddy lifted Susie onto his shoulders and pointed to the show runner. 

“You tell that son a bitch!” he yelled across the field. 

“An Owen never misses a target.” 

“Kappa So!” Buddy yelled, as he charged across the field carrying Susie. 

I had caught the whole thing on film. 

***

The set up for the agents at Harbour House was hugely beneficial. Doyle’s office granted the licence to function as the Good Gang and everything seemed to be falling into place. The dust from the Black Bands’ sweep of the Mack Distillery was beginning to settle. The search for Tawny continued but the agency had sparked a new lease of life into Coldford. As always, I was on hand to document everything and with Dan’s help at the Crier I was keeping ahead of the curve. 

“This is great!” Dan cried when he saw the new facilities. 

I looked through photographs of the Distillery I had recently captured. Black Bands still occupied the area. Even if a Mack stepped back in and rang those bells the town of Bellfield was never going to be the same again. They were strong willed people, but where was one to go from complete destruction of the empire that held them together? 

***

Alford. A rural town past Bellfield. It was this part of Greater Coldford where Buddy found himself. He was feeling sickly and all of his usual powder suppliers in Filton had either been attacked by Reginald Penn or had been warned by the Cappy himself to stop providing his son. City Main was even more difficult to score in. After Tabitha’s stunt with the screens Kappa So had lowered their presence in the Shanties too. 

“They have shit gear anyway,” Buddy had mused gloomily. 

So to Alford he went to meet a new contact Cooper had provided. Marshal Cooper, Dale’s father, had quite the fondness for powder too. Travelling on the racing car circuits, the Cooper big dog didn’t like to find himself without his supplies. He had set up what he called pit stops with an ample supply. The bros had decided they would take advantage of this so to the rural town of Alford they went. Buddy wasn’t particularly enthused about visiting what he saw as the ‘ass end of nowhere.’ He especially was loath to be so close to ‘gypo country’. I believe this was a reference to the town of Bellfield. 

It was his own fault really. He had let himself build up his hopes when he spoke to a bro earlier that morning. 

“Yeah, I got some gear Bud,” he said confidently. “I’ll call you later brah.” 

It wasn’t ten minutes when he called back. 

“Yeah, no can do, brah,” he said. 

“Why not?” Buddy demanded to know. 

“I’ve been called back to Star State,” he explained. 

The Cappy was systematically ruining his social life, so Buddy was forced to personally visit the ass crack of Coldford to get some third-rate powder from Marshall’s bottom barrel stores. By the time they reached Alford he was still in a cloudy mood. 

They were told to meet at the Spinner attraction. It was a simple tea cup ride for little kids. The muddy field reminded Buddy of Harvester Farm. He longed to return to Julia. He still pained at the image of her silhouette in the window as they were forced to part. She to head her Harvester brand, he to kiss the Cappy’s ass and hope he would never find out about the golden asset. 

The morning after he had altered the asset, he’d awoken to the biggest come down he had ever felt in his life. As he had absorbed what he had done his heart skipped a beat and that wasn’t just because he had almost given himself a heart attack the night before with defibrillators from the medical school. 

After an argument with the Cappy – well the Cappy yelling, Buddy forced to listen – he had made such a show of being able to do what he wanted. Chad still had his rant on film. He couldn’t go back on it and look weak to his bros so the best he could do was get the asset out of the way whenever someone of note came to visit, like Pops. 

“I thought it was funny!” Buddy had complained to Chad and Cooper at the time as they assessed the damage.

“I hope you can fit that whole thing in your ass, brah, because that’s where it’s going when The Cappy finds out,” Chad stated the obvious. 

“It’s always with ass with you,” Buddy noted.  

Both Cooper and Buddy gave a befuddled look to their brother but they shrugged it off. 

It started to rain in Alford. Buddy groaned. Of course it was raining. Why wouldn’t it? They were in a shitty part of a shitty city. It was a light rain, like an irritating dust. Their new contact had told them to wait by the ride whilst he fetched them their goods and the transaction could be complete. At least that was what they thought. They could barely understand a word he said. 

“Buddy Owen!?” A harsh Bellfield voice was thrown at him. 

A boy of about fourteen of fifteen was calling to him. He was wearing a Mack and Sons hoody. The sudden address caught Buddy’s attention. 

The boy laughed. “I thought that was you. I’m surprised you could fit that chin through the gate.” 

Buddy looked to his bros. “Who the fuck is this little cock sucker?” 

The boy answered for himself. “Alfie Mack. I shagged yer ma!” 

Alfie, the youngest of the Mack sons was grabbing his crotch. His girlfriend, a teenaged girl with a mass of black hair, was laughing hysterically.

“Leave it Alfie,” she was saying but the pats on his shoulder were only encouraging him. 

Alfie had been with his mother – an Alford native – when the distillery was seized. Annie Mack had sent Alfie and his girlfriend, Melissa, out of her way whilst she continued to wade through the mess. Alfie was a spirited boy with all of his father’s resilience. 

“You inbred fucks!” Alfie continued. “Your weans are gonna have foreheads the size of Beck Tower.”

Buddy watched Alfie continuing to chide him. It was the girl’s laughter that irritated him the most. 

“Leave it, Bud,” he could hear Cooper warn. 

“Bud the fud!” was Alfie’s response. 

Buddy’s body was shaking with rage. He took a deep breath. 

“You are pissing me off, you little shit,” Buddy warned again. 

“Then why don’t you take a walk up Love Street and see what happens?” Alfie challenged.  

***

Just when Buddy thought matters couldn’t get any worse, he spotted a white Cooper SUV crossing the way towards them. 

“Brah!” Chad was patting his arm. 

“Yeah, I see it,” said Buddy. 

“It’s Pearl,” said Chad. 

“I can see it.” 

“It’s Billy,” said Chad. 

“Damn it, Chad, I can see, brah!” 

The white Cooper car named Pearl was quite distinctive. She was Billy Owen’s car and if he had driven all the way to Alford from the city he was going to be pissed. 

“Do you think he’s seen us?” asked Chad. 

William ‘Billy’ Owen climbed out of his luxury vehicle. He removed his sunglasses and called to them. 

“I’m here to pick up three retards,” he said. 

“Yep, he saw us,” Buddy stated. 

“What in all the Hells are you three doing down here?” Billy confronted. “You bitches better get in that there vehicle and not an ounce of complaint. I’ve had to drive all the way down here. I got so many damn bugs stuck to my windshield because of y’all.” 

“Just thought we’d check out the shows,” Buddy tried. 

Billy snatched Buddy by the chin and looked deep into his eyes. 

“You better be sober, Bud,” he warned. “Otherwise, you’re going to be stuck on my windshield.” 

“I am,” Buddy protested. 

The little altercation with Alfie Mack had gotten in the way. When Buddy explained what had happened, Billy gave a throaty laugh. 

“Why didn’t you smack the little shit about the head?” he asked. 

“He had a little girlfriend with him,” Cooper said. 

Billy glared at him as though he hadn’t fully understood at first. 

“Then smack the little bitch too. Do I have to do everything? Where did the little pikey go?”  

***

“Are you okay?” Melissa asked Alfie as they rounded the corner away from the bros after they watched Buddy storm off. 

“I’m fine,” he replied. “Just seeing the look on his stupid face…” 

Clearly Alfie was not okay. Why would he be? His entire family had been sent into turmoil. His legacy was lost and now it would be a long time before he saw his brother Paddy again, possibly Kieran too. The worst was his Ma. She was a tough woman. Annie Mack would have to be to keep the Mack clan in order but he knew she was struggling. That was why she had sent them away that day. 

“Yer just gonna get under my feet,” she said pushing him and Melissa out of the door. Alfie knew it was so they didn’t see her weep again. 

He had drafted a letter to Paddy letting him know how proud he was of him and what he was doing. If it wouldn’t give their Ma a heart attack,he would join him. Alfie – or wee Alfie as Kieran called him even though the teenager was almost as tall – could fight the good fight. He could contribute too. Alfie was ready for it. 

“Here,” Melissa passed him a joint. “It’ll calm you down.” 

Alfie drew Kieran’s lighter from his hoody pocket. It was one of those that if it was upturned the sexy female figure would lose what little clothing she was wearing. He had stolen it from Kieran the last time he had been home. 

He inhaled. The calming effects washed over him. 

“Do you want to go home?” Melissa asked. 

Alfie shook his head. He knew his Ma needed to focus. The last thing she should have to worry about was her youngest. The bros had collected their coke and headed off anyway. 

A roller coaster rushed past. Woosh!

Alfie was startled by the sudden noise but Melissa giggled. 

“The line for the Sharp Shooter is down, she screamed excitedly. “C’mon. Let’s have a go.” 

Alfie dabbed the joint against the fence. He slipped it back into his pocket. His mind was awash with cannabis, he had his girlfriend’s hand in his and the stupid look on Buddy Owen’s face was fresh on his mind. He was ready for the next thrill. 

***

Melissa clutched Alfie’s hand. She was shaking. He asked her why she would ride roller coasters if they made her so nervous. 

“It’s the adrenaline,” she said. “That’s the point. It’s fun because it’s scary. You know there isn’t any real danger but there’s always that chance.” 

