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vivikawidow · 6 years ago

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It was difficult to tell what time of day it was. The light didn’t shine in much from the outside of the club. Tabitha left me in the empty lounge room Dennis had showed me to before. She told me to help myself to a drink and wait at the bar for her whilst she went about the club business.

I didn’t know what she had in store for me. She explained very little on the car ride there.

I drank and I thought about how much of mess my life had become after setting foot in Knock, Knock. I don’t know how long it was – felt like hours, probably only minutes – until there was a playful tap on my shoulder.

I turned and was greeted by the first friendly face I had met in a while. She leaned against the bar casually. Her leather jacket shone under the dim light.

“You have had a bullshit time of it but the looks of things,” she commented. Her accent was strong. She wasn’t a native to Coldford. She came from across the seas in the Misty City known as Bournton. She was attractive, strong and athletic.

“I think Tabitha is going to keep me prisoner here,” I said in jest but I have to admit it was a very real concern.

The woman laughed. “I wouldn’t put that past her.”

It was then I recognised her. I had seen her before. A couple of times.

“You’re one of the dancers!” I stated. She already knew that of course but I had to have confirmation.

“The name’s Lydia.” She shook my hand warmly.

“Sorry,” I replied. “I didn’t recognise you at first. With …”

“Clothes on?” she finished for me. She laughed again and despite everything I laughed too. I wasn’t going to be able to bring Theresa back but at least it gave me time to deal with it all.

“Sam,” I told her.

She raised her eyebrows. “I heard who you are. You have caused quite a stir around here. You ought to be careful. You might ruin things for us poor girls who are just trying to make our way in the world.”

I shrugged off her comment. “I don’t know. I don’t think a girl with your particular talents would be held back much.”

Lydia laughed. She dabbed my arm with good humour.

I was enjoying the beginnings of what was the closest thing I had had to a normal conversation for some time. It was nice to feel human again. Just when I was about to feel human enough again to carry on Tabitha appeared beside us. It was almost like she had sensed our merriment.

“I hope you’re not feeling neglected,” Tabitha said to me, completely ignoring Lydia.

“Not at all,” I replied. “Lydia and I …”

Tabitha finally did acknowledge her dancer. She was smiling but her grey eyes were as cold as winter.

“Don’t you have a set to prepare for?” she barked.

“We were just talking,” I spoke up.

Lydia sighed calmly. I admired how cool she remained. She leaned off the bar and turned towards me.

“Don’t worry about her,” Tabitha groaned, becoming impatient. “She isn’t worth shit unless she’s taking her clothes off.” The words were harsh and venomous but she said them like an old friend teasing. She waited, with her hands behind her back like a scolding teacher for Lydia to react.

Lydia smiled and shook it off.

“Oh honey, they may come here to see you but we both know I bring the thunder.”

“Oh really?!” Tabitha whined like a petulant child.

Before it could escalate any further Lydia stood. She turned back to me.

“Enjoy the show, champ,” she said with a wink. She dabbed my shoulder with her fist playfully.

When Lydia was gone Tabitha was shaking her head. She pulled me closer like I was one of her toys she really didn’t want to share.

She shouted across to Lisa, the blonde bar maid, who had just come in.

“Gin and Tonic,” she said. “This time don’t be afraid to splash a little gin in the glass.”

The bar maid nodded in agreement.

“Stay away from her,” Tabitha warned me, referring to Lydia. “That girl is bad news.”

‘That’s rich,’ I thought. ‘Coming from you.��

She took a sharp intake of breath and fixed her smile again. In some lights she really could seem quite endearing.

“What am I doing here?” I asked.

“We can chat about that later. You are under the protection of THE HEADLINERS now, so don’t you worry your handsome face about anything.”

She grabbed my chin and shook my head.

“Come with me. I’ll take you somewhere you can get comfortable.”

The way she said it made it sound almost threatening. I didn’t know who these HEADLINERS were or how much I could really count on their protection or what they were protecting me from.

I wasn’t sure just how comfortable Tabitha wanted me to get. The thought made me shiver.

“I can’t stay,” I protested. “I have to get back to the newspaper.”

“Sure you can,” she said. “The Daily isn’t going to blow up without you.” She must have imagined the Daily building toppling because she laughed to herself and sighed.

She started leading me up a staircase at the back of the club to where some rooms lay.

“It’s not like you have a home or wife to go to any more is it?”

As strange as it sounds – despite how cruel her words were – I believe she genuinely thought she was being comforting.

Her heels clicked in a rhythm as we climbed to the second floor. When I saw the corridor darken I hesitated. Her lips puckered as she smiled. Her eye brows raised.

“Don’t go limp on me now,” she said. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

I took a step back. Now I was really confused as to what she meant by getting comfortable. She laughed. It was a musical, girlish sound that made her lose her front and seem more genuine.

“Come on. I’m giving you one of the best rooms.”

I continued on down the hall. She opened a door at the end to a large room with simple furnishings.

It was eye catching but not because of the aesthetics of the place. It was dark and smelled like the rest of the club.

It was because on the farthest wall hung a full sized picture of the lady herself looking elegant in one of her signature red dresses. I looked to the real her but she was in a daze. Her head cocked to one side, doe eyed like she was in the presence of some kind of pop idol. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at a loved one the way Tabitha looked at herself.

“Great picture, isn’t it?” she awed.

I frowned. I wouldn’t dare disagree.

She squeezed my shoulder.

“Anyway, you get settled in and if you need anything I’ll send one of my girls up.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I replied.

Tabitha closed the door over. I listened as her footsteps disappeared back down the hall. The large poster her stared back down at me knowingly.

A short time later I heard more footsteps. They weren’t the determined and self-assured steps of Tabitha. Nor where they the clumsy, over-eager steps of Dennis. They were quiet, quick. Before I had time to react something was slipped underneath the door. It was a phone.

There was a note attached that read ‘keep records but keep it hidden’.

I opened the door but whoever had brought it was long gone.

I would keep records. My time in the Knock, Knock Club was only just beginning.

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Knock, Knock: Episode 5: A Room With A View It was difficult to tell what time of day it was. The light didn't shine in much from the outside of the club.

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vivikawidow · 6 years ago

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“Do you think he did it?” asked CPD officer Floyd Hicks, as he and his partner watched me nurse my weak coffee through the observation glass.

His partner, Delaney, snorted with derision. “Come on Hicks,” he snarled. “He woke up next to the body. He barely remembers getting home that night. It doesn’t take a detective to work this one out. He and the little wife had a fight. He stormed out to the club he keeps talking about, got loaded up, came home in a rage and shot her.”

Hicks still wasn’t convinced though. Something still didn’t add up. There was little blood so the body had been brought from somewhere else and laid in the bed. A man who killed in a rage wouldn’t go to that kind of effort.

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“So, what happened?” he asked when he returned to the interview room. He had already asked me this same question one hundred times at least.

“I told you!” I spat with venomous frustration that probably wasn’t helping my cause. “The last thing I remember was that I returned home from the club and went to sleep. I don’t really remember getting home. I I must have had one too many.” I knew that wasn’t right. I only had one but I didn’t want to bring the Knock, Knock Club into the frame any more than I had already, in case it made matters worse. “I woke up and there she was beside me… dead.”

The image of my dead wife will be forever etched in my mind. The cold stare, the haunting paleness of her skin. I couldn’t begin to grieve because as quickly as I had discovered her corpse lying next to me, I was whisked off to the Coldford Police Department and placed under the microscope.

With the finger of blame pointing in my face I couldn’t find a suitable excuse or explanation that would satisfy the wagging tongues of the town or the suspicious eyes of the CPD.

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Hicks ran over the details again. The statement that I had made on arrival hadn’t changed by a single word. I was an innocent man after all.

“So, you said you were returning from the Knock, Knock Club?”

“Yes …” I grumbled. “Must we do this again?”

“And that was Thursday evening?”

“No!” I snapped. “It was Tuesday.” He was trying to trip me up but I know what I meant and I meant what I said.

Hicks’ stare narrowed on me. He could see tears begin to form in my eyes but I took a deep breath. I couldn’t begin to deal with what had happened whilst I sat under interrogation. My head began to spin with the information I was being dealt. Delaney continued. Perhaps he recognised the real pain I was in because his face softened.

“I know this is difficult but we need to be as thorough as possible,” he said. “The victim was shot. Do you own any guns?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t handle Theresa being referred to as a victim.

“What brought you to the Knock, Knock Club the night before?”

“I’m following a story for my newspaper. It took me there.”

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There was a knock on the door. Hicks looked at his watch. He frowned to himself. The door unlocked and his partner, Delaney, joined us.

He gave me a scathing look that was akin to his wife having told him he had lost his manhood, before leaning over and whispering something into his partner’s ear that I wasn’t supposed to here.

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“You are free to go,” Floyd Hicks announced, standing and scraping his chair back.

I was confused. Subjects of murder investigations don’t just walk free. “But what about my wife? Don’t you want to ask me more questions? What about the investigation?”

I had never known anyone outside the canine community to growl but that is what Delaney did then. “Do you want us to keep you here?” he tried.

I shook my head. My whole body was trembling. In some feat of unconscious acrobatics I was on my feet and Hicks was leading me down the corridor towards the main entrance of the station.

“Someone has come to pick you up,” he was saying but I wasn’t really hearing any of his words.

I then figured the message had finally reached Maddy and she had come to help. It wasn’t until we reached the reception area that I finally returned to reality.

“He’s all yours,” said Floyd, but not to me.

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A woman in a fitted business suit with her hair pulled back neatly and a pair of thick framed glasses was just finishing a text message.

It wasn’t until she stood and smiled that I recognised her. The burning expression, the smile with the gap that gave her a predatory appearance. Tabitha had been the one to come and collect me. She was the reason I was walking away so easily.

“About time too. How long were you planning on keeping him here?” She beamed an accommodating grin. “You’re a cruel man detective.”

Hicks turned to me and said, “We’ll probably have some more questions for you. We’ll keep you up to date on the investigation.”

I protested. “I think I should just go home.”

The detective laid a hand on my shoulder. “I’m afraid you can’t. It’s a crime scene.”

“He’s coming with me.”

Hicks addressed Tabitha. I couldn’t tell if they already knew each other or not. “I can’t have him going far.”

“Don’t you worry your little bald head detective. I’ll not let him get away.”

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She wrapped her arm around me and we made our way out towards the street. She gave one last glance back over her shoulder and flashed a smile to the detective.

“He’ll be made to feel so comfortable he’ll think he’s staying in some fancy-smancy hotel. You have a great day now detective.”

Hicks smiled back. He even thanked her.

Detective Hicks had shown a great interest in the Knock, Knock Club. Every time I mentioned it he had an almost ravenous look in his eyes. His part in the story would become apparent to me later but in the meantime, I was in the clutches of the boss lady herself. My story was going to blow wide open and more blood would be spilled before the end.

***

As we walked down the street she pulled the elastic from her hair and let if fall onto her shoulders. She pulled off the glasses and threw them aside. She looked more like the woman I met on my first visit to the club.

“Where is Madeline?” I stammered.

“Who?”

“My friend, Madeline. Where is she?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Tabitha shrugged.

“What are you doing here?”

Her lips stretched into a smile. “Saving your ass by the looks of things.”

“I was a suspect in a murder investigation. How the hell am I walking away right now?”

“I’m a fucking miracle worker that’s how,” she maintained.

“I was a suspect in a murder!” I repeated trying to comprehend how Tabitha could be so nonchalant.

“Were you guilty?” she stopped and asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

She shrugged again. “Then what are you wadding your panties for?”

She started to walk again but I stopped her. “Do you know who killed my wife?”

Tabitha turned to look at me and in that brief moment I saw something in her grey eyes. A human resided in there.

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“She’s gone, Sam. Can’t change that. Maybe you should just worry about keeping yourself alive.”