There was still a line at Alford’s most popular attraction but it was shorter than it had been all day. It was the ride that Melissa really wanted to see. She had been telling Alfie all week about it. 

They slowly moved down a few steps at a time. Like the march of foot soldiers slowly approaching their enemy. The buzz of excitement among those that waited was infectious. Alfie began to feel it too as they drew closer to the entrance. 

An Alford carny opened the gate. Melissa dashed excitedly in. The metal boards leading to the ride rattled. They took up their seats. Melissa had snatched up the front of the carriage. The safety bars pressed down tightly on Alfie’s chest. He tried to push it away to ease it a little but it had locked. He could hear the excited chatter and cheers of those behind them. A younger girl was crying, regretting her decision. It was too late for her now. The ride was locked, ready and starting up. 

“This is it! This is it!” Melissa cheered. 

Click. Click. Click. Click.

The ride turned towards a steep incline. Their body weights pushed back against the chair, relieving the tightness of the bar on Alfie’s chest. The grey sky filled with rain clouds was all they could see ahead. Alfie swung his legs. The floor below was far out of reach. 

Click. Click. Click. Click. 

The ride continued to climb. Melissa squealed with delight. When they finally reached the top, the ride shuddered to a halt. It slowly tipped over the edge. They could see the ground now. People below, so far away, were looking up at them. Some were calling to loved ones. 

“This is it!” Melissa announced. 

ZIP. 

Alfie’s forehead exploded. The blood and brain matter splashed onto Melissa, carried by the heavy breeze that circulated so high from the ground. She screamed before the ride could inflict its thrills.

The carriage tipped over, falling down the steep hill at its fastest speed, slamming Alfie’s skull against his chair, his lifeless body unable to hold it up. Melissa, still screaming tried to waken him but her hands had to clutch her bars as the ride took a sharp corner. Some of Alfie’s blood was thrown onto onlookers. The couple in the seats behind them were trying to call to Melissa, still unsure of the reasons for her uncontrollable screaming. The rest of the riders were screaming too. Some of them were because of the speed of the coaster’s dips. Some because they were unsettled by Melissa’s sudden chilling shrieks. They knelled way more than a dose of adrenaline. 

As the ride turned back along the track Alfie’s arms swung limp. 

“That boy’s hit his head! Stop the ride!” a woman shouted. 

Melissa was no longer screaming. She was now shaking uncontrollably. It did seem at first as though Alfie had hit his head really badly. The crowd was unaware that a gunman lurked nearby. 

“How’d ya like that you little pikey shit,” Buddy grinned. “One down. Six to go.” 

The ride had to complete its rotation. The emergency breaks would only have made it harder for paramedics to reach the injured. 

Despite its death defying loops, its thrilling spills and its sharp corners, no one was screaming any more. By the time it rolled into the end track Melissa had gone almost catatonic. 

Click. Click. Click. Click. 

The Sharp Shooter came to a rest with a gush of steam. 

Zip. 

Now Melissa fell forward too. That was when the screams erupted once again. 

***

“What da fuck, brah!” Buddy was calling as the bros and Billy piled into Pearl. 

Billy gave a cold, callous laugh. “A’body knows those gypos are a stain on society. You gotta cull them little bro.” 

Cooper looked as though he was going to vomit. Chad was rocking in his seat as though he had been the one on the ride. 

“Don’t think because you’re my cousin you’ll get special treatment,” Billy stated as he drove away. “If I need to drive down here again to fetch your ass, I put a bullet in all of you. Am I clear?”

***

Paddy rang off from his mother. Her tears were still fresh and in that moment he felt he would never be able to forget them. Kieran had been watching him anxiously. He knew from his brother’s tone and the look of grief that spilled into Paddy’s expression that something terrible had happened. 

“What’s going on?” Kieran asked nervously. Paddy took a moment to catch his breath. Paddy could only shake his head. 

“Jesus Christ, Paddy!” Kieran barked. “What happened?” 

“It’s Alfie,” he replied, unable to disguise the crack in his voice. “They got Alfie. They shot Alfie. He’s dead.” 

It was now Kieran’s turn to shake his head. “No!” he cried. “Not the wee man!” 

Paddy rushed across the room as Kieran sunk into his chair, giving himself into despair. He wrapped his arms around his brother. Kieran wept into his shoulder. 

Paddy clutched Kieran’s face. “We can’t stay here. We need to keep moving.”

“We need to go back. We need to go to Ma,” Kieran suggested. 

“We will but we have to be careful. They’ll be waiting,” Paddy tried to remain level headed through his grief. 

Kieran’s weeps began to spill over again as the reality of the situation became clearer. “The wee man? I can’t believe it. They’ve got it wrong. Someone’s got it wrong. He’s just a little lad.” 

Paddy wished that it wasn’t true. Shot in Alford was what he had been told. Alford was no longer safe. 

***

Annie could hear her husband’s cry as she ran down the hospital corridor. She had asked that she be the one to tell him. Brendan had obviously found out. He was lying in his hospital bed chained to the bars with cuffs.

“Ya bunch of wankers!” he was screaming, rattling the chains. “You’ve got an old man in a wheelchair when you should be out there bringing in maniacs who are shooting innocent lads! Little fecking babies! Who’s the criminal? Aren’t you going to do something about that?” 

His close friend Tawny, his distillery, his brother and now his son. Brendan Mack had loved and lost more than most. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him break. 

The two Black Bands that were stood by his bed were unmoved by his rage anyway. The dispenser bullet of Van Holder’s had hit Brendan in the chest. It was painful, already scarred there by third degree burns from the night the Knock Knock Club was attacked, but he lived. He outlived his son. He was now being kept in a secure wing of Coldford General, a section of the hospital seized by the Black Bands.

Judge Doyle promised justice in the Shady City. It didn’t always prove to be the justice we expect or want. Justice is, after all, blind. 

That evening, Olivia Hickes lit a candle for Alfie in her church. The thousands of others were for the rest of the city. 

***

“You hear that?! An Owen never misses a target!”

I checked the footage of Buddy I had gathered at Harvester Farm. With the licence from the Law Makers, we were granted access to their secure servers in the understanding that any evidence we found was to be submitted to them. The footage didn’t prove much. Sure, Buddy had skills with a gun but that didn’t place him at the scenes of the crimes, but at least it was something. So I clicked SUBMIT.  


Enjoy this?

Complete Season 1 of the Knock Knock series is free to read here on Vivika Widow. com or click below download for Kindle

Care to discover the true whereabouts of the Knock Knock Baroness? The Macks kept the booze flowing and made the club what it was. Check out Vivika Widoow’s hit thriller Harbour House. Free on Kindle Unlimited.

Now In Servitude: The Boss

Location: Bournton

Features in: KNOCK KNOCK ; HARBOUR HOUSE

Coldford Correctional stands high on the hills of Bournton. It was given the nickname because of the way it looms over the town. It was a Chamberlain castle at one point in history. The Chamberlain family are what put the King in KINGSGATE. The castle in Bourton was a stronghold of Francesca Chamberlain who had a reputation for torture, greed and bouts of madness. These terrible deeds are said to have become ingrained in the very walls of the prison.

Artist, David Finn, meets his fellow former Harbour House resident Vincent Baines in the visitor room of The Boss

The Boss has played home to some of Coldford City’s most dangerous criminals. Most notably, two of the Penn triplets of the PENN AUCTION HOUSE have found home there. In order to keep such depraved individuals the guards of the boss have a no nonsense policy. If you act up within those walls you will be taken out. It doesn’t matter who you were on the outside. The Boss doesn’t care when you are Her slave.

It’s not uncommon for those who enter those iron clutches to be kept there for the rest of their lives. A years sentence for assault can suddenly become a life forfeit. Such is the way of Coldford’s correctional system.

Marcus and Simon Penn, better known as inmates 0301 and 0302.

Life inside is not easy. It’s not meant to be. It is a prison after all. When you are given that custodial sentence you give up your humanity, your past and your dignity. You are now in servitude to The Boss.

We haven’t seen the last of those who will pass through those gates so if you are bold enough to head so far north you will see the latest slaves being brought forth to be chewed up.

Hotly contested, the death penalty is alive in well in Coldford at this time of writing. As such The Boss plays home to the electric chair known as Buzz Kill. When you are dealing with such a hotbed of crime as is present in the Shady City those switches need to be flipped, often.

The cold corridors of The Boss hold constant reminders.

Enjoy this?

Check out these thrillers from Vivika Widow. Available now.

Processing…
Welcome. You're now a member. Shhhh!

Changing The World

If there were three changes to the world you could make, what would they be?

It’s an interesting question. It’s one that was posed to me the other day and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. There are so many things about the current world we live in that need to change. It’s actually quite difficult to pick out just three of them. There are so many injustices that need to be corrected, so many protections needing to be made for the future and so many great things that go unnoticed or unappreciated. I guess when it really comes down it those are the three key things that I think need to be changed.

Correct the Injustices

I’m not claiming I have all the answers, nor do I have the singular authority to make these changes I pose but if It can at least open up the conversation then that’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it?