Before I could press her further a car drew up beside us.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe, shall we?” she said.

I pulled back. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you explain what the fuck is going on.”

Tabitha raised her eyebrows. “Look at you getting all upset.”

The frustration of the last few days vented. “My wife was murdered!”

She turned towards the car. “It isn’t all about you, you know.”

I shook my head. This girl was unbelievable. “Then what is it about?”

“You are one lucky son of a bitch because I’m willing to help you. They call us THE HEADLINERS. My club is the perfect place to gain perspective. Come with me and we’ll get to the bottom of things together.”

I didn’t have anywhere to go. I had no one to turn to. Madeline must have still been out of town pursuing another story. Eric would sooner see me on the streets than help me. I only had Tabitha to rely on and let me tell you, that was no great position to be in.

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Knock, Knock: Episode 4: Take A Bow “Do you think he did it?” asked CPD officer Floyd Hicks, as he and his partner watched me nurse my weak coffee through the observation glass.

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vivikawidow · 6 years ago

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Mayor Jim Feltz gave a lot to the city. Coldford was a demanding mistress though. It had earned its nick name as the Shady City not just because of the gloomy weather but because everything was there for the taking for anyone who wasn’t hindered by morals or conscience. Jim was such a man.

Whilst the city’s funds depleted he squirrelled away as much as he could. There was a war brewing on the city streets and he was damn sure he wasn’t going to get caught up in it. Things were going to implode soon. It was only a matter of time. The regeneration projects he had promised during his last campaign were halted by the Law Makers in the city. The poorest area known as The Shanties had been left worse off than they ever had been. The Tradesmen of the city were fighting back.

People in high positions – people he considered friends – had pilfered the money away leaving those lower on the ladder high and dry.

As the class war raged it left no money for the expecting mothers the mayor swore he would help. School budgets were cut to compensate for any losses caused by riots and looting. Only the exclusive Alban’s Boarding School managed to weather the storm.

What did it matter? When campaign time came again he could blame the opposition. He was just dealing with the mess they had left behind. Half of the city would believe it and the other half wouldn’t care either way. But he was done with all that.

“Will you be home on time?” Sylvia Feltz asked her husband as he prepared to leave. “We have the Weirs coming to dinner,” she added. “I need you here.”

The plan to leave everything behind had been in the works for weeks. The day had finally come. He had enough money to start over now. When the finances of the city finally tumbled like a house of cards and the war spilled onto the streets he would be out of the picture. Sure his family would have to face the music at first but they would get out of it cleanly for the most part.

His eldest daughter, Lacey, kissed him.

“I’ll be by the office this afternoon,” she said. “We need to go over a campaign plan.”

Lacey was her father’s daughter in every sense – so like him she was. She had gotten involved in his political career right from the beginning. The day he announced he was running she was by his side. She had aspirations on becoming the city’s first female Mayor. She had a naïve view of politics though. A certain lack of compassion was required despite what many might argue. She would learn that soon enough.

He stepped outside of his building. People were becoming irate so he kept his security close. His silver town car wasn’t waiting for him at the entrance of the building as it always was. He trusted his driver, Shane. He was nothing if not punctual. He looked at the security guard he was assigned. He was expressionless with hands clasped on his stomach. His cold stare was masked behind spectacles. He recognised the man’s face. He had been with him before. His name was Marcus the mayor believed. As soon as the mayor was in his car though Marcus would be left behind and Shane would take him to the airport. The mayor said nothing to the body guard. He just looked at the empty space where the car should have been and couldn’t help but worry something had gone awry.

His heart increased the tempo of it’s beat when the silver car pulled round the corner. It was really happening. The car pulled close but Shane in the driver’s seat was covered by tinted windows. Marcus leaned over and opened the door. The mayor made to climb in but he hesitated. A woman was sat waiting for him. She shifted over and patted the seat beside her.

“Don’t be shy,” she said.

Her ruby lips curled into a pretty smile. The collar of the grey coat she wore was pulled up around her neck. Marcus pushed him in and sat beside him.

“Isn’t this cosy?” she remarked.

He tried to control his breathing. He called upon every political stoicism he had in the hope he didn’t look worried. The sweat gathering on his brow didn’t lie.

“What do you want?” he asked.

The woman looked out of the tinted windows and watched the city pass by at greater and greater speeds.

“I just wanted to give a proper farewell,” she replied. “Surely you wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to little old me?”

Fear erupted inside him. He didn’t care that he would be leaping from a moving vehicle. He clutched for a door handle but Marcus snatched his wrist and twisted it causing the bones to crunch together.

“Let me out!” he cried.

The woman laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’re not going far. The city wishes to thank you for your service.”

Her name was Tabitha and he should have known there would be no escaping.

The car stopped. The driver opened the door. It wasn’t Shane after all. It was a woman. She wore a plain white blouse and simple black trousers. She had a familiar face but he couldn’t place her. If he paid more attention to the people he threw money at he would recognise her as the scantily clad girl who spent some glorious time on his lap during his last visit to the Knock, Knock Club. He had paid her extra to finish the job but that was all but a distant memory.

Tabitha stepped out first. They had parked outside an office block in the business district not far from his home in the North Side. Marcus pushed the mayor out onto the street.

He was escorted into the building. Tabitha was in front of him and Marcus loomed behind to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere.

Tabitha said nothing as they climbed the steps. The mayor was sobbing. Each time he thought they had reached the end of his torture they had another floor to climb. They finally reached the top. Tabitha fished a key from her coat pocket and unlocked the green door that greeted them. It still had a sign that said ‘BECKINGRIDGE FINANCIAL FIRM’ on it but it had been mostly scratched off.

“Your daughter wanted to say good bye.”

His youngest daughter, Amber, was tied to a table. Her arms and legs spread. She had been stripped to her underwear. Jim moved to run to her but Marcus grabbed him with great clenching hands and pulled him back. The room was empty save for a chair, a large machete blade that leaned against the wall and the table that held the seventeen year old girl. Amber’s mouth was covered but she was screaming. Her eyes were wide and terrified.

Back when the BECKINGRIDGE FIRM operated from this building it had been a golden age. They were one of the largest organisations in the city and had been for generations. When the war erupted between the Law Makers and the Tradesmen the firm became collateral damage. The office had remained empty ever since the FREE FALL MASSACRE. Fifty five people lost their lives that day and no one dared take over the space again.

“Leave her alone!” The mayor cried desperately. “She’s done nothing to you.”

Tabitha clutched his face and rested her chin on his shoulder.

“You have really pissed me off Jim. You think you can abandon ship just like that? I have to take it out on someone.”

“I wasn’t leaving. I just needed time to think. The Law Makers are pushing me more and more. I could come back and be of more use to you.”

Tabitha slid her hand into his pocket and pulled out the flight reservations. She looked at them and dropped them on the floor.

“You see,” she said, “the thing is, I would love to believe you. I really would. This is a one way ticket though.”

“Let her go,” the mayor sobbed. Tears were rolling down Amber’s face. “I’ll pay anything.”

Tabitha shook her head. She stood up straight. “It’s not about the money,” she stated. “We have that already anyway. This is personal now.”

She sat across his lap and kicked her long, slim legs out.

“A girl could be insulted with a man running out on her like that. I thought you liked my little club.”

“I do,” protested the mayor of Coldford.

Tabitha grinned. There was a gap between her front teeth that gave her a quirky, girlish quality.

“Let’s see how much then, shall we?”

With a nod to Marcus he swung the blade and cut her left hand. The sharpened blade swiped through flesh and bone with ease. Her screams of agony were muffled by the cloth over her mouth.

Her father screamed too. He didn’t have time to gather himself when Tabitha pointed again for Marcus cut off her other hand.

“You’ve made your point!” said Jim. “Let her go!”

Tabitha gave a raspy laugh. “And miss the chance to see Marcus at work? The man is an artist, isn’t he?”

The mayor tried to push against the binds. Tabitha was on her feet again. She walked over to the table and took the blade from Marcus.

“I will give you a choice,” she offered. “Since your girl is going to die anyway I can either continue cutting her up into little pieces or just end it now for her. What do you want me to do?”

The mayor sobbed. “Please just leave her.”

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

“End it,” the mayor cried louder. “End it for her.”

He had averted his gaze unable to see the pained look on his youngest child’s face. Her eyes were hazy. She was going to pass out from the blood loss soon.

“I will if you tell me I’m pretty,” Tabitha teased.

“Just kill her! Just kill her now! Please!” the mayor roared.

Tabitha’s grey eyes widened. “That is your daughter!?” she gasped. She grinned. “You are a nasty piece of work Jim.”

She lifted the blade and centred it on Amber’s forehead. Before the point penetrated her skull there was a flash of realisation on Amber’s face.

The mayor cried. He knew he was playing a dangerous game but never would he have thought it would come to this. He was leaving his life behind for sure but not in the way he had intended.

Tabitha dropped the blade, circled behind him like a predator and began massaging his shoulders.

“Well Jim, we must dash. You know what it’s like when I’m away from Knock, Knock too long. Well … Well it can be just murder!”

Times have been desperate for the people of Coldford, better known as the Shady City. Once upon a time executives now reduced to rummaging through their neighbours’ trash to find a meal. Many are hunting for shelter wherever they can find it – like stray cats. Their once well tailored suits now hanging in rags. It’s surreal to see once proud captains of industry reduced to the indignity of soup kitchens. Nowhere to go, no means of rising back up to their ivory towers.

My name is Sam Crusow. When the depression hit, two industries were saved – entertainment and news. People always need to know what’s happening in the world and people always need an escape from their reality. Luckily for me I’m with the latter. I have been a freelance journalist ever since finishing college. As the financial belt tightened it was harder and harder to get a full time position with a news paper so I (and most of my colleagues) went from story to story just trying to make it. Most of my stories sold to the biggest newspaper in the city – COLDFORD DAILY.

I thought I had managed to successfully navigate through the choppy waters of recession until the day I discovered that beneath the harsh surface lay a more terrifying truth. But I get ahead of myself. I write these notes so that everyone can know the truth. Chances are I will be gone by the time you read this. I am on borrowed time as it is.

It began just as summer was breaking. We were experiencing one of the warmest spells we had had in quite some time.

The Mayor – Jim Feltz – had disappeared without a trace. That morning he had kissed his wife, a voluptuous and formidable woman named Silvia, and his eldest daughter, Lacey, goodbye. He straightened his power tie in the mirror and made his way to wade through the city’s financial crises, which if you were to believe the tabloids were largely his fault. Normally he would have been escorted to the office by security of some kind. The citizens of Shady City, riled at the very sight of the Mayor, only made matters worse. However, that morning he never arrived at his office. Making his way down his street in his luxury silver car was the last anyone saw of him. Some of the neighbours remembered hearing loud music blaring from his open windows as he passed which was most unlike the buttoned down, conservative man that he was.

I had been covering the story as it developed. This meant I had been spending more time at the offices of the Daily. The Daily was the only source of news on the mayor by Mrs Feltz’s request and being area’s largest newspaper. It was also the provider of food on my table. Hiring freelancers had been their way of protecting themselves. It meant that they were only paying for the material they needed, without any full time mouths to feed.

I never liked Mayor Feltz. I certainly didn’t vote for him. As I pursued the story I uncovered gambling debts and a mistress at the far end of town. He must have been quite the charmer. When I interviewed his mistress she told me that he was planning on leaving his wife (which is probably what they all say). On the morning he disappeared he had been planning to visit her. They were going on a trip together, which is why he had wanted to be discreet. The mistress, Cindy, had waited for him for most of the morning in her lavish apartment that the city coin had paid for. She flipped between anger and worry as she did. By two in the afternoon the police swamped her, acting quicker for such a public figure than they would have for any ordinary citizen.