Injustices are everywhere we look. I live in Scotland. We are a beautiful country with a wealth of history and breath taking landscapes. We have a terrific National Heath system and a GDP that makes us a comparatively rich country. Despite all that there are still people here who require food banks. Children in our big cities are going hungry and that doesn’t make any sense to me at all. Keeping our children fed should be the very basic of what a country with such standing offers. Don’t get me wrong, the food banks are a terrific thing and they have helped thousand but something has gone wrong along the way if a country like ours needs them. As I said, I’m no politician nor do I have any truly educated understanding of a country’s economy but that, should the option arise, is an injustice I would very much like to correct.

Rather than football rivalries or arguing over whether or not a gay couple should get married can’t we look at why working families should still require help to feed their children? According to Trussel Trust the use of food banks had risen by almost 80% over the past five years (as of 6th January 2020).

This is a huge injustice for me. There are those who would argue that the system is being manipulated and taken advantage of by those who don’t need it and I dare say for some that is true but to change our world we need to consider the most vulnerable people around us.

Protect our future.

We’re not going to be around forever and if the rate at which we are destroying this planet is anything to go by the earth won’t be either. There have always been fluctuations in temperatures since time began but the rate at which these changes have occurred in the last hundred years is unprecedented. According to NASA ‘Most of the warming occurred in the past 40 years, with the seven most recent years being the warmest.’

I don’t know about you folks but I really don’t fancy setting up shop on a new planet. I have a real phobia about travelling into space. I would also like to live out my life knowing there is still resources and beauty to pass on to the next generations.

Thankfully, there is a lot of work being done already to help correct this or at least do some damage control. If I could wave a wand and fix this, whether it be through offering more stable solutions, cleaner fuels or bringing all those extinct animals back from the dead I would.

Celebrate the achievements that go unnoticed.

Sure, there are many things in our world that need fixing. We can all do our part. We can donate to food banks or volunteer. We can plant a tree or reduce our own carbon footprint. It does real good to know that there are others who have thought about these things. There are men, women and children across the globe who are already working on their three ways they would change the world. Most of them you wouldn’t hear of. They quietly make their contribution that we will all benefit from. The last way I would change the world Is to make sure their efforts didn’t go unnoticed. To the little kid who takes time out to pick trash up off your street, to the mum who takes care of everyone else’s families as well as her own, to the man who attends climate change conferences to learn and ultimately act, I hear you! We all hear you. Little by little they are changing the world and in our own way we can too.


Enjoy this?

Read these exciting thrillers from Vivika Widow.

Free to read on Kindle Unlimited.

Processing…
Welcome. You're now a member. Shhhh!

Knock Knock: Episode 37: The Good Gang

The visitor room of The Boss was bustling with people. It was a lot less subdued than the more secured wings where visitors were limited. Vincent Baines had frequent visits from David Finn offering updates on the search for Tawny.

The artist seemed dismayed at seeing his friend in prison so he would come, sit at the table and chat about current events. Sometimes he would forget himself and lift his feet up as though they were back in rehab again.

“What are you doing today?” he would ask.

Vincent would find himself smiling. “You know my routine. I’d much rather hear about what is happening outside.”

“They still haven’t found Tawn. Do you think she’s still living?”

David started to sob as he considered the worst. Vincent patted his back.

“David,” said Vincent. “David, lift your head,” he instructed.

With a struggle David listened to the former music teacher. He sat back up and wiped the tears on the sleeve of the shirt he wore.

“You know Tawny wouldn’t want you going to pieces. It’s not going to be easy but…” Vincent stopped himself. He was finding it difficult to finish his words smoothly. He took his spectacles off and started to clean. “I’m so sorry,” he said eventually putting the spectacles back on. “I wish there was more that could be done.”

“Tabitha is still in the Monte Fort,” David said.  

Vincent frowned. “Monte Fort? I thought she was…” he hesitated trying to find the best way to put it. “I thought she was gone,” he said delicately.

David was instantly cheered. “No man! Didn’t you see? She’s still alive. They faked her execution and now Judge Doyle is going ape shit. When Tabitha gets out she’s going to go nuclear on those Kappa So fuckers.”  

Vincent stopped David. He was familiar with the artist’s passion, his loyalty to his friends but he also knew of his habit of running his mouth. He was sure Agnes would have enough to deal with. The Boss Lady shouldn’t be getting that kind of encouragement.

David hunched at the table again but he kept his head up. “I know she didn’t believe in religion or anything like that but I just wish that wherever she is she could give us a sign, you know? That she’s okay.”

Vincent was nodding in agreement, still dealing with his own acceptance of what had happened. David looked past him. His eyes widened. A grin spread across his face.

“Holy fucking shit!” he exclaimed. “Thanks Tawn!”

Vincent frowned as David stood. He looked over his shoulder. David was already crossing the room to an inmate he recognised.

Winslow – former owner of Harbour House and now Coldford Correctional inmate – looked as though he was wishing upon wish that the ground would swallow him and chew the bones.

“David,” Winslow greeted, putting his head down.

David raised his eyebrows. “Oh, it’s David now is it?” he growled. “No more, Mr Finn you need help. Mr Finn, you shouldn’t be doped up. You’re a disgrace Mr Finn.”

“Water under the bridge,” Winslow tried.

“Is it fuck,” said David. “If I’m going to be thinking about everything you did for the rest of my life you are too.” He rolled up his sleeve and exposed his arm. There were no fresh track marks. “I’m sure you‘ll be pleased to know I’m clean. Months with you was enough to put me right off.”

“I can’t leave this table. If I do the guards will stop me,” Vincent was trying to signal a guard.

“Back to your seat,” a guard called.

David gave a parting shot. “Oh and by the way, Tabitha is still alive,” he said. “Just imagine what she’s going to do to you when she gets her hands on you.”

David returned to Vincent who was still watching from across the room. Tabitha was a huge concern for Winslow. If it was public knowledge that she was still alive it meant something had happened on the outside among the Law Makers.

Winslow spotted the teacher as they were being led back to their respective blocks. Winslow stopped him.

“Vincent,” he tried a familiar greeting. “I know we’ve had our differences but as men of intellect I’m sure we can stick together.”

Vincent stopped. “You let that psychopath, George Beckingridge, do whatever he liked with me. You knew I was trying to get my head straight and you let him hurt me and people that I loved. Those aren’t little differences, doctor.”

He observed Winslow more closely. He started to laugh. “Goodness,” he said. “They took your title too.”

The body language of the people he met told their story easily to Vincent. It was a keen insight he had had his whole life. The flinch Winslow made when he used the title coupled with the sweat that broke immediately after helped him deduce. Winslow couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

“We should stick together,” he said.

Vincent shook his head. “I don’t think so. I have enough trouble in here being an ex teacher accused of fondling his pupil. Lies, you sir, could have have stopped George spreading. I really don’t want to be associated with the likes of you. That being said I do have two friends in North Wing who will be absolutely delighted that you have joined us. You knew their mother, quite intimately. I learned that on the last day at Harbour House. You were so concerned with the bailiffs you seemed to have forgotten the journals you had on your desk. You burned them up afterwards of course but I’m an observant man and I like to read. Rita Penn trusted you. She trusted you when she thought she was pregnant and you aborted her baby without her consent. I am going to have to break that to Marcus and Simon gently. I want them to tear you apart for what you did to Tawny first because,” here Vincent gave a bitter laugh. “You sure as Hell are not going to survive what they do to you for hurting their mother.” Vincent was ushered on by an impatient guard. “Shower alone, Gregory,” he called. “It’s a principle I’ve come to live by.”

***

Tawny could hear the door open. She heard the voices. The one that rolled above the others was Buddy’s.

“Gave her the night of her life,” he was boasting to his bros. “Julia was like, ‘will you stay with me?’ and I was like sorry babe that’s just how I roll. Can get too much of good thing, right!?”

“That’s solid, brah,” Tawny could hear Chad Perry agree.

“I don’t think I could stay away. A chick like Julia Harvester throwing herself at you?” Cooper was saying. He must have thought about the farm girl a bit too much. “I’m jonesing, brah.”

The storage cupboard was opened. Tawny was seated with her legs crossed and arms folded.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she jested.

Tawny had managed to keep a brave face but in truth she was terrified. So far it had just been frat boy pranks but she didn’t know how far they would go to prove themselves. If Buddy was anything like his uncle things could turn real nasty, real quick. She was worried, without a doubt, but the more time that she did actually spend with them she began to realise they were nothing more than three juvenile minded boys whose families placed so much pressure on them that the only way they could escape was with drugs. They were messed up. They were looking for their place in the world and causing a lot of destruction trying to find it. They were…Tawny frowned. Was that a golden cock they were carrying?

They had another visitor with them this time. He was watching Tawny with a little bit of drool on his lips. His hair looked as though it had been chopped with a knife. He was carrying a stuffed mouse in his arms which, coincidentally, was wearing a matching Kappa So jacket.

“Hello, George, honey,” said Tawny. “Long time no see.”

The Beckingridge boy had been tormenting his former music teacher within Harbour House so they were already familiar. Vincent Baines had been a close friend of Tawny’s.

***

Jackson threw the newspaper down. The Filton Crier, owned by BeckingridgeFinancial Firm, had printed a story detailing the Owen family being suspected in the disappearance of Tawny, the Knock Knock Baroness.

“That hussy thinks she can walk all over us,” Jackson objected.