Neither his wife, his mistress nor his gambling associates could offer the police any idea as to where he went, so on that warm morning I made my way to the stretch of tower blocks that housed the newsroom in the North Side. My mind was occupied by ways I could spin the same story or offer a new angle.

Close to the office the clang of metal bins falling over drew my attention. From behind the cans crawled a man. He was young, filthy and with a mop of thick hair. Like many of the others forced to live on the streets. He sat with his back against the wall and brought his knees to his chest. His eyes were dulled by the effects of alcohol. He held a core of an apple and made breakfast of it. Sights like these were shocking when the recession first hit but they became more common and so you no longer noticed. The mighty had fallen and the rest of us became desensitised to their plight. I gave him what coins I had left. With very little I could do to help him, I entered the tall grey building with the large towering sign on top that read ‘Coldford Daily’.

The newsroom was hot and thick with the smell of coffee. Full time reporters had become scarce but those of them who did remain in work dashed back and forth trying to perfect their articles. Nothing quite so stimulating as a looming deadline. The brown leather satchel that I always carry my articles in was dropped on an unoccupied table. I rested at the desk, drew out my notes and began to review them. I had to ignore the hum and chatter around me to focus on the words.

“Hey Sam,” came the voice of Madeline Lower. I looked up and briefly acknowledged her presence with a smile. Madeline and I had been friends since college. She too was a freelance writer although she would admit her stories weren’t selling as well. I don’t think my writing was any better than hers, its just that the editor, Eric Waddle, was a bit of a chauvinist and what articles of hers he did accept were probably grudged.

‘Maybe if I slept with him he would change his mind,” she had said. She was joking of course but everyone had their motives in Shady City so it wouldn’t surprise me.

Madeline was an athletic woman in her late twenties. Her shoulder length brunette hair fell loosely around her shoulders. Her skin was a warm caramel colour like she had come from a sun kissed land. Her pale blue eyes were sharp and feline. That morning she wore a white shirt and a plaid skirt. She sat herself on the edge of my desk with the leap of feminine grace. “Waddle was looking for you,” she informed me. “He told me to kick you into his office as soon as you got here.”

“Thanks,” was my reply, still absorbed in my reviewing. I brushed my auburn hair away from my face. I was always pale but in those days of hard work I was even paler. I gathered my strength. Discussions with Waddle took a lot of energy. He was the kind of man who didn’t talk to you but talked at you.

“You look like hell,” Madeline commented – ever the crusader for honesty. “Go see what he wants and I’ll get us some coffee.”

Madeline slipped off the desk and made her way to the farthest end of the newsroom where the fresh coffee was being brewed.

I knocked on the door of the editor’s office. I could hear Eric’s voice inside having a one sided conversation which suggested that he was either conducting a telephone call or some journalist was on the listening side of a hostage situation. I pushed the door ajar slightly. I caught a glimpse of Waddle standing behind his desk. His back was to me. He had a black telephone receiver placed to his ear. He heard me as I stepped inside because he swivelled round, smiled and waved at me, gesturing me to sit down.

“I gotta go, sweetheart,” said Eric. “If I hear anything I will let you know.”

I took the seat across the desk from Eric, laying my papers on top. Eric Waddle was a tall man. He had a thick beard and always wore a long, black pony tail.

“That was Silvia Feltz,” he informed me even though I hadn’t asked. “Poor thing is still in shock. Trying to piece together what happened. Jim and I go way back and even I had no idea what he was up to.”

“I have nothing new really,” I ventured.

Eric reached his heavy hand across pulled my papers towards him. “It doesn‘t matter. People can’t get enough of the story. They’re swallowing it down like buzzards and coming back for more.”

“I think I’ve spoken to everyone he ever met. That is everyone but you…” Eric had been quite adamant that he not be included in any of the articles but I didn’t become the reporter I was by not chancing my luck.

“I have nothing to say,” Eric snatched up a glass bottle filled with whiskey and poured himself a generous share into a square shaped glass by his hand. “I asked you to come here because there is something that I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Go on…”

“As you know, times are tough. We can only handle the best which is why they want you Sam.”

“Want me for what?”

“I’m talking about full time,” Eric said. His face beamed with excitement.

“I don’t know what to say,” I stammered.

“Say yes!” he bawled before emitting roars of laughter. “These kind of opportunities aren’t easy to come by these days.”

I stood. My actions became subconscious. “That is a great offer. I am very grateful. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, just do what you do best,” Eric dismissed, downing his glass of whiskey in one single gulp. The bottle was probably less expensive than the MACK AND SONS brand he was used to but decent alcohol was becoming increasingly difficult to come by. “You don’t have to be hanging around here all day. Go home and tell your wife the good news. You can start fresh tomorrow.”

My wife, Theresa, had studied journalism too. In fact that’s where we met. When Theresa and I married she gave up a career. Her mother blamed me for this but the truth was I had been the one trying to discourage her from doing so. Theresa didn’t want to take any chances on a writing career when housewife was the most stable job to be had. I never corrected my mother-in-law as to whose decision it had been to give up. She already hated me anyway. She thought me too self absorbed to be a suitable husband for her daughter. Her concerns weren’t completely without merit. When I was caught up chasing stories I often missed what was happening to the people closest to me. Theresa would be excited though. I couldn’t wait to tell her the news.

***

I was out of breath by the time I got home, my heart beating forcefully with exertion and excitement. The drums of anticipation rattled in my ears. I fumbled for my keys in my pocket. I leaned against the door as I reached deeper into my pockets. As I did so the door fell aside. It was very unlike Theresa to leave the door unlocked even when she was at home. She was a cautious little thing and home invasion robberies were happening a lot in our neighbourhood on the South West Side.

Our humble home was a small, one bedroom terrace amidst an array of similar granite buildings. What separated ours from the rest was the addition of an emerald green front door. Green was my favourite colour and it matched the shade of Theresa’s eyes. I called for my wife but there was no response. Heaps of blankets lay across the worn brown sofa which kept us warm without any extra cost. The scent of baking apples danced from the kitchen. Theresa had been baking apple pie which she always did when she had had a rough day. The kitchen was a direct off set from the living room. I found Theresa in there lurched over the cooker. She was weeping heavily. Her mousey brown hair was uncombed. When I pushed the swinging door open she gripped a knife that was close at hand. She stumbled backwards emitting a frightful shriek.

When she saw it was me she dropped the knife, ran at me and threw her arms around my neck. She didn’t ask why I had come home so early. It was I who asked the questions.

“What happened?” My heart was now beating to a completely different rhythm.

“I wasn’t expecting you so early,” she said. “A woman was looking for you.”

“What did she want?” I asked.

Theresa gathered her wits. “She gave me an invitation to a club.”

“And who was she? What was her name?” I enquired, assuming it to be someone I had been questioning on the Feltz story.

Theresa shook her head. “She didn’t say.”

Theresa wandered into the living room and dropped herself amongst the blankets sobbing. “She told me that this story on the Mayor could put you in danger. She told me that you would return to me one day in pieces. She said you were getting involved in something you shouldn’t.”

I sat beside her and put my arm around her shoulder. “That’s all nonsense, I promise.”

Theresa shuddered. “She gave me this…”

She gave me a black business card. On the front read ‘Knock, Knock Club’ with two finely shaped female figures on either side. It was an exclusive club in town. A club I would visit that night and my life would be changed forever.

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KNOCK, KNOCK: Episode 1: Welcome to the Club Mayor Jim Feltz gave a lot to the city. Coldford was a demanding mistress though. It had earned its nick name as the Shady City not just because of the gloomy weather but because everything was there for the taking for anyone who wasn't hindered by morals or conscience.

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vivikawidow · 6 years ago

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Play the Game (Tales from Shady City) Andre Luis was the best striker his old club – Luen – had ever had. The fans adored him and he had brought his team to the most trophies in the club's history so it was a surprise for him when he received a phone call from his agent telling him he was being transferred to Coldford City.

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vivikawidow · 6 years ago

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I Thought You Liked My Little Club ...

I Thought You Liked My Little Club …

She sat across his lap and kicked her long, slim legs out.

“A girl could be insulted with a man running out on her like that. I thought you liked my little club.”

“I do,” protested the mayor of Coldford.

Tabitha grinned. There was a gap between her front teeth that gave her a quirky, girlish quality.

“Let’s see how much then, shall we?”

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vivikawidow · 6 years ago

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Members Eat For Free

Amber was thrilled. She had never been anywhere quite like the Knock, Knock club before. She was only seventeen so when the doorman stepped aside to allow her in she was exhilarated.

An invitation had come through the post. Her father was Mayor of the city so he was invited to all sorts of places. She brought the handsome Kevin with her. He was ten years her senior and she was sure Lacey – her…

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vivikawidow · 6 years ago

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Like A Boss!

She has a tight grip on everything in Shady City. She won’t let anyone step on her toes.

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vivikawidow · 5 years ago

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It was a bleak day. Not just weather wise. I was watching from a window that looked out upon the entrance of the COURT HOUSE as day one of the trial dawned. It was like waiting for the hearse to arrive at the graveside. The crowds had already begun to gather in front. Some of them were morbidly curious onlookers. Some of them were protesters. A violence was brewing between those who were there in support of TABITHA and those who wanted justice to be done quickly and efficiently. The toxic mixture of outrage and revolution was flowing through them.

“You want to see her put on the performance of her life?” asked Lydia.

I smiled at the idea. Even then both of us expected Tabitha to arrive with airs and graces. I wanted to get a close observation but, as a witness, I had to be kept under lock and key with Lydia, who had been instructed by her superiors to accompany me at all times. I was glad to have her with me. At night in the hotel room I was contained in, my mind gave way to lonely thoughts.

To my surprise, although there were many calling the Boss Lady a murdering psychopath and baying for her blood, there were so many others who still hailed her as some kind of hero. She was a hero to the people of the Shanties for being bold enough to provide them with what they needed to survive. She was a hero to victims of sexual assault and violence given her own story, and her willingness to do whatever it took to open people’s eyes to what was a huge problem in the Shady City. That was no excuse though. In the eyes of the law two horrific crimes do not cancel each other out. She wasn’t in the Shanties any more. She was in the north, and there she was seen as a monster.

I was busy watching a woman screaming angrily, “Just take her out and hang her!” She had a child of about eight by her side doing the same thing. They could have been genuine but there was something set-up about those particular protesters, something that didn’t look quite right to me. Their clothing, positioning, banners and dialogue was all too neat. It wasn’t beyond the OWEN family to have set up stooges among the protestors to deliberately heighten the emotion.

“Here she comes,” said Lydia with a hand on my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. Cries of blood lust rang out as the crowd pushed forward.

Clang! Metal shuddered as someone outside hurled something heavy at the transport van. It caused Tabitha to jerk forward feeling as though it would hit her head. She could hear the angry voices outside, although slightly muffled. They called her the slut of the Shanties. They wanted to hang her. They wanted to burn her like a witch of old. Mob mentality had consumed them completely. More bangs against the walls as the transport drove through the crowd to the entrance of the Court House.

Fists were pounded against the sides. There was a splat as someone threw the rest of their latte at the narrow windows. She would never admit it to anyone but Tabitha had never felt so alone. There was no one around to support her. No Penns, no aunts and not even DENNIS. It had all come to being enclosed within a metal box. The rabble of hatred heightened and the venom became more potent.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The crowd had pursued the van to the door.

“Get her out!” they chanted. “Get her out!”

Tabitha wanted to remain within the metallic tomb but the van shuddered to a halt.

The two escorting Bailiffs took their time from the slam of their doors to walk around the van and open up the back doors.

Clank, twist and suddenly the rabble became roars. As Tabitha’s eyes adjusted to the light she could see the sea of hatred she was cast into.

Without saying a word the Bailiffs fetched her and pulled her onto her feet. She was dragged out of the van. They slapped at her, the pulled at her hair and they kicked at her. There was a plant though. There was one among them on Owen Inc. coin to deliberately keep the crowd irate. It was he who threw the can of soup – full. It hit Tabitha across her face causing her to fall over. The Bailiffs halfheartedly pushed the crowd back but whilst they were lifting Tabitha onto her feet, another – feeling bold because of the rabble-rouser – ran at her and kicked her in the face.

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Before the violence of the crowd escalated further the Bailiffs finally rushed her inside to await her trial.

It was a long and painful walk from CPD custody into the hands of the Law Makers. The wounds were not nursed. She wasn’t even checked for damage. Judge Doyle wanted Tabitha to remember she was now in her domain.

Many a broken spirit had entered the draughty, emotionless halls of the Court House. Even more were broken before the bench of JUDGE DOYLE. The question on my mind then was how long would Tabitha’s spirit stand under the scrutiny of the Judge’s icy gaze.

***

Being unable to attend the trial personally until it was time for my own statement the following account is made up of the statements of those in attendance and court transcripts.

The hall was awash with nervous energy as Tabitha’s trial came to session. The only one who seemed unaffected by it was the lady herself who sat on her bench as though ready to watch a production play out before her.

ATTENDANCE: Judge Doyle: Presiding City Prosecutor Counsel for the Defendant: RONALD OWEN Defendant: Tabitha MC Clerks and Bailiffs Clerk: “All rise! Court is now in session. Judge Doyle presiding.”

In a flurry of black robes, The Judge entered the room and for a moment the slightest breath could be heard. Karyn Doyle took her bench; her terribly scarred left eye and the wound on her neck on full display. Tabitha glared at her but The Judge didn’t respond. The trial was opened under the proper procedure. The charges were read:

Embezzling city funds. Inciting violence. Murder in the second degree. Murder in the first degree. Three counts.

Judge Doyle addressed the murder charges first.

Judge Doyle: “Murder in the second degree of Mel Wallace – a clerk of this court.”

Mel had been the woman I had gotten the video of. Tabitha and MARCUS PENN had taken her to Clifton Alley running along the side of the club and had slit her throat. The video footage of this incident had been the final piece of evidence the LAW MAKERS needed to bring Tabitha in. It was second degree because the eldest Penn triplet had been the one to wield the killing blow.

Judge Doyle: “Murder in the first degree of Rob and Linda McInney, as well as Lynn Watson.”

Rob and Linda were Tabitha’s parents. It had been Dennis who had told me of their demise at the hands of their daughter as well as the nanny who had been put in charge of the wayward girl.

The Judge addressed Ronnie Owen as Tabitha’s counsel.

Judge Doyle: “How does your client plead?”

Ronnie Owen: “Ma’am, I would like to ask the court to allow us more time to prepare for this trial. There are extenuating circumstances and my client warrants a proper defence.”

The City Prosecutor stepped forward.

City Prosecutor: “Ma’am, the defendant was read her rights upon arrest. She was informed of all charges and my colleague has had ample time to prepare.”

Doyle addressed Ronnie.

Judge Doyle: “Is your client ill informed?”

Ronnie Owen: “No ma’am but on the charges of first degree murder there was an investigation at the time. John Watson, husband of Lynn confessed to the murder of Rob and Linda McKinney as well as Lynn Watson.”

Judge Doyle: “The confession was revoked and further evidence found. There is no statute of limitations on those charges.”

Ronnie Owen: “Ma’am I call for a mistrial until I can be properly prepared for this new evidence,” he tried.

The man with the Owen name really did try.

Doyle’s lip curled.

Judge Doyle: “I suggest, counsellor, that you make your client aware that there are consequences for her actions. The charges stand. If you are under prepared then you need to familiarise yourself with your client’s case history.”

It seemed Dennis had tried to navigate his way around CPD by telling them everything he knew about the death of Tabitha’s parents, including where they were likely to find the remains. His testimony gave the Law Makers reason to add the murder to Tabitha’s charge sheet, potentially sending her away even longer. The coroner’s report confirmed stab wounds. The nanny’s husband was pardoned and released. He suddenly had a solid alibi for the night in question.

Ronnie was not done.

Ronnie Owen: “As far as the charges of inciting violence, the so-called Free Fall Massacre was not a massacre at all. It was declared a terrible, drug induced accident at the time.” The Free Fall Massacre was an incident that occurred at the Beckingridge Tower just as the Knock Knock club reopened. There were whispers of Tabitha being the cause of the deaths of 59 people.

Judge Doyle: “How does your client plead?”

Ronnie Owen: “Ma’am I do urge the court to approach this matter with a clear head.”

Judge Doyle (unmoved): “How does your client plead?”

Ronnie Owen: “Not guilty, ma’am on all charges.”

Judge Doyle: “Return to your benches counsellors, and we will begin.”

Both lawyers gave their opening statements. The City Prosecutor as expected painted Tabitha as a monster. He described her as spoiled, murderous and lacking moral conscience. He asked the jury to consider that she didn’t care for the people of the Shanties the way she would have it seem. He asked the jury to consider the bodies she was responsible for but not yet charged with.

Ronnie called objection on this.

The Judge sustained. The trial was to be kept to the matters at hand.

The City Prosecutor mentioned my own part. He also discussed the death of Madeline and the statement I had given to the police at the time, discussing Tabitha having put the knife in Maddy’s hand, forcing me to defend myself against her.

Throughout the statements, Tabitha kept her gaze forward to The Judge. Doyle ignored her. During the City Prosecutor’s statement she was seen whispering something to Ronnie. I found out later that she was asking, “Where the fuck did they find Ma and Pa?” In Ronnie’s opening statement he asked the jurors to keep an open mind. He urged them to remember the shelters, food programs and support the Knock Knock club provided.

“That wasn’t that psycho bitch that did that. That was the Baroness,” someone in the audience called out.

Doyle slammed the gavel down. The noise of its fury echoed. Judge Doyle: “I will have no outburst in my court room. Do that again and you will be removed.”

(She turned to the sea of judging faces that were the jury). “The jury will disregard that comment.”

Ronnie continued. He played the angle of desperation anyone who had been to the Shanties would be familiar with. I wasn’t sure how much the jury would buy the rags to hero, standing for the little man story of Tabitha’s. She was, after all, a girl from Filton with every possible advantage that money could buy.

Even if he stood there all day explaining Tabitha’s reasoning, what her aunt tried to do for her, and those she had protected in her own sordid way; her parents were still butchered, the Free Fall Massacre had still happened and Mayor Feltz and his seventeen year old daughter Amber were still missing. This was all at Tabitha’s hand. The trial was going to be sticky.

I was most curious to find out Chick Owen’s thinking behind allowing his brother to defend her. It would have been so easy to put an Owen in there and watch her fall but from what I could see Ronnie was defending her to the best of his ability. Being kept in confinement at the time prevented me from calling on The Cappy to find out.

And with that Ronnie was pulling every lawyer trick he could, starting with a little public relations damage control. The trouble was, Tabitha was as guilty as sin. How long would the crowds outside calling her name stand in solidarity when the final hammer fell?

***

A chilling breeze blew through the Court Room. There was no comfort to be found in the dungeon of mahogany benches. Even the thick wine-coloured curtains that hung over the windows offered little cheer. The Boss Lady herself watched from the defendant’s bench like some wild animal in a zoo. There was anger in her grey eyes, that much was obvious but there was something else there too. It was something deep rooted. Fear perhaps? Like most cornered animals her first thoughts were escape.

ATTENDANCE: Judge Doyle: Presiding City Prosecutor Counsel for the Defendant: Ronald Owen Defendant: Tabitha MC First Witness: EB Clerks and Bailiffs

City Prosecutor: “The city calls their first witness, ma’am.”

Judge Doyle urged him to continue.

City Prosecutor: “We call ERNEST BECKINGRIDGE to the stand.”

There was a shuffle from the benches and a murmur of voices as a middle-aged man with greying, fair hair, dressed in a grey pin stripe suit crossed the aisles and was first to step up to the witness stand. He had warm features but great bags underneath his eyes. He was a man who had seen a lot. His shoulders were hunched like he had the weight of the world on them.

City Prosecutor: “Mr Beckingridge, you are CEO of the Beckingridge Financial Firm correct?”

Ernest Beckingridge: “Yes sir, that’s correct.”

City Prosecutor: “Can you please tell the court what happened the night of the Free Fall

Benefit held at BECKINGRIDGE TOWER in City Main? In your own words.”

The prosecutor looked back at the jury and scanned their faces for reaction.

Ernest looked to Tabitha.

Ernest Beckingridge: “My partner and I weren’t in attendance. We were going to LUEN on an early flight the next morning.”

Ronnie stood and raised an objection.

Ronnie Owen: “Ma’am, I fail to see what relevance this witness testimony has when he wasn’t there at the time.”

City Prosecutor: “The witness has a keen insight into what happened. Not just on the events of the Free Fall but also what happened afterwards.”

Judge Doyle: “Overruled. Mr Beckingridge you will answer the question.”

Ronnie sat back down as Ernest cleared his throat. He took a sip from the glass of water that had been provided for him.

Ernest Beckingridge: “I was awoken around eleven pm by my secretary Bernadette. She informed me that clients had been leaping from the top of the tower.”

City Prosecutor: “Did she explain as to why?”

Ernest Beckingridge: “A number of years ago an employee of the firm embezzled a large amount of money from the company. The case is still ongoing. We were lucky to have a new investor pull us out of the water as it were.”

The City Prosecutor stroked his chin.

City Prosecutor: “And these replenished accounts were the ones the defendant stole from?”

Ernest Beckingridge: “Yes sir.”

The prosecutor raised his voice so that it boomed across the hall.

City Prosecutor: “Could you please tell the court who had been this guardian angel for the firm? Where had this rescue investment come from?”

Ernest Beckingridge: “OWEN Inc.”

***

“We’ve got a great chance here,” said Mr Heath to his wife.

Mrs Heath agreed. It was a huge opportunity for them. It was one of the biggest investment accounts they had ever handled but her mind had been elsewhere. “Have you heard from Taylor?” she asked.

Their son, a 21-year-old finance student at FILTON University, was supposed to be coming home to their City Main apartment for the weekend but he never turned up that afternoon. They had of course tried contacting him but received no response.

“He’s a man now,” Mr Heath reminded her. “He’s probably gone off with his friends for the weekend instead.”

“But it’s not like him not to call and let us know,” replied she. Mr Heath glared at his wife. She was thinking of checking her phone again.

“This is the fifth time,” he barked. He was counting. Mrs Heath reached into the Luen designed clutch bag she carried, encrusted with real diamonds and removed a silver device. Still no notifications.

“Albert is waiting at home for him in case he turns up. He will be fine,” assured Mr Heath. What his wife didn’t know was that Taylor and some of his uni friends had been tasked with couriering some poor quality heroin into the Shanties – ‘needles’ they called it locally, because it was mostly injected. Mr Heath was beginning to think Taylor and his friends hadn’t taken the proper precautions. Their instructions had been to wear old clothing, not to wear jewellery or carry expensive items and speak to no one but their contact. Mr Heath didn’t like involving his son, but a group of youngsters could blend in better at Kirkton Apartments – where the exchange was to take place – than a business man from the north would. Besides, one day Taylor would take over his father’s business and so he had to learn all aspects of it. Taylor was no stranger to it anyway. He had been an effective courier since age twelve. He enjoyed the money and unlike many of his peers he didn’t have everything handed to him. He had to take on his share of the work. He earned his lifestyle and at great risk sometimes. Taylor Heath was not pampered through life – no sirree. Still, the Shanties were dangerous and it had been the first time Taylor and his friends had taken goods that far south. But it was also where the call for needles was highest. The people of the Shanties didn’t want to escape the poverty trap. They wanted to hide themselves and lie in it.