“The Cappy knows what he’s doing,” Billy put in.

Jackson scowled at his son. “I worry he no longer has the capacity. I was talking to the board and it is time he tendered his resignation.”

Ronnie raged. “You went behind his back?”

“That’s a low thing to do,” Billy assured his father.

Jackson maintained his stance.

“I had no choice. Since Pops’ death everything has been spiralling out of control.”

The Owen cousin spoke the truth.

“It’s not his fault,” Buddy spoke up. When they all looked at him he said nothing further.

“Who do you suppose would do a better job?” Ronnie asked. “You?”

“Naturally the board would look to me,” said Jackson. “I always worked closely with Pops.”

Ronnie shook his head. “You wouldn’t have achieved half of what Chick has and you know it. These are extenuating circumstances.”

Jackson had fallen cold at the insinuation that he couldn’t live up to The Cappy’sreputation. He spoke calmly.

“That’s what worries me,” he said. “With all that has happened Chick might be losing his nerve.”

At that the door to the den opened. Chick himself greeted them. His eyes looked a little strained as though he had been lost in thought for some time.

“Come in,” he said to his family. “I’ve made my decision.”

They joined him in his room and Chick took his seat behind his desk.

“Things here in Coldford are becoming more and more difficult by the day. It’s becoming more of a struggle for me to put things right,” The Cappy addressed them.

Jackson looked to Ronnie. To him it was confirmation that Chick was in fact losing his nerve.

“It doesn’t help that y’all keep fucking up at every turn and corner.” 

Jackson frowned.

“Ronnie,” he began. “You’re a good man but you let those pikey terrorists walk free. I cannot have that. Billy,” he addressed his nephew, “I brought you here on the understanding that you would bring that murdering nutcase with a chain in. He still walks a free man. Either you up your force or I find someone who will.”

Buddy’s eyebrows raised as The Cappy’s gaze fell on him. “You, boy. Don’t even get me started on you or we’ll be here all night.”

“All of this I could abide. Ya’ll are family. However, when the board turns to me and suggests I stand down because of your mistakes? Well, that about makes me so mad I could spit. Jackson? I know you’re behind it and if you eva’ question my leadership again I will knock your teeth so far down your neck you will shit them out in single file. Am I clear?”

Buddy’s lips tightened. His eyes widened. Then The Cappy stood.

Jackson nodded but The Cappy wasn’t satisfied he had made his point.

“I’m going to need to hear y’all sign off!”

“Yes, sir,” the all replied in synchrony.

Chick took his seat again.

“If I were to step down it would be through my own choice and Jackie, you would never succeed me. Now onto business. We are being pushed into a corner. The distillery has been removed from the playing board but whilst our pretty boy booze hustler is still at large it means nothing. Billy, I want so much CPD presence on the streets that that boy is unable to so much as breathe without having a badge waved in his face. The thieving from our outposts is affecting business. It stops now. It has also become more and more important that Reginald Penn is apprehended. That little bitch, Tabitha, crying curses across the city really got my back up. I want that son a bitch Reginald behind bars before the Law Makers decide what to do with her. If he ends up dead?” Here Chick spread his arms and shrugged. “Well that would be swell.” He took a large intake of breath. “I’m going to give y’all one more last chance to end this. I’m calling Kick Off.”

Buddy’s eyes widened. His grin spread.

“No way!” he gasped but buzzing with excitement.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my entire life.

Ronnie was shaking his head. He lowered his gaze.

“It’s kick off time boy!” Billy cheered. “A’body knows when you hear that whistle bitches better start running.”

He clapped his father’s shoulder.

They filed out of the den but Chick stopped Billy.

“Bill,” he said. “I want you to take Betsy.”

Billy beamed with pride. First Kick Off then having the honour of carrying The Cappy’s favourite rifle. It was a good day.

***

The agents and I received an invitation to Harbour House. We weren’t sure as to why but since Elizabeth Beckingridge seemed to have similar motives as ours we accepted.

David described life in Harbour House to me in great detail. When I visited Vincent he did too. It was like the home of a childhood friend. It was comforting and warm but you just couldn’t shake the feeling that something sinister went on between the parents behind closed doors. That was how the musician put it. His description was accurate, I observed, as I stepped inside. It was decorated in the style of a home but the winding corridors were cool and unwelcoming in places.

Elizabeth had been waiting for us in the reception. Her assistant, Mark, was by her side. She had tried everything she could with her money and influence to find Tawny. It had been her own private investigators that led CPD to the body washed up on the Filton Ford, at the foot of the Fullerton Bridge. The remains had been stripped and cleaned of any evidence. They were looking for car crashes reported in the area but it was a wide net to cast and very unlikely to produce anything solid. It was frustrating when the culprit was known but no Law Maker would help until evidence gave them reason to.

“Ta da!” Elizabeth sang.

Mark applauded. The rest of us all looked confused so he stopped.

“Perhaps I should explain to these people what we’re doing here,” she decided. Mark agreed.

“Well, I’ve been following Sam here for a while and I’m quite impressed with your progress. It can’t be easy for you cramped in your little apartment. So I gift you this…” She turned to demonstrate the entire facility.

It was Agent Kim who spoke first.

“You’re gifting us Harbour House resources?

Elizabeth nodded, pleased with her offer. “It’s everything you could possibly want. It has research facilities, secure rooms, space for whatever fight training it is you people do. It also has some lovely gardens. They were beautiful, weren’t they Mark?”

Mark again agreed. “They were. A little overgrown but I’ve got the gardeners coming in tomorrow.”

Elizabeth beamed. “Then it’s settled.”

The agents looked among themselves. It would make a difference.

“You,” Elizabeth pointed to Lydia. “The pretty one.” Kim turned with an exasperated frown. “Don’t you ride a motorcycle? There’s even space to store it.”

Lydia laughed. “My bike is out of commission at the moment. It had a bit of a face off with a bull. Kitty is going to be in repair for some time.”

Elizabeth smiled, girlishly. “Mark, note that she calls the bike Kitty.”

Mark took note.

“Fear not, Kitten,” she said to Lydia. “We’ll have it back together in no time. Anything you need just let me know.  I’ll supply whatever equipment you need, computers, weapons, licences. Oh that reminds me. Mark the agents will need licence from the Law Makers to act as private investigators. Memo to Judge Doyle’s office.”

Mark was busy noting whilst the rest of us were busy trying to comprehend what was happening.

“We‘ll need a name.” Elizabeth’s novelist spirit was taking over as she created the scene in her head. “What about the revengers? No that sounds too aggressive. The force for Justice?” She shook her head. “That’s even worse.”

Kim stepped in before Elizabeth got too carried away. “Thank you for giving us this opportunity. We just want to do some good in the city.”

“We’re the Good Gang,” Lydia chuckled.

It was a tongue in cheek reference but it seemed to have ignited Elizabeth’s excitement again.

“That you are Kitten. You’re the good gang and you should be named after a good person.”

There was only one person I could think of whose name and sacrifice was worthy of such an accolade.

“Hickes,” I said. “Hickes was the one who brought us all together.”

We all agreed. None of us had been expecting to form the Hickes Agency but given the state of affairs in the city it seemed that it was just what was needed. As the saying goes – evil prevails when good people do nothing.

As the agents began to scan the area Elizabeth took me aside. “Hickes is a fine suggestion,” she said. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less from a fellow writer. I read Marble Mantle by the way, we’ll discuss that later.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked her.

She stopped. With Mark aside and the agents inspecting it was just us.

“I put everything I had into finding Tawny. In doing that I learned so much about what was really going on. I spent my whole life in Filton. I had no idea what was happening beyond the manor walls. That was my mistake. Everyone told Ernest that he was naïve. I did too but I realise that I am no different. I don’t want to be naïve. I want to know everything that is going on so I can be prepared for it. Because experience has taught me that all the money in the world doesn’t give you wings when a pissed off bastard from the Shanties wants to throw you out of a hundred story window.”

She was feeling guilt for not having found Tawny. She was experiencing survivor guilt for outliving her brother when she could have pulled the Tower into order any time she chose. Most of all she was feeling guilt for never having given a second thought to the plight of the rest of the city until its troubles came hammering on the manor gates.

She beamed when Lydia returned. “That bike of yours,” she said. “Let’s get it repaired and functioning again.

“It may take a while,” Lydia admitted. “I am waiting for the upgrades.”

“What kind of upgrades?”

“Preparing her for combat situations. Increased torque, armoured body, weapons perhaps?”

Elizabeth clapped her hands with glee. “Yes!” She cried. “I’ll give you what you need because that is happening!”

“I know someone who could help,” I suggested.

She drew a bottle of champagne from behind the reception desk. “Let’s celebrate.”

“This lady is nuts,” Kim commented to me.

“I tried to warn you,” was my reply.

An author’s zeal with billions to back her whims made for a very interesting combination.

“Pretty one?” Kim teased. “Cheeky cow.”

“Well babe, some eyeliner and a touch of lippy wouldn’t be a complete loss on you,” Franklin jested.

When he saw Mark struggle to open the bottle, he offered his help. Their eyes met. Mark gave a wide smile. Franklin pulled the cork. Pop.

“Thanks,” said Mark.

“You’re welcome,” replied Franklin.