But they had bigger concerns. They had brought in Lynette Fullerton, of the Fullerton Bridge and the construction company that handled the biggest projects across the city. A stern old bitch with a real nasty bite Mr Heath observed, but with enough money to make life very sweet indeed. There was also Joshua Coby. New money. The young man was a software developer and when his apps and game designs went big he made more money than he’d ever seen in his life. More money than he could handle suggested Mrs Heath. That’s where the husband and wife team came in. They would be able to help him manage such a big fortune.

The Beckingridge Financial Firm had set sights on a project in the south that would brighten the area; make it a trendy spot for good time folk rather than a den for thieves and whores. It had been done before in Swantin. The Chamberlain Docks still belonged to prostitutes and traffickers at night but during the day there was a buzz in the place and the fashionable walked the streets.

To do this the firm needed investment in construction and design. That’s where the mismatched team of Fullerton and Coby would come in. The Heaths were experts at forming relationships.

Tabitha stood watching over the meeting. They were losing the support of Lynette Fullerton.

“Your family brought the city together. They built bridges Mrs Fullerton. We would love for you to be a part of connecting the north and south,” Mr Heath was saying, linking his fingers together to demonstrate his point. Fullerton was still sneering at the very idea of being associated with the Shanties. Now it was Mrs Heath who was making the plea.

“All the way to City Hall there have been cries to rejuvenate the south. On his campaign trail Mayor Feltz has made great strides in showing what improvements it could make to the poorest in the city.”

Lynette scoffed. Mrs Heath bit her lip. She probably shouldn’t have brought politics into it. She chastised herself. How likely was it that a Fullerton was a Feltz supporter anyway? Joshua took over. “I can see what you are trying to do,” he said thankfully. “The Fullerton Bridge worked wonders for the Cardyne area. It made us part of the Coldford community.”

Mr Heath beamed. “Yes and we can do the same again. We could be at the forefront of a new, modern Coldford.”

The door to the balcony opened briefly, allowing loud music and screams to enter briefly. The meeting downstairs continued uninterrupted. The door had closed again as quickly as it opened.

Tabitha rolled her eyes. “What a fucking douche bag,” she said referring to Mr Heath.

REGGIE PENN crossed the overpass carrying a woman over his shoulder. Drugged? Drunk? Probably both. She was one of the BECKINGRIDGE FIRM workers from the party upstairs. Reggie’s skin was ghoulishly pale in the low light compared to Tabitha’s darker complexion.

“It’s going to break,” he said.

Tabitha raised an eyebrow. “I bet you it doesn’t.”

Reggie looked down at the meeting below. “Drink says it does.”

Tabitha smiled. “You’re on.”

Reggie carried the woman to the ledge and launched her over the side. She plummeted down and crashed onto the table below.

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“Huh,” Reggie shrugged. “The table didn’t break.”

“Told you,” replied Tabitha. “No cheapo shit in here. It’s reinforced.”

Meanwhile, downstairs shock had captured the meeting as the four stared at the body.

“What the?” Mr Heath recognised her. She was one of the client support team. They assumed she had gotten too drunk and accidentally fell from the over pass.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” said Mrs Heath. All Mr Heath could think of was that there was no way they were getting their investment now.

“Well, hello cunts.”

The meeting was interrupted once again. A young woman, probably in her early twenties had entered from the upper floor. She was wearing an expensive red dress and grinning at them with a gap-toothed smile that seemed more chilling in its whimsy. “What’s going on here?” Mr Heath demanded to know.

Tabitha looked at the body of the client support girl. “I’d say it looks like you’re fucked. All four of you.” She turned to Joshua Coby. “Well, except maybe you. I actually kinda like you.”

“I’m calling the police!” Lynette announced.

“Oh shut the fuck up you ugly old troll,” Tabitha growled.

Mr Heath raged. He charged across the room to the girl. He drew himself closer to her but she was not intimidated. Instead she wrinkled her nose.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she said. “What have you sprayed yourself with?”

Mr Heath growled, “You’re dealing with a very dangerous man here.”

Tabitha chuckled. “Is that so?”

“You’re done!” Mr Heath yelled. “You’re done!”

Before he could strike Tabitha there was a firm grip on his hair, tugging at the roots and his head was pulled back so sharply pain fired through the muscles of his neck. He had made an insurance claim for whiplash before. It seemed this was what it actually felt like.

“Who’s done?” asked Reggie, scowling at him.

“I was just getting started,” commented Tabitha matter-of-factly. “This fucker is killing my groove.”

Mr Heath began to sob. He lost care of looking like he was in control for the sake of his wife and clients. Beckingridge was so large and vast it was unlikely anyone could hear him.

“Please,” he begged. “What do you want?”

Tabitha shook her head at Reggie. She opened her arms and shrugged.

“Now he asks.”

Reggie laughed. He flicked Mr Heath’s bottom lip.

“Bluh bluh bluh. Help me!” Imitated the youngest triplet in a high-pitched voice.

Tabitha turned to the others at the table.

“You may want to listen up because I have my own pitch to give.”

Still with a firm grip of his hair, Reggie led Mr Heath back to his spot at the table. Lynette recognised Reggie. He was one of Reginald Penn’s triplets but she wasn’t sure which one. Not that it really mattered.

She had had dealings with the Penns before, or at least her son did. Francis was leading the Fullerton Construction team and they had just bought a prime piece of land in the north of Coldridge Park. It was the same area the Faulds Building, within which the Penns lived in the penthouse, looked onto.

“That’s a shame,” Rita, the mother, had mused when she saw the construction signs go up. “I really like that part of the park. It is always kept so nice and it’s so lovely in spring.”

The beautiful garden she had started a committee to plant was to be bulldozed over to make way for industrial units.

Reginald wouldn’t stand for Rita looking onto grey buildings that would no doubt lie empty for some time attracting the artist youth and their spray cans. He wouldn’t have her beautiful view from the top of the city spoiled. She would keep her gardens. Reginald approached Francis with request to move on but he refused. The equipment was brought in. The area was blocked off. Reginald made another bid for him to move on but the Fullerton blood was thick and stubborn. Francis still refused.

Then, the day before construction was to begin the fences, signs and pop up office were taken down. By noon that day it was as though Fullerton construction had never been there. Lynette received a call from Francis’ wife Hannah. He had been taken to Coldford General Hospital. His right arm and four fingers on his left were missing. He said it had been an industrial accident but Lynette knew that wasn’t true.

“You may want to take a seat,” Tabitha urged. “I’m heading this meeting now.”

The table was set.

“Who are you?” Asked Lynette.

“I’m just a simple girl who wants to make you a counter offer. You see the so-called rejuvenation project these fucktards are talking about is a crock of shit. It would raise property prices in the area but in doing so put thousands of people out of a home. The houses would become unaffordable for the poorest like they did in Swantin. Where else are they going to go?”

“What else do you suggest?” asked Joshua. He was trembling but he tried to remain focused.

He spoke to the Boss Lady but he kept his eye on Reggie Penn, who was now pushing Mr Heath into his chair so forcibly his head was almost in his lap.

“Either you splash the cash or give your life.”

“You cannot threaten us!” Lynette sneered.

“Who’s threatening?” Tabitha asked. She turned to Reggie. “Did you hear me threaten anyone?”

Reggie shrugged his shoulders with a smile.

“I don’t threat. I make promises and I promised the good people of the south I would bring them compensation.” She sharpened her attention to the party-goer. “Did you know that your granddaughter is befriending girls in my neck of the woods, deliberately getting them hooked on drugs and coercing them into starring in porn films? After she makes money from them she leaves them high and dry, addicted, and humiliated without a pot to piss in. You will pay for the lives you and your like have ruined one way or another. You could say I’m collecting for charity. I just happen to be a little aggressive in my fundraising.”

“Why should we give anything to you? Get out of here!” barked Lynette.

Reggie snarled at the construction heiress but Tabitha shook her head signalling for him to take no action. He kept his eyes on Lynette but he was patting Mr Heath’s head and stroking his hair so roughly he was pushing his head into his lap again.

“It’s a pity this place is so damn big you can’t hear what’s going on upstairs.”

‘The party?’ Mr Heath thought. ‘Did those upstairs get started on the closing deal festivities already? Did they know what was happening?’ He had heard some music earlier and raised voices but it was a party. That was to be expected. As their captor said Beckingridge Tower was large and a company on such a grand scale needed their walls thick enough and ceilings high enough so that no one could overhear the decisions that were made in that room that affected millions of lives.

Reggie produced a phone from his back pocket and threw it across to Tabitha who caught it in her well-manicured talons. She pushed buttons and switched on the loud speaker. The ring echoed around the hall, much like being caught inside a church bell.

Rrrrrrrrrring!

It rattled.

Rrrrrrring rrrrrrring!

All eyes were on Tabitha. Even Mr Heath who Reggie had allowed to straighten his back but had wormed his fingers around locks of his hair so that his head was held in place.

“Hello?” Marcus’ cold voice, absent of emotion, came through the speaker.

“Hello handsome,” Tabitha said as though they were having a pleasant conversation elsewhere. “How are you?”

“Fine,” was the eldest triplet’s cool reply.

Things were not fine. Men, women – colleagues of the Heaths – were screaming and crying out. Above the music they could hear a woman’s gargling shriek that sounded as though she was being gutted.

“Negotiations here are starting to get a bit sticky so could you show these people just how fucking serious I am?”

“Alright, take a look to the window there and you will see what your other option is,” said Tabitha.

This time, as mighty as the Beckingridge Tower stood screams could be heard as bodies fell past from the upper floor of the penthouse suite.

A wave of confusion washed over the meeting room. They found it difficult to believe what their own eyes had just shown them.

“So?” Tabitha asked. “What’s it to be?”

***

Bodies rained from the tower that day. The rich elite of the city were given the choice. Their lives or their money. Most chose to go broke.

“Maybe having nothing will teach them a bit of humility,” Tabitha had said at the time, which was an ironic statement from one of the most egotistical people I’ve ever met.

“Well there’s some cheques that won’t bounce,” said Reggie with a sardonic grin.

Allow me to offer some rational thinking. Most of those affected by the massacre were owners of corporations and large firms. To give away every penny wouldn’t have just left themselves in dire straits, it would shock wave into their workers and clients, and so some brave souls would have chosen not to let that happen. It was this shock wave Tabitha had been hoping for. She wanted to hit Owen Inc where it would feel it most.

Refuse or not. Donate or not. Support their poorer neighbours in the south or not. Either way, blood stained the courtyard of Beck Tower. No charges were brought at the time against Tabitha because she wasn’t in the same room. The Penns avoided arrest because the team they had brought with them served witness that the party was drug and alcohol fuelled and things got out of hand.

Toxicology reports confirmed this. No one who survived dared point the finger. Life was going to be difficult enough without their wealth to prop them up though hard times. The police couldn’t do anything because no physical coercion could be proven. Forensic accountants couldn’t do anything because the funds that had been taken were officially registered as charitable donations. As the Beckingridge Firm stock prices plummeted too, Owen Inc. who had invested heavily were almost brought to financial ruin.

Quickly following the Free Fall Massacre were the attacks on Judge Doyle. Three times the Headliners tried to kill her. They cut the brakes of her car and watched as it rolled into the lake. She didn’t drown. She crawled back out of the lake and still she stood. An assault in City Main as she left her offices slit her throat but she managed to escape, seek help and still she stood. Finally, with help from the Macks they tried to catch her in a car bomb. The explosion detonated as expected. They managed to take her eye but The Judge lived. After all was said and done still she stood. The newspapers at the time reported on the assaults. They started to refer to her as the unkillable Judge Doyle.

And so with a political candidate in Mayor Feltz and the Beckingridge Firm at heel, Tabitha had a vice like grip on the city. But politics are dirty and Beckingridge Tower could fall in so many different directions. Enter an iron judge to remind the Boss Lady just how the rules were made.