Elizabeth took the bottle and glugged from it.  

“Here’s to a promising future,” she cheered.

In a city upturned by the bad, Coldford needed the Good Gang.

***

Excitement was in the air with the formation of the Good Gang. Amidst the struggles, the fears and the upset it offered hope that things could get better. The next stage of the journey brought us to the suburban town of Jameston, known by the locals as Jamestown on occasion. I was one such local and on this particular day I had brought the agents to a garage owned by my father, Samuel (or Sam Senior).

He was always pleased to see me return. When I first left for Coldford it had been he who had warned me against it. The idea of living in the city didn’t well with him. Considering what I had been faced with in that time I can’t really blame him.

My father was a cheery soul who loved good company and what better company on this day than the agents of the Good Gang. As pleasant as it was they had come for a purpose. The attention to that purpose was brought by Elizabeth Beckingridge.

“You must be Mr Crusow,” she said a little flirtatiously when she saw my father.

My father smiled at her. He seemed quite beguiled by her too. It was all quite horrifying for me.

Before my thoughts could wander onto the idea of having Elizabeth as some kind of twisted step mother figure Lydia was captivated by all the bikes and cars the garage had on offer.

When my father noticed he said cheerily, “I have something real special for you. It’s not been easy to get together and It’s not been tested yet but it’s really something.”

“When I was a little kid, I dreamed of a day I’d get to work on something like this,” he said with excitement. Lydia was excited too. We all were.

“I want to thank you for the opportunity,” he told Agent Lowe.

There she was. She was to be Lydia’s own personal transport. In tribute to this the formidable bike was named Kitty. We all gave an audible gasp.

“Terrific job!” Elizabeth cheered.

“That is far out!” gasped Agent Reynolds.

There was no more time to lose. It hadn’t been tested so all that was left to do was for Lydia to demonstrate what it was capable off.

***

“The city descended into anarchy last night as a wave of protests turned violent. The violence was sparked when Elizabeth Beckingridge of Beckingridge Financial firm deliberately destroyed a priceless heirloom of Kappa So,”

“Captain Charles Owen had called for a simple apology from Miss Beckingridge – who has a history of mental illness within her family. Miss Beckingridge refused and was believed to have taunted the destruction that she caused. Captain Owen had called for understanding after Miss Beckingridge’s childish behaviour but anger spilled over last night. Perhaps Miss Beckingridge will make that apology now. I’m Sandra Wake of Coldford Daily News.”

***

The service elevator of the Faulds Park building opened. The space was filled by a formidable figure. He was sleep deprived but still spurred on by anger and adrenaline.

“Reginald!” Rita shrieked. She ran from Franklin’s side to her husband who collected her in his embrace. Agent Kim was on her feet, Lydia followed her lead.

“Not one step further,” Agent Kim warned.

She was expecting confrontation, judging by the fury that was laced into his expression. Her estimations weren’t completely wrong. However, the King of Main had come alone. Belta’ slid from his sleeve. Franklin too was now armed.

“Rita, pet,” warned Kim. “I’m going to need you to step back.”

“Please,” Rita plead. “We don’t have to do this.”

Reginald kissed his wife, disregarding the guns aimed at him. “It’s okay, my love,” he said. “I would like to talk peace with the agents.”

At that Rita did let him go. Reginald slowly laid Belta’ on the table. Stepping back he raised his arms.

“I’m here because of my son, Junior. They have taken him and I have learned they are holding him at one of our warehouses. They are looking for me to go fetch him and if I do there will be more blood shed. That is what they have come to expect. Junior could be killed. I hear you agents are good at extraction and infiltration.” Here his lip curled. “My other two boys and Tabitha are testament to that.”

Agent Kim narrowed her gaze. “You want us to do your dirty work for you?”

“I’m asking you to save my boy. I trust you saw the video? You know what they did to him. Tawny was a good friend of mine too and she’s still missing. Will you help them?”

With a nod of her head Kim gestured to Lydia who eased off. Franklin followed suit.

“We’re still on appointment of the Office of Law Makers,” Kim reminded him.

Reginald gave a regal nod.

“I’m aware. That’s why if you agree to bring Reggie home I’ll hand myself into your custody.”

Rita sobbed. She tried to plead with her husband. With tensions eased he was able to take her into his arms.

“I promised I would do whatever it took to bring your baby back,” he told his wife. To Agent Kim he said, “I hand myself to you and your agents alone. I don’t trust CPD.”

“Good,” Kim agreed. “That’s something we can agree on.”

“Find Junior,” Reginald pushed. “Bring him home.”

***

“We’ll do what we can for you,” said Agent Kim to Reginald Penn. “But we have to go now.”

Reginald nodded. “Do what you can for Reggie. No matter what happens to me I need you to bring him home.”

The kick off riots had calmed a little but there was still a lot of tension on the streets. The Good Gang were hoping that whilst that distraction was there Reginald Penn could be brought in without incident.

The King of City Main said a fond farewell to his wife. He told her to give the boys his best. He promised her once again that her baby would be brought home.

A note I have made before on Reginald and one I wish to reiterate at this time was his noble nature. He was a noble man, that much has been noted too but as he departed the tower he gave his thanks and well wishes to his staff. He knew them by name. He commanded their respect.

“Long live the king!” they cried as he made his exit.

Through the bustle and noise of Main, even about the burning and crying of the rioters could be heard the sound of horse hooves.

The agents who had taken Reginald into their custody were closed in by none other than General Van Holder of the Subala Black Bands.

“I’ll take it from here, Agents,” Van Holder warned.

“He’s in our custody,” Agent Kim warned.

“Then I relieve you of your duty,” Van Holder insisted. “He’s under terror charges and that is my duty to the High Court.”

“It’s fine,” Reginald said to Kim. “I’ll go with him.”

If we are all honest with ourselves we would agree there was no other choice.

Through the streets of Main, the King was dragged behind Van Holder’s horse. The Kappa So present taunted and spat on him. The loyalists in support were pushed back as more Black Bands began to flood the area.

On the steps of the High Court, Judge Doyle waited. The law was the law and it was not above kings.

Van Holder brought the King to his knees.

“On King wrangled, Your Honour,” he said.


Enjoy this?

Complete Season 1 of the Knock Knock series is free to read here on Vivika Widow. com or click below download for Kindle

Care to discover the true whereabouts of the Knock Knock Baroness? Tawny was last seen as a resident of the Shady City’s premier rehab clinic. Check out Vivika Widoow’s hit thriller Harbour House. Free on Kindle Unlimited.

Reggie Penn was always an odd duck. He liked go off on little adventures. His family knew he would return eventually. If he stayed away too long his father would come looking for him and no one wanted that.

Hathfield Bay island feels a world away from the city and Reggie keeps missing that damn ferry.

Available May 14th – pre order now.

Processing…
Welcome. You're now a member. Shhhh!

The Soundtrack Of Life

I am such a person that I spend a lot of my time stuck inside my own head. I’m either focusing on work, relaxing from work, adding some noise to my surroundings or I’m adding some joviality to a situation. Either way all of these instances involve music. I spend a huge part of my day with headphones on. When I’m trying to focus I use music to drown out all else. When I want to take a walk I put on headphones and can ramble for miles. What better way to keep the boredom of a long train journey at bay than by – yes, you guessed it – putting on headphones. With this in mind it gave me cause to think of the part music plays in all our lives.

What kind of music do you like?

It’s hard to find someone that doesn’t like music. it’s such a varied thing that there is surely something for everyone. From cheesy pop to death metal and everything in between there is a soundtrack for all kinds of situations. I guess that’s why movies and television shows use soundtracks to really capture the mood of the scene. Have you ever taken a scene and given it a different kind of soundtrack? it really changes the tone of the scene. Music can be beautiful audible poetry. It can also offer such lyrical genius as, “Who let the dogs out? Woof, woof, woof woof.” Or, “let’s do it like they do on the discovery channel.” (Probably showing my age with those examples there but you get the point).

What does that song make you think of?

Another thing about music is it can be a great memory trigger. Those carefully constructed notes go a long way to bringing all kinds of images to your head. They can make you remember a person or a place. As you listen along all the other senses are called into action. You can taste it, smell it, feel it. You can see the face of someone you haven’t seen for years as though they are standing right in front of you. For creative writers like myself it’s a great tool for picturing scenes, giving characters their personalities and really locking down what kind of emotion you want a scene to portray. I do this now quite habitually. It was on advice from my fellow writer, great friend and mentor that I do this. He himself is a director and musician so he knows all too well the importance of soundtrack.

Dance to your own tune.

The most important thing about music, for me, is how much it lets you explore. Sure you can be stuck on a crowded train into the city but stick on those headphones you can be transported to a memory of a night out with friends. If you’re at the gym and down want to be distracted by how slow the timer on the treadmill is going you stick on those headphones and suddenly you’ve ran your way through three whole songs. If you are hurt, push play on that song and let it guide your emotions. Music is a wonderful thing I can’t even begin to imagine the cold, silent world we would live in without it. So tell me, what does music do for you?


When, cult deprogrammer, John Reynolds, loses someone close to him to the Church of St Wigan, he will stop at nothing to bring them home. He’ll have to call on every skill he has to pull from the clutches of the zealous church leader. A pandering con man is all he has to help him. How far must a man fall before the climb back up becomes too steep. Praise Wigan!