Coming next: Whilst we catch our breath we’ll let the Law Makers take care of business.

In the meantime, the series is free to read HERE on Vivika Widow Online or you can download for kindle by clicking HERE.

KNOCK, KNOCK: Episode 1: Welcome to the Club

Knock, Knock: Episode 2: Don’t Come Knockin’

Knock, Knock: Episode 3: Sleep Tight Sam

Knock, Knock: Episode 4: Take A Bow

Knock, Knock: Episode 5: A Room With A View

Knock, Knock: Episode 6: Picking Up Strange Women

Knock, Knock: Episode 7: No Kids Allowed

Knock, Knock: Episode 8: Kids These Days

Knock, Knock: Episode 9: Shootin’ The Breeze

Knock, Knock: Episode 10: Calling Last Orders

Knock Knock: Episode 11: Shady City Blues

Knock Knock: Episode 12: Going Down

Knock Knock: Episode 13: Got the Fever

Knock Knock: Episode 14: Laying Down the Law

Knock Knock: Episode 15: Still I Stand

Knock Knock: Episode 16: Start Spilling

The trial of the Knock Knock Boss Lady begins. First up we take a look at the even known as the Free Fall Massacre that saw 59 dead at the Beckingridge Financial Firm. It was a bleak day. Not just weather wise. I was watching from a window that looked out upon the entrance of the…

#blog read #graphic novel #Knock #leo st paul #thriller #vivika widow

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vivikawidow · 5 years ago

Text

“PLEDGE TIME MOTHER FUCKERS!”

Whoops, cheers and spilled drinks. A KAPPA SO party was well underway. The KSO chapter house was located just a short walk from the campus of FILTON UNIVERSITY. Like most nights at the CHAPTER HOUSE things were heating up.

Chapter leader, BUDDY OWEN was pledging some new recruits. Most of them were sons of bankers, property developers, and politicians. The all had that in common – powerful parents. Famous names in the city like the financial giants BECKINGRIDGE and the WEIRS of WEIR HOTEL were just some of the elite who had pledged KAPPA SO. There were of course the OWEN family who had set up the fraternity in the first place as a means of connection between the Shady City and the GREAT STATES where they came from. A former pledge described the gruelling and sometimes ridiculous rituals. The brothers were anarchic, using their powerful names to get away with all kinds of debauchery. It was a system of too much power and too little responsibility that suited men like BUDDY well. If you were a brother you would never fail an exam at the university. The principal was also a brother. Job interviews, money and satisfying every whim. None of it would be a problem for the boys of KSO because they protected one another. The former member I spoke to wouldn’t give any details and he was visibly nervous when he mentioned it but pledging KSO was never easy. When it fell into the hands of BUDDY it became downright horrific. The fifth generation of OWEN to be Chapter Leader from its original founder no one could argue Buddy’s place in the chain of command. It was this kind of establishment that TABITHA sought to challenge. She wasn’t exactly the person to advocate for what was right but it did shed light on a bigger problem. Those in power had become so comfortable in their place over the generations it left little room for the average person.

KSO brothers didn’t care. They had always gotten along without consequences. Why should they worry then?

In some kind of sadistic homage to that principle Buddy had some of his pledges at heel. A group of boys, probably encouraged by their parents to endure the torture of pledging, now found themselves under the control of one of the most horrific people I have ever had the misfortune of meeting.

What began as games we all had played as students – drinking games, quizzes – quickly became sinister. Suddenly violence was introduced. The boys were forced to beat on one another, cut one another. They were humiliated. There was never anything fatal. They were all potential brothers after all. It they managed to endure the torture an easy life with every possible advantage was theirs to have and they would have the eternal support of their new brothers.

“Listen up bitches! Useless pieces of shit that ya’ll are, do you still think you got what it takes to pledge Kappa So?”

“Yes master,” the pledges replied in synchrony.

Buddy was dressed in a summer dress. Holding two black sex toys in his hands.

“Turn around. Ya’ll faces are making me sick,” he instructed.

On his right stood COOPER. He was Buddy’s right hand man in Chapter House. He too was from the Great States. On his left, wearing a crash helmet from an earlier drunken game and a bra was Chad.

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Chad leapt forward. “Yeah!” he cried out. “We’re gonna tickle your balls!” He waved his arms at his genitals. “Then you’re going to suck our balls!”

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Buddy’s cocaine fuelled gaze narrowed on his brother. “What the fuck?” He turned to Cooper. “What is it with him and the faggy shit?”

Cooper shrugged.

Buddy turned back to his pledges. “We are going under cover at a feminist rally. Some hippy skank dyke is trying to get us shut down. So y’all are going put on your mamma’s best Sunday Dress and beat the ever loving shit out her with these,” he waved the dildos. “Cock smack the shit out the lotta them. Do you hear me?!” His voice becoming like that of a boxing announcer.

The pledges cheered.

“Bud?” cried a female voice over the top of them. A cheerleader named Cheryl waved a phone at him. “Phone call.

Buddy rolled his eyes and sniffed. “I’m busy. Tell them to fuck off.”

“It’s The Cappy,” she said. The title of respect given to Buddy’s father caused a wave of hush to wash over the room.

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“Take care of those bitches,” he instructed his brothers who closed in on the pledges.

“Yeah?” He answered, tucking one of the sex toys under his arm.

“Please hold for MR OWEN,” his father’s secretary announced.

Buddy pursed his lips. “Yeah, whatever,” he replied.

The soft voice was replaced quickly by the harsher tones of his father. CHARLES ‘CHICK’ OWEN was head of the OWEN family. He was better known as the Captain or Cappy to his friends.

“I need you at the Court House early tomorrow,” said Chick without waiting for introductions.

“Yeah?” was Buddy’s challenging reply. Chick ignored it. There wouldn’t be too many allowances. “Be here at nine,” he ordered.

Buddy looked at the time on his wrist but he hadn’t worn a watch for years. Old habits died hard he supposed.

“Judge Doyle wishes to discuss the future of your internship.”

“Cool,” Buddy replied. The bell of the Chapter House rang.

“Bernard?” This time the Cappy addressed him sternly. “I’m not going to be disappointed, am I?”

‘Probably,’ thought Buddy. ‘Nothing pleases you anyway, you old fucker.’ But he thought better of voicing that opinion. He just needed to take another line of powder.

“No, sir,” he replied in his most innocent-sounding voice.

One of the brothers looked over and laughed as one of the pledges were being carried away. It seemed they were not good enough for KSO. The doorbell rang. It was opened to a group of prostitutes, or maybe they were girls from the university. It was difficult to tell. They all dressed like whores as far as Buddy was concerned. Either way, it would provide the nights entertainment and an extra incentive for the pledges still standing.

“Dad, dad, oh father dearest. Can I say something?” Buddy tried to break through the torrential lecture he was receiving on the other end of the phone.

Chick Owen growled, “What?”

“It’s gonna be a busy one. An all-nighter, in fact. Paperwork for the office and all that.I really should go.”

Chick didn’t rule as head of the Owen family through being naïve though. He had been KSO himself. Sure, he was the eldest and afforded authority on that account but compared to his brothers JERRY and RONNIE, he commanded respect. He knew his son well enough to be able to cipher through his nonsense.

“Be here at nine tomorrow and not a minute later. You and I are going to talk. If you are not here on time, I will send someone to fetch you proper.”

“Looking forward to it. Just all this damn paperwork first,” Buddy continued his pretence.

“Cuss me again, boy, and work will become the least of your concerns.”

“Yessir.” This time Buddy wondered how satisfying it would be to cock bash the old man.

The Cappy rang off. Buddy turned to his party. The girls were already being fed alcohol at an alarming rate.

Buddy waved the dildos. “Party time baby! Who wants cock smashed?”

***

A private estate in the north, adjacent to HARVESTER FARM, was where the OWEN Ranch in Coldford lay. It had been their first purchase when the family came over from the Great States. Since then they had built golf courses all over the area as well as snatching up other land for use later. DR WINSLOW, who owned Harvester Farm since the old Harvester himself fell ill, was still standing strong against the Owens’ buy-out of the area. He was one of few to do so. It was used as a personal retreat for Chick when he was in the city, which was becoming more and more often. His driver had brought him to the office of the LAW MAKERS.

Charles ‘Chick’ Owen was fair haired and long faced. His once blonde hair was lighter in tone than his dark eyebrows. The warm weather was continuing so he wore a cotton shirt underneath his well-tailored, Luen-made, pin stripe suit. As expected it was not ten past the hour of nine and Buddy was late.

Judge Doyle closed the door on a rabble of voices outside.

“Good morning Chick,” Karyn greeted first.

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“I hear there is good news on the KNOCK KNOCK front,” he said. “It’s been a pain in my ass for too long.”

“Tabitha’s trial will be pushed through as quickly as the LAW MAKERS can. We want it done cleanly and we want it done now,” said Karyn to the Cappy.

“It gives my heart some mighty fine relief to hear that,” he grinned. “The sooner the little bitch is put out of her misery the better.”

“We’ve also managed to bring in the PENN TRIPLETS,” added the judge with pride.

“I don’t care about those hammer-slamming weirdos. The little bitch is the only one I’m concerned with. Just make sure you have her on heavy lock down,” he added, his Great States accent pronouncing it as shoo-ah.

Karyn informed him, “We’ve already taken steps to put the KNOCK KNOCK CLUBinto administration.”

The Cappy grinned. “Music to ma ears,” he said.

“There’s just one more thing,” Karyn put to him. “I took Bernard into my service in good grace. A little girl has died at his hand, which I did not sanction. I want your assurances that that will never happen again.”

The Cappy leaned forward. “I heard. Some drug dealing scumbag named Kev and his daughter were shot. They were under Ron’s office.”

“We discovered that he was passing vital information to the HEADLINERS but the girl was not a target.”

Chick growled. “I’ll have a word with Bud. I already have Ronnie breathing down ma neck about it.” He looked over the judge’s shoulder. “Speaking of the do-gooding son’a’bitch.”

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Ronald ‘Ronnie’ Owen – the Cappy’s younger brother joined them, accompanied by Karyn’s cousin Micky Doyle and her son Cameron. Cameron was a strong, hulk of a young man just a few years Buddy’s junior. Shy, retiring. Chick surmised that couldn’t be helped, having such a dragon of a mother to contend with. Cameron was an intimidating size but it would be hard to find anyone of a gentler spirit.

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“Good afternoon, Mr Owen,” Cameron nodded respectfully. Ronnie was taller than Chick but a few years younger. He had the same jutting Owen chin but seemed more pleasant of face. Micky was wearing a large button that read:

MICKY DOYLE FOR MAYOR

“No time-wasting with the campaigning then Mick?” teased the Cappy.

“The HOT SEAT is open and it waits for no one,” Micky replied cheerily enough.

The previous mayor, FELTZ, was still missing. The LAW MAKERS were all but certain that Tabitha’s hand was in it but she was refusing to cooperate. Until such times as he could be retrieved from wherever he was, the HOT SEAT, which referred to the mayor’s office, had to be taken control of. It was located in a building in the north called CITY FACE, because of the large clock face at the front. If anyone had the bite to hold the hot seat it was Micky Doyle. No stranger to politics, he was as merciless as his cousin when it came to his pursuits but unlike the cold hand of justice, he was more personable. In a lot of ways that was more dangerous in taking control of a city.

“You okay there, Cam?” Micky clapped his cousin’s son on his shoulder. Cameron looked up from his game with a smile.

“You are being ignorant Cameron,” his mother barked.

Cameron’s eyes dropped to his feet, rather than back onto his game. “Sorry mum,” he said simply.

“We were just talking about the hard work you are doing keeping our city clean,” Chick was saying to his brother. Ronnie Owen was a lawyer and had taken over the Child Services Committee when Karyn Doyle became a high court judge.

“I do my best,” Ronnie agreed modestly.