AVAILABLE MAY 14TH

Enjoy this? Check out these other thrillers. Available now. Free to read on Kindle Unlimited.

Processing…
Welcome. You're now a member. Shhhh!

Fixing Broken Things

I’m not the only kid who ever thought about running away from home, you know. But I can bet that there aren’t many who thought about it as much as I did. I was stopped so many times, brought back to the start. They couldn’t hold me forever. 

What was I running from? I don’t run from anything. It was what I was running to. I was running to a better life. I was running to people who could help me fix what was broken.  

The Knock Knock club. That was the place for broken things. Everyone went there, even me. It was for adults only but it was my Aunt’s place so they let me in. The door there was never closed. I wasn’t running from anything. I was running to the Knock Knock club.  

My Aunt Tee was a star. They called her The Baroness. Everybody liked her. They all loved her. She even saw it in her to love me. Even after everything I had done I knew she would still love me so I ran to the club. They were my real family anyway.  

When I got the club it was too late. It had been burned out. Aunt Tee had been taken to a place called Harbour House. She had completely flipped. She couldn’t say anything. Not a word. Not even to Aunt Aggie. The closed the curtains at the Knock Knock but Harbour House would help her. That’s what I was told. It was a rehab clinic. She wasn’t an addict or anything but they said they could fix her. 

At least she wasn’t in that place alone. She had a music teacher, Vincent, with her. Apparently he was a a real creep when they brought him in but captivity changes people.  

The things these must have seen. A stalker, a kidnapper. Those are the kind of things that Harbour House fixes. He was obsessed. Can they fix that? 

Is it important? Of course its important. Obsessions can get real bad. They make people act stupid then things end up broken.  

There are drug addicts in there too. They say don’t judge people until you walk in their shoes. I wouldn’t like to walk in David Finn’s shoes. If anyone should have ran away from home it was him. Now all he has to walk in is hospital issue flip flops. He’s an artist. He had it real good for a while but then he stumbled onto Harvester Farm. He didn’t like what he found there so they locked him in Harbour House too.  

Time is running out, according to the Harvesters. Time for what? Time for the slaughter? 5:02 is the slaughter time for them. That’s when the cut cattle throats and bash bull heads. Well it’s not 5:02 yet at least not for the residents of Harbour House.  

None of this would have happened if the Law Makers listened. They say justice is blind. It is at least in one eye.. What good were they in this dung pile of a city? What good are they for fixing broken things? There are broken things in every inch of This Place. What good are they to anyone when a place like Harbour House exists. 


Read the complete season 1 free here or click below to download for Kindle.


Rehabilitation is the promise. But for three residents, never seeing the outside world again becomes a grim possibility if they’re unable to face their troubles.  

Read Vivika Widow’s hit thriller free on Kindle Unlimited.

Coming May 14th! From the Author of MAESTRO ; MUSE and HARBOUR HOUSE , step outside the Knock Knock club and head on over to Hathfield Bay Island for a nail biting, knuckle whiting , full in your face exciting glimpse into the lowest depths of humanity.

Pre order by clicking below.

Processing…
Welcome. You're now a member. Shhhh!

Words of Encouragement

Have you ever heard a word and felt inspired by it?

It doesn’t matter what language, how it is said or who says it it is a word that sends your mind into a chain of thought. Words are influential. It’s easy enough for me to appreciate that being someone for whom words are bread and butter but everyone can be inspired them.

When you’re feeling down and you need to pick yourself up what runs through your head but a sequence of words that make you feel better or inspire you to action? If you turn to someone for help what are you looking for from them but their words? Words are what can make or break a situation. Words, after all, are the tools of communication. They are powerful things. In the wrong hands they can be hurtful at the least, destructive at the most.

Bottle.

Bottle is one of my favourite words. It has lots of connotations. It could mean celebration. it could mean refreshment. It could also have a sinister tone to it. We’ve all heard the phrase, ‘bottling up your feelings.’

Either way it always makes me think of a glass bottle in my hand. My mood at the time determines what this bottle contains but it always gives the illusion of something physical to clasp onto. There’s also the proverbial message in a bottle with all kinds of romantic prospects. There’s the adventure. There’s the fun sound of the cork popping and the glug glug glug as liquid is poured. This is just my own example of a favourite word. I’m sure you have your own. Think of that word right now. What is its meaning? What power does it wield? Good, bad, ugly.

On it’s own, one word can be highly charged. Assemble them carefully into a phrase or sentence and they become downright divine.

The cork was popped and the contents of the bottle were poured onto the sand.

Do you get a sense of hopelessness from this? Maybe it can be seen as a new beginning. Personally, I see a struggling alcoholic on a shore taking control of their life. A sea of opportunity lies before them. My point is words paint a picture. When they are thrown around with the intention to hurt they can paint an ugly picture indeed.

Don’t say something you might later regret.

This is a tired old platitude we’ve all heard many times but it still holds some merit and perfectly illustrates my point. Bullying and name calling are just one example of this. Words here are intended to hurt quite deeply and they do. What are arguments if not a carefully constructed formation of words intended to destroy an opponent? Words are filled with emotion and should be considered carefully.

I see, almost everyday, instances online where people have made ‘comments’ with intention to hurt, demean or downright attack. Celebrity culture, dirty politics and easy access to everyone you could ever possibly want to comment on allows this. Not only that it promotes it. People don’t seem to be taking responsibility for those words they are firing like a great cannon. For some it’s as though the don’t even care which target the cannon is aimed at. Complete strangers find themselves throwing in those words deliberately to stir a reaction. Maybe it’s because we’ve had very little face to face contact over the past year and it’s making people bolder with their words but in a world where everyone’s opinion should be valued we need to take some responsibility for the words we use to voice that opinion.

I love you.

I’m going to finish with this phrase because whilst overuse can reduce it’s value it is always nice to hear. It’s always nice to see the look in someone’s eyes when you tell them. Each word has it’s own significance. I – me, myself, my own declaration. Love – one of the strongest emotions experienced as a human being, far surpassing anger or hate. You – this declaration is for you and you alone. I love many things but on this occasion I want you to know. I LOVE YOU.

It’s a nice phrase isn’t it. I’m not much of a romantic soul but I do appreciate the power of words. So what is your word that inspires? If you haven’t thought of one maybe now would be the time to think about it.


Enjoy this?

Read these exciting thrillers from Vivika Widow.

Free to read on Kindle Unlimited.

Processing…
Welcome. You're now a member. Shhhh!

Knock Knock: Episode 36: Rats in the Basement

The ascent to the top of the Faulds Park building in City Main was a journey all of its own. If I held my breath at the bottom I would have gotten dizzy – perhaps even fainted – by the time I reached the penthouse. Luckily, I didn’t have to test that theory.  

The elevator doors opened into a wide-open space with polished floors and classic paintings on the wall. It was chic, it was showy, it was the palace of the King of City Main.  

“How are you?” I asked Rita Penn who had been kept safe after being extracted from the airport by Agent Franklin Rhodes.  

She was still holding Franklin’s hand. She patted it fondly.  

“Franklin has been keeping me company,” she stated.  

Franklin beamed a cheery smile.  

“She’s been showing me the family albums,” he teased. “Seeing the triplets in a very different light.”  

Rita laughed. She looked calm and it seemed a connection had been built between them that suited them. There was always going to be a weight on our shoulders though until she had confirmed the safety of her boys.  

“Any word on Reggie?” she asked. 

I took a seat on the sofa across from her.  

“I’m not one of the agents,” I explained to her. “My name is Sam Crusow. I’m a reporter.”  

“Which paper?” she asked. 

This was a loaded question. In Coldford being a writer for the Daily in City Main or for the Express in the Shanties could make a world of difference.  

“I’m independent,” I told her. “Formerly of the Daily but I left.”  

Rita nodded. “Oh yes,” she said. “You wrote the piece on the Knock Knock Club. You were looking for Mayor Feltz.”  

“That’s correct. I’d like to ask you some questions about your family.”  

Rita didn’t seem too eager at first. Franklin sweeping her away from the airport had spooked her. Reggie’s ordeal had horrified her. Now that she had a reporter in front of her, I could see why she would be upset. She smiled politely though.  

“No,” she said. “I’ll not do that. I should speak to my husband.”  

“I want to do everything I can to help find Reggie. I can help piece things together if you work with me.”  

“Okay,” she agreed with a shudder. “What would you like to know?”  

*** 

“Whoooeeh boy! That cage is starting to stink,” Billy Owen announced with a grin. “E’body knows the smell of human shit really burns your nostrils.”  

Reggie Penn had been put into one of his rat cages in what Billy Owen’s cohorts would call the stress position. Reggie’s weight was concentrated on his hunched legs, one of which had an impacted fracture in the femur. He couldn’t stand or stretch out because if he did … 

ZAAAAP!  

The cage had been electrified. To touch any of the bars would send several volts through his already beaten body. Several broken ribs and a fractured skull made his hunched position even more painful.  

He hadn’t spoken any words since his capture. He had only given some cries of pain. They had brought him to a Penn warehouse located at the back of City Main, towards the northern farmlands. It was a lesser-known location, with the larger Penn warehouses being located in Luen.  