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“All heart and no brains this one,” Chick laughed, putting his arm around Ronnie’s broad shoulder. He turned towards the clock, “Speaking of no brains.” He addressed one of the staff. “I’ll call Buddy and tell him to get his ass out here on the double. Pardon ma cussing ma’am,” the Cappy apologised to Karyn.

“We should have a drink to celebrate a job well done,” he said.

Karyn politely declined, “I’d rather not.” Chick looked to Cameron. “He won’t either.”

Cameron’s pocket began to bleep. He smiled as he began to content himself with an online game he had become engrossed in. He and user name REG3 had started to become quite a team but REG3 hadn’t been online lately. Still he played on alone.

Ronnie Owen observed Cameron. He had seen the look of abuse many times before.

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***

The house was cold. CAMERON hadn’t wanted to adjust the thermostat after what happened the last time. Things needed shaken up at COLDFORD GENERAL. The doctors there didn’t seem to know what they were doing.

“There’s going to be a pretty heavy scar,” the young attending physician had said. “I could look into skin grafting.”

He was at least ten years Karyn Doyle’s junior. He was barely a day out of FILTON Medical School. A real doctor wouldn’t have had to ask. A real doctor would have known she was going to wear her scars with pride. She would show the world what they tried to do to her and they would quiver because still she stands.

She rubbed the scar across her neck. It was like a noose that her skin had burned through. They told her that she could wear a patch over her eye, but she refused. She would never hide, and cowering behind an eye patch was hiding as far as she was concerned. When they looked her in the eyes they would see the damage that had been inflicted. They would see how much they had tried to hurt her and a shiver would crack down their spine because still she stands.

She looked deeper into the mirror. She lifted her chin. They would appear in her courtroom one by one and they would answer for their crimes. She would deal them her judgement. They would plea to her mercy. They would cry guilty and as her hammer fell they would beg forgiveness because, even after they tried to kill her,STILL SHE STANDS!

The front door slammed. An angry breath escaped her nostrils. The noise of Cameron’s return home was like pots being clattered in her ears.

“Mum?” Cameron called. When he saw her car in the driveway of their large KINGSGATE home he deduced she was home from the hospital. How clever he was.

He sought her out. He kept calling out to her. Why wouldn’t he shut up? She didn’t answer him but still he cried out. “Mum? Mum?”

It was a stupid title. There were so many in the world that went by that same title. It was a stupid title and ridiculously common.

He found her in the bathroom, observing herself.

“I’m glad you’re home,” he said.

She could see him smiling over her shoulder in the reflection. She could smell sweat on him. The icy tone was not new to his mother but given the attacks she had been subjected to he thought she would have been pleased to have her son by her side.

“Are you alright?” He was hesitant to ask. She hadn’t said anything about the hospital or what the doctors had said. Was it his fault? Should he have asked sooner? He had been playing football that afternoon, part of training for KINGSGATE ALBION. Why hadn’t he showered when he came off the pitch? Why did he think it was okay to come home bloodied and muddy, leaving footprints over a clean floor?

Karyn could feel her temples start to ache. She reached up and started to massage them with her forefingers. Cameron saw the warning signs. He should have known better.

“Cameron?” She said, her voice as cold as ice but calm.

Cameron’s head dropped. He averted his gaze to the floor immediately. That’s when he saw it. Flakes of mud had dislodged from his sneakers.

“Sorry mum,” he said softly. “Sorry mum!” He screamed as her temper unleashed. She grabbed him by the ear causing him to double over. She hit him with an astonishing force across his head. As large as he was, he would never hit her back. What kind of person would that make him if he could hit his own mother? He should have been paying more attention. WHACK! WHACK! She hit him again. The pain stung against his cheek.

“Please mum!” He sobbed.

WHACK! WHACK! His shrieks of pain just made her angrier. Her stockings laddered as he dug his nails into her legs.

He was beaten heavily. His nose burst and his face crashed against the tiled floor, the muddy prints marking his cheek. He started to feel a little dizzy. Something was not right but he dared not complain. She threw him back. Her full lips were puckered slightly. She kept hitting him until Cameron’s body fell limp. The blood trickling from his skull mixed with the mud and sweat. His shirt stained.

“Are you alright?” She barked the question, still angry. She hovered over him with her hands behind her back. “Get up.”

He didn’t want her to have to ask him twice. He stood as steady as his legs could hold him. Pain was firing through his skull as the shock of the assault wore off and he could feel the full brunt.

She wiped the tear from his eye. She clutched his face with cold, dry hands and pulled it closer to her. She kissed his forehead.

By the time they had gotten to Coldford General, this time with Cameron as the patient, fluid had gathered around the brain causing swelling. The doctors reduced the swelling as quickly as possible but Cameron would never be the same.

Cameron had been so worried about her. When the driver who collected him from training told her that his mother had been caught in an explosion, he ran to the door to see her without even saying please or thank you. It had been the third attack on her. They tried cutting her throat but still she stands. They cut the brakes of her car and watched it plunge into the lake. She did not drown. Still she stands. They tried to catch her in an explosion and yet still she stands. She was the unkillable JUDGE DOYLE. Justice is immortal.

Free to read HERE on Vivika Widow Online or you can download for kindle by clicking HERE.

KNOCK, KNOCK: Episode 1: Welcome to the Club

Knock, Knock: Episode 2: Don’t Come Knockin’

Knock, Knock: Episode 3: Sleep Tight Sam

Knock, Knock: Episode 4: Take A Bow

Knock, Knock: Episode 5: A Room With A View

Knock, Knock: Episode 6: Picking Up Strange Women

Knock, Knock: Episode 7: No Kids Allowed

Knock, Knock: Episode 8: Kids These Days

Knock, Knock: Episode 9: Shootin’ The Breeze

Knock, Knock: Episode 10: Calling Last Orders

Knock Knock: Episode 11: Shady City Blues

Knock Knock: Episode 12: Going Down

They tried to hurt her and yet still she stands. “PLEDGE TIME MOTHER FUCKERS!” Whoops, cheers and spilled drinks. A KAPPA SO party was well underway. The KSO chapter house was located just a short walk from the campus of FILTON UNIVERSITY.

#author #gets aphic novel #Knock #leo st paul #shady city thrillers #the knock knock club #thriller #vivika widow

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vivikawidow · 5 years ago

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In the Eye of the Storm

Strong morals aren’t going to get you far in the Shady City. It’s more likely to get you killed.

The Shady City can be a great place for those wanting to make a name for themselves. But if you do want to cause a stir you best be ready for who’s watching.

In a city filled to the brim with corruption those in power will stop at nothing to make sure things run their way.

The law is the law and it stops for no man, not even moral reporters who just want to get to the heart of the truth. That…

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#coldford #Coldford daily #graphic novel #Knock #leo st paul #sam crusow #thriller #thriller book #vivika widow

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vivikawidow · 5 years ago

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In the largest office of the Law Makers, adjacent to the COURT HOUSE, dwelled a figurehead that loomed over the city like a great vengeful deity. JUDGE KARYN DOYLE. She began her career as the youngest district court judge in Coldford history and the first woman to sit on the Children’s Services Committee. She was a pioneer in a lot of ways. Justice was always her objective but what did that mean? On the face of it, that meant wrongdoers were put behind bars. People like TABITHA and the HEADLINERS wouldn’t be tolerated in her city and she would stop at nothing until satisfactory justice had been served. Justice is a set of scales though. They had to weigh up and balance. Therefore, justice was also seeing families made homeless because of unpaid rent. Justice was tearing families apart because fathers didn’t have work permits. Justice was punishing someone for fighting to protect him or herself. Justice was having a young girl’s underwear on display because some depraved rapist took advantage of her. Justice could see a rich, powerful family using their influence to protect them from slander. After everything I’ve seen in the Shady City, nothing surprised me. Justice, however, was supposed to be blind. Cold facts and evidence were supposed to be the deciding factors. Tabitha had committed some horrendous crimes and she would pay for them, but how would those scales of justice weigh up against her? Would justice even listen to the truth or would the sight of the red dress and an unrelenting attitude blind them? Tabitha wouldn’t break easily. What worried me was the extent the LAW MAKERS, who had her in their grasp, would go to in order to make sure that she did. Justice loved breaking down those who would not follow her laws. She fed on it. Tabitha deserved punishment but who else would come to harm in the process? For the time being she still had two well-polished fingers held up at them and she taunted. “You know where to find me. Come and get me.” There was nothing they could do. There were rules to follow and what was justice without rules? But as AGENT LYDIA, relieved of her under cover duties at the KNOCK KNOCK CLUB and her supervising partner AGENT KIM climbed the steps of the Law Makers office the rules were about to change.

Chaos already had the attention of justice. When chaos is allowed free roam, mistakes can be made. BERNARD ‘BUDDY’ OWEN grinned. He was from an extremely powerful family who hailed from the Great States. Their influence in the Shady City was growing by the day. They arrived in Coldford with the luxury of money and pull. Hand in hand those things are often used to fill the scales of justice. Give a little money, a little politics and you find the scales never weigh against you.

Judge Doyle spat. “There was a little girl shot dead in the Shanties and there is talk that Kappa So was responsible.”

The little girl she referred to was Sarah. I had tried to take her from the club and mistakenly return her to the father. The truth was the little girl’s father, Kevin, had been selling drugs provided by Kappa So – a fraternity group founded by Buddy’s family generations before through Filton University. Kevin had become nervous. He revealed he was willing to speak to CPD but before he could he and his daughter were gunned down. Dead bodies littering the street through violence was not an uncommon sight in the Shanties but what caught Judge Doyle’s attention was that the shots had been delivered on both with pin point accuracy. The Owen’s had a reputation for being natural marksmen. They learned to handle guns on their many ranches from an early age. It was said that an Owen was handed a pistol before they were given their mother’s breast. Buddy in particular was so at home with gun in his hand it was a more like an extension of a limb.

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Doyle took a seat at her long, mahogany desk. The room smelled of fresh polish. The office was a wide space, steeped in shadows. It was unwelcoming. A cold draught circulated. The Judge had a clear view of the world from behind that desk.

“I don’t know anything about it,” he said. He was still grinning, remorse lacking.

“It was a hit from someone who knew how to handle a gun.”

Buddy’s grin widened. His square set jaw tightened.

“I will keep my ears open for the culprit ma’am.”

Doyle surveyed him. The grin fell from Buddy’s face.

“If I do find out you were responsible Bernard, there will be consequences,” asked Doyle. Her voice was steady but the threat underneath weighed heavy.

Buddy softened. “If it was one of ma boys ma’am I will find out.” he insisted.

Doyle raised her chin. “See to it that nothing like that happens again. If I hear any more of drugs, violence or assault through your Chapter House I will shut it down.”

Buddy relaxed his shoulders and stood straight. “Yes ma’am.”

A buzzer sounded. Doyle answered the call from her secretary.

“Agents Lydia Lowe and Kim Adams are here to see you ma’am.”

“Send them in,” the judge ordered. She addressed Buddy. “You, get out of my sight.”

Buddy obliged. Before he reached the doorway she called him back. “And Bernard, there will be consequences for the death of that little girl,” she warned.

As he opened the door he came face to face with the two agents. Lydia was astute. She sensed the tension between Buddy and the Judge. Buddy held her gaze

“Bernard,” barked the Judge again. “Eyes on the exit.”

Buddy pushed past. The agents entered the office of the judge and the door closed behind them.

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The agents stood before the large desk. The Law Maker symbols on the pillar behind her felt like the eyes of Gods watching. Judge Doyle remained silent until Buddy had cleared the room.

“Congratulations on your success,” the Judge broke the heavy silence. “I hear she is now in custody.” She referred to Tabitha, Boss Lady of the Knock Knock Club.

Kim responded, “Yes, ma’am. We have also taken the Penn triplets into custody.”