ZAAAAP!  

Billy was starting to grow bored.  

“I’m not surprised it stinks. He’s done nothing but shit himself since he got here.”  

It didn’t help that he had forced enemas down his throat. The diarrhea had left the prisoner further weakened and dehydrated.  

Reggie’s gaze was locked on the body of a rat he had named Smash. He was named after a character in the Coby Games Lonesome Nights franchise. Smash was being rotated on a spit, cooking thoroughly. Between the diarrhea and the cooking rat, the flies were beginning to gather.  

“Wooooosh!” Buddy came running through with all the enthusiasm of a boy on Christmas morning. He hopped up on top of the cage.  

Another rat named Jacket, so called because of the colouring around his torso, had been stuffed. A trusted taxidermist had attached propellers to the rodent so that it could fly around the room. Buddy was having a lot of fun working the propellers. 

“Look, Bill, I don’t give a flying fuck!” he was laughing.  

Billy had just come off the phone.  

“Bud?” he called to his cousin. “Buddy?”  

ZAAAAP!  

Buddy leaped from the cage clutching his rear end as volts shot through his backside. The rat fell out of the air.  

“You shocked my ass, brah!”  

Billy slapped the back of his head.  

“I got some work to do here,” he said. “I ain’t got time for your shit.”  

Reggie groaned a little. Billy turned to him. 

“What you say?” he asked.  

It hadn’t been words, mainly a grimace but Billy focused on his prisoner. He reached through the cage and pulled him against the bars. There was a collar around his neck which was used in method called ‘walling’, where it could be used to easily slam the prisoner’s head against the wall. It was a method that had been disbanded decades ago, but there were no rules to follow when Billy Owen had been given free reign over one of those responsible for the murder of the highly-regarded Pops.  

“I know you’re tired being passed around for a poking but you’re going to have to stay with me. I want you clear and lucid when King Daddy comes here so you can see what we’re gonna do to him.”  

Buddy had fallen quiet as he watched Reggie. He seemed unmoved. He was surely in a lot of pain.  

“Maybe we should at least take him out of there, brah,” he suggested. “He’s gonna pass out if he keeps more pressure on that leg.”  

Billy gave a deep sigh. “Now I know you did not just tell me how to do my job, little bro.”  

Buddy shrugged. “We could get him stuffed,” he suggested. He started to chuckle at the idea of a stuffed King of Main. 

Billy started to laugh too. “We could fly him over City Main. King’s gonna get ya! King’s gonna get ya! While your stuffed dead daddy is buzzing around, that there spit is just aching to pound and turn your mama.”  

Buddy took a moment to observe Reggie’s reaction. There was little but a slight grimace of pain.  

“First thing’s first,” he went on.  

He approached another one of the rat cages and pulled out a white female named Lorry. She squeaked quite fearfully in Billy’s grip.  

“What you doing, brah?” Buddy asked.  

Billy dug his knife into the rodent’s belly. With a death croak he pulled the guts free. He flicked them onto his prisoner.  

“I heard King Daddy called my Pops a hillbilly freak. That’s mighty unkind. You’ll find we’re hospitable people. So, you’re gonna enjoy this hillbilly buffet whilst we wait on him coming for ya.”  

Buddy insisted again. “He’s gonna pass out.”  

When Billy slapped him over the back of the head again he insisted, “I’m just saying.”  

“If I hear another word outta you I’m gonna put you right in there with him, little bro,” Billy warned. “Hush your mouth powder fiend or I’ll make you eat every rat in this damn place and that includes the ones that ain’t in cages.”  

When he noticed Reggie had been watching his exchange with his cousin, Billy asked, “What you looking at, rat boy? I’ll cut your little dick off. I don’t have to keep you with your dick intact you know. He’s my little cuz so I like to pull his pisser from time to time. It keeps him in line. You, on the other hand, I can have some fun with until your daddy gets here.”  

Billy stepped back. His nose wrinkled.  

“Agh!” he called. “How many enemas was he given? He’s shitting again.”  

*** 

‘City funds. City funds. City funds.’ 

Micky Doyle’s mind was focused on the financial future of Coldford as he was escorted to the top of Beckingridge Tower.  

Elizabeth’s assistant Mark eyed him with some distaste. At first Micky thought he had arrived late, but he hadn’t. He had arrived just in time. Perhaps Mark just didn’t like politicians.  

“Go right on through,” Mark beckoned. 

The penthouse office of Beck Tower was immense. It was so large and overbearing that it was uncomfortable, cold and lacking personality. It was very much like a dark cave. Micky himself was no stranger to it. He had been there to visit Ernest Beckingridge many times before. Ernest had tried politics but he didn’t really have the stomach for it. The run for the hot seat took a very specific kind of spirit. It was one that the Beckingridge CEO just didn’t have. There were manuscripts for a new novel on Elizabeth Beckingridge’s desk. The author turn interim CEO was not there. A draft charged across the room. Micky pulled his jacket closer. He crossed to the window. He looked down onto the courtyard below where fifty-nine people had tumbled to their deaths, including up and coming accounts exec Evan Heath. Evan had been a close friend of Micky. His wife Sonya had too. He shuddered again, glad he hadn’t been there that night.  

“Thanks for joining us, Micky,” Elizabeth called to him as she emerged from an adjoining room.  

He was about to correct her and suggest she use his proper title but the words caught in his throat when he saw she was accompanied by Reginald Penn.  

Reginald appeared calm but his chin had tightened. Belta slithered down from his sleeve. Micky backed off. He wasn’t much of a track star but he could try to run.  

“The door has been locked,” said Elizabeth, sensing what he was thinking.  

Micky looked towards the more direct route, the window. Hadn’t it been Marcus Penn who bid that heaving farewell to Evan? Simon Penn the hand that pushed Sonya?  

“I’m calling the police,” Micky stated.  

“Do,” Reginald suggested. “You can ask them where my boy is or you can tell me.”  

Micky’s mind spun quickly. The Boss, he remembered. Marcus and Simon were in The Boss. But that wasn’t it. There was the third. They were triplets.  

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Why should I know?”  

Elizabeth put in, “Because you’re Mayor, your cousin is head of the Office of Law Makers who CPD answer to. Take your pick Michael.”  

Reginald turned to her. She shrugged and gestured for him to carry on. Reginald started to close the distance between he and Micky. The tapping of his shoes on the marble floor echoed the pulsating of his heart.  

“Word is he was taken by CPD, frat brothers in uniform. Where would they take him?”  

Micky whimpered. “I don’t know.”  

He tried to edge towards the door. It was locked but at least he could step away from that damn window.  

“Where is he?” Reginald roared. “Where is Junior?” 

Micky looked to Elizabeth. Her faced had drained of colour. There was a pleading in her eyes that said, ‘for God’s sake just tell him what he wants to know.’ 

“I don’t know where he is,” Micky said. “He was supposed to go to Harbour House. He was supposed to be placed in Winslow’s care.”  

Reginald shook his head. Belta’s coils twisted around his hand.  

“No!” Micky pleaded. “Please no.”  

Suddenly the window was looking like the better option. Elizabeth put her hand to her mouth. It looked as though she was going to be sick.  

“I don’t know where he is.”  

Belta’ tightened further. She was determined to strike.  

“Not in my office, Reginald,” Elizabeth put him.  

“Do you know what they did to him?” Reginald asked the mayor.  

Micky had heard of the video but he hadn’t had the stomach to watch it. He needed some deniability in situations like this.  

“I don’t know where he is,” Micky sobbed.  

Reginald growled. “Then you’re no fucking good to me.”  

Elizabeth screamed, “Reginald!” as Belta’ swung.  

Micky threw his hands in the air.  

“Stop!” he squealed. “Tabitha is still alive. I know where Tabitha is.”  

Reginald lowered his arm. Belta’ swung with disappointment. The taste for blood was still tingling in her links.  

*** 

“You have to be kidding,” said Elizabeth.  

She looked a little more like herself again. The sickness seemed to have passed.  

“It’s true,” the mayor insisted. “When the Office of Law Makers pulled her execution date forward to crush troubles in the Shanties she was moved to a Monte Fort annex. They believe she was given the lethal injection but she’s still alive.”  

“Prove it,” Reginald challenged. “Let me speak to her.”  

“I can’t,” Micky said.  

Reginald growled. He swung Belta’ again and she wrapped herself viciously around the mayor’s neck. Micky gargled but Belta’s constriction was too tight.  

“Really, Reginald?” Elizabeth exclaimed, pushing herself against her desk.  

Reginald lowered himself so he was speaking directly into Micky’s ear.  

“You had better confirm what you’re saying is true or I end you right here and now.”  

“Not in my office,” Elizabeth insisted but Reginald ignored her. 

Micky tried to say something but asphyxiation was making it almost impossible.  

Belta’ loosed her grip.  

“She’ll still be executed. It was just time. You can’t go into the annex.”  

“Then get someone who can…” Reginald warned.  

“Faulty wiring,” suggested Elizabeth. “Send in Coby engineers to grab a quick video feed.”  

“Joshua Coby?” Micky exclaimed. “You can’t.”  

Reginald yanked Belta’ causing her prey to emit a gasp.  

“Do shut up Michael,” Elizabeth tutted. “It’s almost like you want the man to smash your skull in. If you can’t tell him where his son is then the least you can do is confirm what you’re saying.”  

Micky agreed with a nod. His face was starting to redden and hives were starting to break out.  

Micky made a call to Coby Games. As mayor he gave them the authorisation they needed to enter the Annex. Being based in Cardyne it was easily accessible for the Coby Games sparkies. Joshua himself was a survivor of the Free Fall Massacre. Through that he felt indebted to Tabitha, the details of which I would have to follow up at a later date. In the meantime, a tense half hour passed between the three at Beckingridge Tower. Few words were shared. Elizabeth poured herself a drink.  

*** 

“That’s it,” Elizabeth announced as she closed a call from Joshua. She collected a remote from her desk and switched on the screen. it was blank at first. She linked it to the feed that Joshua had given her. A body cam on the shirt of one of the Coby Games staff moved through a narrow corridor. There was a flash of brick wall, a dusty floor, a couple of engineers in Coby boiler suits. There was a very narrow window and then a young woman. She looked up, still blinking at the addition of light in her existence and wincing at the noise of the engineers’ footsteps. She started to adjust. Her hazy mind comprehended her new reality. It was Tabitha. The real Tabitha. When she saw Reginald Penn looking at back at her, her lips spread to expose her gap-toothed grin.  

“Reg?” she asked. 

Reginald sighed the first bit of relief he had felt in some time. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

Tabitha nodded weakly. “Can’t keep a good girl down,” she said.  

It was a phrase Tawny always used in times of trouble. It had been one of the first things the show girl had said to him.  

“Just hang tight, sweet heart,” Reginald said. “I’m coming to get you.”  

Tabitha nodded. “If you could do something about my living arrangements that would be fan-fucking-tastic.”  

“I’ll do what I can,” Reginald promised.  

*** 

“If you’re quite finished,” said Elizabeth. “Can you clear my office please?”  

Reginald had promised Elizabeth that in exchange for her putting him directly in touch with the mayor she wouldn’t have any trouble at the tower. The trembling body of Micky showed he was certain as soon as he stepped outside the tower, all bets would be off. 

Elizabeth led them to a service elevator that took them out onto City Main. The instructions to Micky were that once he was clear of the area, the mayoral security he had brought with him would meet him at the Weir Hotel. He was not to breathe a word of Tabitha or Reginald. After facilitating the entrance of Coby Games to the annex, he wasn’t wanting to have to explain himself anyway.  

“They are going to bring you in,” warned Micky.  

Reginald took no notice of the warning. He knew what he had to do. He let the mayor live and continued in his path to find Reggie.  

*** 

I had been in City Main at the time of the event I now wish to discuss. Lisa Luren from the Knock Knock Club had been given an old contact of Kev’s who used to supply Buddy Owen. Conveniently, he lived on the lower levels of the Faulds Park building. As I passed along Time Line where the boutiques, jewellery stores and chic cafés sat, screens everywhere were showing images of the still-missing Baroness.  

“Did you know her?” I had asked Lisa.  

“No,” Lisa said. “But I heard a lot about her. I heard so much it felt like she was my aunt too.” 

I was pondering over this when the screens started to flicker.

  

*** 

City Main was his kingdom, but his kingdom was under siege. Reginald Penn had pulled some of his Loyalist support from attacking Kappa So strongholds to help find Reggie. The destruction of the distillery lit fire to that powder keg. He had received word Rita was safe so at least that was something.  

A sudden darkness gave him cause to stop. It was like there had been a power surge. The Beckingridge Tower screen flickered on. Tawny’s image was replaced by Tabitha’s. 

The crowds of City Main stopped to watch. A woman who had been holding her son’s hand was pulled back. He pointed up. Staring straight into the lens Tabitha greeted the Shady City of Coldford with a brash, gap-toothed smile.  

“Hello tiny peoples of Coldford,” she said. “Those of you who matter know who I am. Those of you who don’t are going to by the time I’m done. I’m coming to you live from some Law Maker hole and in case you didn’t get the message, loud and fucking clear, I’m still alive…”  

*** 

Agnes had been returning to the Mid-East from a meeting with the agents. She had been heading towards City Stadium where the screens showed Tabitha as though she had appeared from beyond the grave.  

“You know something?” Tabitha was going on. “I’m not even pissed at the audacity of you cunts. I’m just going to smile and be the bigger person. They told you I was dead and if you believed them then you’re bigger cunts than they are.”  

Agnes clasped her hand to her mouth.  

“Oh God!” she said.  

A crowd had gathered behind her to watch too.  

*** 

As agreed, Micky’s security met with him in the hotel lobby. They could see he was a little shaken. He buttoned up his collar so as to hid the marks on his neck. The security didn’t ask questions. It wasn’t their job to. He wanted to return to City Face. It was starting to turn into a rather stressful day.  

The City Main masses were all watching in the same direction. Something was happening. Micky stepped outside of the Weir just in time to hear Tabitha’s voice booming over her captive audience.  

“They say they want us to follow the rules. What fucking rules? They keep changing those rules to suit their own. I stand here before you case and point.”  

Micky shook his head. He drew out his phone to call Karyn but before he could punch in the numbers Tabitha went on.  

“The Law Makers can suck cock for all I care. Every last one of them. What are they going to do? Kill me? They don’t have the balls.”  

Micky decided then it would be best to visit Karyn personally.  

*** 

The artist, David Finn, had been at Starkland Park in the Shanties, collecting tickets for him and a friend for the next Coldford Athletic game. He and Tawny being close friends in Harbour House, she had shown him many photos of his niece so he recognised her immediately.  

“Holy fucking shit!” he cried. 

He raised his hands above his head as though his treasured team had just scored.  

“I want the people of the Shanties to know that you’re not the vermin in the city. They are,” Tabitha was saying. “They look down on us as though we’ve shat in their shoes. They come to rape us, rob us, abuse our kids, kill us and we’re the ones out of order? Heavens fucking forfend we stand up for ourselves.”  

It didn’t stop at Starkland Park. All around the Shanties – shopping district screens, sports arenas, pub screens – they relayed Tabitha’s message.  

“You don’t have to put up with that shit. You don’t have to take a bit of what those cunts at the Court House have to say. And if any of those Kappa So wankers think they can talk, guess what? You don’t have to put up with that either.” 

As though the Almighty was speaking to them from above, a fire sparked in the people of the south.  

“Shit,” exclaimed one bro to another.   

Swarms of people would start to leave their homes and they would find themselves outnumbered. 

“Things are getting pretty shitty so it’s time for a little change,” said Tabitha. “Sometimes to make a point you got to give a bitch a real slap to the face. I’m looking at you Judge Doyle, cunt.”  

Vans filled with Kappa So bros departed the Shanties. Tabitha’s warning was resonating. The people of the Shanties were listening.  

“I must dash but you can rest assured the Knock Knock Club will open again. I’ll be joining you soon enough. In the meantime, keep fighting. Don’t let those cunts push you around. We’ll have them on their knees begging to suck our cocks because, you know why? The Boss Lady is back. Until next time…byeeee! Oh, and I want my dress fucking cleaned.”  

At that the footage cut out. The collective city fell silent.  

It seemed when Reginald had closed his contact to her Tabitha had held the Coby engineers behind for a performance of her own.  

“I always wanted to be on TV,” had been her sentiment. 

It was a performance the entire city had seen. It was a performance Aunt Tee would be proud of. It was a real show stopper. Where did that leave the rest of us? What in the Hell would she do next?  


Enjoy this?

Complete Season 1 of the Knock Knock series is free to read here on Vivika Widow. com or click below download for Kindle

Care to discover the true whereabouts of the Knock Knock Baroness? Tawny was last seen as a resident of the Shady City’s premier rehab clinic. Check out Vivika Widoow’s hit thriller Harbour House. Free on Kindle Unlimited.

Processing…
Welcome. You're now a member. Shhhh!

Socially Awkward

The past year has brought challenges for all of us, some challenges we never expected to face in our life time. One of my biggest challenges was being separated from my niece and nephews for such a long time. Normally where I would see them almost every week I became nothing but a pixelated face on a screen. It is tough, I don’t mind telling you. The use of modern technology is great and all but nothing can quite replace human contact.

This got me thinking about society in general. As we become such a distant bunch (global pandemic not withstanding) is the art of intimacy becoming a thing of the past? I call it an art because it really is an art form when you think about it. You need the right approach. You need the right mind set. Like a lot of other art though is it becoming far more digitalised? People are more comfortable sending a text message than chatting on the phone (admittedly myself included).

But then this crazy train we called life pulls into an unexpected platform and the option of physical contact is taking away from us. That’s when we miss it the most. That’s when we crave more than just a text message. Video chats give you the essence of speaking to another person but it is all virtual reality at the end of the day. We need that social contact no matter how introverted you may be.

What I have taken from this experience is that no matter how much we distance ourselves from human contact, when ironically it’s never been easier to connect with fellow human beings, we are all animals at heart. We need our loved ones around us, no matter who that is to us. After a long year of lock down in Scotland I know I will be wanting to hug my little babies.


Enjoy this?

Check out these thrillers!

Processing…
Welcome. You're now a member. Shhhh!