“A job well done then,” stated Doyle coldly. The mother of the triplets, Rita Penn, didn’t take much to do with the running of things ever since the father of the triplets, Reginald, left them the Auction House. It was their chance to bring order to both the Shanties, home of the Knock Knock Club, and City Main, the area that housed the Penn Empire.

“Agent Lowe,” the judge turned her attention to Lydia. “I will expect a full report by tomorrow. We need to move things along quickly whilst we can.”

Lydia nodded in agreement. “Yes, ma’am.” Lydia knew better than most how much of a slippery fish Tabitha could be so time was of the essence.

“The Bailiffs will take it from here but I do have a specific request for you, agent.”

Lydia looked to Kim first then back at the Judge to wait for her instructions. “I have issued a gagging order on the reporter, Sam Crusow. I can’t have him talking to anyone about what happened until trial is fixed. Am I correct in saying you formed something of a bond with him? You were the first to recover him from the club and you testified to his innocence in the death of his colleague, MADELINE LOWER.”

“I had a little chance to talk to him. Getting him on the inside is the thing that gave us what we needed to bring Tabitha in. She pitted his colleague against him and he defended himself. He’s a good man.” Lydia spoke warmly on my behalf. Doyle pursed his lips. “Good man or not, reporters are dangerous. There will be enough fuss to shut out from the press because of this and I can’t have someone with his insight at large. He is a key witness and as such I want you to stay close to him. For his own protection of course and to make sure he does not under any circumstances violate my order. You have a rapport with him. Keep him calm and keep him safe.”

Lydia agreed, “Yes ma’am.”

So the agent was tasked with being by my side. As trial was set and events continued to spill out I would be glad to have her close by me.

As they stepped outside the Court House into the warm afternoon air Lydia felt ill at ease.

Lydia expressed her concern to her mentor.

“Something is a bit off about this,” she said. Her instincts were telling her something was wrong but until more motives revealed themselves she couldn’t quite put her finger on what that was.

Kim agreed. “I know, pet. Just keep your eyes open.”

“Tabitha will use any trick she has to get away,” added Lydia. She had seen some of the extents the Boss Lady had been willing to go to to get her way.

Kim shook her head. “Then let’s hope we’ve delivered her to the one person in the city who can put her away for a very long time.”

Judge Doyle was already aware of the questions that were formulating in my head. For example, where did this bad blood between the Boss Lady and The Judge first begin?

***

“Case file 03300347,” announced the clerk. The room was almost empty. A woman sat at the back holding two boys close to her. Tabitha watched them. One of the boys looked up and managed a small smile. Tabitha returned with a similar gesture. None of the family looked like they had slept much in days. Their black skins were lack lustre and the mum’s eyes were blood shot.

“Case file 03300347. McInney. Step forward,” the clerk ordered.

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Aunt Tee patted Tabitha’s arm. “Alright honey, it’s now or never.” She shuffled from the pew they were sat in, a few rows in front of the family. Tabitha waited patiently. A cold draught blew around her with her aunt’s curvy frame removed. She had been staying at the Knock Knock Club for the past few weeks. Her parents were of course furious, but they didn’t care enough to retrieve her. TAWNY, the old Baroness of the club swore to her that she didn’t have to go anywhere. Not at least until they had had their day in court. Tawny saw that her niece was nervous that morning so she tried to fill her with confidence.

“It’s all about creating a good impression,” said the aunt. She held a pair of old spectacles to her face. “Business woman,” she pulled them away. “Gal on the go.” She put the glasses to her face again. “Business woman.” She pulled them away. “Party girl!” Tabitha had giggled. Her smile calmed Tawny’s own nerves. Before she faced the Judge she flashed her niece a confident smile. Tabitha could see the fear behind her eyes. There was so much at stake. “Good morning, ma’am,” greeted Tawny keenly. Judge Doyle offered an emotionless stare from behind her desk. She motioned for Tawny to come closer. “I see you have raised a petition for custody,” began the Judge. “The child in question is your niece. Is that correct?”

Tawny answered smoothly. “Yes ma’am. That is correct.” She gave a fleeting glance back at Tabitha as though she was checking she was still there. “Both of her natural parents are still living?”

Tawny agreed. “Yes, ma’am. They reside in FILTON.”

“I see,” Doyle mused. She flicked through some pages of notes that lay on her bench. “You do realise it is never the intention of this court to remove a child from their parents unless there are extenuating circumstances.”

Tawny remained cool but the emotion in her voice wavered a little. “There are circumstances, ma’am, really dire ones.”

Doyle pushed the notes aside. She wanted to address the petitioners directly. She leaned forward a little and fixed her gaze on the Baroness. Her eye and her neck were fine in those days. Her scars non-existent.

“Then why don’t you explain it to me.”

Tawny took a deep breath. She hadn’t wanted to discuss what had happened in such a public forum for Tabitha’s sake but she was left with no choice.

“My brother and my sister-in-law accepted money in exchange for the prostitution of my niece.”

Judge Doyle’s expressionless deportment fell into a severe frown. She reached for her notes and again flicked through them.

“That is a pretty damning accusation,” stated the Judge.

Tawny fidgeted with the blazer she wore in an attempt to seem official. “I was appalled when I heard ma’am. She’s just a little girl.”

The judge gave no clue to her thinking in her expression. “I see no police report here.” Tawny had to admit. “It wasn’t reported.”

As the Judge rested back in her chair to observe Tawny clearer, a shadow cast across her eyes.

“Why ever not? Surely if you found out such a thing it would be your first course of action? A crime of that magnitude against the child should have been reported?”

“My brother has some pretty powerful friends. It wouldn’t have helped. That’s why I wanted to appeal to you directly, ma’am. I was worried it wouldn’t reach the right ears.”

“And you were there? You saw this exchange take place?”

“No,” Tawny had to admit. “But Tabitha told me about it. My sister-in-law’s family have been drivers for the Owen family for years. They were having a party one night and made Tabitha their centre focus like she was some kind of prize. Reverend Jerry Owen was the one who organised it. He was the one that gave them the money.”

“I know Reverend Owen personally. He is a very well-respected member of the community, a charitable man. Are you saying he raped her?”

Tawny shook her head. “He didn’t get the chance to. She fought him off like a champ and ran to me.”

“So he never actually touched her?”

Tawny frowned, “What difference does that make?”

Judge Doyle waved for her to be quiet. “Suppose I accept your story and this is true. Are you fully prepared to accept responsibility for your niece?”

Tawny beamed, thinking she was finally getting through the icy exterior. “Of course.”

“Where would she be schooled?” asked the Judge.

“I … errr …” Tawny hesitated. “In the city I guess.”

The Judge leaned over and whispered something to the clerk. He took note.

“And what is it you do?” The Judge asked her.

“I’m a performer. I own a club in the city. The Knock Knock Club.”

Without looking at Tawny, Judge Doyle began taking notes. “I’ve heard of the Knock Knock club. It has quite the reputation. A night club isn’t exactly the appropriate place for a child.”

Tawny replied, “Maybe not ma’am but she has had more love and support there than she ever did at home. Ye have no idea what they’ve put that girl through!” As she became more desperate her Hathfield Bay accent started to creep in.

The judge read from the notes. “I see you have a partner.”

“Yes, a loving woman. Agnes.”

Judge Doyle looked up. Her focus locked on Tawny again. “I notice that she isn’t here with you. Is she also willing to accept responsibility for the child?”

Tawny tried to mask her frustration but it spilled into her words. “She loves Tabitha just as much as I do.”

Judge Doyle abandoned her notes and crossed her arms in front of her. “Tell me something. Is your niece happy at home?”

Tawny frowned – an alien expression on her round, pleasant face. “Of course, she isn’t. Her parents are monsters.”

Judge Doyle returned to her notes once again. A silence washed over them as she read more. Footsteps in the corridor outside broke it. The woman at the back began sobbing silently on the shoulder of her eldest son, still wrapped up in her own drama.

Judge Doyle addressed Aunt Tee again. “I see here you had a mental breakdown – acute anxiety disorder. Is that correct?”

Tawny shook her head. She hadn’t prepared for that coming up. “That was a long time ago,” she explained. “I was overworked, setting things up with the club. I just want to protect my FUCKING NIECE! …” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry ma’am. I just want to protect my niece. She’s just a little girl.”

The gaze of the judge narrowed. “I understand that emotions are running high but you will conduct yourself properly in my court or I will dismiss your case immediately. It is admirable that you want to protect her but let’s not forget that this is a troubled young girl. I see she has been in Jefferson Hall no less than five times. Assault and battery, mostly.”

Jefferson Hall was the juvenile detention center in Coldford for wayward children who were too young to be sent to the Monte Fort or Coldford Correctional.

Tabitha stood up. “You don’t know me!” She screamed, startling the family in the back. “You can’t say that.”

Tawny turned and tried to usher her to sit down. “Tabby, honey,” she said. “It’s fine. Just sit. It’s okay.”

Tabitha clamped her hands on her hips and scowled. “That cunt thinks because she’s sat behind the big desk in her big fucking chair she knows me! Because of a few bits written on a piece of paper.”

Aunt Tee tried again. “Tabby, please just calm down.”

Judge Doyle gathered the notes she had authoritatively tapped together on her desk. Her lip curled and her nostrils flared.

“Young lady, approach my bench,” she spat with venom. Tabitha obliged but she was still furious. When she stood before her The Judge said, “this court will not tolerate that kind of behaviour and for that I am dismissing your case indefinitely.”

“No!” Tawny lost her composure. “You can’t! Please just give us a chance.”

“From what I see, you are not fit to be a guardian.”

Tawny stepped forward. “I’m begging you, ma’am, please. She is not safe in that house. Please just let her come with me.”

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Judge Doyle kept an icy stare on the aunt. She passed her notes to her clerk. “I’ve made my decision,” stated she.

Tawny started to sob. “She’s a good girl really. She has had her problems but she’s a good girl. They tried to buy her so she could be passed around society perverts. They stripped her down and put her on display. Please don’t send her back to that. Let her stay with me where she will be safe.”

Doyle’s arm dropped. She looked at Tabitha. The mother at the back pulled her boys closer.

“Given these accusations I have no choice but to raise it with my colleagues at the Child Services Committee. They will investigate. You are to return her to her parents within the next 24 hours until this investigation is complete. If you fail to comply, I will revoke the licence of your club and you will find yourself under charges. Do you understand?”

Tawny pulled Tabitha closer to her.

“This isn’t over,” Tabitha growled.

Well there you have it folks. We know how our Boss Lady can hold a grudge!

Next week it’s time to see why the unkillable Judge Doyle earned herself such a reputation.

In the meantime: Here’s the story so far:

Free to read HERE on Vivika Widow Online or you can download for kindle by clicking HERE.

KNOCK, KNOCK: Episode 1: Welcome to the Club

Knock, Knock: Episode 2: Don’t Come Knockin’

Knock, Knock: Episode 3: Sleep Tight Sam

Knock, Knock: Episode 4: Take A Bow

Knock, Knock: Episode 5: A Room With A View

Knock, Knock: Episode 6: Picking Up Strange Women

Knock, Knock: Episode 7: No Kids Allowed

Knock, Knock: Episode 8: Kids These Days

Knock, Knock: Episode 9: Shootin’ The Breeze

Knock, Knock: Episode 10: Calling Last Orders

Knock Knock: Episode 11: Shady City Blues

Knock Knock: Episode 12: Going Down

Knock Knock: Episode 13: Got the Fever

Your appointment with Judge Doyle has been set. Don't be late. In the largest office of the Law Makers, adjacent to the COURT HOUSE, dwelled a figurehead that loomed over the city like a great vengeful deity.

#baroness #boss lady #Buddy Owen #graphic novel #judge doyle #kappa so #knock knock club #Knock #leo st paul #tabitha #tawny #thriller #vivika widow

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